Penelope’s chin wobbled, and her bottom lip trembled. The rigid spine that had kept her upright and proud and far too stubborn suddenly sagged. “Montague has my heart, Hugo. He stole it forty-one years ago and has kept it with him ever since.” She placed her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry I couldn’t love your father.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t love him, either.” His father’s indifference no longer hurt. He glanced at the elegant gentleman on the sofa who gazed upon his granddaughter with deep affection. Knots formed in Hugo’s stomach. He would make it right with Miss Bennett as soon as the coroner took his leave. “Fate has sought to give you a second chance, Mother. Waste not a single minute.”
Penelope patted his chest. “I’m not sure fate played a part. Montague orchestrated the whole carriage-stuck-in-the-snow scenario just so we might meet again. Fear would have prevented me from seeing him should he have written and asked.”
Hugo coughed to clear his throat. Guilt rose like bile for the cruel way he’d reacted to news of Miss Bennett’s lie. “Any fool can see he cares for you deeply.”
“Unlike most men, Montague finds it easy to show love.”
“And has he forgiven you for marrying my father?”
“Forgiven me for being weak, for not having the strength to flee? Yes. Good men look beyond their pain and try to understand another’s motives.”
Hugo stared into Penelope’s bright eyes. The change in her was remarkable. The message, abundantly clear. Yet he struggled to understand why a woman who’d suffered as she had would insist her son marry purely out of duty.
“And should I forgive you for being weak, Mother?”
She cast him a quizzical look.
“Should I forgive you for parading me in front of the marriage mart when love played no part in your determination to see me wed? When you yourself told me marriage was a business? Why would you torment your son as your father tormented you?”
A tense silence ensued.
Hurt swam in her eyes.
“Well?” he pressed, for he would hear the truth. “Is there not an element of hypocrisy here?”
“Hugo, love is rarely found in society marriages, but you have a duty to wed. None of the ladies here are right for you, but I hoped it might prompt you to look for someone suitable. And I’ve worn my matron’s mask for so long I often confuse what is real.”
“I prefer you without your haughty costume.”
A weak smile touched her lips. “So do I. The stories we tell ourselves in our heads can be damning. Bitterness thrives. Guilt festers. We should all learn to speak from the heart even when we fear the answer.”
Hugo inclined his head in acknowledgement, and his thoughts turned to Miss Bennett. He stole a glimpse when she laughed at something Montague said. Love shone in her expressive brown eyes. He’d seen pain and hurt there, too. His doing. Other than concealing that one lie, she wore the truth of her feelings, plain for all to see.
“Might I ask when you knew you loved Montague Forsyth?”
After a few seconds spent in silent contemplation, Penelope said, “It was at a ball.” Her eyes brightened as if she stood beneath the light of a hundred candles. “When he entered the room, the atmosphere thrummed with excitement. He stood on the steps leading down to the dance floor, adjusting his cuffs while scanning the crowd. And then those dark eyes found me.” She inhaled deeply. “My heart raced so quickly I could barely catch my breath. He cut through the throng with purposeful strides and asked me to dance. If I close my eyes, I can remember everything.”
“Had you known him long?”
“It was only the second time we’d met. Love is strange like that. Sometimes it takes years of nurturing to grow. Sometimes you know the moment your eyes lock.” She patted his arm affectionately. “If love touches your heart, grasp it with both hands.”
“Even if my affection is for Miss Venables?” he teased.
“You cannot marry Miss Venables. The woman has spent more time in the viscount’s bedchamber than her own. If Miss Harper’s mother were alive, I’d advise her to boot the paid companion out on her ear. You’d think they’d be more discreet.”
“Perhaps they’re in love.”
Penelope glanced over her shoulder at the red-haired woman standing alone near the far window. She stared out across the snow-covered landscape, her expression solemn. “He doesn’t give a hoot for her. Lust is his only motivation. The girl is so desperate to please him, Gabrielle saw her sneaking out to wait for him at the gate.”
It took a moment for his mother’s words to penetrate. The viscount arrived shortly before they found Bertie murdered. Miss Venables insisted she was
with Miss Harper, who had sworn they were together. Both were each other’s alibis. Both had lied. Did Miss Harper know her companion colluded with the viscount?
“And you did not think it an important piece of information in the murder of Bertram Bellham?” he whispered through gritted teeth.
Penelope snorted. “Miss Venables is a slip of a girl. Hardly the sort capable of bringing down a cad like Mr Bellham.”