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Chapter 29
Marta spent the following afternoon in a strange haze of sadness and wonder. She pressed her book against her stomach and lay back in the garden grass to blink up at the marvellous blue sky. It hadn’t rained in days, which seemed to be some sort of English record, and the air felt cool and dry, almost like Austria mid-summer. As she lay back, she felt she could still feel the pressure of the corset from the previous evening. How dreadful it was, on some occasions, to be any sort of woman. The only thing she was good for was beautification. The only thing she was good for was to be traded off to a wretched and obstinate man.
When she and Baldwin had gazed at one another the previous night, mere moments before he’d abandoned her and left on horseback, she’d hardly been able to breathe. The attraction she felt for him wasn’t reasonable; it felt outside of her control. When he’d disappeared, and she’d found herself again trapped in the arms of the Duke once more, she’d felt chilled to the bone.
Suddenly, Ewan appeared in the garden gate. He flung his arms out on either side of him and loudly pronounced, “Today is a perfect day for boating, I think.”
Marta didn’t dare move a muscle. The idea of being out on a boat was marvellous to her, something she missed with a dull ache about her life back in Austria. Ewan strode towards her and peered down, his hands on his hips. “Have you altogether passed from this world, Cousin Marta?” he asked her.
Marta clucked her tongue. “Always taking on every situation with eight levels of sarcasm.”
“I’ve informed you it’s the only language I know to speak,” he returned.
Marta sighed. “Wherever might we go boating, then?”
Ewan scrubbed his palms together. “Penelope has suggested that we take rowboats out on her father’s lake.”
“Penelope? My goodness. Things have really advanced.”
Ewan didn’t give her any sign that this embarrassed or thrilled him. He simply shot his head back towards the rusty gate and said, “We had better leave swiftly. I’ve already sent a letter to Baldwin to alert him of the goings-on.”
Marta shot up, back straight, and her legs still extended. “Baldwin will come with us?”
“I can’t comprehend a world in which he might not,” Ewan returned. “He follows you around like a little puppy dog, doesn’t he?”
“Won’t it be strange with Penelope?” Marta demanded. She was apprehensive about any sort of triangle, any kind of bad-blood that lurked in the past. Suppose she’d walked into yet another situation like the one she’d had in Austria?
Ewan scoffed. “Baldwin and Penelope both used one another to pass the time. I believe they hardly think about that lacklustre past they have together. I wouldn’t worry your pretty Austrian head about it.”
Marta rolled her eyes, yet lifted her hand to allow Ewan to help her up. Her heart pounded as she retreated to the mansion to don another dress, one that highlighted her curves and thrust up her breasts and brought out the bright blue in her eyes. As she returned downstairs, she unfortunately ran headlong into Aunt Margaret, who barked, “What on earth are you wearing? You look remarkable. I hope you’ve some plan with Lord Remington that I haven’t yet heard about?”
Marta’s eyes searched the hallway. Almost immediately, Ewan shot out from the parlour and said, “Marta, Penelope, and I wish to spend some time together. Marta has agreed to be our chaperone.”
“Oh, but darling, doesn’t it make sense for you to invite the Duke?” Aunt Margaret said. She stitched her eyebrows together.
It was apparent to Marta that Ewan had left out the fact that Baldwin would be in attendance.
“Mother, you know that Penelope and I won’t have a good time if we must master conversation with the likes of Lord Remington,” Ewan said. “I know you’ve got yourself all wrapped up in Marta’s courting, but, darling Mother, I very well may be on the path to love myself.” He rose up and dotted a kiss across his mother’s cheek, an act that caused her to shriek with laughter.
It had been the perfect way to rid them of her questions.
Ewan and Marta boarded the carriage. Throughout the journey, both seemed lost in their own tumultuous thoughts. Marta allowed herself to be rocked about by the wild carriage, with her hands clamped together as the wheels circled almost violently over the rocks and dirt. She was frightened that she had built up this whole idea that Baldwin would join them, only to be disappointed. All evening and morning, she’d thought that perhaps she’d lost him. Perhaps he’d assumed that the race was lost, that he should step away from her and never return.
“Are you nervous?” she suddenly asked Ewan.
Ewan nearly burst from his seat. His eyes bulged out, seemingly rolling around of their own accord. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“About Penelope,” she returned.
“Of course I am,” Ewan sputtered. “What an outrageous question. Suppose she discovers that I’m a strange man with strange… emotions. Suppose she discovers all the chaotic stickiness of my insides.”
Marta chortled. “I know it seems difficult right now, Ewan, but it’s healthy to remember that nearly the entire kingdom is privy to your strange ways. Penelope has invited you here regardless of all of that. I think all will be well.”
When they arrived at Penelope’s estate, the butler led them to the garden to find Penelope herself, dressed in a gorgeous yellow daygown, her breasts lifted, and her eyes alight. She gave almost no indication that she knew Marta was there at all. Rather, she stood and raised her hands to press them across Ewan’s.
“I trust your journey was well?” she asked.
“Rather, yes,” Ewan affirmed. “The only dreadful thing was the companionship.”
