Chapter Text
Penelope sighed quietly as her future housekeeper led her into yet another grandly proportioned room. This was to be her bedchamber, the other lady explained. It was decorated in shades of blue, which Penelope considered one of her favourite colours, but it gave this particular room a cold, despondent feeling. For the first time, Penelope understood her mother’s penchant for “happy” colours.
She tried to picture herself in this room surrounded by her own trinkets and home comforts. In her imagination they looked out of place, as if the image of them had been overlaid but misaligned somehow. It seemed like the room of a woman much older than herself and she suddenly felt very young and girlish surrounded by the dark, heavy furniture.
The far wall was dominated by a large four-poster bed, its elaborately carved mahogany headboard was in the Rococo style which had been popular in the previous century. The decorative scrolls reminded her of the fussy lace on her mother’s dress last night. She was quite certain that she would prefer not to think about her mother while in her marriage bed. The mattress itself did not look deep, but it was raised so high off the floor that she would likely need a step to climb into it each night. The bed loomed over her in a disconcerting way, highlighting her own diminutive stature. The knot which had been forming in her stomach all morning pulled a little tighter.
She wondered how often she would sleep here alone. Alfred had already shared his intention to be away from home for long periods of time. It had been part of the attraction of his suit; his absence would allow her freedom which another marriage would not. Now, standing in his house, the reality of her future left her feeling cold.
When Alfred had initially suggested the house tour she had, mistakenly, assumed that he would at least be present for it. In reality, he wasn’t even at home to meet her; he believed that his housekeeper was better suited to the task. Penelope couldn’t fault Mrs White–her knowledge of the house was exceptional and her manner was warm, if a little reserved–but she couldn’t help feeling that she had been abandoned. And perhaps some girlish part of her, one who had imagined what being married would be like, had hoped that her husband would want to walk through their home together, musing on dreams of a shared life. What did Lord Debling’s face look like lit up with joy? Would he ever share in her excitement or would she always be alone?
She ran her finger along the edge of the writing desk as she strolled towards the tall window. This room overlooked the square below where she could see a young boy and girl being led towards the green in the centre by their nanny. The light shone against their reddish brown hair, and for a moment she imagined that they were her own children. But no, surely her children’s hair will be fairer, like Alfred’s. Even that realisation felt vaguely like disappointment.
She shook her head to clear away the strange thought as she followed Mrs White back out into the long hallway. They still had another two floors to view.
______
“It’s so large. I really don’t know how I’m supposed to manage it all, Colin.”
“I beg your pardon,” he blurted in astonishment. He wanted to chide himself for letting his attention wander as he watched her lovely rosebud lips. He had been thoroughly distracted for a full minute but surely the conversation hadn’t devolved into such a scandalous topic so quickly?
“You were speaking of?” Colin prompted whilst bracing himself for any mention of Debling’s person.
“I was discussing my tour of Debling house this morning. Were you not listening?” Her tone was more sad and resigned than angry, and Colin felt a surge of guilt wash over him. She had been confiding in him as a friend and he had been sinfully lusting over her delicious lips.
“I’m sorry, Pen, I have not been sleeping well recently and I fear my attention slipped. Please continue.”
It was not exactly a lie; he hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks. Not since that damned kiss. Oh how it haunted him. He longed to feel her soft lips once more, taste her sweetness and coax low moans from her. Now that his eyes had been opened to the wonder of loving Penelope Featherington, it was torture to not be able to openly display that love.
“I will be all alone. I know that it will be my duty as a wife to run the household but Lord Debling– pardon me, Alfred , expects me to attend to the estate as a whole. I felt so small, touring the house alone. I would have become lost if not for the housekeeper…”
“Was Lord Debling not there to guide you?”
Penelope shook her head, a sadness in her eyes. “I know most gentlemen care little about such matters, but it felt very strange. If he has so little desire for my company now, so little excitement for our future– I fear I will be quite lonely,” she admitted with a guilty look. “I should not speak ill of my betrothed…”
“You are not, Penelope,” Colin said, taking her hand. It was wrong of him, he knew. “You are simply sharing your feelings with a friend. And rest assured, your friends would never abandon you to rattle about Debling House like a heroine in those gothic novels you love to read.”
Penelope giggled and he squeezed her warm little fingers. Then her expression grew serious. “I cherish your friendship, Colin. You are the only one I have left.”
“Will you not tell me what happened with Eloise?” Colin asked gently. “Perhaps I could help.”
“I cannot,” she replied, her expression grave. “But, would it sound strange to say that I am thankful for Eloise? For it was our argument that eventually led me to understand my need for a husband like Alfred.”
Now Colin was more puzzled than ever. And he could not deny that it cut deeply to hear Penelope say that she needed Debling. Especially so soon after she had all but admitted that she needed him . It was taking every ounce of courage and self-control he possessed to be Penelope’s friend despite the torment it put him through.
“The life he is offering me is everything that I sought to find and yet… Have you ever attained something you desired only to be left feeling despondent?”
Her eyes were wide and guileless as she spoke. Penelope was a clever woman, and she was right to be worried in Colin’s estimation. Lord Debling was not acting as a man in love should. At best he seemed remote; at worst, neglectful. Colin longed to wrap her in his arms and comfort her, but that wouldn’t change anything for her and may make it all worse. He contented himself with squeezing her hand once again. Her soft skin felt like velvet against his own and he was thankful that she had chosen to eschew her gloves that morning. Perhaps it was best to simply reassure her that he was listening.
“I do understand a little of what you are feeling,” he began tentatively. His gaze was focused on their joined hands but he could feel her watching him with interest. “This summer felt like an endless search for a sense of who I am as a man. It had been my dream to travel for so long, but it did not provide me the sense of fulfilment which I had anticipated. At times I felt so distant and disconnected from where I was and who I was with. I felt lonely, as though I needed something more, and yet it seemed impossible to find. And so I questioned myself, if I was deserving of what I desired, if I was strange for wanting a true union.”
A blush heated his cheeks as he recalled some of his more physical encounters. He could admit to himself now how hollow those experiences had been, there had been ten times more passion in his kiss with Penelope than with any of his bedfellows during his travels.
“I remember now, that you wrote of such a feeling in your journal.”
Colin looked up to see that Penelope wore a blush to match his own. He had long since forgiven her for reading his private papers. His journal had been more than simply a recollection of his travels, it had been a place for him to express his innermost thoughts and feelings. In truth, she was the only person he wished to share such vulnerable confessions with.
“You did not find– satisfaction with those women? I had been led to believe that men were easily pleased in that regard. Or at least I hope that will be the case for Alfred.”
Colin’s heart pained at the mention of his rival’s name on Penelope’s lips, especially in regard to such a subject, but his urge to ease the worry from her voice overtook his own sorrow.
“Penelope, I have no doubt that Lord Debling will find you to be everything that is lovely and pleasing. I cannot imagine that it could be otherwise. For myself, I must admit that I believe I need a spiritual connection not merely a physical one. This is not something that many men seem to want or require.”
“And women…what do we require from the marriage bed? Or perhaps we are not allowed to want,” Penelope mused.
It made him sad that she did not seem aggrieved by the notion, only thoughtful, and he felt she must have become far too familiar with disappointment to be so resigned.
“I believe you deserve pleasure,” Colin said firmly. “Your lover’s touch should awaken your body but also make you feel seen. For you are so lovely, Penelope, so incomparable both in your countenance and in your spirit. When you lie with your husband, it should be the joining of two souls who value one another deeply.”
Her full lips had parted at his words, and her hand had drifted to the neckline of her dress, skimming back and forth over her collarbone.
“I should like that. Very much I think. Yet somehow, I cannot imagine Lord Debling as the generous lover you would be.”
Suddenly she flushed and took a hasty sip of tea, as if she required a diversion. Colin, his own cravat suddenly feeling quite tight, joined her, uncertain what to say to such an observation. But her courage soon returned and she set her cup aside, meeting his eyes.
“I apologise for speaking of such things. I don’t know what came over me.”
Colin cleared his throat. Her apology was unnecessary, for how many times had he imagined Penelope as a lover? She was only being honest, and he would not fault her for that.
“Would it shock you if I said I admire your candor? There are so few I can speak to as we have today. Empty conversations, the rules of convention– they are stifling. But when we speak, especially of such wicked subjects– it is quite thrilling, do you not agree?”
Emboldened by a darkening of her eyes, Colin felt that urge to push, to ignore his better judgement. This would hurt later, it would torture him, but he could not stop. He lifted her wrist to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss on the sensitive skin there.
“Oh,” she breathed, seemingly unable to say anything of substance.
There was something all too alluring about the widening of her eyes, the ways her breasts were rising and falling more rapidly beneath her gown. She had asked for lessons in being a bride, and so he would give her one, though perhaps not precisely in the way she imagined.
“Did you feel something then? An ache, a sudden tightening in your belly?”
She nodded, blushing fiercely.
“That is desire. And yours deserves to be satisfied, remember that.”