Page 42 of Fairest of Heart

Her mind would be of more use to him now, anyway.

Penelope possessed insight that would prove valuable to his case. She’d lived with the troupe for months. Understood their workings, their relationships. Understood Madame LaBelle herself. Perhaps even her habits when it came to entertaining men. He’d not jump to conclusions again and assume the actress’s beauty equaled guilt, but someone in the Chicago Theatrical Company was the thief he sought, and Penelope Snow offered the best chance to figure out who.

If she would forgive him.

18

Penelope nibbled on her bottom lip and stared at Titus Kingsley’s back. What was he thinking? He looked so tense. His hands balled into fists as he stared out the window. Would he drag her off to Ranger headquarters? Or would he just cart her straight to jail? She’d have to write to Edith. Her only ally. Perhaps she could convince Mrs. Franklin to send in a written statement attesting to Penelope’s character and Gerard Carlisle’s lack thereof. The housekeeper’s testimony wouldn’t prove she wasn’t a thief, but it might help convince a judge that she wasn’t a—what had Titus called her?—a schemer and seducer.

She could still hear those words. His voice echoed in her head, making her chest ache. No one cared to be portrayed in unflattering terms, but having the depiction come from someone she admired drove the knife even deeper. Doc’s support helped, but it didn’t eliminate the soreness in her spirit.

What was going to become of her? How was she going to—

Titus pivoted to face her, and the movement chopped off her thoughts as effectively as a butcher’s cleaver. “I owe you an apology, Miss Snow.”

Penelope’s mind seemed to freeze in place, sluggish to process what he was saying.

He blew out a breath, then strode away from the window and retook his seat across from her. He leaned forward and braced his forearms on his thighs. Craning his neck, he peered up into her face, regret softening his dark brown eyes.

“I wronged you, Miss Snow, and I’m deeply sorry.”

Her pulse pounded, and her breath caught. “Are you saying you . . . believe me?”

He dipped his chin in affirmation, and Penelope’s spine buckled in relief. Her arms quivered, and her fingers twitched as a flood of emotions overwhelmed her senses. She turned to smile at Doc, only to find him looking at his grandson with an It’s about time expression. His annoyance heightened her joy, bringing a small laugh gurgling from her throat as she twisted back to Titus. She tugged her hand away from Doc, then clasped the Ranger’s hand between both of hers.

“Thank you, Titus. I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll forgive me?” His gaze penetrated her giddiness to touch her heart and stir her compassion. True remorse etched his face. And when shame bowed his head and hid his eyes from her, she instinctively tightened her hold on his hand.

“I should never have accused you in such a public manner,” he said. “I swooped in here determined to protect Doc and the others from a deceitful woman, but even if you had been up to something nefarious, you posed no imminent threat to anyone when I arrived. You were standing in a field of butterflies, for Pete’s sake. I should have pulled you aside and questioned you privately.”

“I forgive you.”

How could she not? He believed her. In the face of no concrete proof, he believed her. Not only that, but he’d humbled himself and offered the most beautiful, sincere apology she’d ever received.

Slowly, his head lifted, and his eyes met hers. “Thank you.”

Something passed between them in that moment. She couldn’t define it or even truly identify it. Yet she felt it just the same. Something raw and vulnerable. Delicate yet powerful. Something that carried the promise of a second chance. For both of them.

His eyes widened slightly as if he felt it, too, then he gave his head a little wag before he leaned back in his chair, pulling his hands from her hold. “Doc was right when he mentioned preconceived notions. I tend to expect the worst when it comes to beautiful women. I’ve seen good men turn their backs on family and honor because of the manipulations of an attractive woman with a selfish agenda. Some even lost their lives.” His voice thickened before he cleared his throat and continued. “So when I learned of your questionable history with the Carlisles, I let that overshadow everything I had personally observed of your character. I think a part of me wanted to believe you were guilty because that would mean I was right to categorize all beautiful women as deceitful and untrustworthy. But you don’t fit that mold, Miss Snow, and it was wrong of me to assume you did simply because you are fair of face and form.”

He thought her fair? How could that be? She wore cobbled-together clothing that no one would consider fashionable, covered by a dusty work apron. She’d shoved her feet into Rowdy’s clunky boots so she wouldn’t ruin her new shoes with outdoor chores. Her hair was windblown, and her hands probably smelled like dog slobber.

Ever since her encounter with Gerard Carlisle, she’d feared drawing a man’s notice. But when Titus looked at her, she didn’t want to hide. In fact, a vain little part of her wished she had finished her new dress so he could see her in something that might actually flatter her a little.

Penelope tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear even as she reminded herself that God valued the beauty of a person’s heart, not the packaging it was wrapped in.

“I know it’s presumptuous of me,” Titus began, his tone more tentative than she’d ever heard it, “but I’d like to ask for your assistance.”

Penelope couldn’t imagine what help she could possibly offer a Texas Ranger, but she nodded anyway. “Of course. What can I do?”

He smiled, and his entire face changed. He looked younger. Less . . . burdened.

“Just like that, huh?” He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe her capitulation.

Penelope shrugged. “‘As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.’ You serve a just cause, Mr. Kingsley. I’m not sure how I can help, but I’m willing to try.”

Of course she could quote Scripture at the drop of a hat. He’d seen the small Bible among her possessions. The leather worn. The pages crinkled. Ribbon scraps marking a dozen or more passages.