A Little More Convincing

Chapter Five: Ruminating on Rubens

Penelope stared into the hall, wincing as she heard, rather than saw, the front door slam shut. Her anger and indignation left her abruptly and she found herself rushing to the window, watching as Colin stalked past her window, then to his carriage, rather glad he didn't look back to see her nor the sudden tears in her eyes.

"Miss Penelope?" Briarly asked behind her, his voice soft. "Are you well?"

"I thought I was." When Colin had first stormed out, she'd felt strong, decisive, as if her position was unassailable, but now she was tempted to chase after him and... she didn't know what she would do after that. All she knew was that she felt wretched. She didn't like ending any visit on such a cold and angry note, least of all one from Colin Bridgerton, rare as they were.

The part of her that had always longed to please Colin was eager to run after him, hop in his carriage again, tell him that she would do as he wished, then perhaps repeat yesterday's delights. But the slam of the carriage door, loud even from inside, seemed quite final.

It wasn't as if marrying him wasn't tempting. It was more than tempting. It was irresistible. And yet she'd resisted — twice now. "Do you think I've made a horrible mistake?" she asked helplessly, turning to Briarly.

He seemed to consider it carefully, tilting his head. "May I tell you a story? It might help."

"Please!" She moved to the sofa and gestured him to the over-stuffed chair she'd caught him napping in a time or two. She only hoped he would not fall asleep now. She needed him. Without a father to guide her and a mother that was lacking in sense, then the loss of the father figure she'd had in Mr. Abernathy, his solicitor, Penelope had come to depend on Briarly and his stalwart presence. She waited with baited breath for his answer now.

"When I was younger, though not much younger, some thousand years ago," he said, grunting as he sat, "I'd grown too old to be a mere footmanand had no hope of advancement in my current house. So I applied for, and was happy to be offered, three positions as Butler. One was a wealthy household with an older couple of the gentry, but with no children, nor grandchildren. While I was over forty, I didn't feel quite old enough to take a position that felt more like a retirement than a job. Another, this one a marquess, would have paid me almost exorbitantly, but the exacting standards put forth in the interview took me aback. I held off answering, held out for a better offer."

"And did you get one?" she asked slyly, curious how her family, of all things, could be considered the better offer.

"It was a family with no noble titles and not as handsome a salary to offer as the first two, to be sure. They were also quite silly at times, but they had four daughters. Two very silly older girls, one just a babe, and one," he said, also slyly, "who might have been the most intelligent young lady I'd ever encountered."

Penelope dipped her head, blushing. "What possessed you to accept such an offer? Later, you might have grown quite fond of that silly family, but then—"

"It doesn't make sense, does it? I thought having the most prestigious position possible was what I wanted, or what I should want."

It was so close to her conundrum. A life with Colin Bridgerton was everything she'd wanted for so long, but she'd also spent just as long a time convincing herself it would never be.

"My mind told me that I would be a simpleton not to accept the marquess," Briarly went on. "But my heart pulled me away. Something about that other silly family made me feel welcome, needed."

"Well, we certainly did need you. I'm not sure what we'd have done without you. Especially after Papa departed." She shook her head. "It's not the same for me. It's my heart telling me to accept the offer while my head disagrees so strongly."