Becoming a lady. He suspected as much from the maturity in her manner, but touching her beneath her clothing was the only way to be certain. He made it sound so reasonable, even if his cold hands made her insides squirm. Mr. Lambert was her father’s oldest friend. Penny’s friend, as well. He would never hurt her.
When he departed at the end of the visit, he reminded her sternly—the lessons had to remain their secret. If anyone knew—even the servants—they would tell her parents, and her parents would be angry. They would blame Penny. Not only for the grown-up dancing lessons, but for all their secrets. The forbidden sweets, the gifts, the stories she wasn’t meant to hear and the pictures she wasn’t meant to see … Everything.
It would disappoint them greatly to learn how she’d misbehaved over the years.
After that autumn, things were never quite the same.
She was never the same.
When he visited the following year, she feigned illness to avoid him—to the point of making herself vomit. She felt so queasy around him, it wasn’t difficult to pretend. Headaches, colds, her courses … She invented every possible excuse.
However, she couldn’t play sick forever. Mama had gently, but firmly, reprimanded her. Mr. Lambert had always made such a point of being kind to her. Penny didn’t want to hurt his feelings, did she?
No, Penny had said dutifully, swallowing back the bile in her throat, she didn’t.
That’s my good girl, Mama replied with a smile.
Little did her mother know, Penny wasn’t her good girl. Not any longer.
She was dirty. What would her parents think of her if they knew? Maybe they would feel the difference in her when she hugged them, she thought. And so she drew away. She dreaded Sundays. Even if she could hide the shame from her family, God must know. Perhaps the vicar could see it written on her face as she sat on the church bench, pretending to be the same good girl she’d always been.
Her entire upbringing had taught her that her innocence was her most important asset. If she surrendered that, she would be ruined. Worthless.
Only the animals were a comfort. She embraced family and friends less freely, but kittens never shied away. They curled in her lap and purred, and kneaded her with their velvet paws. She was especially drawn to the lost and defenseless creatures.
“They needed me,” she told Gabriel. “And if I could save them, I still felt worthwhile.”
As she talked, a series of objects drifted in and out of her hands. She didn’t notice them being placed in her grasp, and she didn’t recall setting them aside. They were merely there, in easy reach, exactly when she needed them.
A handkerchief.
A pillow.
A cup of tea to warm her trembling hands, and then later, when her throat was parched from talking, cool water to down in a single swallow.
At some point, the objects ceased moving into and out of her grasp, and she found herself clinging to one steady source of comfort: Gabriel’s hand.
“I thought escaping to finishing school would be a relief,” she went on, “but it was worse. So much worse.”
Finishing schools ostensibly existed to instruct young ladies in playing the harpsichord and painting with watercolors. However, the lecture the matrons gave most frequently had nothing to do with art or music. The topic was virtue. The importance of staying pure, of never allowing gentlemen to take liberties before marriage. Not a kiss, not a touch. Without her innocence, a young lady was worthless.
By the time of her debut, Penny felt like a fraud. She wasn’t the sort of young lady she’d been told a true gentleman would want, and she never could be again. The event was a lie. She was a lie. And of course, the mere idea of dancing made her ill.
So she tucked a hedgehog in her pocket. Freya was a protective talisman. Curled up in a tight ball, all her soft vulnerability hidden beneath rows of sharp quills.
And even now, when she’d grown old enough to understand it hadn’t been her fault, and that her inner worth was intact, and the very idea of ruination was a falsehood …
She still couldn’t bring herself to dance.
When she’d finally emptied herself of words and tears, it felt like hours had passed. Perhaps they had. She was wrung out, exhausted in both her body and her mind.
As she lifted her head, Penny gathered the frayed bits of her emotions and tried to prepare. Gabriel knew how it felt to be an unprotected, suffering child. He would want justice on her behalf.
She would have to make him assurances. He mustn’t be angry or do anything rash, she prepared to tell him. She was better now, she’d say. So much better.
But the truth was, she didn’t feel better. Not even though she’d unburdened herself of everything, purged that vast store of shame and pain and secrets. What remained when one unpacked an old wardrobe? An empty space. One that would take time—perhaps years—to fill.
So, no. She didn’t feel better yet.
She didn’t feel anything but numb, and she’d no strength in her body to pretend otherwise.
“Penny,” he said. “If it’s all right … may I hold you?”
She nodded, and he drew her into his arms, holding her close. He pressed a kiss to her crown. She couldn’t have believed there were any more tears in her, but her eyes wrung out a few more.
“I don’t have any kittens to offer,” he said. “But if you’re in need of some soothing, I may have just the thing.”
Penny looked on with curiosity as Gabriel rolled his sleeves to the elbow, leaned over the immense copper tub, and gripped the water tap.
“Say a prayer to the gods of modern plumbing,” he advised her. “And if you know any, a ward against witchcraft.”
He turned the tap and water flowed into the tub—clear, plentiful, and steaming hot.
“That’s more like it,” he muttered.
“Hot running water?” She stretched her arm into the bath and swirled the water with her fingertips. “I hereby retract all my complaints about construction noise. This is a miracle.”
“It certainly took an act of God to achieve.”
He turned the other tap, adding cold water to balance the hot. Then he reached for a vial of attar roses and added a few drops to the bath. The room filled with fragrant steam.
“There are towels.” He indicated a stack of immaculate white flannel towels, folded in perfect squares. “Soap is there, by the basin. I’ll be seeing to a few things downstairs, but you’ve only to ring if you need anything and I’ll come at once.”
“Wait.” She turned her back to him
