"Yes," Penelope said, slightly breathless from her impromptu sprint across the park. "We do."
"Are you making a habit of seeking out inappropriate encounters with strange men? Your mother will be scandalized."
"My mother is currently too far away to be scandalized," Penelope retorted. "And you're hardly strange. Insufferable, yes. Rude, certainly. But Adrian knew your name, which means you're part of society, which means you're not a stranger."
"Such logic," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. They were gray, she noticed. A deep, stormy gray that seemed to shift in the morning light. "Tell me, Lady Penelope, do you always flee from your suitors in the middle of conversation?"
"Only when they're boring me to tears with their prepared speeches about the weather and the theatre."
"Poor Duke Pembroke. He did seem to be trying very hard." Lord Ashmore glanced past her shoulder, and Penelope didn't need to turn around to know the Duke was likely standing there with a confused and offended expression. "Though I suspect you've just created quite the scandal."
"What's one more scandal?" Penelope said with false bravado. "I'm already the talk of the season, apparently. Might as well give them something interesting to discuss."
He laughed then. "You are extraordinary, you know that?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"Most debutantes would be mortified at the thought of causing gossip. You seem almost pleased by it."
"I'm not pleased," Penelope said, though she had to admit there was a certain satisfaction in doing something unexpected. "I'm simply.….tired. Tired of being paraded about like a prize mare. Tired of gentlemen who stare at my dowry instead of my face. Tired of pretending to be charmed by compliments comparing me to flowers and celestial bodies."
"Ah yes," Lord Ashmore said, his expression turning thoughtful. "The debutante's dilemma. To be desired for everything except who you actually are."
The words hit uncomfortably close to home. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Being honest," Penelope said. "It's quite disconcerting."
"Would you prefer I lie? That I exaggerate?" He tilted his head, studying her. "Tell you that your beauty outshines the sun? That your grace puts swans to shame? That I've never met anyone quite so know—"
"Please stop," Penelope said, fighting back a smile. "You are mocking me."
"Not at all," he said, but his eyes were dancing. "I'm simply demonstrating the kind of drivel you'll hear all season. I believe it best to build up an immunity now."
"You," Penelope said, "are impossible."
"And yet you abandoned poor Duke Pembroke to come speak with me. One might think you enjoy my company."
"One would be terribly mistaken," Penelope said primly, though they both knew it was a lie.
The truth was, she did enjoy his company. For the first time since her debut, she was having an actual conversation with someone who didn't treat her like a delicate porcelain figure. Someone who seemed to see her as a person rather than a prize.
It was.…..refreshing.
Also terrifying, but mostly refreshing.
"You're entertaining, Lady Penelope," Lord Ashmore said, and there was something almost warm in his voice. "Vastly more entertaining than you have any right to be."
"What a charming compliment," Penelope said dryly. "You really know how to make a lady feel special."
"At least I'm not comparing you to flowers."
"No, you're comparing me to entertainment. I'm not sure that's an improvement."
He grinned. "The significant advantage you have over Duke Pembroke is that you don't trip over my feet when we're conversing. Actually—" His eyes went past her again, and his expression shifted. "Speaking of tripping, your admirers approaches."
Penelope turned to see Duke Pembroke making his way toward them, his face an interesting shade of red.
"Oh no," she muttered.
"Oh yes," Lord Ashmore said. Then, loudly enough for the Duke to hear: "Say, would you escort me to the races the day after tomorrow, Lady Penelope?"
Penelope's eyes widened. The races. He was asking her to the races, in front of Duke Pembroke, no less. It was bold. It was presumptuous. It was—
"Yes," she heard herself say. "I would be delighted."
Duke Pembroke stopped in his tracks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Then, with as much dignity as he could muster, he turned and stalked away.
Lord Ashmore made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Well. That was satisfying."
"You just—" Penelope stared at him. "Why did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Ask me to the races. In front of him. You've just—you've created an absolute scandal. People will think—they'll assume—"
"That I'm courting you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is that such a terrible thing?"
"But you're not courting me," Penelope said, confused. "You said last night you weren't in the market for a wife."
"I am not," he agreed. "But you looked like you needed rescuing from Duke Pembroke's riveting discourse on theatrical productions. Consider it an act of mercy."
Before Penelope could respond, a familiar voice cut through the morning air.
"You."
Oh no. Not again.
This time, Anthony was striding toward them with the kind of anger that Penelope recognized all too well. Behind him came Adrian, Edmund, and Raphael, forming an intimidating wall of overprotective brotherhood.
Lord Ashmore didn't seem remotely concerned. "Lord Carrington. What a pleasure."
"Viscount Ashmore," Anthony said, his voice taking on a harsh tone. "You take an interest in my sister?"
Penelope looked between the two men, noting the way her brothers had positioned themselves, protective, threatening, ready for violence if necessary.
Lord Ashmore met Anthony's gaze steadily. His expression was unreadable, but there was a challenge in the set of his shoulders. "And if I say yes?"
"Then I would suggest you reconsider," Anthony said flatly. "My sister is not for the likes of you, Ashmore. Whatever game you're playing, you should leave her out of it."
"I'm standing right here," Penelope said, her voice sharp. "I can speak for myself."
But nobody was listening to her. The four brothers had closed ranks, forming a barrier between her and Lord Ashmore.
"Stay away from her, Ashmore," Adrian said quietly. "This is your only warning."
Lord Ashmore's expression had gone cold, distant. When he looked at Penelope, something flickered in his gray eyes, regret, perhaps. Or anger.
"Lady Penelope," he said with a formal bow. "My apologies for any distress I may have caused. I wish you well in your season."
Then he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the morning crowds of Hyde Park.
"What," Penelope said, rounding on her brothers, "was that?"
"That," Anthony said grimly, "was us protecting you from a man you should have nothing to do with."
"I don't need protecting!" Penelope's voice rose, drawing curious glances from nearby promenaders. "I'm perfectly capable of choosing my own company!"
"Not with him, you're not," Edmund said, his usual playfulness gone. "Penelope, you need to trust us on this."
"Why?" she demanded. "What's so terrible about Viscount Ashmore that requires four grown men to chase him off like a common criminal?"
Her brothers exchanged looks.
"It's complicated," Raphael said finally, the closest to an apology she was going to get.
"Everything's complicated with you lot," Penelope said bitterly.
Adrian placed a hand on her shoulder, steering her back toward where their parents waited with carefully neutral expressions. "I promise, we will eventually tell you. Come on. Mother will want to know why you abandoned Duke Pembroke in the middle of the park."
Penelope let herself be led away, but not before casting one last glance over her shoulder.
Lord Ashmore had stopped at the far edge of the park, his gaze fixed on her.
Then he nodded, once, slightly, and disappeared into the crowd.
And Penelope was left with more questions than answers, and a strange ache in her chest she couldn't quite explain.