Chapter 6
The next day a footman carried up the card of Lady Reardon, and Penelope was obliged to greet the first of her morning callers.
Garbed in what Graham termed one of her “high- necked muslins,” her hair smoothed into a chignon, she greeted her visitors as she entered the small salon. “Lady Reardon, Miss Reardon, this is a pleasant surprise. I hope you have quite recovered from last night’s unpleasantness.”
The strawberry blonde dropped her head in embarrassment, and her mother glared at her with stiff-necked ferociousness.
“Delphinia has something she wishes to say to you, Lady Trevelyan.”
Penelope felt an immediate sympathy for the girl. She looked no more than eighteen or nineteen and judging by the simple white frock she wore, this was most likely her first Season. It must be tremendously difficult to rein in high spirits and imagination and behave as a mature adult at all hours of the day, particularly if the adult to be imitated was the imposing dowager.
“Oh, it is my place to apologize, Lady Reardon. I should never have neglected my guests so that one was allowed to become lost in this gloomy house. It is quite old-fashioned. Trevelyan was saying just the other night that we must do something with it or level it and build another.”
This blatant nonsense raised the girl’s head, and she replied spiritedly, “I beg of you, do not do so! Modern architecture is so uniformly boring, but this place has been constructed in a grand style! I much prefer the Gothic details. The gargoyles are superb. Please, I am so sorry I made a fool of myself last night. I wish wholeheartedly to give my apologies to Lord Trevelyan.”
This headlong speech set Penelope aback, but she warmed to the topic. With a mischievous smile she answered, “I am rather fond of the gargoyles myself, Miss Reardon. They really can be the friendliest of creatures, though they frighten the unwary intruder dreadfully.”
Lady Reardon appeared nonplussed, but Dolly giggled as she recognized the hidden meaning.
“They frighten dreadfully, I admit, but I will not be caught by surprise again. His lordship must think me a proper widgeon. I could not blame him if he never wished to see my face again, but I really must apologize for disturbing him and offer my gratitude for his solicitude. Do you think he would permit it?”
“He receives few visitors, as you must understand, Miss Reardon. I will convey your messages to him, however.” Turning to the dowager who appeared relieved that the conversation had taken a sensible turn, Penelope added the mollifying touch. “Lady Reardon, you are to be commended for having such an understanding daughter. I do hope we can become better acquainted. I have met few people in London, and it would be lovely to have someone to converse with.”
As they made arrangements to ride in the park, Guy appeared and insisted on being included in the party. Penelope reminded him that the outing must necessarily include Graham’s daughter, but he did not seem deterred. Only when the butler announced the arrival of Lord Higdon and Mr. DeVere did Guy’s smiling countenance lose some of its brilliance.
He looked up sharply to Penelope. “DeVere? Is he usually a visitor here?”
Penelope gave a helpless shrug. “The name means nothing to me.”
Lady Reardon finished buttoning her glove and gestured for her daughter to follow. Shaking Penelope’s hand, she offered, “Mr. DeVere is the younger son of a baron. He has been abroad in the military, I believe. A well setup young man. You need not fear his acquaintance. Good day.”
The gentlemen doffed their high-crowned hats as the ladies departed. Penelope remembered Lord Higdon as the gentleman of the high shirt collars from the night before. She repressed a smile as she noted today’s haberdashery included points that would make suitable blinders if they did not poke his eyes out first.
DeVere hesitated in the doorway, and her gaze was drawn to his refined air of intelligence and elegant attire. While he was not handsome, his looks were striking, and she felt the warmth of his regard.
The stiffness of Guy’s greeting was matched by the formality of the stranger’s, however, and she reserved her welcome to a polite nod. Since Higdon seemed eager to further his acquaintance, Penelope took her seat and the newcomers did likewise. Guy remained behind Penelope, resting his hand against her chair back, and she suspected, glowering at DeVere. What did Guy know of her visitor that she did not?
“Lady Reardon seems to believe you’ve been in the military, DeVere. Which regiment?” Guy did not believe in mincing words.
“Lady Reardon is mistaken.” DeVere accepted the cup of tea Penelope poured. “I am in the diplomatic corps. Now that negotiations for peace are under way, I have been given leave to visit my family. I understand you made it through the war without harm?”
If there were a sneer behind these words, Penelope could not detect it, but the tension between the two men was palpable. Guy had seemed such an amiable gentleman; she did not understand his change in character.
Blessedly the visitors only remained long enough for Higdon to offer his felicitations on the dinner and to determine whether Penelope intended to visit Almack’s. They rose as another flurry of guests arrived, and she had no chance to question Guy before he, too, was compelled to leave.
In all events, by that afternoon she found it a great relief to be in the company of a child again. When Guy returned to claim their company for a ride in the park, she informed him with relish he would have to ride with Miss Reardon in the phaeton, since Penelope intended to lead Alexandra’s new pony. Guy seemed momentarily nonplussed at being relegated to entertaining a schoolroom miss, but he overcame his dismay with aplomb.
In fact, by the time he returned the Trevelyan ladies to their door, he seemed in a positive hurry to return to the waiting carriage and Miss Reardon. Penelope laughed and caught his hand as he reached to doff his hat. “No, sir, that is not necessary. We require no further attendance. You may return to Miss Reardon.”
Guy grinned. “You are supposed to sulk that I would part from your company so easily, my lady. Someone needs to teach you the rules of the game. I shall be by this evening to commence your lessons.”
“That will be amusing.” Penelope laughed before sending him on his way. She turned back to the hall to dispose of her hat and gloves.
Trevelyan waited in the doorway of the salon. His expression revealed nothing of his opinion, but Penelope felt a weakness in her knees as his gaze rested on her before he turned to his daughter. She could feel his disapproval, but since he said nothing, she could make no reply. She turned her attention to Alexandra who regarded her father warily.
“Give Harley your bonnet, Alexandra. I think Mrs. Haywood will excuse you this once if you don’t change for tea. Why don’t you go in and tell your papa how well we did in the park today?”
Her small face brightened in excitement. Her father held out his ungloved left hand to escort Alexandra. “We will let Penelope change out of her riding clothes while you tell me how many times she fell off her horse. I wager both of you spent more time picking daisies than on horseback.”
Penelope took a deep breath of relief at Alexandra’s giggle and hastened upstairs to change. Graham did not make a habit of sharing tea with them, but she hoped to change that. He could not spend the rest of his life hiding in his rooms. For his own sake and Alexandra’s, she would have to draw him out in public, gradually, of course.
By the time she reappeared in a sprigged muslin with a scooped neckline to please her husband’s tastes, father and daughter were conversing over tea and cakes. Alexandra was much too young to be in the drawing room, but Penelope had no intention of reprimanding either of them.
“I categorically deny everything she tells on me,” she announced, sweeping into the room and taking her place beside the tea table. “And I see someone has already stolen my éclair.”
Alexandra rolled off in a fit of giggles as her father hurriedly popped the last bite of the missing sweet into his mouth. Penelope sent him a severe look before brandishing the p
late of finger sandwiches.
“You should be ashamed of yourself. How will Alexandra learn to eat properly if her father makes a glutton of himself?”
Graham meekly accepted one of the minuscule concoctions while Penelope set an assortment on his daughter’s plate. He eyed the sandwich with misgiving before bringing it to his mouth. When the entire treat disappeared in one bite, Alexandra went into gales of laughter again.
Penelope had to bite her lip to keep from joining in. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten, my lord?”
He drank his entire cup of tea while thinking about it. “Well, luncheon had already been cleared away when I came down, and I don’t remember anybody carrying up dinner during the excitement last night, so I suppose—”
Penelope’s cry of dismay produced a satisfied smirk on that corner of his mouth able to display such feelings.
“Oh, Graham, I never. . .! Surely John brought up something. He cannot have been so forgetful as I.”
Trevelyan gleefully helped himself to the next largest cake on the platter. “I assure you, my lady, the excitement quite drove the wits out of his head. Had I not been terrified of Cook, I would have ravaged the larder, but instead, I have endured quietly, unprotesting, until now.”
Alexandra held her hands over her mouth to stifle the giggles threatening to erupt at her father’s enormous bouncer. Terrified of Cook! That lofty personage quaked at so much as a sight of his formidable employer.
Triumphantly, Alexandra conquered her laughter to point out the obvious. “There were plates and saucers and bread crumbs all over Papa’s desk this morning. I heard the maids scolding John for it. Cook says Papa could eat a cow whole if he cooked it for him.”
That sent both Penelope and Graham into whoops.
Graham entered Penelope’s chamber that evening just as her maid was leaving. Nervously she noted he had returned to the enigmatic stranger, but she gestured for her maid to close the door as she departed.
She clasped her hands as he studied her pale green satin gown. Green ribbon accented the high waistline and puffed sleeves, but his gaze lingered longest on the expanse of skin revealed by the fashionable neckline. Penelope flushed as he regarded her freckles with interest.
Sweeping up her fringed shawl, she wrapped it around her. “Is the gown not to your liking?”
“On the contrary, I had not expected to like it so much. You had better pin the shawl securely or Guy will find it difficult to follow the performance on stage.”
“I will stay home if you prefer. You were the one who suggested I become part of London society. I did not think I could refuse the countess’s offer of her box this evening, and I know no one else to ask to accompany me. Should I cry off?”
She desperately wanted to see a professional theater performance, but not for a moment would she allow Graham to see her desire or disappointment. Her obligation to him was tremendous, and she felt as if she had returned very little of it. His wish, literally, was her command.
“I can see you are eager for this outing. I have no right whatsoever to ask you to stay home. You are free to do as you please, Penelope. I will not go back on my word. I just do not want to see you hurt. There are bound to be men of more stable character than Guy. The fault lies with me, I suppose. Had I kept in touch with my acquaintances, I might be in a better position to introduce you to suitable ones, though at the moment I can’t think of who they would have been.”
Penelope heard the wry twist of his words with interest. She knew so little of him. He had apparently moved in the upper echelons of society before his accident, and society seemed to remember him with kindness. Why had he deliberately turned his back on his friends at a time when he most needed them? His cynicism now made it seem as if he did not approve of his former acquaintances. Surely that did not apply to society as a whole?
“Graham, I would be perfectly content accompanying you to the theater. I do not need suitors. Indeed, I am happy without them and have been so for many years. Perhaps I am not romantic. I have never once even developed a schoolgirl crush on any of my acquaintances. You have married a proper old maid.”
“I have married an innocent country miss who knows nothing about love and romance.” Graham leaned on his cane and his one golden eye sparkled as he observed her embarrassment. “I would taint your innocence with my opinions of love. You are entitled to try it for yourself before we compare notes.”
“There are many kinds of love, my lord, I know that. So don’t think me completely innocent. I just don’t believe in the romantic kind. That’s for fairy tales.”
“And you think Shakespeare wrote fairy tales? You pretend you have a hard heart, my lady, but I think you have had no occasion for it to be touched. You are ripe for the plucking, my dear. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She laughed at him and went her way, but if she did not heed his words, Graham did. If he knew anything of the female persuasion at all—and he certainly was no stranger to the ladies—Penelope was vulnerable to the first eager suitor to whisper sweet words in her ear. Why should he stand by and let someone else break her heart? There must be ways he could do it much more gently himself. The idea had merit. He needed only time to reflect on it.
Tonight, he had other plans.
Gentlemen were not unusual in this particular gambling hell on the unfashionable East End, but the one sitting in the dimly lit corner with his petticoat choice of the evening did not fit in even here. Admittedly the piratical shock of disheveled black hair, narrowed eyes, and the fencing scar marring one handsome cheek gave the impression of one well acquainted with these denizens. However, his obvious boredom with the buxom miss at his side and the manner in which he threw his cards down upon the table without interest showed a lack of dissolution. One simply did not play solitaire when all the world’s vices beckoned.
His interest heightened at sight of another gentleman working his way through the smoky maze of crowded tables and drunken occupants,. With a flick of his wrist he sent his female companion to capture the newcomer’s attention. Within minutes the two men warily faced each other.
“Should I know you?” The newcomer flicked his gaze over the solitaire player with no attempt to conceal his dislike. Both men were dressed in the height of fashion—skin-tight pantaloons, cutaway coats, and neatly starched white linen—but the solitaire player carried off his attire with a casualness bordering on contempt, whereas the darker man appeared stiff and formal.
“Not likely, but my cousin assures me you’re the man to see. DeVere, is it not?”
Without admitting the correctness of the appellation, the other man asked, “And you?”
“Chadwell. You’ll not have heard of me. I am Trevelyan’s American cousin, on his mother’s side, naturally.” For a brief moment, Chadwell’s narrowed eyes widened to a golden gleam and a charming smile danced across his face. The lady at his side cooed and leaned over to kiss his lean jaw, but Chadwell brushed her aside and began flipping cards on the table with disinterest again.
DeVere didn’t appear appreciative of this introduction. “You don’t sound like a savage. Why are you here?”
Chadwell shrugged. “My parents are English. Why should I talk like a savage? You want to hear my Yankee accent? I can do one very well if the occasion suits.”
DeVere snorted. “So could Gray. And French, and Spanish, and Hindustani, I suppose, if he put his mind to it. The two of you are very alike, now that I notice it.”
“Were very alike. Since a certain accident, he’s no more than a helpless cripple, a maimed one at that. But, of course, you know nothing of that.” His tone implied that DeVere knew a good deal more than he would admit. “That’s why I’m here. Gray tells me you are acquainted with a certain party referred to in the note that brought you here.” Chadwell did not look up from his card game.
“If I am correct in assuming your reference to a charioteer is the same person with whom I am acquainted,” DeVere agreed coldly. “There are not
many of the old club left. Is that your doing?”
“You flatter me. But the charioteer remains, as far as one can tell. As do you and a few others Gray does not hold responsible for his wife’s death. From what I am told, you are far from an innocent man, but my interest is not in your vices. I want the charioteer. In turn I will give you the name of various parties who have an interest in seeing the allies’ peace treaty come to naught. They have hired an assassin to strike the foreign dignitaries arriving. I am compelled to report them as soon as I have proof, but you may do so in my stead in exchange for the information I want. Your superiors will be unable to deny your promotion again after that, will they?”
For the first time DeVere appeared interested. He studied Chadwell thoughtfully. “You are physically similar to Graham,” he mused aloud. “Except Trevelyan is a Corinthian of the first water and you lack his polish and manner. The coloring is different, of course. Do you have his punishing fists and ability with a rapier?”
Chadwell shrugged. “I didn’t learn at Gentleman Jackson’s, if that’s what you ask.”
“Graham would never indulge in this subterfuge,” DeVere stated. “Bargaining with the lives of powerful political figures would have been beyond his conservative conscience. Am I allowed to inquire after your interest in the charioteer?”
“No.” The one word, spoken sharply, ended that avenue of speculation. Chadwell looked up at DeVere with a challenge in his eyes.
“Very well.” DeVere shrugged. “You have the right to get killed dabbling in other people’s lives, although avenging Graham’s wife is a futile crusade, if that’s your goal. The information you seek isn’t at my fingertips, but I can locate him. Will you send me a note when you have your proof?”
“Of a certainty.”
The two men did not shake hands in parting. DeVere worked his way back the way he had come, while Chadwell remained behind, shuffling his cards.
The blonde at his side clutched the width of his upper arm and whispered with concern, “I don’t like ’im. Is it true what he said about yer gettin’ killed?”
Love Forever After Page 6
