Page 24 of The Duchess' Ultimatum
“Barbara…” Penelope said the name, still not putting the pieces together.
Barbara huffed. “Dorian’s younger sister.”
“Dorian’s younger… oh! Of course, yes. I am sorry…” An awkward laugh. “I knew that. Silly me, taking so long to put it all together.”
“You had no idea he had a sister, did you?” she said flatly.
Penelope grimaced. “Not in the classic sense… or, in fact, in any sense.”
It did not surprise Penelope that she did not know this about her husband. That she had known almost nothing about him before they married did not help, and that he fled from their marriage as soon as it was official added to the secrecy. On top of all that, she had spent the last three years thinking as little about Dorian as she could do, no desire at all to learn anything about him because why would she?
With that figured through, a realization suddenly came upon Penelope. Something of far greater importance.
“Wait a minute.” Penelope’s eyes widened in accusation. “It was you! You were the one who wrote me, pretending to be Dorian inviting me to come here and help with his party.”
Barbara grimaced with guilt. “Guilty as charged.”
“How did you… why?” Penelope asked, feeling a slight stab of anger. “I don’t understand – what are you playing at?”
“Oh, nothing wicked, I assure you.” Barbara shrugged. “My brother needed help, and he would never admit it. I just thought it might be nice, giving the two of you a chance to reconnect as you should have done years ago. Besides, it was a good way to get him to leave me out of having to help.”
Penelope stared at the young woman in bewilderment, unsure what surprised her more. That she had been the cause of all of this, or that she did not seem to care.
“But enough of that.” Barbara hesitated, face scrunched tight as she decided something. And then, coming to that decision, she hurried toward her and then took her by the arm. “You are going for a walk, yes? Might I… might I join you? Dorian is out for the morning, and I have grown rather bored.”
“I… I suppose so.”
“Wonderful.” Her smile was unsure, but she let it grow on her face as she linked her arm through Penelope’s and then started to lead her down the path. “So, tell me about yourself.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything,” she said. “Or anything, really. I rarely meet other people, so I dare say that whatever you choose to share will be most thrilling.”
Penelope could not stop eyeing the woman as if she was insane. The way she spoke suggested that she rarely left the house, soinnocent and unaware of the outside world… not to mention what most would deem as normal social behavior. But she was kind, this interaction was clearly a struggle for her, and that went a long way toward making Penelope feel comfortable.
Besides, it is nice to have someone else to talk with. And I get the sense that Barbara is of the same mind.
For that reason, Penelope relaxed considerably, allowing herself to be led by Barbara, and more than willing to speak about literally anything because everything that she said excited the young woman beyond what it should have done.
“You really attend balls on your own?” Barbara gasped when Penelope told her one of the many things she did to pass the time. “I could never – do you not feel scared? Overwhelmed… as if everyone is looking at you?”
“I did at first,” she said. “But you get used to it. Besides, let them look. Maybe they will like what they see.”
“Oh, you are funny!”
Barbara was charmingly curious. And she loved hearing about how independent Penelope was, seeming both jealous and disbelieving because in her mind the idea of living alone and having to do everything by oneself was impossible to comprehend.
Indeed, the good mood continued for some time… that was until they reached the back corner of the garden where Penelope noticed the statue. It was carved from grey stone, about half as tall as Penelope, and of a beautiful woman standing with her hands held together in prayer. Penelope had seen it each day on her walk but was yet to approach, sensing that perhaps it would not be right to do so.
“It is my mother,” Barbara said, her tone turned solemn. “I see you looking.”
“Oh.” Penelope grimaced. “I did not mean to…”
“It is fine,” she sighed, not sounding as if she meant it. “She died many years ago, my father a few years before that.”
“So, it has always been just you and Dorian?”
“Oh no,” Barbara said with a serious expression on her face; brow furrowed as if she thought Penelope was trying to make a joke. “There was also Mark.”
