A Little More Convincing

Chapter Two: Astute Advice From Anthony

"My answer is no."

Colin was taken aback... figuratively, but also quite literally. His hand left the door he'd just now had a pretty firm hold on as she pushed at his chest. Penelope was stronger than she looked. He stumbled back onto the stony landing before he realized it was happening.

"I ask that you respect it," he heard before he was left staring at the door that had been slammed in his face... or not too far from it.

That was not quite as jarring as the fact that she'd refused him.

She'd also pushed him.

Penelope!

Colin turned and started down the steps or, more accurately, stumbled down them, nearly missing a few before correcting himself enough to land on the pavement upright. He spun back to stare at the door, thinking it would surely open again.

It didn't.

Have you even considered that I don't want to marry you?

He hadn't.

Because Penelope loved him.... didn't she? He'd suspected as much for years, enough that he was uncomfortable with the idea of it — up until the moment he had her writhing underneath him in a carriage, at which point it felt a bit more comforting. Perhaps comforting was not the word for it.

What he'd felt then was surrounded by it, tempted by it, by her, by the idea that it was not such a frightful thing to be loved by a woman who was intelligent and funny and kind and quite gratifyingly passionate. Why had he ever entertained fear of it? It should make him feel a thousand feet tall!

Not at the moment, of course. He felt as if he were standing in a hole, staring a mile up at her door in abject confusion. And could anyone blame him? She had rejected him.

So much had happened and it wasn't even lunchtime!

And that was without the Lady W aspect of it all, something he hadn't the capacity to even think of right now. No, he'd much rather dispense of her and think about the Penelope who'd moaned into his mouth when he kissed her, sighed into his neck when he touched her, the one who loved him... Or at least near enough to it that he thought proposing marriage would be an easy question for her to answer.

Then again, she had answered him easily, and repeatedly, hadn't she? Just not way he wanted.

"What does she mean by it?" Colin gasped.

It couldn't truly be a refusal. She must mean he needed to ask again. He had to admit that "Are you going to marry me or not?" was not the most brilliant proposal ever rendered. Perhaps she needed to be asked more nicely, with prettier words, perhaps with flowers or candies or with a ride home before lunch?

He turned to his coachman, realizing that last had been directed at him.

Usually the word "lunch" would send him off to wherever lunch was, but he couldn't decide whether eating lunch was something he wanted to do at the moment, alarming as that was!

Still, he didn't want to keep the man waiting, so he sent his driver home and wandered aimlessly... until he found himself in front of Number 5 Bruton Street.

Or perhaps it wasn't aimless. He'd been rejected and sent on his way by one of the two people in this world who never failed to make him feel welcome.

He hoped the other wouldn't fail him. A man needed his mother at his lowest moments. She would surely be a comfort... if she were there.