Penelope had barely recovered from falling apart—again—from Beckett Ash's doings when Griffin burst through the doorway.

She lifted her head off the bed, thankful that Beckett had righted her drawers and skirts before he'd stalked off. God, she did not even want to think about what might have happened had Griffin strode in even a minute or two earlier.

He'd probably be proposing some ridiculous, nonsensical duel at this very moment. Ridiculous because Penelope believed all duels to be ridiculous. And nonsensical because Penelope had no honor to defend. She was a married woman who had long since lost her innocence. But Griffin was rather protective about such matters. He did not believe in propriety in the same sense as her parents did, but he believed in honor and loyalty.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, stopping in his tracks as he looked at how she reclined on the bed.

She did not know how to tell him that everything was incredibly right, and she could not be more blissfully content at the moment.

"No, nothing is wrong."

Penelope knew that her words were likely difficult to believe considering her circumstances. Rarely did she stay abed midday.

"Did something happen when you went to the stables?"

She raised a brow; she did not realize that Griffin was even aware she went to the stables. She conveniently left that part out of their conversation when she saw him this morning at breakfast.

Catching wind of her expression, Griffin admitted, "I saw you walking across the grounds with Beck." He paused. "You could have asked me, you know. I would have liked to escort you after what happened the last time, and I know that you and Beckett do not entirely get along."

Penelope had to bite down on her lip to keep from smiling. Griffin did not need to know how thoroughly she had enjoyed the horse ride with his friend. It was uncomfortable in some ways, considering the logistics of two passengers on one horse, and it was entirely unnecessary for them to ride together. But it was hard not to admit that she did find a fair bit of enjoyment in teasing the Colonel until he was damn near ready to explode.

"He is not so bad," Penelope said, pushing herself into a sitting position.

Actually, he was quite good. Very, very good.

Overbearing and a bit brutish, but skilled. Very skilled and very handsome.

She was still reeling, still aching.

Griffin seemed perhaps a little put off by her response, so Penelope quickly added, "But of course, next time I will let you know. We merely ran into each other in the foyer."

With a nod, Griffin took stock of her chambers and eventually settled in an armchair in the corner.

"Where is he now?"

Penelope, who'd been lost in the memory of how it had felt to have her fingers tangled in Beckett's golden hair, sat a little straighter.

"Hm?"

"Where is Beckett now?"

"Oh." She cleared her throat, pointing to the thick wooden door behind her brother. "He is in his chambers."

Griffin's eyes lazily traveled to the door, seeming to consider something before making his way back to focusing on Penelope.

"How can I help you, brother?"

His gaze narrowed, and Penelope knew she was not doing her best to act unbothered. So she stood, brushing off her skirts and taking her place next to Griffin near the fire. Which, since there was a chill today, crackled lowly in the grate.

"I wished to speak with you about my departure."

"Oh." Penelope's shoulders fell, hating this conversation. She knew that her brother was attempting to flee now that the ball had come and gone, and suddenly she wished that she had postponed the damn thing for at least another fortnight.

But then Griffin said, "I think I shall stay until the matter of this smuggler is solved."

"Oh, excellent," she said, now wishing to draw out their investigations, too. "I was afraid you were about to tell me that you were to leave posthaste."

He shook his head, his eyes turning again around the room. "No, things here are much more...interesting than I could have expected."

Penelope frowned a bit, unsure if that was a compliment or something else. But then she pulled her lips into a grin. She honestly did not care what Griffin meant by that as long as he was not yet leaving.

"Well," she said, "I am pleased to retain your company, Griff."

"As am I yours." He matched her smile. "Do you not have the picnic this afternoon?"

"Oh, yes!" Penelope jumped from her seat, marching toward the bell to ring for Collette. "Yes, of course. Time simply seems to slip away on days such as today."

Griffin shook his head, almost as though he thought her to be a little funny, a little silly, and Penelope was just fine with that—so long as he did not realize the truth of her forgetfulness.

Taking his leave a few minutes later, Griffin passed Collette on his way out the door. The lady's maid settled behind Penelope at her dressing table, giving her a frustrated look when she saw how terrible Penelope had treated her hair in the last hours.

"What have you done today that's made this such a mess, my lady?"

Penelope opened her mouth despite having no suitable answer for her maid.

"I went for a horseback ride," she finally admitted.

Colette pursed her lips as she tugged her curls back into a respectful style, but Penelope did not miss the sly smirk that formed slowly on the other woman's face.

****

It was terribly difficult to focus on the picnic when Beckett and Leo sat not ten paces away, enjoying a drink of sorts together. It was unusual for the men to be doing at this hour, but then again, Leo often did whatever he wished.

Penelope watched out of the corner of her eye as Beckett lifted his glass to his lips, studying how they graced the edges and remembering everything his lips had done to her.

God, she had never had such an experience as the one he'd given her, and she could not deny that she wished for it again and again.

"Lady Hutton?"

Penelope shook herself out of her lustful thoughts, bringing her attention to Scarlett, who was staring at her expectantly and not without a fair bit of speculation. Her lips twitched.

Luckily for Penelope, however, only Scarlett seemed to notice. Lady Bucklebee was the other lady still present at the picnic, and she had been talking about her experience at the French court for far too long. If she noticed Scarlett pulling Penelope back into the conversation, she did not mention it.

"I suppose neither of you would understand." Lady Bucklebee flicked an ashy blonde curl over her shoulder rather haughtily. "It is a different life for a widow, especially in Paris."

"Is that so?" Penelope feigned interest.

"Well, yes." Lady Bucklebee leaned forward as though she were about to tell a secret. "You could say that a woman such as myself has ample...opportunities."

Penelope had to force herself not to make a face. She did not wish to think about Lady Bucklebee and her opportunities. But mostly, she did not like that Lady Bucklebee enjoyed scrutinizing Penelope when the two of them were not so different from each other. Penelope's husband just so happened to still be alive.

Unfortunately.

"Lady Bucklebee," Scarlett began, flashing a polite smile. "I thought you wished to retire to your chambers for a nap before the evening festivities?"

"Oh, yes." In a rather unladylike fashion, Lady Bucklebee pushed her way off the blanket they'd laid out in the gardens. "Yes, thank you for the reminder, Lady Farrington."

Scarlett nodded, the picture of decorum. "My pleasure."

Penelope waited until Lady Bucklebee was out of earshot before sighing loudly. "Thank you for that. And I apologize for my lack of...engagement."

"It is quite alright," Scarlett said gracefully. She always was very graceful. "I certainly understand the distraction."

Her eyes drifted to where the men talked. Leo had his head thrown back, laughing heartily. Meanwhile, Beckett looked less amused, but that was no surprise. His smile was slight, but it was there. His sun-streaked hair was brushed back from his face, and his ruggedness was particularly obvious as he shifted on the small chair that barely held him.

"I think the country life is growing on Colonel Ash," Scarlett commented. Penelope turned back toward her, catching the amusement in her expression. "Perhaps it is something in the air?"

"I am certain that he would depart tomorrow if given a chance," Penelope countered, something twisting in her gut as she did.

Scarlett contemplated that. "You are certain of that?"

"He has made it very well known that he is not pleased to be here."

"Has he said as much recently?"

"I—" Penelope caught herself, thinking back on the last several weeks. "No, I suppose he has not."

Scarlett did not say anything else except to make a humming noise in the back of her throat.

Penelope knew what she was implying but refused to believe it. Beckett enjoyed her company in the bedroom, but she was not naive enough to believe his interest in her went beyond that. They had found an odd companionship, yes. But she felt sure he still itched to depart the estate.

And she did not know how to feel about that. Every so often, it was something that she thought of. The house party would soon draw to a close, and then where would that leave Penelope?

Likely alone once more.

She sucked in a deep breath, determined not to let these last days go to waste.