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The night was quite pleasant, the weather acceptable, the music not too loud. A perfect night, one might say. Except for the fact that Lord Debling had never felt more humiliated.
He had not expected this to be such a blow to him. To discover dear Penelope harbouring feelings to someone else, to one of the Bridgerton brothers no less. Alfred liked to think he was a sensible man, following his reason no matter what. He had thought his practical match with Miss Featherington had been nothing but… practical, logical, fairly perfect. If not her, then someone else, equally charming and unique would come, he had thought, and would have also been perfect. Now he was not sure of that at all.
It was not about his honour, not entirely. Yes, to realise his soon-to-be wife had feelings placed elsewhere was painful, but in a different sense. He felt as if the whole unfairness of the world washed over him. Years of being a gossip of every ball, inability to befriend any other gentleman of the ton — he could have lived with that, but this specific unfairness, right there, made his heart burn.
„Lord Debling, please, wait”, he heard Penelope’s sweet voice, as he climbed the stairs to find at least a bit of his so loved solitude. He had to escape, at least for a moment, considering how tangled his own emotions were.
„Can we continue our conversation now?” She didn’t let go. She clearly did not know what he already did.
Before he knew what he was doing, Debling turned around and faced her, unsure what to say. Her brows were furrowed in worry, and she was biting her lower lip. It started to remind him of a berry of some kind.
„I apologise for Colin. I told him…” Penelope started.
Alfred knew he was right, his assumptions were right. He should have just left and not deepen his wound even more, but he could not.
„I cannot take a wife whose affections already lie elsewhere.” He said as plainly as possible, always so proud of his unwavering composure.
Penelope blinked, possibly deciding how much to unravel.
„I assure you, there is nothing between me and him.”
He needed a moment to gain any strength. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.
„Would you like it to be… something?” He asked before he could have thought about it.
It was ungentlemanly to assume such a thing about a lady, but he felt he could allow himself a moment of honesty with her.
„Lord Debling…” Penelope started, unsure what to say next.
Alfred just looked at her, guilty for making her uneasy like that, and wanted to explain to her that he cannot take a wife who loves another. Especially considering he would be gone for months soon.
That was precisely the grand, hilarious tragedy of it all. He did not want to suggest her being unfaithful. Deep in his heart, he believed Penelope would never get herself into an affair. At least not the physical one. Well, if it was to be a practical match though, should he care about her loving someone else in secret of her own mind? He had said it himself, he was practically married to his work and travels. Why would he care about it, if she still wanted to marry him and give him what he wanted?
It made him an awful man, he thought. As he was, in essence, telling her „I will possibly never love you, but you, as my wife, cannot love anyone else, even in secret.” Was he so different from the other gentlemen of the ton? Or was he worse? He wondered.
He felt a brutal tug in his stomach. It did not help that he started to realise more and more people had started watching them closely. Miss Cowper, three different Bridgertons and a few more people he did not know.
„We should not resolve this in front of everyone.” He said weakly.
But Penelope was determined, more than he could have expected. Alfred thought she would leave him be, intimidated by his newest discovery, but she was much braver than that.
She moved past him and strode into one of the small corridors. He had no option but to follow.
She did not stop until they reached a dead end hall decorated only by one tiny mahogany table with a few days old bouquet standing on it. It was clear no one was supposed to reach that part of the building. It was open yet secluded. Almost impossible to get caught in a position that would be compromising to both of them… but not closed.
He waited.
She started.
„Lord Debling, I assure you, Colin is no threat.”
Colin.
Apparently, she really wanted to believe it.
„You use his Christian name.” He noticed, on the verge of being annoyed.
To his surprise, Penelope sighed, as he was the more annoying one.
“We have known each other since we were children.”
A bitter feeling hit him like a blunt, torturous arrow. It was not new information, but it hurt despite all. The unfairness, again.
“Miss Featherington, did I ever stand a fair chance with you?”
He felt as if it was a small child inside him speaking, and not his adult self. He had no right to her, and yet, he felt a desperate need to fight, to stop her from leaving forever. What happened? Just a few moments ago, he had been determined to leave…
“Lord Debling, what…”
“That is precisely what I am talking about,” he interrupted and took a cautious step forward. “I am Lord Debling, he is just Colin.”
Penelope did not seem intimidated by that at all. She took a step forward as well.
“But I am here, am I not?”
Debling straightened up.
“To fight for a loveless marriage.” He stated.
“Your requirement, if I recall.”
She made his knees buckle. He knew she was full of surprises and contradicting drifts, but for the first time he could see her so… open. Cutting. Honest about everything ugly about them both.
He had read many disruptive books in his life, a nature of a maverick, he supposed. In many of them he could read about strong, quick-witted women. He just had not expected to find one of them in Penelope. He could admit it was his own mistake, no less. It was so easy to get deceived by the sweet composure and predilection for fresh-cut flowers.
“May I touch your hand?” He asked because for some reason it was easier than explaining that offering her a loveless engagement was the worst mistake of his life.
Penelope opened her lips slightly, but did not say a word.
After a moment, she simply raised her left hand slightly towards him.
Alfred took a deep breath. Her palm was covered only in a tiny piece of sheer material. He did not even have to take it off.
He decided to do it anyway.
The fabric slipped easily from her delicate hand. He made sure to take it off carefully and pass it over to her. After all, in his madness, he was still a gentleman, and loosing, or heaven forbids, stealing, a lady’s glove was unacceptable.
He took her hand in both of his and traced it with the tips of his fingers.
Penelope almost did not breathe at all.
He tried to himself, but the air was vibrating inside him.
His hand slid higher to her forearm and his eyes shot right to hers, making sure. Just making sure.
Penelope’s eyes were open, observing him closely, but she nodded once. Letting him.
To hell with being noble.
Alfred had never wanted to touch a woman so badly in his life. Usually, those were thoughts he could deftly avoid. He had not even had to think about it too much. But now? Now, it was a flood.
His garments felt tight and heavy, all of a sudden. He felt as if he was growing a fever. He wondered, as his hand was covering almost her entire arm, if this is what men commonly feel. Although, how could this be common to anyone? How could anyone do their jobs if this is what they feel.
“I shall give you anything you may want.” He said simply because he could not keep it inside anymore.
She stilled.
“I do not need bribes.”
He held her gaze, trying to find adequate words.
“I am not bribing you,” he took a step closer. His voice shaky and lower than before. “I am confessing. To you.”
“Alfred…”
She said it. She said it and there was no turning back for him, just then. He needed her. He had spent days without water, he knew what need meant, and yes, he needed her more than that.
He leaned down, his face dangerously close to hers, trying to balance, to tame that irrepressible feeling. Hoping it was just as irrepressible for her, too.
“Let me kiss you, Penelope. Please, let me.” His hand wandered from her arm to her collarbone, as tenderly as possible. “I can stand your indecision, but I cannot stand you being here, close, not close enough.”
She did not waver.
“It is improper.”
Alfred closed his eyes in defeat and dropped his hand. He took a step back, feeling the energy raising in him like a wave.
“Of course it is,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. He turned away from her, only to turn around again, just a second later. “Of course it is, but what if this is the only thing I care about now?”
His tone was calm, but it was clear, the emotions were boiling inside him.
“I did not plan this,” he continued, “you know I did not. But I need you. I need to taste you. I might never need anything so much again.”
He was ready to go. After saying what need to be said, exposing himself in front of her had to be enough. Had to satisfy him.
“Then yes.” He heard her say, almost whispering.
He looked at her, as if he misheard her. As if it was not her speaking, but just a rustle of her dress.
But then she nodded again. Just as she had done moments ago when he had been touching her.
I apologise. I apologise. I apologise… was drumming in his head, like a spell, as he strode to her, grabbed her hips and pinned his lips against hers. Those hips, god. Those lips.
It reminded him of an oriental persimmon he had tasted during his travels. Ripe, honey-sweet, indecent.
He did not know why he decided to clung to her hips so badly. He did not know what on earth allowed him to do that at all. He just needed to be closer and closer and closer. In his mind he could not recognise himself, his own thoughts. Who was this man? Why all he cared about was to have her. Was he wicked? Was he desperate? Was he… him?
He felt Penelope’s tongue on his lips, the heat inside him was growing abruptly. Before he knew it, he was pulling her into the first empty room he could find, while trying to find the hem of her precious dress. He could feel her hand on his beard as he was holding her against a wall.
He could not know it yet, of course, but it was the last time Alfred Debling had to wonder what was his true self at all.