“We cannot hide from the ton forever.”
Alastair spoke the words into the afternoon light filtering through his study window, though he was not entirely certain he believed them. Hiding had, after all, served him rather well for the better part of three decades.
Penelope looked up from the letter she’d been reading, her eyes finding his own.
“I was not aware we were hiding,” she said mildly.
“Strategically withdrawing, then.” He moved from the window, restless energy pulling at him. The scandal sheets had followed them here—Mrs. Keating had shown him one just that morning, her expression rather concerned. The ton’s memory, it seemed, was rather longer than he’d hoped. “But the effect is much the same. We’ve been at the estate for weeks. If wecontinue avoiding society, we merely confirm everything they’re whispering.”
She set the letter aside with deliberate care, her movements betraying nothing. But he’d been watching her long enough now to recognise the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers stilled against the arm of her chair.
“What did you have in mind?”
“The Haversham ball.” He’d rehearsed this, though he disliked admitting it. “Tomorrow evening. It’s being held in the assembly rooms in town—hardly a London affair, but respectable enough. Half the county will attend.”
“And you believe our appearance will silence the gossip?”
The scepticism in her voice was warranted. He crossed to his desk, leaning against it with what he hoped appeared as casual confidence rather than the unease currently twisting through him.
“I believe our absence will confirm it,” he countered. “If we present ourselves as a properly married couple—calm, united, utterly unbothered by speculation—curiosity will eventually yield to boredom. The ton cannot sustain interest in a scandal that refuses to perform.”
She studied him for a long moment, and he forced himself not to look away. This close scrutiny was still unsettling,still unfamiliar. Most people saw only what he showed them. Penelope seemed determined to look deeper.
“Very well,” she said at last. “We shall attend.”
Relief surprised him with its intensity. He’d half-expected an argument, reasons why they should remain sequestered here where the nursery felt safe and the world’s judgement couldn’t quite reach them.
“Excellent.” He pushed away from the desk. “I shall have the carriage prepared for seven o’clock.”
She rose, smoothing her skirts with that unconscious grace he’d noticed more than he cared to admit. At the doorway, she paused.
“Alastair?”
“Yes?”
“You’re right. We cannot hide forever.” She sighed deeply—a tired sound. “But neither can we pretend this will be comfortable.”
Then she was gone, leaving him alone with the afternoon light and the uncomfortable truth that comfort had ceased being a reasonable expectation the moment he’d agreed to this marriage.
* * *
The following evening found Alastair in the entrance hall, adjusting his cravat with more attention than the task warranted. His valet had already pronounced it perfect. Twice.
But his hands needed occupation, and standing idle whilst waiting for his wife to descend the stairs felt absurdly like waiting for a verdict.
As though the woman who had occupied his thoughts could read them, a door opened above just then. Footsteps on the landing—measured, unhurried. He looked up.
And forgot, quite completely, how to breathe.
Penelope descended the stairs in a gown the colour of deep sapphire, the silk catching the candlelight with each step. Her hair was swept up, revealing the elegant line of her neck, with a few soft curls left to frame her face. She wore no elaborate jewellery—just a simple pendant at her throat—and somehow that restraint only emphasised the quiet beauty he’d been studiously trying not to notice for weeks.
She reached the bottom step and paused, meeting his gaze with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.
“Will I do?” she asked, and there was just enough edge to the question to tell him she’d noticed his reaction.
He should say something charming. Something light and meaningless that would restore the careful distance they’d been maintaining. Instead, the truth escaped before he could stop it.
“It’s rather dangerous, bringing a wife like you into a ballroom.”