The Midnight Rake. Anabelle BryantЧитать онлайн книгу.
met Viscount Fenhurst below stairs.”
Aubry’s eyes flared as she accepted her tea. “Did you? Is he handsome? Charming? Is he a sharp dresser? Whenever Lady Fenhurst spoke of him during the carriage ride, he sounded more than wonderful. Is it all true?”
Aubry’s persistent questions dispersed Penelope’s thoughts of regret. She stirred her tea with vigor while considering how her sister tendentiously romanticized every situation. “You can get that twinkle out of your eye. And why, good heavens, would you wish to know if he is a sharp dresser?” Her words came out in a rush of sisterly protectiveness. “You are only seventeen years old. Let’s not forget the image of a comely gentleman led me to believe Simon would invest our entire savings, my dowry, and father’s accounts in a successful venture that turned out to be nothing more than a self-interested escapade to line his own pockets.” She sipped her tea as if to wash away the taste of bitter medicine. “How I ever agreed to marry such a blackguard without seeing his true character is an insult to my intelligence.”
Penelope’s voice softened throughout the flow of her discourse, and she lowered her eyes to the bottom of her teacup wishing she could read the few leaves settled there. If only she could turn back time and remedy her decisions.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself.” Aubry’s voice was all concerned whisper. “Neither one of us could have predicted Father would fall into sharp decline.” She paused for a long moment. “And truly it was wrong of Father to aspire to elevate his own status through our upward marriage. That alone explains his forthright enthusiasm in accepting Simon’s offer for your hand.”
Again, the familiar temptation to forgive herself and accept Aubry’s words as truth wriggled to the surface. Her sister was indeed insightful, but then she’d been forced from her gilded world into reality by Penelope’s fateful mistake.
As a baron by tenure with no life interest entailed to his property, their father viewed Simon’s attention as an immediate vault into higher circles and Penny was too naïve and too entranced with the image Simon presented to suspect he played her false. While well-meaning, her father’s aristocratic focus placed happiness as second to title. Penelope didn’t agree with that order, believing true love the most honest emotion.
If his theft hadn’t proved scandalous enough, her duplicitous bridegroom left her standing at the altar in utter embarrassment, the laughing stock of the Cotswolds, not only wronged in love but pushed into a penurious state by the end of her wedding day. Gossip of their ruin spread like wildfire stoking her father’s depression to a crippling state. The realization that she brought about his end, when she only wished to make him proud, created a well of despair buried so deep, Penelope dared not consider it or else she’d never stop crying.
Her contemplative silence fueled her sister’s loyal defense.
“And those heartless bankers, how dare they demand immediate payment? Their relentless attempts to collect funds nipped at the heels of our tragedy. It is no wonder Father was devastated by the social scandal and sudden threat of poverty. His loss of the barony was a crushing blow, his hope for the future, and entire lifesavings gone in one swoop due to the greed of unscrupulous investors.”
Penelope refused to consider how modestly they’d laid their father to rest. They’d eschewed black gowns and worn mourning ribbons as a pitiful compromise, with not one penny to spend. In little over a year, everything had fallen apart quicker than a house of cards because she believed the lies of one dishonest man.
“Only I can shoulder the blame.” Penelope released a disheartened sigh and replaced her cup on the tray. “I accepted every lie Simon Maddock told.”
“Simon swore his love to you. We all thought him true,” Aubry continued with pique. “We had no idea he’d lied about his finances, station, and influence.”
Her sister’s rationalizations did little to soothe Penelope’s regret. On a good day she regarded Simon with angry disdain for what he’d stolen was worse than her heart, he’d destroyed their future. On most other days, she wondered if he’d ever harbored feelings for her and if she’d ever trust affection again or forever be alone with her regrets. Unable to formulate a suitable response to her sister’s argument, the silence in the room became deafening.
“When we find him, we will report him to the authorities. We will see the devil punished for his deceit.”
Penelope remained silent, her sister’s words nothing more than a child’s innocence although at present they had no choice.
“It will be no easy task, but I vow to see it done.” Penelope’s answer hardly disguised her promise full of doubt. How could two gently bred ladies, two impoverished gently bred ladies, somehow locate, ensnare and report the blackguard when few resources and little proof of his deception existed aside from a collection of false promissory notes and a few poorly written love letters? The tightly bound pile of papers caused her distress whenever she glanced in their direction. She only kept them for the far chance they could somehow prove Simon’s malicious intentions.
“One thing is certain. We’ll need some way to connect Simon to the theft otherwise even if we do find him it will all be for naught.” They sat in pensive silence until Penelope placed her hand atop her sister’s and offered a gentle squeeze. “Mother’s cameo. If Simon has it, there will be no denying his crimes. No one could feign ignorance or mistaken possession if the uniquely carved brooch were found.”
Their mother’s heirloom cameo, meant to be a gift upon Penelope’s wedding day, would be the single truth needed to prove Simon’s guilt. What type of man leaves his bride waiting at the altar while he burglarizes her parents’ home?
“He really is a horrible man.” Aubry exhaled a despairing sigh.
Penny nodded agreement. Much to her unease, she harbored some undecipherable sentiment for the man. The wretched inability to extinguish her misplaced emotions ate at her sensibility. Anger, resentment, sadness and affection, intermingled with restless confusion to cloud her judgment and swamp her with self-doubt.
“I’m sure he traveled to London. He spoke of it often. At the time he meant to impress me with his mention of high society, but it would be easier to get lost in a large city. How else could he spend our savings and move about undetected? I dare to think the Rosebery name is remembered as the most laughed about name among the ton.” Penelope shuddered with the admittance, her eyes flitting to the bed’s coverlet where she idly traced the floral embroidery with her fingertip. “Still here we are, left with no other option but to welcome the scandalous embarrassment if we’re discovered.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure.” Her sister’s voice rose on a sharp note. “In London, scandal is common. It’s more likely the Rosebery name can be vaguely recalled but not linked to any particular incident,” Aubry replied with certainty, even though today was her first day in the city.
Penelope speared her sister with narrowed eyes. “I dare say that’s wishful thinking. I wouldn’t be surprised if people referred to any gentleman’s jilt as a ‘Rosebery’ after reading of the incident in the gossip rags.” She managed a wry smile. It wasn’t that she thought herself important, as the mortification of being left at the altar in front of the entire village and the duplicity of Simon’s deceitful actions cured her of that illusion; it was more she could not fathom who wouldn’t discuss such a scandal in an attempt to teach offspring prudence in their affections.
“I disagree. Cousin Elizabeth’s letters haven’t contained a single suspicious question.” Aubry’s expression grew indignant. “And even though we neglected mentioning Father’s death, her voracious curiosity would persist if she were to hear even a hint of scandal attached to the Rosebery name.”
“You make a good point. It would be terribly difficult for Elizabeth to stifle her inquisitive nature notwithstanding it saved our reputation. I know it’s wrong to exclude Elizabeth and her family concerning Father’s death, but what choice do we have?” Penelope hemmed her bottom lip in worry. “Our scandal would become hers. I would never wish to mar her favorable