Discovering the Devil

T h i r t y - t w o

XXXII

HARRY never thought that a wedding ceremony could make him feel melancholy. Everything was beautiful. He had never had an eye for floral arrangements or the like (he did not know many red blooded males that did), but on this particular day, every petal stuck out. He found himself wondering how much Penelope liked the white tulips that Polly had. Then, he found himself wondering if Penelope would like an arrangement like that on her wedding day. The seriousness of the thought struck him with such force that Harry almost fell out of the pew.

He loved her. He was in love with her. Why else was he paying such careful detail to flowers? Why was he thinking of what Penelope would appreciate on her wedding day? And, God she was beautiful. Polly looked nice in her wedding gown, but she paled in comparison to Peneope's beauty in her cream bridesmaid dress. He could not take his eyes off of her. He had taken the last pew, but a few heads swiveled to look at him, whispered to their neighbors, and turned away. Even then, he could not stop gawking at her. It wasn't as if anyone believed the rumors anyhow, but one look at his eyes, and there was no denying it.

It was amazing, really. Several weeks ago, Harry had not even thought himself capable of the basest notion of amicability toward Penelope. And now? His heart beat for her. He watched Abernathy's face alight as Polly walked down the aisle, as he recited his vows, as he took her hand. He wanted to be able to do the same thing, to experience the same joy. To hell with his childish vow to stay unwed and the Duke of Fordham's lineage, this happiness was more important. And he wanted it with....

Damn it. Damn it all.

For the sake of propriety, Harry and Penelope were seated nowhere near each other. He expected nothing less. Despite the lingering stare or two, he did not create the surprise or hysteria he had been expecting. He did catch eyes with Solomon for a split second, and he hurriedly looked away. That was, of course, until Lord Beetlebub took his seat next to Harry. The lord had a familiar face that Harry couldn't quite place and a malignant smile.

"Lord Hawthorne," Beetlebub greeted. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The woman next to him, presumably Lady Beetlebub, refused to meet Harry's eye. Harry sipped his water. "The pleasure is mine."

"I am surprised you came." And so it began. "You never attend any social events."

Harry wondered if he should mention that he had attended the Burberry's engagement hall before deciding it was in poor taste. That was where he had had a scene with Charlotte. He was also rumored to have destroyed that engagement. He could mention that he was never invited to social events, but Harry suspected that was the line Beetlebub was trying to tease out. Instead, he smiled.

"Is there a particular reason you decided to come to this wedding?"

"Is there a particular reason you decided to come to this wedding?" Harry returned.

Lord Beetlebub laughed. "No, I suppose not."

"Well, then. I suppose I am here for the same reason you are."

"I am glad you came, genuinely. I was hoping you could clear up a bit of gossip for me."

"You'll find that a lot of the gossip you hear about me is unfair and untrue," Harry said coldly.

"I'm sure. I don't know if you've heard this one, though," Beetlebub said.

"I've heard a lot of them."

"It's about you and your step-sister. Some say that the reason you might've been turned out at twenty was not because of resentments regarding your half-brother's death." Beetlebub paused meaningfully. "Some say that it was because there were...untoward advances with your stepsister."