'Twas the Night Before Mischief by Nina Rowan

her, but now he needed to prove himself worthy of keeping her.

Chapter Eight
    U ntil they stopped in front of Darlington’s Confectionery, Penelope didn’t know that she had been hoping her father would be angry with her. He’d never been angry with her before. He’d never been… anything . At least anger would indicate that he’d been worried, even afraid for her safety. At least anger would mean that her betrayal had affected him.
    She grasped Darius’s hand as she stepped from the cab. He had been silent on their ride back from Paddington Station, and now as she looked at him, his expression was unreadable.
    Twisting her hand from his, she gazed at the window of the shop, which was filled with displays of Christmas treats. Dark gingerbread, Twelfth Night cakes laced with lemon, stars of Bethlehem, jellies in gleaming jars. Sugarplums.
    Darius held the door open for her. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Penelope stepped inside. A waft of warm, sugary air greeted her. She nodded at William, the man who helped at the front counter, and went around to the workroom. She felt Darius behind her, but he stopped at the door.
    Henry Darlington was mixing a bowl of chocolate, his broad face set with concentration. Penelope wondered if he was the only person in the world who possessed such a dedication to confectioneries. He looked up when the door clicked shut.
    â€œPenny.”
    She ran her gloved hands restlessly over her skirt. “Hello, Papa.”
    For a moment, it seemed as if he might come around the table to her, but instead he remained where he was.
    â€œMr. Hall telegraphed from Inverness that you were on the way back to London,” he said. “What am I to assume about your engagement to Simon Wilkie?”
    Penelope held herself very still. “There is nothing to assume because there is no engagement.”
    â€œAs well there shouldn’t be.” Henry Darlington gave a short nod and turned his attention back to the chocolate. “You owe Darius Hall a debt of gratitude for returning you safely home.”
    â€œHe…he’s waiting in the other room. I believe he wants to speak with you as well.”
    He nodded. “You’d best see your mother. She’s been worried about you.”
    She’s not my mother. Even now, years later, the protest sparked in Penelope’s mind like a flame set to dry wood. Guilt filled her chest. There was no doubt her stepmother had made her father happy. Penelope thought she would do well to remember that, even to be grateful for it. But…
    â€œWhy?” she asked.
    â€œBecause you committed a dangerous, foolish act,” her father replied shortly.
    â€œNo. Why did you plan to hold your celebratory feast on the date of my mother’s death?”
    â€œOn the date of…” Her father shook his head. “I didn’t plan any such thing. I wanted to hold it the week before Christmas. If the dates coincided, I had nothing…”
    He stopped abruptly and looked at her. “That’s the reason you ran off?”
    Penelope sighed. There were so many reasons she’d “run off” that she knew she couldn’t begin to explain them to him.
    Her father continued looking at her. “Penny, do you know who first started Darlington’s Confectionery?”
    â€œYour father.”
    â€œNo. Your mother’s father. James Westford. He and my father became business partners, but James was the one who invested in the company. Who determined what it should be. And he’d always hoped that one day we would be granted a royal warrant.”
    He turned back to the chocolate. Though he would say nothing more on the matter, the word we rang in Penelope’s mind. It wasn’t a word that she needed to define.
    She went to the door. Darius stood on the other side.
    â€œI’ve told the driver to take you to your father’s house,” he said, his gaze holding hers.