She waved furiously across the ice and was off to visit with her friend, leaving Penelope to say quietly, “Yes. He’s handsome,” grateful for one moment during which she did not have to lie.
Her gaze moved to the spot on the hill where they’d stood mere moments ago. He stood stock-still, all attention on her. Her hand itched to wave. But that would be silly, wouldn’t it?
It would be.
As she was considering the action, he made the decision unnecessary. He raised one long arm and waved to her.
It would be rude to ignore him.
So she waved back.
He lowered himself to the bench and began to strap on his skates, and Penelope gave a little sigh, forcing herself to turn away before she did something even more foolish.
“Something’s happened.”
For a moment, Penelope thought that Pippa had noticed the strange interactions between Michael and her. Mind racing, she turned to face her younger sister. “What do you mean?”
“Castleton has proposed.”
Penelope’s eyes went wide at the unexpected announcement, and she waited for Pippa to acknowledge the fact that they had spent much of the morning together, and Pippa had only just decided to mention the proposal.
When Pippa said nothing, calmly gliding forward as though they were discussing the weather and not her future, Penelope could not stop herself. “You do not sound very happy about it.”
Pippa kept her head down for a few long minutes. “He’s an earl. He seems friendly enough, he doesn’t mind that I hate dancing, and he has a handsome stable of horseflesh.”
Penelope would have smiled at the simplicity in the words, as though the four character traits were enough to make a satisfactory marriage, if not for the hint of resignation in them.
It occurred to Penelope that Pippa might have chosen her moment to share the proposal because there were so many people around—so many eyes watching and ears listening—too many to allow for a serious conversation.
Nonetheless, Penelope clasped one of her sister’s hands and drew her to a halt there at the center of the lake. She leaned in and said, softly, “You don’t have to say yes.”
“Will it matter if I say no?” Pippa replied, smiling broadly as though they were discussing some amusing event from the morning instead of her future. Her dreams. “Won’t there just be another man around the bend looking to capture my dowry? And another after that? And another? Until my choices disappear. He knows I’m smarter than he is, and he’s willing to let me run his estate. That’s something.” She faced Penelope. “I know what you did.”
Penelope met her sister’s knowing gaze. “What do you mean by that?”
“I was there on St. Stephen’s, Penny. I think I would have noticed Bourne’s return. As would have half the vicarage.”
Penelope nibbled on one lip, wondering what she should say.
“You needn’t tell me I’m right.” Pippa saved her. “But know that I see what you’ve done. I appreciate it.”
They skated along in silence for a while, before Penelope said, “I did it so you would not have to accept Castleton, Pippa. Michael and I . . . the story was for your benefit. Yours and Olivia’s.”
Pippa smiled. “And that’s sweet of you. But it’s silly to think we’ll have love matches, Penny. They don’t come along every day. You know that better than most.”
Penelope swallowed around the knot in her throat at the words, at the reminder that her own marriage was nothing near a love match. “Others marry for love,” she pointed out, adjusting her fur-lined gloves and looking out over the little lake. “Consider Leighton and his wife.”
Pippa cut her a look, eyes large and owl-like behind her spectacles. “That’s the best you can do? A scandalous marriage from eight years ago?”
It was the example she carried closest to her heart.
“The number of years does not matter. Nor does the scandal.”
“Of course it does,” Pippa said, standing and tying her own bonnet beneath her chin. “A scandal like that would send Mother into hysterics. And the rest of you into hiding.”
“Not me.” She was emphatic.
Pippa considered the words. “No, not you. You’ve a scandalous husband of your own.”
Penelope considered her husband, far across the lake, her eyes lingering over the enormous bruise on one side of his face. “He is a scandal.”
Pippa turned to face her. “Whatever the reason for your match, Penny . . . he does seem to care for you.”
Drury Lane is missing a great talent, surely. She did not say that. Pippa did not need to hear it.
“I might as well marry Castleton,” Pippa said. “It will make Father happy. And I shall never have to see the inside of a season again. Think of all the visits to the dressmaker I can forgo.”
Penelope smiled at the jest, even as she wanted to open her mouth and scream at the unfairness of it all. Pippa did not deserve a loveless marriage any more than the other Marbury girls did. Any more than Penelope did.