A Fair Trade | PG13 | The House of Eliott
Title: A Fair Trade
Prompt: a weekend in the country
Fandom: Beatrice/Penelope, The House of Eliott
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 3126
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’m pretty excited because this is the first times in months that I’ve started and finished one story in a day, regardless of the word count. I hope I managed to do all right with this prompt and these characters. All mistakes are my own. Let me know what you think!
-
Beatrice places a gentle kiss on Evie’s temple, her heart clenching painfully as she watches another tear squeeze through closed eyelids and roll down her cheek. She brushes it away with her thumb and strokes her sister’s hair for several minutes, waiting until the young woman’s breathing has slowed to a calm, steady cadence. She watches Evie sleep for a few minutes before pulling the blanket higher upon her shoulder and quietly tiptoeing out of the darkened room.
Bea stands outside the door for countless moments, wondering if she oughtn’t stay. There is a chair in the hall that she could carry into the room to allow her to keep vigil at her sister’s bedside. She’ll only be a floor below, but she cannot stand the thought that her sister may wake up alone with the unbearable memory that a man she cared for has died. She’s been sleeping in fits and starts, each time overcome by a grief swollen with tears.
A thud sounds dully downstairs and, with a resolute sigh, Bea heads for the staircase. She reminds herself that Evie will call for her if she needs her and must be content with that knowledge. There is more that remains to be done while Evie rests.
As she steps off the final stair, Bea’s brow furrows at the sight of Penelope on her hands and knees, wiping a towel across the floor. A tray and a jug of what appeared to be water lie upturned on the floor beside her.
“What happened here?” Bea asks, touching Penelope’s shoulder as she crouches down beside her.
Penelope jerks under her touch. “I meant to leave out some water.” She folds the towel in half to gather the remaining water with a dry corner. “For Evie.”
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Bea notices, resting her hand over her friend’s. “Sit. I’ll finish this and make you some tea.”
“But-“
“No,” Beatrice replies sternly. “Sit on the loveseat.”
The other woman nods and does as she is told while Beatrice collects the tray, jug, and towel, depositing them in the kitchen. She sets about making two cups of tea and, when she is finished, she joins Penelope in the cottage’s small parlor. As she blows a cool breath across the top of her steaming cup, she watches with mild concern as Penelope ignores her own drink and bites anxiously at her fingernails.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Beatrice says calmly.
“It’s this damn…house! It’s all of it…my brother, the mission, the Hapworths-“
“You blame the Hapworths for allowing us to stay in their cottage for the weekend?”
“I blame them for having a second home to begin with, when there are so many people who have no home at all!”
“Penelope, what good will it do-“
“No,” Penelope barks angrily, “don’t. You’ll start sounding like Jack and I don’t want to hate you right now as well.”
“Why do you hate him?”
“I hate his damned patronizing attitude. Shipping us all off to his friends’ for a weekend, as if it’ll make the problems of the world just disappear? As if being here will solve poverty, or bring Sebastian back from the dead?”
“Your brother means well, Penelope. He just wanted to take care of us.”
“No,” Penelope cries, jumping to her feet. Her long, thin fingers curl into fists. “He wants us out of the way. He wanted you to take care of us.”
Beatrice sips her tea, silently acknowledging the truth of her friend’s words. For all of Jack’s concern about the emotional state of the three women in his life, he certainly was quick to send them away. He was also rather presumptuous in leaving Penelope and Evangeline, both in precarious emotional states, under Beatrice’s supervision with little regard to her own tumultuous thoughts.
Penelope gives a derisive little laugh before sitting back down. “Don’t you resent him, even a little?”
Bea cannot help but give a wry smile. “Perhaps a little, but I can’t fault him for trying to help. I don’t look at this weekend as having to take care of you or my sister. My sister will mourn whether she’s here or in London or on the moon. You, on the other hand, do not need taking care of at all. You just need to relax.”
The brunette rubs her face with her hands and sighs. “I can’t relax. There’s too much to do. I should be home doing them, not sipping tea on a sofa that costs more than five of the beds in the mission.”
“But you’re not home. You’re here. You’ll drive yourself mad if you dwell on it now.” Bea smiles again. “Besides, you’re not actually even drinking your tea.”
Penelope snorts. “You’re right. I’m whining and have neglected your tea.” She takes a sip and, unable to stop herself, emits a content sigh. “You’re too good at this, Beatrice Eliott.”
“At making tea? Have I chosen the wrong profession?”
With a laugh, Penelope shakes her head. “At taking care of others. You’ve been through so much yourself and yet…”
“And yet?”
“Who takes care of you?”
Bea shifts uncomfortably and hides herself behind her cup, dismayed as the last hot swallow of liquid courses down her throat. She sets the glass on the saucer and places it on the small table in front them before considering Penelope’s words. “I learned to take care of myself at a young age. I don’t quite know any other way.”
“Doesn’t it become tiresome after a while?”
Yes, Bea thinks. “What good will it do to complain? There are things that need to be done and there is no one else to do them.”
Penelope rolls her eyes. “You didn’t exactly answer my question, but you did prove my point. Lying about in some quaint little house is not going to accomplish anything.”
“Aside from you getting some rest, which is what you need.”
“But I won’t rest, Bea. All of the worrying and lack of sleep I’ve been getting at home is only going to get worse because I won’t be doing anything of consequence.” She gulps back the rest of her tea. “It’s a waste of time.”
“It’ll pass before you know it. Lord knows I have just as much work to do. The accounts won’t balance themselves.”
The other woman’s chuckle is soft in her throat as she stretches her long, lanky body against the back of the sofa. “Look at us…a couple of banished women.”
Bea laughs. “We didn’t exactly put up much of a fight though, did we?”
“Speak for yourself! I daresay Jack Maddox will never sit properly again!”
Bea snickers. “I thought I saw him wince.”
“I take all the credit for that.”
“As you should.” She eyes their empty cups. “I’d toast you, but we’re out of tea. Would you like another?”
Penelope shakes her head as she stands. “No, but I’ll bet ten pounds that I can find a bottle of wine around here that the Hapworths will never miss.”
“Penelope!”
“From what I know of these people, they could buy a bottle a day for the rest of their lives and never notice the dent in their bank account.”
“How did Jack come to befriend such a wealthy couple?”
Penelope disappears into a room down the hall. “One of the two ways he comes to befriend everyone else.”
Bea tilts her head in curiosity when her friend doesn’t answer. “Which are?”
Penelope returns, grinning widely as she brandishes a dusty bottle of red wine. “Photography or flirting, of course.”
Beatrice laughs again, feeling a little of the tension loosening its grip on her shoulders after months of stress. “I don’t think I want any more details than that.” She follows the other woman into the kitchen and finds two wine glasses while Penelope works on uncorking the bottle.
“No, you probably don’t.” Penelope pours one glass and then the other. “He’d positively maim me for tainting your perception of him.”
“Jack manages to taint his own image perfectly fine without his sister’s assistance.” She allows herself a taste of the burgundy beverage, allowing its rich bouquet to roll over her tongue. “Besides, what does my perception of him matter?”
Penelope raises an eyebrow. “You are kidding?”
“Of course not.”
“Jack thinks very highly of you…and your opinions about him.” She leads them both into the parlor where they once more seat themselves on the loveseat. “He’s taken quite a fancy to you.”
Bea scoffs. “Jack Maddox? Your brother? Hardly!”
“It’s true.”
She raises a sardonic eyebrow. “You both have the same acerbic sense of humor, I’ll give you that.”
“Mark my words, Beatrice Eliott, Jack will wise up eventually and tell you how he feels about you.”
The very idea that a playboy like Jack Maddox could have feelings for a woman twice the age of his typical conquests is flattering and entirely absurd. She tells Penelope as much and her cheeks grow warm. “Jack…he could have any woman he wanted-“
“And has.”
“-but, well, yes. So what would he see in me?”
“The same thing any reasonably sane, hot-blooded human would see.”
Bea rolls her eyes. “My spinsterly age?”
“Don’t be so self-deprecating, Bea. Coyness is not a quality that is flattering on anyone, especially on someone who is as heart-stoppingly beautiful as you are.”
Color and heat blossom on Bea’s cheeks and she looks shyly down at the rim of her glass. “You’re very kind, Pen.”
“I’m not being kind. I’m being honest.”
Bea takes another sip. “I appreciate your flattery. It’s…not the sort of thing I hear very often.”
“Well, that’s a damned shame, if you ask me.”
Bea studies the pale features of her friend, at the angular lines of her face, at the intensity in her dark eyes. “You have quite a way with words, Penelope Maddox.”
“If only that were true.”
Bea is surprised to see that Penelope’s glass is already emptied of its contents. “It is true.” She watches as Penelope pours herself more wine. “Pen-“
“Uh uh uh,” Penelope tsks, repositioning herself on the loveseat so that her long legs are curled beneath her and her body faces Beatrice. “You don’t need to take care of me, remember?”
“Yes, but I-“
“You worry. I know. It’s all you do. It’s a wonder you manage to design clothes as well.”
The blonde rolls her eyes and nudges Penelope with her knee. “I’m a very talented multi-tasker. You’d be amazed at the variety of things I can do all at once.”
“Oh Bea,” Penelope replies, her lips quirking into a lazy smile, “I don’t doubt that whatsoever.” As she cradles the glass to her chest, Pen leans back and stares off wistfully. “Beatrice Eliott: designer, sister, mother figure, friend, beauty-is there any role you’re bad at playing?”
Bea wonders if the wine is going to their heads; she can hardly accept her friend’s words for anything but exaggerations, and her own cheeks have remained flushed. “I think we’re both becoming a little silly.”
“What else are we likely to do?”
“I’m sure there is ple-“
Penelope raises a hand and, channeling her brother’s voice in perfect pitch and tone, says, “’Now now, Miss Eliott, this weekend away is meant for rest and relaxation!’”
Bea laughs. “I was going to suggest finding a book of poetry.”
“Let’s save that for tomorrow when we’re bored out of our skulls and crawling out of our skin wishing for work, shall we?”
“I’m glad I could keep you entertained,” Bea responds. She tilts back her glass and is surprised to find it empty.
Penelope notices immediately. “Ah! Allow me, madam.” She refills the glass and clinks hers against Bea’s. “To rest and relaxation.”
“Indeed.” Bea watches as Penelope closes her eyes and rolls her head around a stiff neck. “For all of its inconvenience, this weekend couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“Why is that?”
“You and Evie have both been working yourselves too hard. The rest will do you good.”
“Don’t start that lecture up again,” Penelope pleads with a groan.
“I’m not lecturing,” Bea assures her friend, placing a placating hand on her knee. “You can’t admit that you don’t feel a little run down.”
Penelope pauses for a minute and then nods. “You’re right. I can’t.”
“So relax. We’re here and we can’t do anything about it, and before you even suggest it, I will not humor you by brainstorming fundraiser locations.” She takes gratification in her friend’s smile and sets down her glass, scooting slightly closer.
“Bea, are you suggesting that I let my hair down for once?”
“That is exactly what I’m suggesting.” Reaching forward with steady hands, Bea sets about pulling out the pins that keep Penelope’s bun in place. Setting them on the table, she returns to Pen’s hair and combs her fingers through the soft brown locks. “I’m surprised you haven’t cut it all off.”
“So am I,” Penelope admits, tilting her head ever-so-slightly closer to Bea’s hands. “I’ve given it very serious thought.”
“Don’t!” Bea exclaims harshly, provoking Penelope to open her eyes in surprise. “You have such lovely hair, Pen. Don’t you dare cut it!”
“I don’t quite have the looks to pull off a bob like you do.”
“That’s nonsense.” Bea twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “You’re very lovely, Penelope.”
“Now who’s just being nice?” Pen asks teasingly, smiling despite her stern tone.
“Have you known me to say things I don’t mean?”
“Mmm. I suppose you’ve got me there.”
Bea smiles and pulls her hands away, folding them awkwardly in her lap and feeling slightly bereft. “Yes.”
There is a drawn out silence that Bea finds slightly uncomfortable. She grasps at passing thoughts for things to say but everything seems equally pointless. She takes up her wine glass more for the purpose of having something to fidget with rather than drink and steals glances at her friend. Penelope’s eyes are closed again, her head tilted back against the couch. With her hair loose about her shoulders and her body relaxed, Penelope looks years younger, as if the weight of the world has been removed. She is impossibly pretty in this moment, simply existing. She wants to reach out and touch the smooth ivory of her cheek, wants to soothe away all of her worries and set right all of the wrongs just for the selfish purpose of making her smile. It’s a confusing feeling, one she cannot quite place, but Bea cannot deny the sheer force of her silly desires.
After several minutes have passed in this awkward, companionable silence, Bea suggests, “Perhaps you should get some sleep.”
“Mmm. You’re doing it again, Beatrice.”
“Doing what?”
Penelope opens her eyes and grins, taking another generous swallow of wine before setting down the glass. “Trying to take care of me.”
Bea blushes. “Can you blame me for trying?”
Penelope sits closer. “I suppose I can’t. It’s in your nature, after all.”
“It’s my job to look after you,” she says quietly, honestly.
“No. It is my job to look after me. However, you may look after me because you want to, not because you need to.”
“I do want to,” Bea admits.
Penelope smiles. “I wonder if you’ll permit me to do the same for you?”
Bea quirks an eyebrow in quiet contemplation.
“If someone wanted to take care of you for once,” Penelope begins softly, brushing a strand of hair from Bea’s forehead, “would you let them?”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ll allow you to look after me if you allow me to do the same for you.” Pen’s fingers trail down the curve of Bea’s cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before they clasp her chin. “I’d say that’s a fair trade, wouldn’t you?”
Unable to speak, Bea simply nods and wonders why she’s shaking so hard. She licks her lips and is surprised when Penelope’s thumb gently brushes across her mouth.
Penelope’s next words come out in a whisper. “I’ll take very good care of you, Beatrice Eliott.” Cupping her cheek with her palm, Penelope leans in and Beatrice allows herself to be drawn closer.
They kiss.
Penelope’s lips are more shy and hesitant than her bold words would suggest. Bea’s own mouth moves cautiously, curiously. For all of their uncertainty, they maintain the gentle kiss for several moments before allowing it to deepen. Beatrice gasps at the feel of Penelope’s insistent mouth and she responds in kind, ignoring the part of herself that questions the morality of what she’s doing. Thoughts of Evie and Jack and work fall away and all that remains is Penelope’s tongue teasing along her bottom lip.
When the need for breath urges them apart, they remain close together, their foreheads touching. They gasp for air and tremble in unison. Bea clutches Pen’s hand in her own, their fingers intertwining as their mouths seek each other out once more.
Bea sighs into this next kiss, moaning quietly as her mouth opens to accept Penelope’s eager tongue. Beatrice has never kissed anyone like this-not even Phillip-and the heady brashness of it sets her heart pounding hard in her chest.
A shout from upstairs forces Bea to pull away, closing her eyes and cursing herself for being so angry at Evie’s need. She squeezes Penelope’s hand tightly before pulling away and standing up.
“And so the caregiver returns,” Penelope comments wryly.
Bea sighs apologetically. “I have to look in and see if she’s all right.”
“I know you do.” Penelope rises to her feet. “Perhaps it would be best if I got some sleep as well.”
“Yes.” Bea’s heart is still racing. “We all should.”
“We’ve got a long day of resting and relaxing ahead of us tomorrow; we’d better save our strength.”
Beatrice snorts in laughter. “We do indeed.” She heads towards the stairs. “A full two days of doing nothing. What are two women to do?”
“Perhaps we can pocket some of the Hapworths’ silver and pawn it in town.”
Bea’s mouth drops.
“Don’t look so scandalized! It was only a joke.”
Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “One has to wonder where you are concerned.”
Penelope crosses the room. “I promise to be on my very best behavior.”
“Good.” Bea casts a glance towards the ceiling.
“Off you go to be the dutiful sister. I think I’ll come with you and then tuck you in.”
Beatrice blushes harder. “That’s not necessary.”
“I know, but I won’t go to sleep unless you let me.” Penelope takes Bea’s hand in her own. “Fair is fair though, isn’t it?”
Bea grins, squeezing Pen’s hand. “Yes, it most certainly is.”
---
Prompt: a weekend in the country
Fandom: Beatrice/Penelope, The House of Eliott
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 3126
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’m pretty excited because this is the first times in months that I’ve started and finished one story in a day, regardless of the word count. I hope I managed to do all right with this prompt and these characters. All mistakes are my own. Let me know what you think!
-
Beatrice places a gentle kiss on Evie’s temple, her heart clenching painfully as she watches another tear squeeze through closed eyelids and roll down her cheek. She brushes it away with her thumb and strokes her sister’s hair for several minutes, waiting until the young woman’s breathing has slowed to a calm, steady cadence. She watches Evie sleep for a few minutes before pulling the blanket higher upon her shoulder and quietly tiptoeing out of the darkened room.
Bea stands outside the door for countless moments, wondering if she oughtn’t stay. There is a chair in the hall that she could carry into the room to allow her to keep vigil at her sister’s bedside. She’ll only be a floor below, but she cannot stand the thought that her sister may wake up alone with the unbearable memory that a man she cared for has died. She’s been sleeping in fits and starts, each time overcome by a grief swollen with tears.
A thud sounds dully downstairs and, with a resolute sigh, Bea heads for the staircase. She reminds herself that Evie will call for her if she needs her and must be content with that knowledge. There is more that remains to be done while Evie rests.
As she steps off the final stair, Bea’s brow furrows at the sight of Penelope on her hands and knees, wiping a towel across the floor. A tray and a jug of what appeared to be water lie upturned on the floor beside her.
“What happened here?” Bea asks, touching Penelope’s shoulder as she crouches down beside her.
Penelope jerks under her touch. “I meant to leave out some water.” She folds the towel in half to gather the remaining water with a dry corner. “For Evie.”
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Bea notices, resting her hand over her friend’s. “Sit. I’ll finish this and make you some tea.”
“But-“
“No,” Beatrice replies sternly. “Sit on the loveseat.”
The other woman nods and does as she is told while Beatrice collects the tray, jug, and towel, depositing them in the kitchen. She sets about making two cups of tea and, when she is finished, she joins Penelope in the cottage’s small parlor. As she blows a cool breath across the top of her steaming cup, she watches with mild concern as Penelope ignores her own drink and bites anxiously at her fingernails.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Beatrice says calmly.
“It’s this damn…house! It’s all of it…my brother, the mission, the Hapworths-“
“You blame the Hapworths for allowing us to stay in their cottage for the weekend?”
“I blame them for having a second home to begin with, when there are so many people who have no home at all!”
“Penelope, what good will it do-“
“No,” Penelope barks angrily, “don’t. You’ll start sounding like Jack and I don’t want to hate you right now as well.”
“Why do you hate him?”
“I hate his damned patronizing attitude. Shipping us all off to his friends’ for a weekend, as if it’ll make the problems of the world just disappear? As if being here will solve poverty, or bring Sebastian back from the dead?”
“Your brother means well, Penelope. He just wanted to take care of us.”
“No,” Penelope cries, jumping to her feet. Her long, thin fingers curl into fists. “He wants us out of the way. He wanted you to take care of us.”
Beatrice sips her tea, silently acknowledging the truth of her friend’s words. For all of Jack’s concern about the emotional state of the three women in his life, he certainly was quick to send them away. He was also rather presumptuous in leaving Penelope and Evangeline, both in precarious emotional states, under Beatrice’s supervision with little regard to her own tumultuous thoughts.
Penelope gives a derisive little laugh before sitting back down. “Don’t you resent him, even a little?”
Bea cannot help but give a wry smile. “Perhaps a little, but I can’t fault him for trying to help. I don’t look at this weekend as having to take care of you or my sister. My sister will mourn whether she’s here or in London or on the moon. You, on the other hand, do not need taking care of at all. You just need to relax.”
The brunette rubs her face with her hands and sighs. “I can’t relax. There’s too much to do. I should be home doing them, not sipping tea on a sofa that costs more than five of the beds in the mission.”
“But you’re not home. You’re here. You’ll drive yourself mad if you dwell on it now.” Bea smiles again. “Besides, you’re not actually even drinking your tea.”
Penelope snorts. “You’re right. I’m whining and have neglected your tea.” She takes a sip and, unable to stop herself, emits a content sigh. “You’re too good at this, Beatrice Eliott.”
“At making tea? Have I chosen the wrong profession?”
With a laugh, Penelope shakes her head. “At taking care of others. You’ve been through so much yourself and yet…”
“And yet?”
“Who takes care of you?”
Bea shifts uncomfortably and hides herself behind her cup, dismayed as the last hot swallow of liquid courses down her throat. She sets the glass on the saucer and places it on the small table in front them before considering Penelope’s words. “I learned to take care of myself at a young age. I don’t quite know any other way.”
“Doesn’t it become tiresome after a while?”
Yes, Bea thinks. “What good will it do to complain? There are things that need to be done and there is no one else to do them.”
Penelope rolls her eyes. “You didn’t exactly answer my question, but you did prove my point. Lying about in some quaint little house is not going to accomplish anything.”
“Aside from you getting some rest, which is what you need.”
“But I won’t rest, Bea. All of the worrying and lack of sleep I’ve been getting at home is only going to get worse because I won’t be doing anything of consequence.” She gulps back the rest of her tea. “It’s a waste of time.”
“It’ll pass before you know it. Lord knows I have just as much work to do. The accounts won’t balance themselves.”
The other woman’s chuckle is soft in her throat as she stretches her long, lanky body against the back of the sofa. “Look at us…a couple of banished women.”
Bea laughs. “We didn’t exactly put up much of a fight though, did we?”
“Speak for yourself! I daresay Jack Maddox will never sit properly again!”
Bea snickers. “I thought I saw him wince.”
“I take all the credit for that.”
“As you should.” She eyes their empty cups. “I’d toast you, but we’re out of tea. Would you like another?”
Penelope shakes her head as she stands. “No, but I’ll bet ten pounds that I can find a bottle of wine around here that the Hapworths will never miss.”
“Penelope!”
“From what I know of these people, they could buy a bottle a day for the rest of their lives and never notice the dent in their bank account.”
“How did Jack come to befriend such a wealthy couple?”
Penelope disappears into a room down the hall. “One of the two ways he comes to befriend everyone else.”
Bea tilts her head in curiosity when her friend doesn’t answer. “Which are?”
Penelope returns, grinning widely as she brandishes a dusty bottle of red wine. “Photography or flirting, of course.”
Beatrice laughs again, feeling a little of the tension loosening its grip on her shoulders after months of stress. “I don’t think I want any more details than that.” She follows the other woman into the kitchen and finds two wine glasses while Penelope works on uncorking the bottle.
“No, you probably don’t.” Penelope pours one glass and then the other. “He’d positively maim me for tainting your perception of him.”
“Jack manages to taint his own image perfectly fine without his sister’s assistance.” She allows herself a taste of the burgundy beverage, allowing its rich bouquet to roll over her tongue. “Besides, what does my perception of him matter?”
Penelope raises an eyebrow. “You are kidding?”
“Of course not.”
“Jack thinks very highly of you…and your opinions about him.” She leads them both into the parlor where they once more seat themselves on the loveseat. “He’s taken quite a fancy to you.”
Bea scoffs. “Jack Maddox? Your brother? Hardly!”
“It’s true.”
She raises a sardonic eyebrow. “You both have the same acerbic sense of humor, I’ll give you that.”
“Mark my words, Beatrice Eliott, Jack will wise up eventually and tell you how he feels about you.”
The very idea that a playboy like Jack Maddox could have feelings for a woman twice the age of his typical conquests is flattering and entirely absurd. She tells Penelope as much and her cheeks grow warm. “Jack…he could have any woman he wanted-“
“And has.”
“-but, well, yes. So what would he see in me?”
“The same thing any reasonably sane, hot-blooded human would see.”
Bea rolls her eyes. “My spinsterly age?”
“Don’t be so self-deprecating, Bea. Coyness is not a quality that is flattering on anyone, especially on someone who is as heart-stoppingly beautiful as you are.”
Color and heat blossom on Bea’s cheeks and she looks shyly down at the rim of her glass. “You’re very kind, Pen.”
“I’m not being kind. I’m being honest.”
Bea takes another sip. “I appreciate your flattery. It’s…not the sort of thing I hear very often.”
“Well, that’s a damned shame, if you ask me.”
Bea studies the pale features of her friend, at the angular lines of her face, at the intensity in her dark eyes. “You have quite a way with words, Penelope Maddox.”
“If only that were true.”
Bea is surprised to see that Penelope’s glass is already emptied of its contents. “It is true.” She watches as Penelope pours herself more wine. “Pen-“
“Uh uh uh,” Penelope tsks, repositioning herself on the loveseat so that her long legs are curled beneath her and her body faces Beatrice. “You don’t need to take care of me, remember?”
“Yes, but I-“
“You worry. I know. It’s all you do. It’s a wonder you manage to design clothes as well.”
The blonde rolls her eyes and nudges Penelope with her knee. “I’m a very talented multi-tasker. You’d be amazed at the variety of things I can do all at once.”
“Oh Bea,” Penelope replies, her lips quirking into a lazy smile, “I don’t doubt that whatsoever.” As she cradles the glass to her chest, Pen leans back and stares off wistfully. “Beatrice Eliott: designer, sister, mother figure, friend, beauty-is there any role you’re bad at playing?”
Bea wonders if the wine is going to their heads; she can hardly accept her friend’s words for anything but exaggerations, and her own cheeks have remained flushed. “I think we’re both becoming a little silly.”
“What else are we likely to do?”
“I’m sure there is ple-“
Penelope raises a hand and, channeling her brother’s voice in perfect pitch and tone, says, “’Now now, Miss Eliott, this weekend away is meant for rest and relaxation!’”
Bea laughs. “I was going to suggest finding a book of poetry.”
“Let’s save that for tomorrow when we’re bored out of our skulls and crawling out of our skin wishing for work, shall we?”
“I’m glad I could keep you entertained,” Bea responds. She tilts back her glass and is surprised to find it empty.
Penelope notices immediately. “Ah! Allow me, madam.” She refills the glass and clinks hers against Bea’s. “To rest and relaxation.”
“Indeed.” Bea watches as Penelope closes her eyes and rolls her head around a stiff neck. “For all of its inconvenience, this weekend couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“Why is that?”
“You and Evie have both been working yourselves too hard. The rest will do you good.”
“Don’t start that lecture up again,” Penelope pleads with a groan.
“I’m not lecturing,” Bea assures her friend, placing a placating hand on her knee. “You can’t admit that you don’t feel a little run down.”
Penelope pauses for a minute and then nods. “You’re right. I can’t.”
“So relax. We’re here and we can’t do anything about it, and before you even suggest it, I will not humor you by brainstorming fundraiser locations.” She takes gratification in her friend’s smile and sets down her glass, scooting slightly closer.
“Bea, are you suggesting that I let my hair down for once?”
“That is exactly what I’m suggesting.” Reaching forward with steady hands, Bea sets about pulling out the pins that keep Penelope’s bun in place. Setting them on the table, she returns to Pen’s hair and combs her fingers through the soft brown locks. “I’m surprised you haven’t cut it all off.”
“So am I,” Penelope admits, tilting her head ever-so-slightly closer to Bea’s hands. “I’ve given it very serious thought.”
“Don’t!” Bea exclaims harshly, provoking Penelope to open her eyes in surprise. “You have such lovely hair, Pen. Don’t you dare cut it!”
“I don’t quite have the looks to pull off a bob like you do.”
“That’s nonsense.” Bea twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “You’re very lovely, Penelope.”
“Now who’s just being nice?” Pen asks teasingly, smiling despite her stern tone.
“Have you known me to say things I don’t mean?”
“Mmm. I suppose you’ve got me there.”
Bea smiles and pulls her hands away, folding them awkwardly in her lap and feeling slightly bereft. “Yes.”
There is a drawn out silence that Bea finds slightly uncomfortable. She grasps at passing thoughts for things to say but everything seems equally pointless. She takes up her wine glass more for the purpose of having something to fidget with rather than drink and steals glances at her friend. Penelope’s eyes are closed again, her head tilted back against the couch. With her hair loose about her shoulders and her body relaxed, Penelope looks years younger, as if the weight of the world has been removed. She is impossibly pretty in this moment, simply existing. She wants to reach out and touch the smooth ivory of her cheek, wants to soothe away all of her worries and set right all of the wrongs just for the selfish purpose of making her smile. It’s a confusing feeling, one she cannot quite place, but Bea cannot deny the sheer force of her silly desires.
After several minutes have passed in this awkward, companionable silence, Bea suggests, “Perhaps you should get some sleep.”
“Mmm. You’re doing it again, Beatrice.”
“Doing what?”
Penelope opens her eyes and grins, taking another generous swallow of wine before setting down the glass. “Trying to take care of me.”
Bea blushes. “Can you blame me for trying?”
Penelope sits closer. “I suppose I can’t. It’s in your nature, after all.”
“It’s my job to look after you,” she says quietly, honestly.
“No. It is my job to look after me. However, you may look after me because you want to, not because you need to.”
“I do want to,” Bea admits.
Penelope smiles. “I wonder if you’ll permit me to do the same for you?”
Bea quirks an eyebrow in quiet contemplation.
“If someone wanted to take care of you for once,” Penelope begins softly, brushing a strand of hair from Bea’s forehead, “would you let them?”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ll allow you to look after me if you allow me to do the same for you.” Pen’s fingers trail down the curve of Bea’s cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before they clasp her chin. “I’d say that’s a fair trade, wouldn’t you?”
Unable to speak, Bea simply nods and wonders why she’s shaking so hard. She licks her lips and is surprised when Penelope’s thumb gently brushes across her mouth.
Penelope’s next words come out in a whisper. “I’ll take very good care of you, Beatrice Eliott.” Cupping her cheek with her palm, Penelope leans in and Beatrice allows herself to be drawn closer.
They kiss.
Penelope’s lips are more shy and hesitant than her bold words would suggest. Bea’s own mouth moves cautiously, curiously. For all of their uncertainty, they maintain the gentle kiss for several moments before allowing it to deepen. Beatrice gasps at the feel of Penelope’s insistent mouth and she responds in kind, ignoring the part of herself that questions the morality of what she’s doing. Thoughts of Evie and Jack and work fall away and all that remains is Penelope’s tongue teasing along her bottom lip.
When the need for breath urges them apart, they remain close together, their foreheads touching. They gasp for air and tremble in unison. Bea clutches Pen’s hand in her own, their fingers intertwining as their mouths seek each other out once more.
Bea sighs into this next kiss, moaning quietly as her mouth opens to accept Penelope’s eager tongue. Beatrice has never kissed anyone like this-not even Phillip-and the heady brashness of it sets her heart pounding hard in her chest.
A shout from upstairs forces Bea to pull away, closing her eyes and cursing herself for being so angry at Evie’s need. She squeezes Penelope’s hand tightly before pulling away and standing up.
“And so the caregiver returns,” Penelope comments wryly.
Bea sighs apologetically. “I have to look in and see if she’s all right.”
“I know you do.” Penelope rises to her feet. “Perhaps it would be best if I got some sleep as well.”
“Yes.” Bea’s heart is still racing. “We all should.”
“We’ve got a long day of resting and relaxing ahead of us tomorrow; we’d better save our strength.”
Beatrice snorts in laughter. “We do indeed.” She heads towards the stairs. “A full two days of doing nothing. What are two women to do?”
“Perhaps we can pocket some of the Hapworths’ silver and pawn it in town.”
Bea’s mouth drops.
“Don’t look so scandalized! It was only a joke.”
Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “One has to wonder where you are concerned.”
Penelope crosses the room. “I promise to be on my very best behavior.”
“Good.” Bea casts a glance towards the ceiling.
“Off you go to be the dutiful sister. I think I’ll come with you and then tuck you in.”
Beatrice blushes harder. “That’s not necessary.”
“I know, but I won’t go to sleep unless you let me.” Penelope takes Bea’s hand in her own. “Fair is fair though, isn’t it?”
Bea grins, squeezing Pen’s hand. “Yes, it most certainly is.”
---