“Marriage.” Her father repeated the word as though testing its weight. “You wish to marry my daughter. The same daughter whose reputation you destroyed by luring her to your residence at night?”
“I did not lure—” Alastair stopped. Drew a breath. “I sent Miss Hartwell a note requesting her presence for a matter of genuine urgency. I did not anticipate that we would be observed, nor that the scandal sheets would seize upon the incident with such enthusiasm. Nevertheless, the fault lies with me. I should have found another way. I didn’t.”
“And what,” her mother interjected quietly, “was this matter of such urgency that it required my daughter’s presence at your residence in the middle of the night?”
Alastair’s jaw tightened . His eyes shifted to Penelope, asking a silent question she didn’t know how to answer.
“It concerned a child,” he said finally. “A baby, to be precise, who was left on my doorstep with a note indicating that both Miss Hartwell and I had been entrusted with its care.”
The silence that followed possessed a different quality now—shocked rather than merely furious.
“A baby?” Her mother’s voice had gone faint. “You have a child?”
“Not mine, Mrs Hartwell. I give you my word.” Alastair’s composure never wavered, but Penelope could see the effort it required. “The infant’s mother left a letter naming both myself and your daughter as guardians. I summoned Miss Hartwell because she had as much right to know about this situation as I did. Because we are apparently meant to share responsibility for this child.”
Penelope watched her parents exchange a look laden with unspoken communication. Her father’s fury had increased significantly, and it sent shivers of worry down her spine.
“This is preposterous,” her father said at length. “Absolutely preposterous. Unknown women leaving babies on doorsteps, midnight visits, marriage proposals—what manner of Gothic novel have we stumbled into?”
“I understand your skepticism, sir.” Alastair shifted his weight . “Nevertheless, the facts remain unchanged. Your daughter’s reputation has been compromised. Mine, whilst already somewhat tarnished, will not improve matters. The only way to contain this scandal is through immediate marriage.”
“No.”
The word left her lips even before she’d properly decided to speak. Three pairs of eyes turned toward her with varying degrees of surprise.
“No?” her father echoed.
“I cannot—” She stopped, tried again. “Your Grace, I appreciate the gesture, but I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself for a situation that was as much my fault as yours. I chose to come to your residence. I made that decision knowing it was improper. You should not be forced into marriage because of my poor judgment.”
Alastair lifted a brow and the corner of his mouth turned slightly upward. “Miss Hartwell, with all due respect, you are not forcing me into anything. I am making you an offer because it is the right thing to do. Because your reputation has been destroyed on my account, and I will not stand by and watch you become a social pariah for trying to help a child who needs protection.”
“But you don’t want to marry me.” The truth of it burned her throat. “You don’t want to marry anyone. The entire Ton speaks about your questionable decisions. Marriage is the last thing you desire.”
He closed his eyes with a sigh. “What I want is irrelevant. What matters is ensuring that you and the child are protected. Marriage accomplishes both objectives.”
“How wonderfully pragmatic,” her father muttered.
“Indeed, sir. I am proposing a practical solution to a difficult situation. Miss Hartwell’s reputation can be saved if we marry quickly and present a united front. The child will have the protection of my name and title. Your daughter will become a duchess instead of a social outcast. These are not small considerations.”
Penelope stared at him, this man she barely knew, this notorious rake who somehow found
himself offering marriage like a business transaction. Everything in her rebelled against the idea—the sheer wrongness of being forced into matrimony, the knowledge that he was sacrificing his precious freedom, the terrible certainty that they would both end up miserable.
But then she thought of the baby. That tiny, helpless creature whose mother had trusted them both. The child who would be sent to an orphanage if she refused this offer, condemned to a life of poverty and neglect because Penelope had put her own feelings above its welfare.
“What baby?” her mother asked suddenly, her voice cutting through Penelope’s spiraling thoughts. “Whose baby? Where did it come from?”
“We don’t know, Mama.” Penelope forced herself to meet her mother’s eyes. “The mother left a letter saying she trusted us tocare for her child. That’s all. We don’t know who she is or why she chose us.”
“But it’s not your baby.” Her mother’s gaze moved between Penelope and Alastair with uncomfortable intensity. “You are not using my daughter to…”
“No, Mrs Hartwell.” Alastair’s voice remained perfectly steady. “I am not using your daughter, and the child is not mine. We are simply two people who have been unexpectedly entrusted with an infant’s welfare, and who now find ourselves facing the consequences of trying to handle that situation with insufficient discretion.”
Her father made a sound that might have been a laugh or possibly the beginning of an apoplexy.
“This is madness. Complete madness. Unknown babies, scandal sheets, marriage proposals—I cannot even begin to?—”
“Robert.” Her mother’s voice cut through his rising agitation. “What would you have them do?”