“Invented her, yes. Right out of thin air, just like that.” Penelope snapped her fingers. “You see, I knew if you thought there was a Miss Spence, you’d make certain Oliver came to Cliff’s Edge so you might deliver him into a respectable young lady’s arms and save him from marrying a wicked actress.”
Dinah’s mouth dropped open. “Penelope! How could you do such a—”
“You’re the wicked actress in this scenario, in case that’s not clear,” Penelope interrupted, stirring another lump of sugar into her tea.
“But that’s…you—”
“I knew Oliver—being wildly in love with you—would make the most of his time alone with you in the coach. Am I correct?”
“You seem to know a great deal more about this than I do,” Dinah hissed, frazzled to the last degree. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Penelope shrugged. “Certainly, if you like. I believe it’s something like this. Oliver is madly, wildly in love with you, has been since the moment he saw you and has, in his own odd way, been courting you for a year now.”
“Not precisely courting—”
“You’ve made up your mind you can’t have him,” Penelope went on. “Despite having realized during your journey from London you’re as madly, wildly in love with him as he is with you. Is that correct?”
“It’s not…it’s more complicated than that.” Wasn’t it? Dinah thought it must be, but her thoughts were all muddled, and she couldn’t make sense of any of this.
“No, it isn’t. The only trouble here is you’ve decided it won’t do for Oliver to marry you, because you’re certain he’ll be made unhappy by it, despite ample evidence the Angel brothers marry for love, and make exceptionally devoted husbands.” Penelope patted her swollen belly. “Now then, let’s try this again, shall we? Why do you insist on leaving tomorrow morning, Dinah?”
Dinah threw her hands up in the air. “To get out of Oliver’s way, so he can get on with the business of falling in love with Miss Spence—”
“Who doesn’t exist,” Penelope reminded her.
“…and save him from years of regret—”
“Save him from a lifetime of happiness, you mean.”
“…and to keep him from making a dreadful mistake!”
Penelope snorted. “The dreadful mistake of marrying the lady he loves? Dear me, that is a good plan. I wonder I didn’t think of it myself.”
Dinah stared at Penelope, unable to say a word. All at once, all she wanted in the world was to lay her head on her friend’s shoulder and let her tears fall.
Penelope’s face softened. “Do you love him, Dinah?”
Dinah pressed her hand to her stomach, nausea rising in her throat. “A marriage between us would be a farce. No, worse than that. It would be a blasphemy. It will lead to a lifetime of regret for Oliver, and a lifetime of guilt and shame for me.”
Penelope regarded Dinah with steady brown eyes. “That’s not what I asked, Dinah. Do you love him?”
Dinah let her face fall into her hands. She’d lied to Oliver, lied to herself, and now she was about to lie to Penelope, her dearest friend, and she just…she simply couldn’t do it anymore. “Oh, Penelope, of course, I do! How could I not? I’ve never known anyone like him. He has the purest, most loving heart. If I didn’t know him to be flesh and blood, I’d never believe a man with a heart like his could exist.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Have you told him you love him?”
“No! He can’t ever know. If he finds out, he’ll never let me go until I promise to marry him.” That sharp blue gaze of his would pry under her hard surface to the tender, raw skin beneath, and he’d see everything.
“You’re right, he won’t. What does that tell you, Dinah? What does it tell you when a man with a heart as fine and pure as Oliver’s refuses to give you up?”
Dinah didn’t have an answer to that, so she remained silent, her gaze on her hands. Penelope was also silent, waiting, and they might have sat there all afternoon if they hadn’t been interrupted by the sound of a man clearing his throat.
They both turned to find Oliver standing in the doorway. “William sent me to fetch you, Penelope,” he said, but he was looking at Dinah, his face tight with worry.
“Yes, of course.” Penelope arched a meaningful eyebrow at Dinah before she leapt to her feet and disappeared through the door.
“Are you all right?” Oliver asked quietly, stepping further into the room. “You look…unlike yourself.”
“Yes, I’m…” Dinah began, but she couldn’t lie to him, not when he was gazing at her with those worried blue eyes. She whirled around, turning her back to Oliver just as the tears burning in her eyes began running down her cheeks.
“Don’t turn away from me, Dinah.” Oliver strode across the room, took her shoulders in his hands and turned her toward him. As soon as he saw her face he froze, horrified. “What’s the matter, love? Why are you crying?”
Because I love you and I can’t have you.
Words were bruising her ribs, burning her throat, shoving against her lips, and she couldn’t stop them, couldn’t hold them back. They were gushing from her mouth, bursting forth—
“I…I killed the pineapple!” Dinah blurted, then buried her face in her hands as hot tears slid down her cheeks.
“The pineapple?” Oliver took her wrists and gently lowered her hands from her face. “Dinah, the pineapple doesn’t matter.”
“Look at it!” Dinah pointed a dramatic finger at the pineapple, which was still sitting on the tea table, looking particularly forlorn. “I tried to take care of it, but it was so cold, and I could tell it was freezing, and then I fell asleep and dropped it and the puppy chewed on its…its…spikes, and now it’s dead, and it won’t bear fruit, and I’ve spoiled your gift for Penelope!”
“Sweetheart, I don’t care about the pineapple.” Oliver cupped her face in his hands. “Look at me. I only care about you.”
“But don’t you see, Oliver?” Dinah gulped in a few shuddering breaths. “I can’t be trusted with anything p-p-precious. I don’t know how t-to care for things.”
“Things? Do you mean…no, Dinah, don’t look away from me.” Oliver tipped her chin up. “Are we talking about pineapples, or something else?”
“Everything,” she whispered. “Pineapples, and animals, and people.”
“That isn’t true, Dinah. What about the kittens?”
Dinah raised her tear-stained face to his. “Mathilda’s kittens?”
Oliver brushed damp strands of hair back from her cheeks. “Well, yes, those kittens, but I was thinking of the kittens you had as a child. The barn cats. You took care of them, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but that was just—”
“Then there’s Penelope. You’ve been taking care of her since she came to the Pandemonium, haven’t you? And Maddy. You’ve always taken care of her as if she were your own sister.”