Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(3)

Lady Trask turned from the flowers to regard Penelope in surprise. “Nonsense. All girls wish to marry rich husbands.”

Penelope flashed her mother a sudden smile. Lady Trask had not been gifted with a great intellect, though she could be astonishingly shrewd at times. You must watch over her, Penelope’s father had instructed. She’s a pretty creature and always will be, but she needs care.

Penelope had promised her father, four years ago as he lay dying, that she’d take up the burden of making certain Lady Trask was looked after.

“If I married, Mama, who would take care of you?” Penelope asked in a bright voice.

“Yes, that is a point.” Lady Trask’s face softened. “Though Meagan’s dear papa has been such a comfort.”

Penelope exchanged a glance with Meagan. Meagan’s expression was too merry, and Penelope shunted her out of the house before the two of them could collapse into laughter.

“They’ll marry in a six-month, I’ll wager,” Meagan said, gasping in mirth as they hastened down the drive.

“I put it quicker than that,” Penelope said.

They glanced at the house behind them. Meagan’s father had been strolling the garden while they readied themselves to go to the village. Waiting for us to clear out, Meagan had whispered.

“They’ve worn out one bedstead already,” Meagan observed as they turned to the road that descended to the village. “I do wish they’d get on with it. I am tired of keeping up the ruse that they are only dear friends, when everyone knows differently.”

“It will be a relief when they marry, certainly,” Penelope said. “Though I believe they enjoy pretending to be illicit lovers.”

“Fancy that, at their age.” Meagan shook her head with the wisdom of her nineteen years. “It gives them some excitement, I suppose. Little Marching is so dull in the summer. Nothing ever happens here.”

“I like nothing happening,” Penelope replied with conviction. “It is restful. You know that each day will be quiet and slow, just like the one before.”

Meagan rolled her eyes. “Restful, you say. I say dull. Dull, dull, dull. No balls, no soirees, no museums, just Little Marching and home.”

Penelope couldn’t help her smile. “What you mean is, no gentlemen to flirt with.”

“Well, no.” Meagan swept her hands to the green hills that rolled to the hazy horizon. “Do you see any gentlemen about? None to dance with, to smile at. Ah, Penelope, they are fine creatures, gentlemen. A little patience, a little coaxing, and they can become quite civilized.”

Penelope studied the white and yellow flowers by the side of the road. “So you say.”

“Oh, come, Penelope, even you cannot be immune. Tell me that a room full of tight trousers does not make you melt.”

Penelope let out a laugh. One reason she adored Meagan was her ability to pull her out of the doldrums. “Trousers with gentlemen in them, I suppose you mean?”

“Of course I do. Fine coats on broad shoulders. Hair a bit tousled, a handsome face, a wicked smile. Eyes that make you shivery and warm at the same time.”

Penelope shook her head. “I vow, Meagan, your papa had better get you married off quickly. You will burn into a pile of ashes, and all will wonder at the sad end of poor Meagan Tavistock.”

“Piffle. I shall marry, but only to a very handsome gentleman who is madly in love with me.”

“Such a man does not exist, Meagan,” Penelope said, her exuberance dimming. “Young ladies like us marry for money and property and to keep families together. When a gentleman wants love, he goes elsewhere.”

Meagan’s amusement faded. “Forgive me, Pen, I didn’t mean to remind you. Your fiancés were horrid, and I shall never forgive them for treating you so.”

Penelope’s heart gave a quick, painful beat. “You are very kind, but you should learn from my experience. Ladies of our station do not marry for love. We marry for convenience, no matter what pretty words a gentleman might whisper into our ears.”

Charming phrases. Seductive murmurs. False, all of it. Marry me, love, so that you can put an heir in my nursery while I run about with my mistresses and ignore you. Thank heavens Penelope had found out the truth before she’d had a wedding ring on her finger.

“Not all gentlemen are like Mr. White and Mr. Grady,” Meagan said quickly. “You were unlucky.”

“But they are, my dear,” Penelope said with glum certainty. “Admire gentlemen all you wish, but be aware of the truth. They marry for money and connections, nothing more. Handsome princes do not sweep in to take ordinary girls to their faraway kingdoms, except in the stories I transcribe. Real princes have double chins and marry for politics.”

Meagan shot Penelope a sympathetic look. Penelope knew Meagan was not convinced that Penelope’s disastrous betrothals hadn’t been aberrations, but she didn’t argue any longer. Young, pretty, red-haired Meagan would learn, unfortunately. Gentlemen simply could not be trusted.

And so, Penelope was perfectly content to live out her life in Little Marching in the middle of Oxfordshire, where nothing remotely interesting ever happened.

Ever.



* * *



“Is this the village?”

Imperial Prince Damien Augustus Frederic Michel of Nvengaria lifted the coach’s curtain with a weary hand.