Hey, so this is the first installment out of two showing what happened to kind-hearted Penelope after she went to live with Lady Pendragon.
I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own An Offer From A Gentleman (The Second Epilogue)
At five and twenty, Miss Penelope Farthington was considered nearly a spinster...
There were those who might have considered her passed the cutoff from young miss to hopeless ape leader; three and twenty was often cited as the unkind chronological border.
But Penelope was, as Lady Pendragon, her unofficial guardian often remarked, a unique case.
In debutante years, Lady Pendragon insisted Penelope was only twenty...possibly twenty-one.
But Catherine Pendragon, the eldest unmarried daughter of the house, put it a little more bluntly...
"Penelope's first few years out in society had been worthless and should not be counted against her."
However, Catherine's youngest sister, Morgana, never one to be verbally outdone, simply stated that Penelope's years between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two, had been "utter rot."
It was at this point that Lady Pendragon had sighed, poured herself a stiff drink, and sunk into a chair...
Catherine, whose mouth was as sharp as Morgana's, though thankfully tempered by some discretion, had remarked that they had best get Morgana married off quickly or their mother was going to become an alcoholic.
Lady Pendragon had not appreciated the comment, although she privately thought it might be true...
Morgana was like that.
Anyway, back to Penelope...
The truth was, her first few years on the Marriage Mart had been utter rot. It was true that she'd made her debut at a proper age of seventeen. And, indeed, she was the stepdaughter of the late Earl of Penwood, who had so prudently made arrangements for her dowry before his untimely death several years prior.
And yes, she was perfectly pleasant to look at, if perhaps a little plump... But she had all of her teeth, and it had been remarked upon more than once that she had uncommonly kind eyes.
Anyone assessing her on paper would not understand why she'd gone so long without even a single proposal...
But anyone assessing her on paper might not have known about her mother, the countess Calliope, the dowager Countess of Penwood...
The countess was splendidly beautiful, even more so than Penelope's elder sister, Victoria, who had been blessed with fair hair, a rosebud mouth, and eyes of cerulean blue.
And the countess was ambitious, too, and enormously proud of her ascension from the gentry to the aristocracy.
She'd gone from Miss Winchester to Mrs. Farthington, to Lady Penwood, although to hear her speak of it, her mouth had been dripping silver spoons since the day of her birth.
But she had failed in one regard...
She had not been able to provide the earl with an heir... Which meant that despite the Lady before her name, she did not wield a terribly large amount of power.
Nor did she have access to the type of fortune she felt was her due.
And so, she pinned her hopes on Victoria...
Victoria, she was sure, would make a splendid match...
Victoria was achingly beautiful...
Victoria could sing and play the pianoforte... And if she wasn't talented with a needle, then she knew exactly how to poke Penelope, who was.
And since Penelope did not enjoy repeated needle-sized skin punctures, it was Victoria's embroidery that always looked exquisite.
Poor Penelope's, on the other hand, generally went unfinished.
And since money was not as plentiful as the countess would have her peers believe, she lavished what they had on Victoria's wardrobe...
And Victoria's lessons...
And Victoria's everything...
She wasn't about to let Penelope look embarrassingly shabby, but really, there was no point in spending more than she had to on her.
You couldn't turn a sow's ear into a silk purse, and you certainly couldn't turn a Penelope into a Victoria.
But...
Things didn't turn out so well for the countess...
After she had cheated Gwen out of her inheritance, she would've gotten away with it completely, because who cares about a bastard...
Except, that Gwen had had the temerity to fall in love with Arthur Pendragon, second son in the extremely well-connected Pendragon family.
This would not have been enough to seal the countess' fate, except, that Arthur decided he loved Gwen back. Quite madly, too.
And while he might have overlooked embezzlement, he certainly could not do the same for having his future wife hauled off to jail...on mostly fraudulent charges.
Things looked grim for dear Gwen for a while, even with intervention on the part of Arthur and his mother, Lady Pendragon.
But then, who should show up to save the day but Penelope?
Penelope, who had been ignored for most of her life...
Penelope, who had spent years feeling guilty for not standing up to her mother...
Penelope, who was still a little bit plump and never would be as beautiful as her sister, but who would always have the kindest eyes...
The countess had disowned her on the spot, but before the girl had even a moment to wonder if this constituted good or bad fortune, Lady Pendragon had invited her to live in her home...for as long as she wished.
Penelope might've spent twenty-two years being poked and pricked by her sister, but she was no fool. She accepted gladly, and did not even bother to return home to collect her belongings...
As for the countess, well, she'd quickly ascertained that it was in her best interest not to make any public comment about the soon-to-be Guinevere Pendragon, unless it was to declare her an absolute joy and delight.
Which she didn't do...
But she didn't go around calling her a bastard, either, which was all anyone could've expected.
All of this explains in an admittedly roundabout way, why Lady Pendragon was Penelope's unofficial guardian, and why she considered her a unique case...
To her mind, the girl had not truly debuted until she came to live with her...
Penwood dowry or no, who on earth would've looked twice at a girl in ill-fitting clothes, always stuck off in the corner, trying her best not to be noticed by her own mother?
"And if she's still unmarried at twenty-five, why, that is certainly equal to a mere twenty for anyone else," or so Lady Pendragon said.
And no one really wanted to contradict her...
As for Penelope, she often said that her life had not really begun until she went to jail...
This tended to require some explaining, but most of her statements did.
However, she didn't mind... The Pendragons actually liked her explanations.
They liked her...
Even better, she liked herself.
Which was more important than she'd ever realized.
Gwen Pendragon considered her life to be almost perfect...
She adored her husband, loved her cozy home, and was quite certain that her two little boys were the most handsome, brilliant creatures ever to be born anywhere, anytime, any... Well, any 'any' one could come up with.
It was true that they had to live in the country, because even with the sizable influence of the Pendragon family, she was, on account of her birth, not likely to be accepted by some of the more particular London hostesses.
She called them particular...
Arthur called them something else entirely...
But that didn't matter. Not really. She and Arthur preferred life in the country, so it was no great loss. And even though it would always be whispered that her birth was not what it should be, the official story was that she was a distant and completely legitimate relative of the late Earl of Penwood.
And even though no one really believed the countess when she'd confirmed the story... Confirmed it she had.
Gwen knew that by the time her children were grown, the rumours would be old enough so that no doors would be closed to them, should they wish to take their spots in London society.
All was well...
All was perfect...
Almost...
Really, all she needed to do was find a husband for Penelope...
Not just any husband, of course. Penelope deserved the best.
"She is not for everyone," Gwen had admitted to Arthur the previous day. "But that does not mean she is not a brilliant catch."
"Of course not," he murmured. He was trying to read the newspaper. It was three days old, but to his mind it was all still news to him.
Gwen looked at him sharply...
"I mean, of course," he said quickly. And then, when she did not immediately carry on, he amended, "I mean, whichever one means that she will make someone a splendid wife."
Gwen let out a sigh...
"The problem is that most people don't seem to realize how lovely she is."
Arthur gave a dutiful nod. He understood his role in this particular tableau. It was the sort of conversation that wasn't really a conversation. His wife was thinking aloud, and he was there to provide the occasional verbal prompt or gesture.
"Or at least that's what your mother reports," Gwen continued.
"Mmm-hmm."
"She doesn't get asked to dance nearly as often as she ought."
"Men are beasts," Arthur agreed, flipping to the next page.
"It's true," Gwen said with some emotion. "Present company excluded, of course."
"Oh, of course."
"Most of the time," she added, a little waspishly.
He gave her a wave.
"Think nothing of it."
"Are you listening to me?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Every word," he assured her, actually lowering the paper enough to see her above the top edge. He hadn't actually seen her eyes narrow, but he knew her well enough to hear it in her voice.
"We really need to find a husband for Penelope, Arthur."
He considered that...
"Perhaps she doesn't want one."
"Of course she wants one!"
"I have been told," Arthur opined. "That every woman wants a husband, but in my experience, this is not precisely true."
Gwen just stared at her husband, which he did not find surprising. It was a fairly lengthy statement, coming from a man with a newspaper...
"Consider Catherine," he said. He shook his head, which was his usual inclination while thinking of his sister. "How many men has she refused now?"
"At least three," Gwen said. "But that's not the point."
"What is the point, then?"
"Penelope."
"Right," he said slowly.
Gwen leaned forward, her eyes taking on an odd mix of bewilderment and determination.
"I don't know why the gentlemen don't see how wonderful she is."
"She's an acquired taste," Arthur said, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't supposed to offer a real opinion.
"What?"
"You said she's not for everyone."
"But you're not supposed to..." She slumped a bit in her seat. "Never mind."
"What were you going to say?"
"Nothing."
"Guin-e-vere," he prodded.
"It's just... You weren't supposed to agree with me," she muttered. "But even I can recognize how ridiculous that is."
It was a splendid thing, Arthur had long since realized, to have a sensible wife...
Gwen didn't speak for some time, and Arthur would've resumed his perusal of the newspaper, except that it was too interesting watching her face.
She'd chew on her lip, then let out a weary sigh, then straighten a bit, as if she'd got a good thought, then frown.
Really, he could've watched her all afternoon...
"Can you think of anyone?" she suddenly asked.
"For Penelope?"
She gave him a look... A whom-else-might-I-be-speaking-of look...
He let out a breath...
He should've anticipated the question, but he'd begun to think of the painting he was working on in his studio. It was a portrait of her, the fourth he'd done in their three years of marriage.
He was beginning to think that he hadn't gotten her mouth quite right... It wasn't the lips so much as the corners of her mouth. But a good portraitist needed to understand the muscles of the human body, even those on the face, and...
"Arthur!"
"What about Mr. Bancroft?" he said quickly.
"The solicitor?"
He nodded.
"He looks shifty."
She was right, he realized, now that he thought on it.
"Sir Aldrich?"
Gwen gave him another look, visibly disappointed with his selection.
"He's fat."
"So is..."
"She is not!" she cut in. "She is pleasantly plump!"
"I was going to say that so is Mr. Bancroft," Arthur said, feeling the need to defend himself. "But that you had chosen to comment upon his shiftiness."
"Oh..."
He allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
"Shiftiness is far worse than excess weight," Gwen mumbled.
"I could not agree more," he said. "What about Mr. Wyndam?"
"Who?"
"The new vicar. The one you said..."
"...has a brilliant smile!" Gwen finished excitedly. "Oh, Arthur, that's perfect! Oh, I love you love you love you!" At that, she practically leapt across the low table between them and into his arms.
"Well, I love you, too," he said, and he congratulated himself on having had the foresight to shut the door to the drawing room earlier, because the newspaper flew over his shoulder, and all was right with the world...
The season drew to a close a few weeks later, and so, Penelope decided to accept Gwen's invitation for an extended visit...
London was hot and sticky and rather smelly in the summer, and a sojourn in the country seemed just the thing.
Besides, she had not seen either of her godsons in several months, and she had been aghast when Gwen had written to say that Adam had already begun to lose some of his baby fat.
Oh, he was just the most squeezable, adorable thing... She had to go see him before he grew too thin. She simply had to.
And it would be nice to see Gwen, too. She'd written that she was still feeling a bit weak, and Penelope did like to be a help.
A few days into the visit, she and Gwen were taking tea, and talk turned as it occasionally did, to the countess and Victoria, whom Penelope occasionally bumped into in London.
After over a year of silence, her mother finally had begun to acknowledge her, but even so, conversation was brief and stilted.
Which, Penelope had decided, was for the best. Her mother might have had nothing to say to her, but she didn't have anything to say to her mother, either.
As far as epiphanies went, it had been rather liberating...
"I saw her outside the milliner," Penelope said, fixing her tea just the way she liked it, with extra milk and no sugar. "She'd just come down the steps, and I couldn't avoid her. And then I realized I didn't want to avoid her. Not that I wished to speak with her, of course." She took a sip. "Rather, I didn't wish to expend the energy needed to hide."
Gwen nodded approvingly...
"And then we spoke, and said nothing, really, although she did manage to get in one of her clever little insults."
"I hate that," Gwen said.
"I know. She's so good at it."
"It's a talent," Gwen remarked. "Not a good one, but a talent nonetheless."
"Well," Penelope continued. "I must say, I was rather mature about the entire encounter. I let her say what she wished, and then I bid her goodbye. And then I had the most amazing realization."
"What is that?"
She gave a smile...
"I like myself!"
"Well, of course you do," Gwen said, blinking with confusion.
"No, no, you don't understand," Penelope said. It was strange, because Gwen ought to have understood perfectly. She was the only person in the world who knew what it meant to live as the countess' unfavored child.
But there was something so sunny about Gwen...
There always had been.
Even when the countess treated her as a virtual slave, Gwen had never seemed beaten. There had always been a singular spirit to her...
A sparkle.
It wasn't defiance; She was the least defiant person Penelope knew, except perhaps for herself.
Not defiance...
Resilience... Yes, that was it exactly.
At any rate, Gwen ought to have understood what Penelope had meant, but she didn't, so the girl said,
"I didn't always like myself. And why should I? My own mother didn't like me."
"Oh, Penelope," Gwen said, her eyes brimming with tears. "You mustn't..."
"No, no," Penelope said good-naturedly. "Don't think anything of it. It doesn't bother me."
Gwen just looked at her...
"Well, not anymore," Penelope amended.
She eyed the plate of biscuits sitting on the table between them. She really oughtn't to eat one. She'd had three, and she wanted three more, so maybe that meant that if she had one, she was really abstaining from two...
She twiddled her fingers against her leg...
She probably shouldn't have one... She should probably leave them for Gwen, who had just had a baby and needed to regain her strength. Although she did look perfectly recovered. And little Adam was already four months old...
"Penelope?"
She looked up.
"Is something amiss?"
She gave a little shrug.
"I can't decide whether I wish to eat a biscuit."
Gwen blinked.
"A biscuit? Really?"
"There are at least two reasons why I should not, and probably more than that."
She paused, frowning...
"You looked quite serious," Gwen remarked. "Almost as if you were conjugating Latin."
"Oh, no, I should look far more at peace if I was conjugating Latin," Penelope declared. "That would be quite simple, as I know nothing about it. Biscuits, on the other hand, I ponder endlessly." She sighed and looked down at her middle. "Much to my dismay."
"Don't be silly," Gwen scolded. "You are the loveliest woman of my acquaintance."
Penelope smiled and took the biscuit... The marvelous thing about Gwen was that she wasn't lying.
She really did think her the loveliest woman of her acquaintance. But then again, Gwen had always been that sort of person. She saw kindness where others saw...well, where others didn't even bother to look, to be frank.
Penelope took a bite and chewed, deciding that it was absolutely worth it... Butter, sugar, and flour. What could be better?
"I received a letter from Lady Pendragon today," Gwen remarked.
Penelope looked up in interest...
Technically, Lady Pendragon could mean Gwen's sister-in-law, the wife of the current viscount. But they both knew she referred to Arthur's mother.
To them, she would always be Lady Pendragon...
"She said that Mr. Brinley called." When Penelope did not comment, Gwen added, "He was looking for you."
"Well, of course he was," the girl said, deciding to have that fourth biscuit after all. "Morgana is too young and Catherine terrifies him."
"Catherine terrifies me," Gwen admitted. "Or at least she used to. And Morgana I'm quite sure, will terrify me to the grave."
"You just need to know how to manage her," Penelope said with a wave.
It was true, Morgana Pendragon was terrifying, but the two of them had always got on quite well. It was probably due to Morgana's firm and some might say, unyielding sense of justice.
When she'd found out that Penelope's mother had never loved her as much as Victoria...
Well, Penelope had never told tales, and she wasn't going to begin now, but let it be said that the countess had never again eaten fish.
Or chicken...
Penelope had got this from the servants, and they always had the most accurate gossip.
"But you were about to tell me about Mr. Brinley," Gwen said, still sipping at her tea.
Penelope shrugged, even though she hadn't been about to do any such thing.
"He's so dull."
"Handsome?" Gwen asked.
She shrugged again.
"I can't tell."
"One generally need only look at the face."
"I can't get past his dullness. I don't think he laughs."
"It can't be that bad."
"Oh, it can, I assure you." She reached out and took another biscuit before she realized she hadn't meant to. She waved it in the air as she spoke, trying to make her point. "He sometimes makes this dreadful noise like, 'Ehrm ehrm ehrm,' and I think he thinks he's laughing, but he's clearly not."
Gwen giggled even though she felt as if she shouldn't.
"And he doesn't even look at my bosom!"
"Penelope!"
"It's my only good feature."
"It is not!" Gwen glanced about the drawing room, even though there was precisely no one about. "I can't believe you said that."
Penelope let out a frustrated exhale...
"I can't say bosom in London and now I can't do so in Wiltshire, either?"
"Not when I'm expecting the new vicar," Gwen said.
A chunk of Penelope's biscuit fell off and fell into her lap...
"What?"
"I didn't tell you?"
Penelope eyed Gwen suspiciously...
Most people thought the new Mrs. Pendragon was a poor liar, but that was only because she had such an angelic look about her.
And she rarely lied. So everyone assumed that if she did, she'd be dreadful at it.
Penelope, however, knew better...
"No," she said, brushing off her skirts. "You did not tell me."
"How very unlike me," Gwen murmured. She picked up a biscuit and took a bite.
Penelope stared at her...
"Do you know what I'm not doing now?"
Gwen shook her head.
"I am not rolling my eyes, because I am trying to act in a fashion that befits my age and maturity."
"You do look very grave."
Penelope stared her down a bit more...
"He is unmarried, I assume."
"Er, yes."
She lifted her left brow, the arch expression possibly the only useful gift she'd received from the countess.
"How old is this vicar?"
"I do not know," Gwen admitted. "But he has all of his hair."
"And it has come to this," Penelope murmured.
"I thought of you when I met him," Gwen said. "Because he smiles."
Because he smiles?
Penelope was beginning to think that Gwen was a bit cracked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"He smiles so often. And so well," Gwen said. At that she smiled. "I couldn't help but think of you."
Penelope did roll her eyes this time, then followed it with an immediate,
"I have decided to forsake maturity."
"By all means."
"I shall meet your vicar," she said. "But you should know I have decided to aspire to eccentricity."
"I wish you the best with that," Gwen said, not without sarcasm.
"You don't think I can?"
"You're the least eccentric person I know."
It was true, of course, but if Penelope had to spend her life as an old maid, she wanted to be the eccentric one with the large hat, not the desperate one with the pinched mouth.
"What is his name?" she asked.
But before Gwen could answer, they heard the front door opening, and then it was the butler giving her her answer as he announced,
"Mr. Wyndam is here to see you, Mrs. Pendragon."
Right away, Penelope stashed her half-eaten biscuit under a serviette and folded her hands prettily in her lap...
She was a little miffed with Gwen for inviting a bachelor for tea without warning her, but still, there seemed little reason not to make a good impression.
She looked expectantly at the doorway, waiting patiently as Mr. Wyndam's footsteps drew near.
And then...
Part two to come soon...
Stay safe!
