Page 67 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
But it’s all ruined, and now Michael… but I can’t, I can’t marry him. I don’t love him. I don’t think I could ever love him,” she said, and Lavinia squeezed Penelope’s hand, struggling to find something comforting to say.
It was the age-old sorrow; two women in love with the same man. Had Gwendolene lived, perhaps they could have put their differences aside. But she had not, and while the bare facts of the situation certainly gave rise to motive, Lavinia did not thinkthe sorrowful creature sitting before her was capable of such wickedness.
Had Penelope been the murderer, Lavinia did not think she could possibly have failed to confess the truth, and now, she mourned the fact of her and Gwendolene’s failure to reconcile. A sorrow difficult to lay to rest.
“You weren’t to know what was to happen,” Lavinia said, and Penelope looked up at her and sniffed, shaking her head as she spoke.
“But for her to die like that—so suddenly. She was so young. She was so beautiful. Oh… Gwendolene…” Penelope exclaimed, and further sobs ensued.
If Penelope’s words and demeanor were an act, they were worthy of the Covent Garden stage. It did not seem Penelope even suspected a crime had occurred. In her mind, she and Gwendolene had quarreled over Lord Bath, and in the course of their separation, Gwendolene had died without the chance of their reconciliation. It was a tragedy, but one not easily resolved.
Penelope would have to live with the tragic facts of what had occurred, and it seemed, too, she could not allow herself the happiness Michael was offering. She was still in love with Lord Bath, a fact Lavinia found astonishing.
“Perhaps… well, when all this is over… you and Lord Bath…” Lavinia said, but at these words, Penelope looked up at her with wide, fearful eyes.
“Oh, no… wouldn’t that be an even worse betrayal?” she exclaimed, and it seemed she was convinced some terrible catastrophe would result if she even dared pursue the match she so long desired.
Lavinia could not help but feel disappointed.
She’s welcome to him,she thought to herself.
But if her visit to Penelope had told her anything, it was that Penelope was not the killer. She had motive, of course, but the obviousness of her guilt over Gwendolene’s death was enough to convince Lavinia she was not responsible. Lavinia could only feel sorry for her, even as she thought her a fool fur pursuing Lord Bath. A man, it seemed, who had seduced far more than just one woman in his time…
“But you and Michael… how did the match come about?” Lavinia asked.
She was speaking to Penelope as though the two of them were on intimate terms, but it seemed to Lavinia as though her newacquaintance was eager to talk, and now Penelope wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and sniffed.
“He’s a good man. Our families are both Catholic, just like the baron and his family. That’s why we grew up together. It still isn’t easy for us, though things are getting better,” she said, and Lavinia nodded.
“I’m the same. With a surname like Stuart, how couldn’t I be?” she said, and Penelope nodded.
“Yes, quite. Well, you see, we’ve known one another since we were children. But there was never any question… well, after Gwendolene’s death, my father thought it would be important for me to… well, not confine myself to the house. He encouraged me to attend balls, soirees… but it all felt so false. I hated myself for doing so. I missed Gwendolene terribly. Michael was… I suppose he assumed… meant for me from childhood,” she said.
Lavinia nodded. These sorts of arrangements often proved difficult. She had seen them from the other side, listening as her mistress lamented the failure of an arrangement with one daughter or another. Assumptions were made, promises broken, and hurt was usually what ensued.
“But you never loved him?” she asked, and Penelope shook her head.
“I tried to, and when he asked me to marry him, I said yes without thinking. But it was the wrong thing to do, Lavinia. And now…” she said, shaking her head sadly.
Once again, Lavinia could only feel sorry for Penelope. She had done so much to ruin her chances of happiness, and circumstances had not been kind to her, either. Marrying Michael might have proved her salvation, but now she was proving yet another victim of love’s cruel fate.
“Now, you’ve withdrawn from the match,” Lavinia said, and Penelope nodded.
“My father wasn’t happy. And Michael wasn’t, either, I’m sure you can imagine. But… oh, I don’t know. What would you do, Lavinia? Would you marry a man because it was the right thing for the future, or do you believe one should only marry for love?” Penelope asked.
Lavinia did not know what to say, even as she knew immediately the answer she would give.
“I think it depends… everyone’s different, aren’t they. If you don’t want to marry Michael, then… well, you shouldn’t,” she said, and Penelope nodded.
“I can’t marry him. I won’t. I don’t deserve to be happy. Not after what I’ve done. Poor Gwendolene. I… I loved her as a sister, and now…” she began, before descending into further sobs.
Lavinia sighed. Penelopediddeserve to be happy. She had done nothing wrong. It was entirely natural to argue, to fall out, to refuse to speak to one another. Had Gwendolene lived, Lavinia felt certain the two of them would have reconciled.
But as it stood, Penelope would have to live with her guilt. Perhaps it would help her to know the truth about Gwendolene’s death, as awful as it was. But for now, Lavinia knew it was better to keep the facts to herself.
“You’re not to blame for her death, Penelope,” Lavinia said, and Penelope nodded.
“I know… but if only I’d been there. Perhaps… well, perhaps things might’ve been different,” she replied.
