by Deb Marlowe
The gentleman hesitated. “I’m not sure the museum can involve itself in your search, sir.”
“I would not ask it. I’m merely asking your opinion, as a member of the geological and fossil community, yourself. You’ve speculated some collectors might wish to keep your institution out of bidding for new specimens, I’m simply asking for their names.”
The two of them watched each other carefully for a moment, before Mr. Simon sighed. “I do have sympathy for both you and Lord Tensford in this matter—and for us, in losing such a fine piece. If you’ll wait here for just a moment, I’ll run to Mr. Konig’s office for paper and ink and make you a list.” He hesitated again. “I would ask, though, that you not share where you obtained the names.”
“You have my word. And it may ease you to know, you are not the only person we’ve asked.”
Brow furrowed, the other man nodded. “I suppose it does help. Thank you. I shall return quickly.”
When he was gone, Penelope moved close to Sterne. “Very well done! It will be most interesting to see which names are duplicated on the separate lists.”
“You did well, too.” His eyes widened. “And you were correct about Lady Tresham. She does indeed seem interested in the buying and selling of fossils.”
They exchanged smiles of satisfaction. They were getting somewhere. Shared pleasure bubbled between and around them. A group entered the room and began to twitter excitedly over the ichthyosaur, but they might have been miles away. Continents away. Penelope cared only for following the small lines at the corners of his eyes into the fascinating dark fathoms of his gaze.
But then Mr. Simon was back. He handed over a folded piece of paper and Sterne tucked it into a pocket. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been a help.”
“Of course. Good luck finding his specimen. And be sure to let me know if you do.”
Mr. Simon bowed, and bent low over her hand. With a nod, he strode off, and Penelope followed the urging of Sterne’s hand on her back as they took their leave.
“What now?” she asked.
“Can’t you guess?” he said, his eyes twinkling.
She only had to think for a moment. “Well, a ride in the park might be nice.”
“Nice and productive, we might hope,” he agreed.
Chapter 8
Later that afternoon, Sterne pulled his gig up before Tensford’s town home and handed the reins over to his groom. “Walk them slowly about the square, will you, please? I’ll likely be inside a fair, few minutes.”
He strode into the entry hall just in time to catch Tensford coming down the stairs. He stopped, caught by the look on his friend’s face. “Hope?” he asked quietly.
“She’s fine. The doctor assures me that she is. Miss Munroe is with her.” The earl ran a hand through his hair. “And right now, I need a drink.” He crossed into the parlor and went straight for a decanter, poured a drink, then pointed it at Sterne. “You, however, are about to have a very busy time of it, fighting off Keswick and Whiddon. Chester might even fight you, but I expect you to emerge victorious, for next spring I shall need you to stand up in church and swear to be godfather to my son.”
Sterne sagged against a chair. “A son?”
“Or a daughter. Either is fine as long as all are healthy.” For a moment, the earl looked utterly terrified.
“Of course, all will be well.” Sterne rushed to clutch his friend’s arm and shake his hand. “Congratulations, to you both!”
“Thank you. I’m thrilled of course. And frightened down to my bones . . .” He paused as a knock sounded clearly from the hall.
Whiddon swept in a moment later. “I’ve the list from Goodson. He sent a note, as well, saying he’s heard that Stillwater is definitely in Town. He’ll try to find who he is staying with. In the meantime, we should keep watch on the rooms of the Geological Society. Surely the old man will turn up there, eventually.” Frowning, he looked between them. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Tensford shared his good news and poured drinks all around. They toasted the countess’s good health.
“Let’s see your list,” Sterne said, hoping to distract his friend from his worries. “I’ve one from Simon as well. Let’s see if anyone shows up on both.”
They huddled around the two lists.
“Sheffield? He lives right across the square. Surely he wouldn’t be so brazen.”
“And Rowland,” Sterne said. “Mr. John Rowland.” He looked up. “I don’t know him.”
Whiddon shook his head.
“I think perhaps I’ve read something of him.” Tensford frowned. “In the letters published by the Geological Society, perhaps? Yes. Yes.” He grew more excited. “I recall something about a purchase of a major specimen, something that hadn’t been seen before. It had several members excited.”
“Do you have the journals here?” Sterne asked.
“Yes, I brought everything I thought we might need.”
“Let’s look—”
“I’ll look,” Tensford interrupted and nodded toward the door. “You have plans, I believe?”
Sterne turned—and froze.
Miss Munroe stood just outside, fiddling with the placement of something in her reticule. She wore another lavishly decorated outer garment, a carriage dress of rich violet over a simple white gown. So much delicate embroidery and so many tiny buttons—it should have overwhelmed her, especially along with the full sleeves wound about with a ribbon of just a slightly darker shade of purple.
It didn’t overcome her. She looked up, smiling under a confection of a bonnet—and he could scarcely catch his breath.
Whiddon suffered no such malady. Grinning, he moved toward her and bent into an extravagant bow. “You must be the famous Miss Munroe.”
Her brow raised. “Famous? Good heavens.” She cast an eye to Sterne and he just shrugged.
“Well, extremely admired and spoken well of, then, by all of the best people I know.”
“How gratifying.”
Smiling, Whiddon glanced back, but when he met Sterne’s gaze the smile dropped away.
“Miss Munroe,” he said quickly. “You said you were looking forward to meeting Whiddon. There. Now, you have.”
“Try not to be disappointed,” Tensford joked.
“Not in the slightest,” she said to Whiddon with a grin. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, too, my lord.”
“Don’t believe anything these two say,” he objected. “We must spend some time together, so I might tell you the truth about myself.”
“Shall I disregard all of the good qualities they’ve mentioned?” she teased.
“No. You must magnify them, for they will surely have underplayed all of my superiorities.”
“They certainly underplayed your confidence,” she said with a laugh, before she looked to Tensford. “Hope has drifted off, but I doubt she’ll sleep long.”
“Thank you. Come along, Whiddon,” the earl beckoned. “You can help me search my papers for a mention of Rowland, until she awakes.”
Sterne flinched when the earl waved a finger between him and Miss Munroe.
“The pair of you—have a nice drive,” Tensford ordered. “Be careful. We’ll all look forward to hearing what you can find out.”
Nodding, he went to take the girl’s arm. He had to fight the instinct to thrust between her and Whiddon.
“We’ll return with a full report,” she said. Turning to Whiddon, she curtsied. “I’m pleased to have met you at last, sir.”
“And I, you,” Whiddon returned, all charm.
Sterne wanted to smack him.
But Whiddon turned to him. “You’ll remember your plans, Sterne, won’t you? We all do.”
“I’ve no need of a reminder,” he answered curtly.
“Perhaps you did not before,” Whiddon mused. “But I think one would not go amiss, now. What do you think, Tensford? Say it with me.”
“What is it, I’m to say?” the earl asked.
>
“Tensford’s plan. We’ve heard it often enough.”
“Oh, yes.”
Sterne shot the earl a look.
“Travel far,” Whiddon began. Brow raised, he waited for Tensford to speak the next part.
“Plans change, Whiddon,” the earl said instead, burying his gaze in his glass of brandy.
“Not Sterne’s. Travel. Study. Publish. As far and as fast as he can.” Whiddon gave him a direct look.
“Come,” Sterne said to Miss Munroe, turning away from his damned interfering friend and nodding to the girl. “My gig is outside.” He shot Whiddon a dark look and led her out.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Hope sat quietly next to Sterne as he drove through the wide Mayfair streets toward the park.
“You are unusually quiet, Miss Munroe. You are not worried about confronting Lady Tresham, are you?”
“No.” She was worried about Lord Whiddon’s strangely intense parting words. How could she not be, when they had felt like a warning, directed straight at her. Or worse, directly about her.
“You should not be,” he said with every evidence of reassurance.
But should she be concerned that Whiddon referenced something else, something she didn’t understand? Was there yet another obstacle between them, one she had no inkling of?
When she didn’t reply, Sterne nudged her with his knee. “You handled Simon beautifully.”
Was the flush of heat easing over her from the touch of their thighs? Or from his compliment? She didn’t care. She just enjoyed the sensation, as well as the bit of reassurance.
“I thank you, but I don’t believe I handled him. He’s not a puppy,” she said with a snort. “He’s a nice man. I just spoke to him.” Glancing up, she gave him a half smile. “And in any case, you were rather good with Mr. Simon, as well. I don’t think he would have given me that list of names.”
“He certainly would not have discussed his relationship with the lady, with me.”
“We make a good team,” she said softly.
He nodded and she let herself be comforted. The gig moved steadily on and she was thankful to feel some of the tension flow out of her. She imagined leaving a trail, like a line of chaff behind a grain wagon.
“You are good with people. Kind to most everyone.” He said it thoughtfully and she had the sudden notion that he was comparing her to someone, in his head.
“It’s not so difficult a skill,” she answered. “One has only to listen, and to pay attention, to really get to know someone. Although it can be nearly as important to listen to what they don’t say, as to what they do,” she mused. She caught the raised brow he directed at her. “What?”
He merely shrugged and urged the horses through the park gates.
“People are fascinating,” she insisted. “And surely you must think so, too.”
“Must I?”
“Why else would you make a study of their rituals?”
“True enough.” He gave a nod to the spectacle of Rotten Row that opened before them. “Although, more correctly, it is some of the behaviors that people exhibit, that fascinate me.”
She studied the scene. Bright gowns, bonnets and parasols staged beautifully against the background of green lawns and fully leafed trees. Ladies and gentlemen strolled and rode along the wide path. Gorgeous carriages and fine horseflesh were as flashy as the fashion. “I didn’t expect there would be so many people here.”
“This is nothing. In the spring, there is a veritable sea of the beau monde ebbing and flowing here. There will scarcely be room to maneuver.”
She watched a trio of ladies, their heads together. A gentleman approached and they all bowed and curtsied and there was much hand waving and giggling. “This is a ritual, of sorts. Is it not?”
“It is, indeed.”
She saw a gentleman pull his mount alongside an open carriage. He gazed intently at the lady riding inside, before he reached for her hand, tossing his coat wide as he did it, to show his elaborately embroidered waistcoat, and kissed it. “A mating display? Like a peacock flaunting his plumage?”
“In part,” he said with a laugh. “But it is more than that. This is a ritual of community. The people here are recognizing each other. You and I are the same. It’s the message they are telling each other, and it serves to strengthen the bonds between them.”
Blinking, she watched avidly as they moved into the crowd. “Goodness. I am looking at this experience in an entirely new way.”
“Don’t get too excited. This is rather a tame example.”
“Well, it’s got nothing on rolling a giant cheese.”
He laughed. “Even that is tame, compared to some.”
She turned to look at him. “What was the first?” she demanded. “Which ritual lured you in and began your fascination?”
“Hot pennies,” he answered promptly.
“Excuse me?”
“Hot pennies. In Honiton, a town not far from one of my father’s estates, they celebrate Hot Pennies Day. It is a tradition that started hundreds of years ago, when the wealthy residents of the town stood on the balcony of the Assembly rooms, looking down on the peasants below. They thought it would be great fun to heat their pennies up on the stove and toss them hot to the horde below, and to laugh while the poor sods burned their fingers as they fought to get them.”
“No,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And they still do this?”
“Well, the pennies are merely warm, these days, not scalding. The ceremony kicks off the village fair.”
“Good heavens.”
“Yes. Fascinating, isn’t it? This odd, cruel behavior has become something else over the years, and has become part of how the townspeople identify themselves and each other.”
“Sterne? Sterne!”
The call distracted them both. Penelope saw a lady ahead craning her neck to get a look back at them. She said something to the woman beside her, then left her to approach the gig. “Good day to you, sir!” The girl was smiling widely as she came. “I’d heard you’d gone to north to stay at Greystone. Are you back so soon?”
“I am, and the earl and countess with me.”
The lady lit up. “Hope is in Town? Oh, I must stop in to visit her! How glad I am, then, that Mama and I accompanied my father to Town this week. We nearly stayed home. How heartbroken I would have been to miss the chance to visit with you all.”
“I know Lady Tensford will be glad to see you, Miss Nichols. And may I introduce you to Miss Munroe? She is a neighborhood friend of the earl and countess and is staying with them.”
Pleasantries were exchanged and Hope found she quite liked the friendly girl. She didn’t keep them long, but asked them to send her best to Hope and promised to visit soon.
They’d just started forward again when Sterne was obliged to pull the horses to a halt once more. Another woman had stepped into their path. “I heard your name being called, Sterne, though I could hardly countenance it. But it is you. I thought you’d gone north to the wilds of Gloucestershire.”
“I did, ma’am, although, to be honest, Greystone is not nearly so wild now as it must have been when you were there, madam.” He extended a hand toward Penelope. “May I present Miss Munroe? Miss Munroe, this is Lady Lowell.”
“We’ve actually met, but you were still Miss McNamara, at that time. I must congratulate you on your nuptials.” Just as she had silently congratulated Tensford for escaping this woman’s net, months ago.
The woman ran an appraising gaze over her. “Munroe? Oh, yes. The squire’s daughter.”
Sterne blinked. “Oh, I had forgotten that you must have met, of course, when Miss McNamara and her family rented the estate.”
“We did.” Lady. Lowell’s mouth twisted. “I should hope that Lady Tensford’s fortune has gone a long way toward restoring the old pile.”
“It has indeed, but not nearly so much as her gracious presence has,” he repli
ed. “But I am surprised to find you in London, ma’am. I should have thought you would be summering at your husband’s country estate.”
“We were. Unfortunately, his is another ancient estate in desperate need of being brought up to date. I had so many renovations in progress, that Lord Lowell swore he would endure the heat and stench of Town in summer, rather than listen to another day of the constant noise of construction.” She cast an amused glance at Penelope. “My husband’s family crossed over with the Conqueror, and I swear, some of the rooms of the place hadn’t been done over, since.” She glanced between them. “But tell me, surely the two of you did not come to London alone? Is Tensford here?”
Sterne nodded. “And the countess as well.”
“Excellent!” The shine in her eye did not match her tone. “I shall be sure to call.” Stepping back, she lifted her chin. “You will tell her?”
It sounded like an order, not a question. Penelope merely nodded as Sterne urged the horses to walk on. “She’s as unpleasant as ever,” she said in a low voice.
“I’m sure you don’t know the half of it,” Sterne muttered back. “But never mind her. Keep your eye out for Lady Tresham.”
She did, but was distracted by the clusters of fashionable people. Would she be one of them, next spring? She didn’t think she had it in her to giggle and simper and whisper.
She swiveled in her seat to see who Lady Lowell might have gone on to speak to, and abruptly caught the eye of someone watching her intently. She started, it was so unexpected. The girl, very slender, with a pointed chin and thin, blonde hair, looked just as alarmed. She ducked behind a crowd of ladies and disappeared.
Penelope frowned. The girl looked familiar . . .
“There! Look ahead,” Sterne ordered. “See the landeau in the midst of the crowd?” Sterne nodded in the direction he meant for her to look. “Isn’t that Lady Tresham?”
She turned to look. “I believe it is.” Penelope glanced back once more, but the blonde girl had disappeared. She shrugged and stared again at the landeau. “That must be Mr. Millbank, with her.”
