Peeking through the shelves, she spotted Mrs. Stewart waiting impatiently by the small shop’s front entrance, looking grim in her severe black gown. The fact that she was not currently stalking Penelope through the store, breathing down her neck, was a small miracle. Usually, it was as if she believed her charge would run off with the first gentleman she came upon and cause a terrible scandal if she did not keep constant vigil.
Penelope continued down the aisle, indulging her senses of smell and touch for several moments more. It was rather warm in the little shop. She tugged at her silk shawl to loosen it and pull it from around her neck, draping it over her arms as she walked.
It had been over an hour since they had arrived, and she would have spent the entire day exploring the shelves if she had the freedom to, but she knew she could not linger for much longer. She had best pick up the one particular book she had come to purchase. Copies were on prominent display in a bookstand just as one entered the shop, so she made her way back to the front.
Mrs. Stewart’s eagle-eyes snapped to Penelope when she reemerged from her safe haven.
“Miss Snowley, are you nearly done with your errand? Lord Bienholm will begin to wonder at your absence if we do not return soon.”
Penelope fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Mrs. Stewart, I assure you my father will pay no mind to my tardiness. He is not even home today. There is no need to fret.”
The abigail pursed her lips in disapproval, but said nothing in response. Penelope knew she aggravated the woman, and that she would love nothing more than to unleash a thorough tongue lashing upon her charge. Her ironclad sense of propriety would never allow her to speak harshly to the daughter of her beloved mistress, however.
Turning from the sour-faced abigail toward the bookstand, Penelope picked up one of the copies of the novel, and pride swelled in her chest. Her elder brother’s name was printed in bold, gold lettering on the front cover. Harry had drawn great acclaim across London with the release of his first work, and she was confident his second novel would prove just as popular.
Opening the tome, she flipped through the pages in delight. She already knew the story well. They had discussed it often enough as it was being created. It was the story of a beautiful young lady who was promised in marriage to a terrifying recluse left terribly scarred by battle wounds. At first, her new husband scares and intimidates her, but as the two come to know each other…
“Is that Mr. Snowley’s novel, Madam?” Mrs. Stewart asked from over Penelope’s shoulder, startling her. She had been so absorbed in the story, she had not heard the woman approach.
“Indeed it is, Mrs. Stewart,” she replied, glancing toward the abigail with narrowed eyes. The woman did not seem to notice Penelope’s annoyance, however, as her expression lit up.
“Mr. Snowley is such a talented young gentleman,” she declared. “Lord and Lady Bienholm must be so very proud.”
They were, in fact. Penelope’s mother and father thought it quite marvelous that their son was such a literary success. He was the talk of London, and all the ladies of the ton adored his novels. Everyone loved Harry, as well they should. He was handsome, intelligent, kind, and would one day inherit their father’s title and join the peerage.
Penelope, on the other hand, was not so beloved outside of her family. The other ladies gossiped and ridiculed her, calling her a bluestocking behind her back. She was considered odd by many of the gentlemen of the ton, and their interest in her had dwindled in the years since her coming out. At one-and-twenty, with no present prospects, Penelope was quite certain she would be put on the shelf.
It was a depressing notion, but one she was coming to terms with. She tried to look on the brighter side of things. When Harry eventually married and fathered children, which he most certainly would, she thought she could be happy as their doting, spinster aunt. She would read to them, sharing her favorite stories and passing on her love of books.
The door to the shop opened, distracting her from her pitiful musings. She did not look up from her book, though it was still rather early in the day for other patrons to frequent the popular store. Mrs. Stewart shifted behind her, turning to peek at whoever it was that had come in.
“Good day, My Lord,” she chirped.
“Good day.” The response came in a deep voice that sent an unexpected shiver rushing down Penelope’s spine. It reminded her of the low rumble of thunder during a summer storm. Heavy footsteps approached the bookstand she stood at, and for some reason she could not name, her heart began to race.
She glanced up, and her breath escaped through her parted lips. Dizziness assailed her as she found herself drowning in the most stunning honey-colored eyes. The face they belonged to was just as beautiful, with a strong jaw and straight nose over full, pink lips. He was quite tall and broad in the shoulder. She had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and the space around him seemed smaller for him being in it.
Goosebumps broke out along her arms, and she felt a tightening in her middle.
What is this strange sensation? This heat spreading through my body?
It was unlike anything she had ever felt before.
As if he had put her under some kind of trance, Penelope could not find the strength to look away from him. Who was this gentleman with the honey-gold eyes? And why was he staring back at her as if in awe?
* * *
An angel. I have found an angel on earth, and she has eyes as blue as the heavens she descended from.
Andrew could not tear his gaze from the beauty in front of him. Her midnight black hair was arranged into an elegant chignon, with curling tendrils framing her delicate face. Her striking blue eyes were big and guileless. She reminded him of a porcelain doll, lovely and fragile in appearance.
Stepping into the cozy little bookstore with the intention of procuring the Snowley novel for his sister, he had noticed the young lady right away. She had drawn his gaze like a beacon in the night. Her back had been turned to him, but the silkiness of her dark hair and the graceful curve of her pale neck captured his attention. Some kind of fluttering had erupted in his stomach, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to see her face.
Like a sailor of old pulled in by a Siren’s song, he had crossed the floor, compelled by some force beyond his control. He did not know what he would do when he reached her. It was not as if they could converse openly. He was a complete stranger to her, and with no proper introduction, it would be uncouth of him to approach her. Yet, he could not stop his feet from carrying him toward her.
The young lady was guarded by a shrewd-looking chaperone, who eyed him up and down suspiciously as he stared at her charge. Flashing the woman a smile he knew ladies found charming, he moved closer to the pair. The abigail’s suspicion melted into a bashful smile, and she greeted him with a shallow curtsy.
Her chaperone thus disarmed, he moved closer to the young lady, consumed with the need to see her face. Surely, she could not be as beautiful as he was imagining her to be…
When she turned, his heart stopped. She was the most exquisite creature he had ever laid eyes on. His body reacted to her with such swiftness, he feared he might embarrass himself. Widening his stance with subtle movements, he hoped to hide his obvious desire for her. He was shocked by the intensity of his attraction to her, and the total lack of control he had over himself.
How can she be having such a powerful effect on me?
No lady had ever held such an allure for him. It was not as though he had never noticed ladies before. He was a young, wealthy bachelor. A Marquess! He would one day be a Duke. Andrew knew he was a desirable catch for any of the beautiful young ladies of the ton, and more than one had attempted to gain his attention on various occasions.
None of those ladies had ever snagged his interest, however, no matter how hard they tried. Over time, he had grown bored with their attempts, and had only been put off of marriage more. Their coy glances, their overbearing parents, and their incessant giggles were enough to d
rive him mad. He knew it was not truly him they wished to attach themselves to, but his wealth and title. He had reached a point where it was rare for him to feel any stirring of desire for the well-bred young ladies of the ton.
Until this lady.
With one wide-eyed look, she had ensnared him, and he could not explain why. Improper thoughts assaulted his mind. Images of his hand on her pale neck…his fingers brushing through her hair…her gown slipping down to reveal bare, feminine flesh…
Enough you fool!
If this lady could see his unchivalrous musings, she would no doubt flee from him. It was not simply carnal desire that was pulsing through him as he held her gaze, however. A rush of protectiveness overwhelmed him as well. He wanted to know this lady. Defend her. Provide for her. Make her smile, and comfort her when she was sad.
This is insanity. I do not even know her name!
Andrew realized he had to know her name. It was vital that he know it. Vital that he know the sound of her voice. He had to speak with her, but how? He was painfully aware of her chaperone standing nearby, watching him closely. She would no doubt prevent him from getting any nearer to the lady, and would allow no conversation to take place between them.
His mind scrambled to come up with a plan, but before one could form, the lady released a small gasp through plump, parted lips. As if suddenly returning to her senses, she spun away from him and hurried toward the counter, slapping the book in her hand on its surface with surprising force. The clerk stared at her with wide eyes as she shoved her money into his hands without a word.
Grabbing the book, she turned to rush for the door, casting Andrew a startled look. He watched her go, desperate to get her to stay.
Her abigail chased after her. “Miss? Miss, wait for me!”
Both women disappeared through the bookstore door, and he had to fight his instincts, which were screaming at him to follow. Gnashing his teeth, he tore his eyes from the entrance, dragging them back to the bookstand she had been hovering over. His brows shot up when he saw that Snowley’s books were on display there.
So, she is a fan of the author as well?
Andrew moved toward the stand, his mind only half focused on his intended task. He had to find that lady again, but how? She had clearly been a lady of some means, with her fine gown and hair ribbons. Perhaps she was the daughter of a peer? That would certainly narrow down his search. If she were the daughter of a wealthy merchant or tradesman, finding her would be more difficult. If only her chaperone had called her by name.
Reaching for a copy of Snowley’s novel, he spotted something on the floor out of the corner of his eye. It was a white silk shawl with flowers embroidered on its borders. Bending down, he picked up the piece of material and his heart thundered in his chest. It had to be hers. She must have dropped it in her haste to leave the store.
Snatching a novel from the bookstand, Andrew made his way toward the counter with purposeful steps. The clerk, a young man with a dark mop of hair, blinked up at him.
“Good day, My Lord,” he greeted. “How may I help you?”
Andrew forced his voice to sound as calm as possible before replying, “Do you happen to know the young lady that just left here? I believe she left behind her shawl.” He held out the piece of cloth as proof.
The clerk nodded. “Yes, My Lord. That was the daughter of the Baron of Bienholm, Miss Penelope Snowley.”
Snowley? He glanced down at the book in his hand. What a coincidence.
He had heard of Bienholm, though they had not encountered each other about town as of yet. The Baron was an accomplished businessman, however, with a thriving textile import company.
“Would the Marquess like for me to deliver the lady’s shawl to her family’s manor?”
“That will not be necessary,” Andrew quickly assured the young man. “I am happy to do so myself.”
After paying for the book, Andrew left the store, Miss Snowley’s shawl clutched in his fist. Excitement made his blood hum. He had a reason to put himself back into the lady’s path. Now, he just needed a way to meet her face-to-face without raising suspicions of impropriety.
With a heavy sigh, he turned down the street toward his sister’s favorite sweets shop. He was going to need help to get Miss Snowley into the same room as him, and after his teasing of her this morning, he was going to need a bribe to gain Dorothy’s assistance.
Chapter Four
“Miss Snowley? A letter and parcel have arrived for you.”
Penelope looked up from her breakfast in surprise. She did not receive letters often, and could not fathom who might be sending her one today. Nodding at the footmen who held out the correspondence on a silver tray in his hand, she bid him to bring it to her. Once he handed her the paper and the small package with it, he bowed and left the room.
“Who is it from, darling?” her mother, Charlotte, asked from across the table.
Opening the letter, Penelope scanned its contents and gasped when she read the signature at the bottom.
“Lady Dorothy Wilson, daughter of the Duke of Lockeder.”
“Indeed?” her father dropped his newspaper, his expression stunned. “Are you acquainted with His Grace’s daughter?”
“I am not sure…” Penelope trailed off as she read the letter more thoroughly.
Miss Snowley,
It was a pleasure making your acquaintance yesterday at Feldman’s Bookstore. I would be most pleased if you would join me for tea tomorrow at my family’s home at one o’clock that we might come to know each other better and, hopefully, become friends. My brother shall be present as well, to act as my chaperone. He is most eager to meet you, as I have spoken so highly of our encounter yesterday morning. I also have included your item you left behind on accident.
I look forward to your reply.
Best regards,
Lady Dorothy Wilson
An impossible suspicion entered her mind. Laying the letter on the table, she opened the package with shaky fingers. As the item inside fell out onto her lap, realization set in, and her stomach clenched as her heart began to race.
It was her shawl. The very one she had dropped in the bookstore the day before. There had been no lady named Dorothy. It had to be that gentleman with the honey-colored eyes, and he had no companion. She did not think he had written the letter, as the handwriting was too feminine, so it appeared he had gotten someone else to write it for him.
His sister, perhaps?
The letter mentioned Lady Dorothy’s brother would be present. Was he the gentleman from the bookstore?
“What does it say, dear?” her mother pressed.
“It…it is an invitation to tea at Wythwall Manor.”
Both her parents stared at her in utter disbelief, jaws dropped, and eyes wide.
“Tea? At Wythwall Manor?” Her mother clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, my darling girl, how wonderful! Becoming friends with Lady Dorothy could prove advantageous. Just think of all the connections you could make within her circle. All the eligible gentleman who would take note of you!”
It was no surprise that her mother would view the invitation as an opportunity to advance Penelope’s social standing, or to catch a wealthy husband. At that final thought, she felt a blush stain her cheeks as the handsome gentleman from the bookstore filled her mind.
The day before, when she had first seen him, she had not been able to look away. They had maintained eye contact for such a long time, however, the fear of creating a scandal had snapped her from the stupor he had put her under. If someone had walked into the store and seen them like that…she shuddered to think of the consequences. It had been bad enough having Mrs. Stewart witness it.
She had left the store in a panic, and barely remembered paying for her book. In the barouche on the way home, Mrs. Stewart had stared at her in disapproval and Penelope had feared she would report the incident to her mother. Thankfully, the abigail had kept her confidence, against all odds. Yet, as they had been driven hom
e, Penelope had been unable to forget the gentleman. His eyes had been burned into her mind, and she doubted she would ever forget their exact shade of golden honey.
He wanted to see her again, that much was obvious, and a casual call with his sister was the perfect opportunity for them to be introduced. She was impressed by how clever he was. Yet, she could not help but wonder, why? They had only seen each other for a very brief amount of time, and had not spoken a word.
Why is he going to such lengths to meet me again?
“Where on earth did you meet Lady Dorothy?” her father asked, pulling her from her musings.
Penelope hesitated, the lie on the tip of her tongue tasting foreign and sour. She wanted to see the gentleman again with a desperation that shocked her, but she had never lied to her parents before. What if they realized her dishonesty? She could only imagine how disappointed they would be in her.
Lustful Memoirs 0f A Bewitching Lady (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 2
