Clark and Miss Partridge moved the trunk to the designated bedchamber, and Alma and Viola followed, dropping to the floor to change Amelie for the ball.
Something speared Penny’s chest. Again, that feeling that she didn’t belong—in her own home, with her best friend, or with her soon-to-be stepdaughter. I’m trying, Lord. But her rib cage grew tight again. She turned on her heel.
The hall wasn’t empty. Emmett, resplendent in his evening finery, leaned against the windows overlooking the ballroom. “Penny?”
She couldn’t be alone with him. If she was, she might betray her feelings and ruin everything. Her head shook, shifting the rubies at her throat.
Emmett held out a hand. “Please. It’s important.”
This moment would be all they had, so with a puff of breath she hadn’t known she held, she gave in and joined him at the window.
“I meant what I said.” His eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “You look beautiful. But you have always looked beautiful to me, from the moment I saw you.”
“Don’t say that.” It made everything so much harder.
“You must hear this before you allow the betrothal to be announced. I love you, Penny.”
Her knees wobbled. “You can’t.”
“I don’t know how you feel, but you don’t love Lionel. Any more than he loves you. In fact, I am certain he loves Alma. I had a frank talk with him last night after our return to the hotel, and he all but admitted it after I told him how I feel for you.”
Penny’s brain spun from so much news. “Then why—does Alma know?”
“Your mother kept you two so busy all day we’ve not had the opportunities to speak to either of you until this moment. She caught Lionel downstairs, but I managed to sneak away from her.”
“Is Lionel withdrawing from the agreement?”
Emmett shook his head. “His word is his bond and all that. He won’t dishonor you.”
It made sense now. They wanted her to do the breaking. Cowards. “So I should dishonor him? For Alma’s sake? Or for his brother?”
“Not for me.” His eyes grew sad. “I cannot marry you, Penny. Your parents wouldn’t approve, you’d be cut off from them, and I have nothing to offer you. I’m the fourth son. I work for my wage, and I cannot give you this.” He gestured at the ballroom.
“I do not want this.” She wanted love. Emmett’s. And her parents’, but it seemed all she’d have was her parents’ satisfaction that she’d married an earl.
“I will never be worthy of you, but I wanted you to know, eyes open, before Lionel proposes tonight.”
Oh. The proposal was to be a spectacle, then. “My groom is taking two million dollars to marry me. My eyes were open to that, even if I was too disheartened to figure out how the proposal was being accomplished. Or that you cared for me, something I both wished for and dreaded, because I love you, too. But now I know you do not love me enough to marry me.”
“You love me?” He smiled, took her hand, but then lowered his head. “I’m poorer than Lionel. Love isn’t enough sometimes.”
“You sound like my mother.” She looked down. “But unless Lionel breaks it off, I will marry him.”
“What about Alma’s heart? Lionel’s?”
“It’s my father’s heart that I’m thinking of right now.” Lord, help me. “Mother says any anxiety or exertion could cause him to lose consciousness or even die. If I defy Father, I could hurt him.”
Emmett’s free hand cupped her cheek. “I’m sorry. For your father’s health and that your mother uses such manipulative means to bend you to her will. This could have been prevented, without danger to your father, if we’d had more time.”
Her chest felt torn open from the inside. “But we don’t, and if Father fell or—something—because of me, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Your compassion is but one of the things I love about you, Penny.” His gaze raked her features, as if to memorize them.
It required all her strength to smile at him. “We should go down now. Guests will be arriving.”
His hand lowered.
When she turned, her gaze passed the window and caught on two people below, looking up at her. From the horrified looks on their faces, they’d seen Emmett touch her face.
Her parents.
After Penny dashed away without another word, Emmett made his miserable way downstairs, where the foyer crowded with guests. He greeted a few, but the effort of keeping a brave face was unbearable. Maybe he should leave the ball. Claim a headache and return to the Bellevue. Or leave Philadelphia altogether. He could drop by the Metropolitan Museum in New York and sail home in the next few days.
He’d have to run upstairs and explain to Viola he wouldn’t be crossing back to England with her. Before he could get far, Alma emerged from the library, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
He hadn’t seen her leave Viola’s room. “You found Lionel?”
“Mrs. Beale turned away for a moment and I stole him.” Her voice was flat. “I told him how I feel, but he won’t back out of things with Penny because he signed the contract. Unless Penny can convince her parents—”
Emmett’s head shook. “Her mother’s convinced her of grave consequences, should that happen.”
“So we are stuck.” She lifted her chin, patted his arm, and moved toward her mother, who watched with red-tinged eyes. So Mrs. Shore knew, too.
Emmett hurried to the library, where Lionel stared into the fire. Emmett touched his shoulder.
“What a sorry business.” Lionel tried to smile. “If I’d met Alma first … she’s an heiress, too. All this could have been avoided.”
Emmett’s fingers fisted. “Is Hawton Park all you care about? Four people are brokenhearted tonight.”
“Gentlemen?” Mr. Beale poked into the room, his hand extended. “I’d like to start the ball. What say you, eh?”
“Of course.” But Lionel didn’t look any happier about it than Emmett.
Emmett couldn’t leave now without causing a scene. Already, the eyes of dozens of guests fixed on them as they entered the ballroom. Emmett clenched his jaw and joined Alma and her mother, lurking beside a potted palm.
Lionel offered Penny his arm. Mr. Beale tapped a silver spoon against an empty crystal goblet, creating a melodic clink that drew the attention of everyone in the ballroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending tonight, some of you from great distances.” He chuckled, eyeing Lionel. “I should like to begin the dancing, but first, an announcement. Or rather, a very special question.”
The proposal.
Lionel’s fingers fidgeted, ready to withdraw the Hawton emerald from his pocket, no doubt.
Emmett prayed. Alma’s breath hitched as if she fought against sobs. Mrs. Beale grinned, triumphant beside her husband.
But Mr. Beale’s gaze was on his daughter. Penny nodded, communicating her compliance.
Mr. Beale nodded back.
Emmett could say something. Speak now or forever hold his peace. He took a step forward.
Mr. Beale held out his hand, reaching out to Penny, but his palm faced Emmett as if staying him. It was enough to make Emmett pause.
“I would like to ask my daughter to share the first dance with me.” Mr. Beale smiled. “If she will have me.”
Chapter 7
Penny gripped Father’s hand as he led her to the center of the floor. “We shouldn’t do this, Father.”
“Can’t I enjoy one song with my beautiful daughter? If I am to dance the first dance with your mother, everyone will forgive the breach in etiquette.”
“You’re not supposed to dance at all.”
“She told you? Pity.” He bowed as was customary as the first strains of the waltz began.
Penny hastened to curtsy. “Sit down before you exert yourself.”
“I shall, after you tell me what is going on tonight.”
“I thought Lionel would be proposing.” Penny placed her hand on Father’s shoulder and
they began to move to the music.
“Your mother planned it as a surprise.”
“It slipped out. Regardless, the contract is signed.”
“But you’ve yet to accept him.” Father smiled. “One, two, three, oh I’m hopeless.”
“Father, please stop the dance. Pass me to Lionel and sit down before you collapse.”
“I shan’t have the opportunity to speak to you in private again, and even now, every eye watches us until I invite the guests to join us on the floor. So speak. You fancy Emmett?”
If he was angry, he hid it, although his face was purpling. Maybe from concentration on his steps—Father was not the best dancer.
“If I tell you, you’ll sit down?”
“Yes.”
She puffed out a breath. “Lionel and Alma are in love, and Emmett and I love each other, but we are all too honorable or poor or obedient or stubborn to do a thing about it. And I’m determined Viola will not grow up with naught but paid servants to love her.”
She shouldn’t have said it. The look of pain in Father’s eyes was something she’d never forget, not if she lived to be a hundred. She deserved to rot in one of the moldering towers in Hawton Park for wounding Father’s feelings—
And no. His heart. Father’s knees gave way and he slipped toward the ground.
Emmett dashed forward, catching Mr. Beale’s neck and shoulders before his head could smack the hard floor.
“Father!” Penny gripped Mr. Beale’s hand.
Mr. Beale’s cheeks were cool, but a pulse beat at his neck—a good sign. Loosening the elder man’s tie, Emmett looked up. “Is a physician present?”
A gentleman pushed through the gathered crowd. “I am.”
Emmett sat back, ready to assist but allowing the doctor space to work. Within moments, Mr. Beale’s eyelids fluttered. “Penny?”
“I’m here.” She kissed Mr. Beale’s hand. “Don’t worry. Everything will be the way it’s supposed to be.”
Mr. Beale started to speak, but Mrs. Beale’s sobs drowned out the words. The next twenty minutes passed in a flurry of activity: Mr. Beale was carried to his bedchamber and the guests were sent home, except for Lionel and Emmett, who gathered with Penny and her mother in the parlor to await the doctor’s news.
Penny stood by the hearth, staring into the flames. Without caring what her mother thought, Emmett rushed to her side. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Of course it is. I told him the truth, and he fell.”
He squeezed her elbow, just beneath the lacy pouf of her sleeve. “You are not to blame. I pushed things too far. That wasn’t love, what I did to you, telling you I loved you and offering nothing but guilt.”
Her hand covered his. “You offered me knowledge to make an informed choice. I thought I chose well, but I still managed to ruin it all.”
“Mr. Retford.” Mrs. Beale’s sharp retort made Penny jump. “You forget yourself.”
His hand fell away.
“Pardon me.” Alma’s soft voice carried through the room. Viola clung to her hand, and Mrs. Shore lurked behind. “Mother and I do not wish to intrude, but Viola was watching the ballroom from the window in the hall above. She requires reassurance.”
Lionel stepped forward. “Poor duck. Everything’s fine.”
Viola didn’t look convinced. Emmett knelt and chucked Viola’s chin. “It was frightening, I’m sure, poppet. But Mr. Beale woke up.”
“It’s true.” Penny stroked Viola’s curls then looked up at Alma. “How kind you were to check on her.”
Farrow paused at the threshold. “Madam, Mr. Beale asks for you.”
“At last.” Mrs. Beale rose from her seat on the settee, glaring at Emmett as she passed out the door.
“Back to Miss Partridge you go.” Lionel thumped Viola’s head in an awkward pat.
“I’d like to stay here.” Viola’s eyes were wide.
“Why don’t you, then?” Penny shot Lionel a beseeching look.
Alma nodded. “I can fetch Amelie and some coloring pages.”
Lionel smiled. “Your consideration is touching, Miss Shore.”
Miss Shore indeed, as if everyone in the room but Viola didn’t know how he felt about Alma.
When Alma returned, she and her mother bid them all good night. If her farewell to Lionel was too long or quiet, no one objected.
Emmett reached for Penny’s hand, but she pulled away. “I’m going to check on Father.”
“It is not your fault,” he whispered so Viola wouldn’t overhear.
Penny shook her head as if she didn’t believe him.
Viola squatted on the floor before the coffee table and opened her box of pastels. To think, Emmett had prayed to repair his family. Instead, he’d caused further harm—and not just between him and Lionel, but to the Beale family, as well.
Emmett settled into a chair to pray. For Mr. Beale. For forgiveness for pushing too hard.
When he looked up again, Viola had created a stack of colored pages. He sat beside her and examined the top sheet. “A pretty meadow.”
“It’s the green at Hawton Park, of course.”
“Ah, yes.” There was the house in the distance. Emmett lifted the next sheet. It looked like a family scene. A rather curious one, at that.
At movement from the door, Emmett looked up. Clark held a salver. “Urgent telegram for you, Mr. Retford.”
Emmett stood and thanked Clark. He opened it, read the contents twice, and slipped the telegram into his breast pocket.
“Good news?” Lionel peered at him.
“Indeed.” When Viola yawned, he chuckled. “It’s bedtime, I believe. Would you like your father to take you up?”
“No.” But she yawned again.
Lionel lifted Viola into his arms—something Emmett hadn’t seen happen in ages. “Come on, darling.”
“Wait.” Emmett scooped up Viola’s picture. “May I borrow this, sweetheart?”
“What for?”
“I’d like to show it to Mr. Beale, if I may.”
“So he will feel better?”
“That is my hope, yes.” So they all would feel better.
She nodded against her father’s chest.
Emmett bid his niece good night and mounted the stairs. Penny paced the hall before a shut door. Before he could reach her, Mrs. Beale slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar. When she saw him, her lips pursed.
“Madam?” He bowed. “How fares Mr. Beale?”
“Alive,” she snipped.
“And well.” Mr. Beale’s exasperated tone carried through the doorway. “Come in, Retford.”
Mrs. Beale gaped. “I do not think—”
“Send him in, Marjorie.”
Penny lifted her hand, as if to touch him, but didn’t. “Emmett?”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “I must speak to him, man to man. I’ll do my utmost not to upset him, though.”
Emmett squared his shoulders. It wasn’t every day one had the chance to speak now or forever hold his peace.
Chapter 8
This is your doing.” Mother pointed to the shut door, her nostrils flaring. “Sneaking off with Emmett—”
“We didn’t sneak.” Penny slumped into the Chippendale chair outside her parents’ room that no one ever sat in. “We were saying goodbye.”
“—And letting your father dance, after I’d warned you. You hurt your father and ruined Lionel’s surprise proposal. Oh yes, he was going to propose! Nothing went right tonight.”
At least they’d be certain to make the society pages tomorrow. Penny sighed. “I’m marrying Lionel, Mother. Isn’t that enough?”
“It’s not for me.” Emmett had opened the door and paused in the threshold, staring at Penny. It had taken courage for him to face her father.
Mother pretended he wasn’t there. “Come, Penny. Let’s see your father.”
Penny didn’t want to leave Emmett this way, but to her surprise, he nodded that she should. And then he follow
ed her into the room.
“You aren’t welcome here.” Mother glared at Emmett.
“Hush, Marjorie.” Father shifted against the headboard of his bed. Praise God, his coloring had returned. “I’ve something to say to our daughter.”
She rushed toward him. “Don’t exert yourself, Father. And I’ve something to say to you. I’m so sorry for saying what I did. And letting you dance.”
“I knew well what I was doing, dancing. Someone had to put a stop to the nonsense.”
Penny and her mother gasped together. “Father?”
Father took Penny’s hand. “I’m the one who seeks forgiveness. I thought you’d want Hawton. A title goes a long way in this world, you know.”
“I know.” She smiled. “But so does love.”
He kissed her fingers. “It does indeed. So I’m freeing you from any obligation you may feel to marry Lionel. I’ll give him something for his trouble, but it won’t be a dowry. Now do me a favor and go speak to that fellow there while I convince your mother.”
Emmett stood at the door wearing a hopeful grin for her.
“Him?” Mother said it like Emmett was a pirate. “Unchaperoned?”
“It’s the hallway, Marjorie.” Father shooed Penny and Emmett out.
“What is this?” Penny turned on Emmett once they stood in the hallway. It was empty, although her parents’ loudly whispered argument couldn’t quite be ignored.
He led her back to the Chippendale chair. “I apologized to him for going about everything the wrong way. I should have spoken to him from the start, but I thought you’d be better off without me. Marrying Lionel is better for you, after all.”
“You are as bad as he is, if you think I need not be consulted in the matter.”
“I should have consulted Viola, too.” He held out the paper.
Penny studied the drawing. A dark-haired man and woman stood off to the side. A smaller figure, dressed in yellow, stood in the foreground, flanked by a mustachioed gent and a lady, with whom she held hands. The lady was yellow haired, donned in blue, and held a baby—no, the body was too adult-like. It was a doll.
The American Heiress Brides Collection Page 20
