“Penelope, I’m very glad you agreed to meet me for tea,” Flora said, taking her seat at the table.
The Stoneward was brimming with people, but Penelope had never felt so alone. “Of course. I needed to escape. I’m very sorry for running out on you yesterday, it was very rude.”
“Don’t think of it. But are you all right?” Flora’s voice was low and her fair brows were knitted with worry.
“Might I speak candidly?” she asked delicately, her eyes scanning the room for anyone who might try to listen.
“Please.”
“I’m not,” she said simply, spinning her engagement ring around her finger. It fit well enough, but not as well as Drummond’s had.
“I could tell. You’re pale and your eyes make it look as if you didn’t sleep.”
“Because I didn’t.”
Flora frowned. “You need to take care of yourself.”
“I know. I just…I’m having trouble finding a way to be all right with this. With all of this. I need to move on with my life and keep to my commitments.”
“You wouldn’t need to put this behind you,” Flora told her, taking her hand and covering up her engagement ring with the pad of her thumb. “If you just wrote to Drummond, he’d come in a heartbeat to get you.”
“I can’t.” It pained her to say, but she knew their parting was for the best, no matter the agony it caused her.
“You could come with us to Scotland and live in the castle. Charlotte would love having you, as would I. And you and Drum can have a grand wedding on the hills like Charlotte and Conner had with their hand fasting.”
Penelope swallowed her tears. “That would be beautiful.”
“Then, come. We’ll go to your house and write to him straightaway,” Flora said eagerly.
“No. As much as I want to, I can’t just run off to Scotland.”
“But why?”
“We’re from two different worlds. So, please, after this meeting I need to never speak of him again. Promise me you’ll hold to that?”
Flora grimaced. “I promise. Would you speak of him now, then?”
Penelope bit her lip and kept her mouth closed until the butler who served their tea and cakes left again. “I shouldn’t, but if I don’t, I fear the thoughts will eat me alive.”
Flora pulled her hand away and wrapped it around her teacup. “I’ll answer any questions you have.”
She tried to sort through her feelings and push back the bitter musings of abandonment, hoping to bring more pleasant topics to mind. She couldn’t risk sobbing over her teacake. Blasted Greta Hallstone would never let her forget it. “The book, it’s been properly published and distributed?”
Flora nodded and poured cream into her tea before replying. “Yes. It was printed as soon as we arrived back in Scotland and is now being distributed in the main ports. Last I heard, it was doing well at home and there was talk of wider circulation.”
“He must be very proud,” she said quietly, her heart swelling with secondhand pride. “Will he write more? Work on more music?”
“He hasn’t sung since we left London.”
Penelope felt a lump in her throat. “That’s terrible.”
“It’s not your fault. I know you asked him to stay. He told me so on the train back home.” Flora reached over to a plate of cookies. “He couldn’t. I think both of you are just scared.”
She ignored Flora’s last statement. “You two talked about me?”
“Not a lot.” She averted her eyes. “Once we left the train, he asked to not have to speak about you again.”
“What did you say? What did he say?”
“A wee bit and then some. He loved you, Penelope, even if he didn’t tell you so. I know it hurts you to hear, but you wanted honesty.”
“I know. What else?” Penelope was eager for information and welcomed each stinging revelation Flora brought her.
“This book won’t be his last. The next, already ordered by the publishing house, is a book of sonnets—love songs. He has no one to write the music, though. None of us are practiced enough to create something new like you had. Besides, he’s taking his time of it, now.”
“Is he…is he all right?”
Flora shrugged, sipping at her tea. “As well as he can be, I suppose. He no longer spars with the men when he can help it. He spends a lot of time by the loch, alone, or riding in the hills. I think it helps to clear his mind.”
Penelope recalled some of his parting words to her. “I’ll hear your voice in the wind that beats the thistles on the hills and think o’ ye when I pass a cluster of bluebells by the loch.” She wondered if that’s why he chose to seclude himself so. “Do you think he’ll sing again?”
“I hope so. He has a lovely voice. It would be a shame to squander his gift.”
“He does,” she whispered. “I miss it so.”
They sat together in silence, each sipping at the tea. Penelope forgot to add cream and sugar, but drank it nonetheless, letting the scalding liquid burn her throat. She welcomed the sharp sting, a slight punishment for the pain she caused Drummond.
Flora put down her teacup and cleared her throat. “Is that it, then?”
“That’s it,” Penelope affirmed.
“Then tell me of your fiancé. I want to know all about Theodore Harrison.” She smiled warmly, steering the conversation back to a safe topic.
“Well, honestly, I don’t suppose I know him exceedingly well. But he’s generous and thoughtful, maybe to a fault.”
“Always a good thing when it comes from a husband to his wife.”
She nodded, digging deep, trying to focus on Theodore. “He’s also passionate and—”
“Ooh, passionate!” Flora giggled.
Penelope felt heat rise into her cheeks. “Goodness, no, not like that! I mean about the things he likes.”
“Like you?”
“No, I mean like…flowers.”
“Flowers,” she repeated, her face twisted into a look that was both humorous and slightly disgusted. “So, he’s passionate about plants and not his fiancé?”
Penelope bit her lip, feeling slighted, but still as if she should defend her intended. “He’s a gentleman.”
“I see.” Flora sipped her tea, her eyes averted.
“He cares for me.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve no doubt on the matter,” Flora said, but her voice didn’t mirror the words she spoke, something that embarrassed Penelope.
Was it possible to have a marriage without the ferocious passion she had felt with Drummond? Could she grow to have those same feelings with Theodore? Surely it was better to have a life built on proper understanding and shared standards. Surely Penelope would be happier in a lovely townhouse with a polite husband who respected societal rules. Surely their marriage would be stronger by taking the traditional route of courtship and getting to know each other during proper dates instead of midnight rendezvous.
Surely.…