Read Online Tempting Mr. Weatherstone: A Wallflower Wedding Novella (Originally Appeared in the E-Book Anthology FIVE GOLDEN RINGS) by Vivienne Lorret - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Vivienne Lorret
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knowing Ethan as well as she did, she should have known better than to believe the whispers of her foolish heart.
Chapter Seven
W HEN P ENELOPE MISSED the first of their dinners once they’d arrived in the country, it was completely understandable. After all, her father had said she was still weary from their travels.
However, then she missed another. And then two more.
Ethan, too, had been plagued by an ailment. In fact, he couldn’t seem to shake free of it. Every day for a week, he’d felt listless, unable to focus on his accounts or clear his head. His appetite disappeared. Even the cook’s scones and orange marmalade held no appeal.
Still, he waited for a visit from Pen. Of course, it was colder now. The walk between their country houses was longer than the distance between number 7 and number 3. Still, a carriage would make the journey shorter. He’d make it himself, if only he knew she would receive him . . .
Damn. He wished she would walk in right now, letting him know that everything would be the same again. Letting him know that he hadn’t irrevocably harmed everything they had by losing control.
Surely, the heavens would not punish him for one time. Surely, they knew how many times he’d denied the impulse to hold Pen in his arms, to taste her lips, to feel her body against his . . .
He doubled over as a deep, welling emptiness tore through his heart, an ache so profound he did not think he would survive it.
“ Ethan! ” his mother exclaimed, rushing into the study to his side. “What is it, dear?”
He held up a hand in reassurance. “It is nothing.” Clutching the side of the desk with his other hand, he gradually stood and drew in a breath. He faced her and offered a smile of reassurance. “Breakfast did not appeal to me, and so I have not eaten today.”
“Nor did you eat last night,” she chided, hovering next to him as he made his way to the chair. “Even James commented on it, wondering if both you and Penelope were suffering the same ailment.”
“Surely not.” He knew the true reason Pen had avoided the dinners. She couldn’t forgive him for losing control. She must hate him. She must . . .
“She’s leaving, you know.”
“What?” He shot up, feeling his head spin and all the blood drain out of his body.
His mother nodded gravely. “She’s going to live with her sister. Eventually, she’ll be governess to Eugenia’s children.”
No. No. No, his mind railed. This could not be happening. Surely, in time, she could find a way to forgive him. Surely, in time, the kiss would become a mere memory and everything would go on in the same manner as it always had.
His life depended upon it.
“How can she do this?”
His mother turned away with a shrug. “It really is the best thing for Penelope. After all, what does she have to look forward to by staying with her father? All she has is her needlework.”
“She has more than that. She has—” He stopped abruptly, not wanting to reveal the depth of his heartache. Not even wanting to admit it to himself.
“You?” his mother asked, finishing his unspoken admission. As if she could see into his heart, she dared him to deny it with the sly lift of her brow.
He refused to respond, turning to stare out the window. He wasn’t going to have this conversation with his mother. He didn’t even want to think about it.
“But she doesn’t really have you. All she has are dinners a few nights a week. All she has are conversations in your study. All she has are the morning walks when you find yourselves running into each other as if by chance.”
She has more than that, he argued. She had his high regard. She had his undivided attention. She had his . . . heart.
All of it. She possessed every single beat and even the space in between.
“She’s spent so long being content with what you two had, that I believe it quite surprised her to discover that her life was passing by. I think it took seeing her sister so happily
Chapter Seven
W HEN P ENELOPE MISSED the first of their dinners once they’d arrived in the country, it was completely understandable. After all, her father had said she was still weary from their travels.
However, then she missed another. And then two more.
Ethan, too, had been plagued by an ailment. In fact, he couldn’t seem to shake free of it. Every day for a week, he’d felt listless, unable to focus on his accounts or clear his head. His appetite disappeared. Even the cook’s scones and orange marmalade held no appeal.
Still, he waited for a visit from Pen. Of course, it was colder now. The walk between their country houses was longer than the distance between number 7 and number 3. Still, a carriage would make the journey shorter. He’d make it himself, if only he knew she would receive him . . .
Damn. He wished she would walk in right now, letting him know that everything would be the same again. Letting him know that he hadn’t irrevocably harmed everything they had by losing control.
Surely, the heavens would not punish him for one time. Surely, they knew how many times he’d denied the impulse to hold Pen in his arms, to taste her lips, to feel her body against his . . .
He doubled over as a deep, welling emptiness tore through his heart, an ache so profound he did not think he would survive it.
“ Ethan! ” his mother exclaimed, rushing into the study to his side. “What is it, dear?”
He held up a hand in reassurance. “It is nothing.” Clutching the side of the desk with his other hand, he gradually stood and drew in a breath. He faced her and offered a smile of reassurance. “Breakfast did not appeal to me, and so I have not eaten today.”
“Nor did you eat last night,” she chided, hovering next to him as he made his way to the chair. “Even James commented on it, wondering if both you and Penelope were suffering the same ailment.”
“Surely not.” He knew the true reason Pen had avoided the dinners. She couldn’t forgive him for losing control. She must hate him. She must . . .
“She’s leaving, you know.”
“What?” He shot up, feeling his head spin and all the blood drain out of his body.
His mother nodded gravely. “She’s going to live with her sister. Eventually, she’ll be governess to Eugenia’s children.”
No. No. No, his mind railed. This could not be happening. Surely, in time, she could find a way to forgive him. Surely, in time, the kiss would become a mere memory and everything would go on in the same manner as it always had.
His life depended upon it.
“How can she do this?”
His mother turned away with a shrug. “It really is the best thing for Penelope. After all, what does she have to look forward to by staying with her father? All she has is her needlework.”
“She has more than that. She has—” He stopped abruptly, not wanting to reveal the depth of his heartache. Not even wanting to admit it to himself.
“You?” his mother asked, finishing his unspoken admission. As if she could see into his heart, she dared him to deny it with the sly lift of her brow.
He refused to respond, turning to stare out the window. He wasn’t going to have this conversation with his mother. He didn’t even want to think about it.
“But she doesn’t really have you. All she has are dinners a few nights a week. All she has are conversations in your study. All she has are the morning walks when you find yourselves running into each other as if by chance.”
She has more than that, he argued. She had his high regard. She had his undivided attention. She had his . . . heart.
All of it. She possessed every single beat and even the space in between.
“She’s spent so long being content with what you two had, that I believe it quite surprised her to discover that her life was passing by. I think it took seeing her sister so happily
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