Page 68 of All Duke and Bothered

“We know you and Preston are no longer living in the same house,” said Calliope. “But we don’t know why.”

Tears welled, burning Penelope’s eyes. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Why not?” asked Calliope.

“Because you would never see your brother in the same light again.”

Calliope chuckled. “I do not think that is possible. Preston can be a scoundrel if he’s hurt and may not see things clearly if those he loves are in danger. But he means well. He’s loyal, and he’d die for every one of us.” She paused, then added softly, “Especially for you.”

Especially for her… He may be willing to die for her, but his vengeance was even more important.

“You both must promise this will not leave these rooms. Because it doesn’t just concern my husband, it concerns my papa, too. And I care for both men dearly.”

Calliope and Emma exchanged puzzled glances, and Penelope began talking. She told them everything. What her papa had done. What Preston had found out. About the auction. About the horrible start of their marriage, and how Preston blamed her, her father, and himself for Spencer’s death. His revenge plan. Her giving Papa money. Her papa trying to get the evidence. The fire.

And then how Preston had bought out Papa’s debt and forced him onto the streets.

And how, when she’d told him to choose her or his revenge, he hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t said he chose her.

“Your father—” whispered Calliope. “He did that?”

Penelope nodded, her chest tight and painful. “I am ever so sorry, Calliope.”

“It’s not your fault.” Tears welled in Calliope’s eyes. “It was an accident. I don’t blame you. I blame your papa…a little. But not so much as to want to destroy him.”

It was an accident, but had she not been involved, had she not been so friendly with the deceased duke, Papa wouldn’t have sent the thugs after him. And he’d be alive.

“You know what I think?” said Emma, her intelligent steely-blue eyes narrowing on Penelope slightly. “I think you love your husband.”

Penelope swiped a tear that rolled down her cheek with the back of her hand and sniffed. “I do. Silly me. How could I have fallen for my father’s tormentor? For my father’s victim’s brother?”

“How could you have not?” asked Calliope, wiping her own damp cheek. “You two are perfect for each other. You’re meant to be.”

“No, we’re not,” said Penelope. “There’s no future for us, even if we’re married. We’ll forever live separately and be one of those couples where the wife prefers the country and the husband the city, and they never see each other. We all know them.”

Emma cocked her head. “Look, darling. I’ve gone through something similar. That is, I thought all was lost with Sebastian, but it wasn’t in the end. I wonder if it’s truly so for you. It seems Preston needs to let go of his desire for revenge. But it also seems to me you’re angry with him, as well. Could you ever see it in your heart to forgive him?”

“I don’t know. It is true. My father’s deed cannot be undone. Spencer cannot come back. What’s happening now with Preston is destruction. It’s poisonous. It’s hatred. If we are to have any future, my husband and my father must move past this. And so must I. I must also forgive my father for harming Spencer…for selling me…and for setting fire to our home.”

“And do you?” asked Calliope.

“I think so,” she said. “But I won’t forget, and I don’t excuse what Papa did. I know I can’t trust him, but I don’t want him to be put out on the streets, either. He’s my papa. But I won’t let him behave like that again. I must stand up for myself.”

The ladies talked a bit longer, making Penelope feel so much better. She missed Alex, her best friend, but now she knew she had two more great friends here in London. And they felt like family.

Later that night, when Papa returned to the hotel room for dinner, Penelope observed him with different eyes. He looked better, with the fresh clothes she’d ordered for him and a new powdered wig that looked as white as snow. He didn’t stoop anymore and didn’t smell, as she had hired a new valet who made sure he bathed regularly.

They sat down at the dinner table, just the two of them. A hotel footman served them the first course of soup.

After eating in silence for a few minutes, Penelope asked, “Where have you been, Papa?”

He lowered his spoon. “Huh? I was out. Why?”

“Because I’m afraid you’re going to go gambling again.”

He didn’t say anything, then looked at his plate.

“If it wasn’t for your gambling and your debts, none of this would have happened. Do you understand what a destructive habit it is? Not just for you. But for your family. For me.”