‘Penelope?’ Heath whispered, his voice full of worry as he watched her reaction.
She smiled reassuringly at him. Her feelings for Broadhurst were strong indeed, but her feelings for Heath were stronger. There was no question. ‘Of course. Wherever you go, I go.’
Stepping closer, he hesitated for a moment. His eyes searched hers, as if trying to fathom whether she spoke truth, before he lowered his head, locking his lips to hers. Penelope closed her eyes and let herself be devoured by Heath’s sweet kiss, revelling in the smell and taste of him. He tasted a little like fire, she mused, if fire had a taste.
‘I love you, Penelope,’ he whispered hotly against her lips, ‘and I cannot wait to make you my wife.’
‘I feel the same,’ she replied, feeling his warmth wrap around her like gentle wings.
Smiling, he stepped back and glanced around the room, his fingers knotted with hers. ‘So, this is where you hide yourself?’
‘I wouldn’t call it hiding, but yes, this is where I escape to paint.’
‘What type of birds are those?’ he asked, gesturing to a half-finished painting that sat atop a shelf.
‘Hummingbirds,’ she told him. ‘They mean timelessness.’
He nodded thoughtfully, staring at the painting. ‘Have you done no portraits at all? Of people, I mean, not of birds.’
Penelope smiled hesitantly before going to her trunk and retrieving a folder. Opening it, she showed him the sketches and drawings she’d done of him since that first day.
‘Is this how you see me?’ he asked quietly.
She glanced at the portraits, although she knew them well enough. His face, the strong contours of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes, and the curve of his smile, all captured on paper. ‘Yes.’
He seemed to be considering the pictures, and Penelope wished she could read his mind. Was he pleased with them? Was he displeased? Whatever he felt, he was keeping it close to his heart. She wished she’d spent more time over the years on portraits, rather than landscapes. Maybe then the sketches of him would be better.
What she didn’t show him was the other folder, the one that held her drawings of the rider sat astride his large, powerful horse, gazing down the hill towards her. The ones of him half-concealed by the forest’s shadows as he gazed up at her in the attic.
Thinking about him, she shivered.
‘Are you cold?’ Heath observed.
‘A little.’
‘It must get very cold up here.’
‘The window lets in quite a bit of light,’ she said, ‘and we get a strong afternoon sun.’
Heath wandered over to the window and looked down at the small graveyard below before he gazed out towards the forest. In his hands he still held the folder, but he didn’t look at the pictures again.
Joining him, Penelope gazed out the window, something she hadn’t done since spying the stranger on the edge of the forest. But with Heath she felt braver, as if, with him by her side, she could face whatever lurked there.
‘I never noticed the cemetery before,’ he commented.
‘It’s hidden behind the church,’ she explained. ‘My mother is there.’
‘Really? Is her grave that big one there, with the angel?’ He gestured to the seraph.
‘No, over there with the flowers.’ She pointed in the opposite direction. She always made sure her mother had fresh flowers.
A movement at the edge of the forest caught Penelope’s eye, and her gaze anxiously flicked to it. There, half-hidden behind a thick tree trunk, was the stranger. Her breath caught in her throat.
She’d expected to see him, his presence overdue.
He was only slightly visible, difficult to see in the distance, but Penelope felt as if he might as well be standing in front of her; the sensations were the same. Her skin prickled and a strange coldness crept into her bones, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
She opened her mouth to say something to Heath, to point the man out, wanting confirmation that he was real and not some dark figment of her imagination. But when she tugged on him, Heath misunderstood her motives and pulled her sharply into his arms, knocking the air from her lungs before covering her mouth with his.
Stunned, Penelope looked out the window, beyond Heath and his warm, tender kiss, towards the stranger, who had stepped out from the cover of the trees and was glaring up at them.
Then she closed her eyes and lost herself in the kiss.
Georgina decided to turn the prearranged picnic into an engagement party for Heath and Penelope.
The food was laid out on trestle tables under the weeping willows at the bottom of the garden, near the bordering forest. Blankets and small chairs were spread on the lawn. The sun shone brightly in the sky, not a cloud in sight.
Mrs Priscopp arrived, her Anne strolling behind as they joined the party.
‘She does not look pleased,’ Ellen murmured in Penelope’s ear. ‘You know she invited her horrible niece for the sole purpose of ingratiating her to Heath,’ she peered askance at Penelope, ‘but of course, she’s too late now.’
‘I’m sure that isn’t the only reason Anne’s visiting,’ Penelope replied, although she wasn’t sure of anything. Anne was a pushy girl, one Penelope found arrogant and flirtatious. Her confidence and sultriness with men suggested that Anne wasn’t as innocent as a well-brought-up young lady should be.
But Penelope wasn’t worried on that regard. She knew Heath to be utterly and totally in love with her. Both Anne and Mrs Priscopp were going to be bitterly disappointed when their pursuits brought them nothing.
She glanced over at Heath, who was deep in conversation with Harry, who in turn looked utterly bored. Poor Harry. He would much prefer to be in London or back at Cambridge, but their engagement had extended his visit. Penelope smiled. A picnic on the lawn was probably not how Harry wanted to spend his time.
‘Well!’ declared Mrs Priscopp, pouncing on Penelope. ‘I believe congratulations are in order, Miss Penelope.’
Penelope smiled demurely at the elder woman, and her gaze swept past to acknowledge Anne. Anne was very beautiful, with thick, golden curls framing a pretty, heart-shaped face. Deep-set hazel eyes, etched with pale shadows, peered out from beneath dark lashes and finely arched brows. Her lips were thin and small, the Cupid’s bow peculiarly pronounced, but she rarely smiled; it was almost as if the effort pained her.
‘Congratulations, Penelope,’ Anne said, her voice flat and emotionless.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, smiling warmly at Anne, who blinked back benignly, ‘and how nice to see you again, Anne. Will you be visiting Broadhurst long?’
‘I believe so. My parents have gone abroad and Aunt Mary is to chaperone me in their absence,’ she explained. ‘And I’ve grown bored of London. I’m looking forward to renewing my friendships here at Broadhurst, and making new ones as well.’ Her gaze wandered to where Heath still conversed with Harry. Penelope bristled. Surely Anne wouldn’t think of prostrating herself before Heath, knowing he was betrothed? She had never considered the girl to be that bold.
‘You certainly have amazed us all, my dear Penelope,’ Mrs Priscopp began. ‘I thought it was Miss Georgina that had secured Mr Lockwood’s affections! Never in a million years would I dream it was you! How sly you are, stealing him away before I had a chance to introduce him to our Anne.’
Penelope smiled tightly. ‘Sometimes these things can’t be predicted, Mrs Priscopp, nor anticipated.’
‘Well, you must have acted exceedingly fast, my dear. But I suppose I understand your actions, although I’m sure your dear mother would never have approved of such behaviour. However, one must do what one must when they have the beautiful Miss Georgina, and of course, my Anne, to compete with for any gentleman’s affections. There are many ways to secure a husband.’
Penelope blinked at Mrs Priscopp’s thinly veiled slur. To suggest she’d done something improper, and for the simple purpose of gaining a husband! To insult her by impl
ying she wasn’t attractive enough to secure the attention of someone like Heath Lockwood without resorting to…
Fisting her hands, Penelope struggled with the urge to issue a sharp retort to the sour, old woman. A hundred sharp, cutting rejoinders flooded her mind, and she had to bite her tongue to stop them from issuing forth.
She bit so hard that the sweet, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Heath, appearing miraculously by her side. ‘Good day, Mrs Priscopp.’ He nodded politely at her and Anne before turning his dark, glowing eyes on Penelope, who trembled with fury.
Penelope marvelled at the way he had managed to appear right when she needed him.
‘Mrs Priscopp was suggesting I had behaved in an improper fashion in order to gain your affection,’ Penelope ground out. ‘She thought perhaps that might have been how I secured our betrothal, being not half as beautiful as Georgina or her Anne.’
Penelope surprised even herself by the vicious, potent statement and noted the stunned expressions on the faces of those who had overheard. It was as if, for a brief moment, she’d forgotten her manners.
She saw Jane Smith by the one of the tables. Holding a dish in her hand, Jane had paused to watch the exchange, and smiled, nodding approvingly at Penelope. Penelope looked away, remembering Jane’s and Eliza’s words, and stepped closer to Heath.
Heath, however, had taken offence at Mrs Priscopp’s insinuation and replied heatedly, ‘Indeed? Well, Mrs Priscopp, I can assure you that it is Penelope’s modest and respectable behaviour that has endeared her to me. And as for being beautiful,’ he lowered his gaze to Penelope’s, ‘I have never come across anyone more beautiful than her.’
‘My dear Mr Lockwood,’ began Mrs Priscopp, ‘I’m afraid Penelope misunderstood me entirely. I merely suggested that the swiftness of your relationship, and the fact that you already reside with Miss Georgina, who is a renowned beauty—as is my Anne—only made your attachment all the more baffling. For those who would gossip, of course.’
Penelope glared at the woman. Her nails cut into the palms of her fisted hands. As if sensing her distress, Heath slipped his hand into hers, unknotting her fingers and threading them between his. Ever so slightly, he squeezed them reassuringly, drawing her close against his side.
Penelope could feel Jane Smith still watching them, but she didn’t dare look in Jane’s direction, sensing the girl had something to say. And not entirely sure she wanted to hear it.
‘Penelope?’ Georgina approached, her eyes flicking between the members of the small party. ‘Mrs Priscopp, Anne. How nice to see you both. Is everything all right?’
Penelope nodded stiffly but didn’t trust herself to speak. What was wrong with her? She rarely felt angry, and was never annoyed or bad-tempered; it simply wasn’t in her nature. Glancing at Heath, she hoped and prayed that he wasn’t disappointed in her, that he hadn’t glimpsed her bizarre and unusual rage that broiled beneath the surface.
As Georgina chatted cordially with the two women, playing the perfect hostess, Penelope stared into the distance.
Jane approached, carrying a few dishes in her arms. As she brushed past Penelope, she leaned in close and whispered quickly, ‘Come see me later.’
Penelope blinked after her, watching as she moved away to set out food and clear dishes. Glancing at Heath, she smiled, struggling desperately to suppress the sense of foreboding swelling inside her.
Penelope sat propped against Heath as they listened to Harry entertain them with amusing stories from university. Harry never let the truth get in the way of a good tale. Exaggeration was expected and encouraged—the fish were always bigger, the hunt longer, the party louder and more raucous.
Penelope giggled and beside her Heath laughed too. Her previous cross mood had vanished and she felt like herself once more, although she had carefully avoided any further encounters with Mrs Priscopp and Anne.
They however, hadn’t taken any notice of Penelope’s heated outburst, nor had they seemed to heed the engagement between Penelope and Heath, Anne posturing before him at every turn. Penelope managed to keep her anger in check by the simple fact that Heath paid Anne no attention at all, his eyes entirely for herself. Eyes that she felt she could stare into for a hundred years or more, drowning in their chocolaty warmth.
Suddenly, a chill rustled the hairs on her arms and she turned, her eyes immediately falling on the stranger.
He was striding towards them with a sense of purpose, dressed in tight fawn-coloured breeches and a crisp white shirt. In his hand he carried a riding whip, which he whisked through the air.
Penelope was so stunned to see him that for a moment all she could do was stare wildly at him.
Georgina, noticing Penelope’s change in demeanour, turned in the direction of Penelope’s gaze. Heath did likewise, and he immediately sprang to his feet.
‘Sebastian!’
To Penelope’s surprise, Heath raced across the lawn to greet the stranger. The rider on the hill. The man at the edge of the forest. The man who had been watching her for weeks.
The two men shook hands and hugged, grinning delightedly at one another.
‘He must be Heath’s brother,’ Georgina whispered in Penelope’s ear. ‘We weren’t expecting him for another few days.’
Penelope opened her mouth to reply, to say something, but all she managed was a staggered exhalation of breath. Her eyes were dry, and she blinked, dragging her gaze away from the man who was now walking towards her, Heath by his side.
Climbing to her feet, she smoothed down her dress, ignoring the way her hands trembled as her eyes met his brilliant silver grey ones. She gasped. His eyes were so unnatural, so luminescent, that she was momentarily caught off guard. They were like shards of ice embedded in a perfectly handsome face, the tear-shaped pupils just as she remembered.
‘Penelope, allow me to introduce my brother, Sebastian Lockwood,’ Heath said, grinning happily. ‘Sebastian, this is Penelope Broadhurst. My betrothed.’
‘So this is the beautiful young woman who has trapped my little brother into matrimony?’ said Sebastian, his voice light like a gentle caress.
‘That is exactly what I keep saying,’ muttered Harry. ‘It is a dreadful state of affairs that he should marry.’
‘Harry!’ warned Georgina.
‘Oh, excuse me,’ Heath said. ‘Sebastian, please meet Georgina and Harry Broadhurst.’
Sebastian pulled his gaze from Penelope—who immediately relaxed like she’d been released from a powerful hold—to greet Georgina and Harry.
Penelope’s mind was in a whirl. Heath’s brother was the stranger? He was the man she’d seen on the horse, observed lurking outside her attic window? It didn’t make sense. That was weeks ago, and he’d only just arrived.
‘And this is Mrs Priscopp and her niece, Anne,’ Georgina was saying now, sounding a million miles away.
‘Sebastian and I are old friends, aren’t we?’ Anne said slyly.
‘It is very nice to see you again, Miss Priscopp,’ said Sebastian formally.
‘Oh, come now, we know each other better than that,’ Anne said. ‘You must call me Anne.’
‘Very well, Anne,’ Sebastian replied before glancing at Penelope, who quickly looked away.
‘Their family has certainly been blessed with very fine looks.’ It was Ellen who spoke now, watching both Sebastian and Heath.
‘Yes,’ Penelope murmured, her cheeks flaming.
‘I’m not sure who is more handsome. Whom do you think, Penelope? Of course, you must say Heath, but I believe Sebastian has the most amazing eyes,’ Ellen continued, ‘Have you ever seen eyes that colour before? And with a pupil shaped like that?’
‘Yes.’ Of course she had, just a few weeks ago atop a massive horse, then outside her attic window, then only a few days ago…
‘Really? Where?’
Penelope came to and realised she’d spoken without thinking. ‘Oh, sorry. I wasn’t listening
properly, Ellen. Forgive me.’
‘Too caught up with thoughts of Heath,’ she said, amused, and not the slightest bit offended. ‘I think I shall go and introduce myself to his brother. Maybe we can be sisters.’
Penelope watched as Ellen walked over to where a small group had gathered around Heath and Sebastian. As she did, her attention was caught by Jane Smith, who stared pointedly at her. Jane nodded, her eyes serious, and Penelope remembered her earlier request to talk.
But she would not be speaking to Jane Smith or her mother. No matter what they had to tell her. She didn’t want to hear it. Still, Penelope couldn’t help remembering Eliza Smith’s words: Is he the one you dream of?
It was later in the day, when the excitement of Sebastian’s arrival had worn off, that Penelope remembered. ‘Oh,’ she cried to Heath, jumping to her feet. ‘I have a gift for you.’
Quickly, she hurried to where she’d hidden her wrapped gift. Earlier in the week Georgina had confided that Heath had sent away for a gift for her, and not wanting to be unprepared, Penelope had quickly organised her own.
Returning moments later, she sank onto the blanket beside him, grateful for Harry’s stories and Sebastian, which kept the party otherwise entertained. She and Heath could exchange gifts in some privacy, without the prying eyes of Mrs Priscopp and her niece. The latter was now too busy trying to catch the eye of Sebastian to even notice them.
‘Thank you, my love,’ Heath said warmly as his fingers deftly removed the wrapping. A pair of cufflinks fell into the palm of his hand.
‘I hope you like them,’ Penelope said shyly. ‘They’re hummingbirds.’ She hoped he remembered them from the painting he’d admired.
Heath gazed at her, his heated eyes filled with something akin to sadness for a moment.
‘You don’t like them?’ she whispered, her heart twisting.
He shook his head. ‘No. I mean, yes. I like them very much. They’re perfect. What was it they represent? Timelessness.’
Penelope smiled, feeling pleased. He remembered. He turned the birds over and over in his fingers, like he was savouring the feel of them, staring at them with an odd faraway look, as though he remembered something.
Time After Time Page 13