He stared at her for a long while, and Penelope had the distinct, uncomfortable impression that he was able to read her thoughts. “Why did you require such a large dowry?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you unmarried?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Surely you are the only person in Britain who does not know the story.” He did not reply, and she filled the silence with the truth. “I was the victim of the worst sort of broken engagement.”

“There are ‘sorts’ of broken engagements?”

“Oh, yes. Mine was particularly bad. Not the breaking part . . . circumstances allowed me to call it off. But the rest . . . marriage to a woman he actually loved within a week? That was not so complimentary. It took me years to learn to ignore the whispers.”

“What could people have possibly had to whisper about?”

“Namely, why I—a perfect English bride, pampered and dowered and titled and all—was unable to retain control over a duke for even one month.”

“And? Why couldn’t you?”

She looked away from him, unable to say the words to his face. “He was madly in love with another. It seems that love indeed conquers all. Even aristocratic marriages.”

“You believe that?”

“I do. I’ve seen them together. They’re . . .” she searched for the word. “Perfect.” He did not reply, so she pushed on. “At least, I like to think so.”

“Why should it matter to you?”

“It shouldn’t, I suppose . . . but I like to think that if they weren’t perfect together . . . if they did not love each other so very much . . . then he would not have done what he did, and . . .”

“And you would be married.”

She looked at him, a wry smile on her lips. “I’m married anyway.”

“But you’d have the marriage you were raised to have instead of this one, a scandal waiting to be discovered.”

“I did not know it, but that one was a scandal waiting to be discovered, too.” At his questioning look, she said, “The duke’s sister. She was unmarried, not even out, and with child. He wanted our marriage to ensure that there was more to the House of Leighton than her scandal.”

“He planned to use you to cover up the scandal? Without telling you?”

“Is that any different than using me for money? Or land?”

“Of course it’s different. I didn’t lie.”

It was true, and for some reason, it mattered. Enough to make her realize that she would not exchange this marriage for that long-ago one.

It was growing cold in the carriage, and she adjusted her skirts, trying to leech the very last of the heat from the warming brick at her feet. The action bought time to think. “My sisters, Victoria and Valerie?” She waited for him to recall the twins. When he nodded, she continued. “They had their first season immediately following my scandal. And they suffered for it. My mother was so terrified they’d be colored by my tragedy, she urged them to take the first offers they received. Victoria was matched with an aging earl, desperate for an heir, Valerie to a viscount—handsome, but with more money than sense. I’m not sure they are happy . . . but I don’t imagine they ever expected to be—not once marriage became a real possibility.” She paused, thinking. “We all knew better. We weren’t raised to believe that marriage was anything more than a business arrangement, but I made it impossible for them to have more.”

She kept talking, not entirely understanding why she felt she should tell him the whole story. “My marriage was to be the most calculated, the most businesslike of them all. I was to become the Duchess of Leighton. I was to keep quiet and do my husband’s bidding and breed the next Duke of Leighton. And I would have done it. Happily.” She lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “The duke—he had other plans.”

“You escaped.”

No one had ever referred to it in such a way. She’d never admitted it, the quiet comfort that had come in the dissolution of the engagement, even as her world had come crashing down around her. She’d never wanted her mother to accuse her of being selfish. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to agree with Michael. “I’m not sure that most women would call what happened to me an escape. It’s funny how a little thing like a broken engagement can change everything.”

“Not so little, I imagine.”

She met his gaze again, realizing that he was paying close attention to her. “No . . . I suppose not.”

“How did it change you?”

“I was no longer a prize. No longer the ideal aristocratic bride.” She ran her hands over her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles that had appeared during their journey. “I was no longer perfect. Not in their eyes.”

“In my experience, perfection in the eyes of society is highly overrated.” He was staring at her, his hazel eyes glittering with something she could not identify.

“That’s easy for you to say; you walked away from them.”

He ignored the shift of focus, refused to allow the conversation to turn to him. “All those things—everything you just said—that’s how your broken engagement changed you for them. How did it change you, Penelope?”

The question gave her pause. In the years since the Duke of Leighton had caused the scandal of the ages and destroyed any chance of Penelope’s becoming his duchess, she’d never once asked herself how it had changed her.

But now, as she looked across the carriage at her new husband—a man she’d approached in the dead of night and whom she’d wed only days later—the truth whispered through her.