“Pardon me, I’m afraid I very nearly walked right into you, miss,” he said.
She giggled, blushing deeper. “No matter, sir, you didn’t hurt me none.”
“Say, don’t I recognize you from Lord Burlington’s house?”
She seemed inordinately pleased to be recognized and giggled even more. “You do, sir! I work in his upstairs. Today Mrs. Bostwig needed me to come out and pick up these new linens she’d ordered.”
“What a pity it isn’t a nicer day for you to be out walking like this,” he commented.
“If it was a nicer day, sir, Mrs. Bostwig would have come out herself. But I don’t mind. At least I ain’t been rained on yet.”
“Ah, but sadly that appears as if it might be about to change. Clouds are rolling in and it is quite a ways to your destination.”
She frowned up at the sky, and it was all he could do not to laugh at such an easy little target. Trying to appear just a bit awkward—that seemed to usually take young ladies off their guard—he cleared his throat and spoke.
“If it isn’t too forward of me, miss, I’d gladly offer the use of my conveyance to get you home before the rain.”
He pointed to it, and realized the fact it was not some grand, gleaming chariot was likely a good thing in this maid’s eyes. She seemed to feel quite comfortable with him, indeed.
“Oh, would you do that for me, sir?”
“But of course. I am heading that direction myself and it would be my duty as a gentleman to share my conveyance in such a situation as this.”
She giggled some more and gushed her many thanks as he hoisted her up. She was not nearly so well-formed and graceful as Miss Rastmoor when he’d been privileged to help her into his carriage yesterday, but the maid was attractive enough, and he would have no trouble at all convincing her she had charms enough to catch his attention. She would likely tell him all he needed to know about her master’s house and where any certain artifacts might be. Perhaps she dusted them every day and could even count them for him.
Yes, finding her here was fortuitous indeed. And now he had that shawl, an excuse to visit Miss Rastmoor once his interrogation of this little morsel was complete. Surprisingly, he was having quite a pleasant day, after all.
“So tell me,” he began with his most disarming smile, and his carriage jolted into motion. “How long have you been employed with Lord Burlington, Miss…er…”
“Milly, sir,” she said, grinning so that he might take note of adorable dimples. “Milly Cooper.”
“Well, Milly Cooper, I’m very glad to meet you.” And now he gave her a glimpse of his own adorable dimples. “I am Lord Harris Chesterton. But please, do call me Harry.”
And she did. Quite readily.
AUNT CLARA’S CARRIAGE DROPPED HER OFF PATHER unceremoniously, and there was nothing Penelope could do but give a quick good-bye to her friend and dash indoors. It was just as well, since the dreary clouds now seemed to be threatening rain. Good. Perhaps Lord Harry and his dimpling little friend would get doused. And all their packages with them.
She was in a decidedly foul mood as she trotted up to her bedroom, ignoring her mother who called a greeting from the drawing room as she passed. At least, she hoped it was a greeting, although on further reflection she wondered if perhaps it hadn’t sounded just a bit more like a summons. As if she’d done anything today to earn more of Mamma’s lectures.
She must have, because no sooner was she in her room with the door slammed shut behind her than Mamma had appeared, opening it and waltzing inside without so much as a knock. Drat. Another lecture was on the way.
“Did you have a pleasant time with Maria and her aunt?” Mamma asked. The tone was sweet, but Penelope knew that could be deceptive.
“Yes, I suppose so.” She waited to see where this was going.
“Find anything interesting?”
“To buy? No, but I did see the most hideous shawl at Tilly’s. Orange fringe with red stripes, if you can imagine that atrocity, and Maria said…”
“Did you see your fiancé?”
“… it was the worst thing ever and even a color-blind chimpanzee would have sense enough not to buy such a…er, what?”
“Did you see your fiancé? He was here, you know, looking for you. Our efficient butler didn’t have the good sense to lie, however, and told the man where you’d gone.”
“He was here? Looking for me?”
“If you met up with him, Penelope, I should like to know about it. From what I hear went on in the park yesterday it would appear we need to keep a much tighter tether on you.”
“Keep in mind that everything you hear about what happened in the park yesterday might not be completely true, Mamma. You know how people love to invent gossip.”
Mamma was understandably not convinced.
“Oh? Did someone invent your future husband’s public declaration that you will soon be, er, throwing yourself into his bed?”
Penelope felt her cheeks go warm. And not simply because it was more than a little awkward to hear her own mother speak those words.
“I believe the actual phrase was ‘hurling’ myself, Mamma, but it was only after Lady Whorton implied that—”
“And did you let him take liberties with your person?”
“Well, that depends on what you mean by liberties, I suppose.”
“Penelope, did you allow that man to kiss you on the carriage drive?”
She tried to hide a reminiscent smile as her cheeks went even more warm. “No, actually he kissed me on the lips, Mamma.”
She held her breath while Mamma was silent. It seemed perhaps this had not been the proper moment to inject a bit of humor. Drat.
“So,” Mamma said at last. “This time you really do intend to marry.”
Shock of all shocks, Mamma’s stern face now broke into a smile. Granted, it was not the most joyous of smiles, but it was a smile nonetheless. Not sure what to make of it, Penelope thought it best to hold her peace. For now.
“I have to admit,” Mamma went on, “I suspected this was just another of your false starts, my dear. I worried that perhaps you’d even chosen this man as a way to needle your poor brother.”
“What? You think I might do that?” Gulp.
“Yes. Frequently. But I believe this time, perhaps, you may actually be serious. Just possibly you’ve finally met your match.”
Mamma was still smiling, and now she sat down beside her on the bed, taking Penelope’s hands in hers.
“I cannot pretend this is the man I would have chosen for you,” she went on slowly. “But I’ve learned from your brother that there are occasionally some areas where a mother might not always know best. If you’ve given your heart to this Chesterton fellow, and if he cares equally for you, as he claims to, then who am I to disapprove? You have my blessing, Penelope.”
Penelope found it decidedly hard to swallow around the big lump that involuntarily formed in the back of her throat. Mamma was being so kind, so understanding, so wonderfully maternal and sweet…Penelope felt just awful. What sort of horrible game was she playing at here, anyway? To deceive her own mother this way, she never expected it to feel so, well…wrong.
“Thank you, Mamma,” she said. “But I—”
Fate had a knock at the door, preventing her from spilling out whatever words of confession might have been ready to bubble over in her heart just then. She clamped her lips shut as Mamma’s maid poked her head in through the doorway.
“Shall I bring your tea, ma’am, before it is time to dress for this evening?”
“Yes, Nancy, that’s just what we need right now,” Mamma replied, patting Penelope’s hand and then standing.
“Dress for this evening?” Penelope asked, finally daring to make eye contact. “What is this evening?”
“Did you forget?” Mamma said. “We are invited to a musicale at Lord Burlington’s house.”
Oh drat. She had forgotten that. Patrice and Lettice Burlington were forever inviting
them over for the most miserable musical entertainments imaginable. Penelope was certain she was not at all up for this tonight. How ever was she going to get out of it?
“And perhaps we shall see a certain someone there?” Mamma hinted, still smiling at her. “After all, he was there for Lady Burlington’s ball, was he not?”
Oh, but this was correct! Lady Burlington’s ball was where she’d first seen Lord Harry more than a week ago. Would he be there again? Perhaps Patrice’s deplorable viola and Lettice’s dismal pianoforte wouldn’t be quite so horrible if he were there. She hoped he would be, actually, as she had something to say to him about his behavior with that girl on the street. Yes, she most certainly had something to say about that.
“See? You’re looking more lively already,” Mamma said. “Now, Nancy will bring some tea and you can get cleaned up and dressed nicely for this evening. Let’s hope your fiancé does the same. As I recall, his last appearance at the Burlington’s seemed a bit, er, impromptu.”
Yes, and she half wished that unkempt hermit had never bothered to clean up. It was far too easy for every shop-going hussy in London to notice for herself what a dashing man Lord Harry turned out to be under all that hermit-ness. And he, it seemed, enjoyed the notice. Indeed, Penelope would definitely have something to say about that.
Chapter Six
There was no sign of Lord Harry, hermit-ish, unkempt, or otherwise. It would seem, despite his recently announced engagement to a popular member of society, the man had not been added to Burlington’s guest list. Penelope could only think the man most fortunate for it. The music was, as expected, excruciating.
She did note, however, that the elder Miss Burlington’s gown was particularly attractive, and it seemed as if Miss Lettice was trying a new hairstyle, to rounding success. At least Penelope would have something nice to say to the ladies after suffering through the murder of Mozart and this hashing of Haydn. She could only pray the torture was nearing an end.
Ugh, but all the false smiles and pretend applause had given her a headache. On top of it all, no matter how hard she tried to rid her mind of the very absent Lord Harry, she just could not. More specifically, she could not rid her mind of the image of the elegant man escorting that young trollop with the parcels. It was completely unfair that Penelope was trapped here, subjected to the night’s musical misery, while Lord Harry was off doing who knew what with that woman. And her parcels.
Having had all she could take, Penelope quietly excused herself. She needed air. She needed to stretch her limbs. She needed anything that would distract her from that dashed vision of Lord Harry’s handsome face and the tender way he escorted that female.
Just outside the music room, a young maid popped up from the bench where she’d been positioned to wait upon her master’s guests. She asked if Penelope would like to be shown to the retiring room. How thoughtful. Actually, Penelope would have much rather been shown to the front door, but she decided to settle for the retiring room.
“Yes, thank you. I…”
But her words strangled in her throat and nothing but a garbled little wheeze came out. Penelope had looked directly into the young maid’s face and was stunned speechless. It was that selfsame little miss who had offered Lord Harry her parcels! She’d recognize those huge, dewy blue eyes anywhere.
Oh yes, she’d been the one to offer up her parcels. And probably whatever else she’d had to offer up, as well. Heavens, but this was most uncomfortable!
“Miss? Are you well?” the dewy eyes asked.
“Well? Er, yes…of course. I just, er…retiring room?”
“This way, miss.”
Now Penelope found herself actually following the girl, trying desperately not to wonder how the perky sway of the young maid measured up to her own. Did Lord Harry find this girl more attractive? Did he miss those dewy eyes when she was not around? Did Penelope really care one way or the other?
No, of course she did not. Her relationship with Lord Harry was purely business. It was simply a means to an end, and she couldn’t care less where he placed his affection. Or his parcels. She simply required that in all public situations he give the impression of being properly infatuated with her. Not this little maid, no matter how enticing her sway or her blue eyes.
The girl led them to a door, which she opened to reveal a sitting room. It appeared the other guests were more polite than Penelope and had all remained in the music room. This room was empty.
Penelope was about to thank the girl and dismiss her—after all, there was no sense to being rude or cold toward her. It was certainly not this poor girl’s fault that Lord Harry was a dismal fiancé. But then her eyes caught on the interior of the room.
“Oh my!”
“Yes, Miss?”
“This is not the room the Burlingtons usually use for ladies’ retiring during their musical performances.”
“No, miss. I’m afraid Miss Lettice’s prized pug done something rather nasty to the carpet in the usual room. They’ve had to send it out for cleaning. The carpet, that is. Not the pug. He’s upstairs on a pillow in Miss Lettice’s room, same as ever.”
Lucky Pug. And how lucky for Penelope! She’d never seen this room before, or its breathtaking contents. My heavens, but how had she never known Lord Burlington was such a collector of Egyptian antiquities?
“Is there anything I can do for you, miss?” the girl asked.
“No. Er…yes, perhaps you can. What can you tell me about these artifacts? Do they all belong to your master?”
“Oh yes! He quite fancies the old things, as a matter of fact. I overheard him going on and on to one of his gentlemen about how valuable they is and what an effort it was for him to get them.”
Truly? She herself did not recall hearing Lord Burlington going on and on about these items. Not that she’d ever had much conversation with the man, being more a friend to his nonmusical daughters than to him. Still, she might have expected to catch a word or two about such a collection as this. In fact, she might have expected to read something in the papers or hear other people talking about something so impressive. How odd that she hadn’t.
“I had no idea Lord Burlington has been such a longtime collector.”
The maid shrugged. “I don’t know how long he’s been at it, miss, but he surely has gone wholehearted into it now. Ever since these bits and pieces arrived last week, it seems all that matters to him.”
“Last week? All this arrived just last week?”
The dewy eyes fluttered and the maid nodded. “Yes, I think so. Don’t recall seeing none of it before then. Looks like just a lot of heathen dust catching, if you ask me, but they must be quite the thing! Gentlemen come at all hours to look at them with his lordship.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Penelope sauntered deeper into the room, glancing about at the various artifacts. There were gold figurines, carvings in ivory and lapis lazuli, wooden relics of furnishings, even what appeared to be the tiny sarcophagus of an egret. She was in awe. She was a bit confused, as well. How could she not have known Lord Burlington was such a lover of Egyptology?
And some of these items, as she studied them, appeared to be quite amazing. In fact, one article in particular caught her attention. She hesitated only slightly, then reached to touch it.
It was a small alabaster jar, probably once used for holding cosmetics. She knew that because Professor Oldham had written extensively on his discovery of one such piece in some of his recent correspondence. He’d been delighted with the condition of the object, describing in detail the fine carvings of interlaced fish on the jar, and the lovely carved spoon that had been found with it. Apparently Egyptian women had used cosmetics in such quantities that they needed spoons to ladle them. Penelope had not been quite certain how the spoon and the cosmetics jar should work together, but she did know that what she was looking at right now fit Professor Oldham’s description perfectly. The alabaster jar did indeed have little fish carved into it in a ring, as if t
he creatures were swimming circles around the lip of it, and there was indeed a spoon resting just beside the jar. It was carved into the shape of a girl carrying a water pitcher on top of her head.
What were the chances these two items were so common that they should turn up in multiples? Professor Oldham seemed to indicate the style and condition of the items he had unearthed made them quite unique. Yet, here were two others that appeared, at least to her eye, nearly identical. How very odd.
Professor Oldham specifically had mentioned that his discoveries would be placed in a museum there, in Egypt, kept for the people whose legacy it was. The man was quite adamant about that, as a matter of fact. Everyone knew Professor Oldham was not a pillager. That was one of the reasons she first chose to contact him, to try to increase her knowledge of the subject from someone not merely qualified, but noble, too. Professor Oldham did not ravage graves of the dead for his own personal gain, but he studied the ways of the past so that all mankind today and tomorrow might benefit from the beauty of it. She appreciated such forward thinking.
So what was this cosmetic set doing here in Lord Burlington’s retiring room? It simply couldn’t be the same set Professor Oldham had found. Surely he’d be very interested to hear of this one, though. A forgery, perhaps? True, she hadn’t yet received a reply to the last letter she’d sent, but of course he wouldn’t mind her pestering him with something as amazing as this. She’d have to get a very good look at this set so she could describe it properly to her distant friend.
“I don’t think the master would like you to be touching that, miss,” the maid said behind her.
Drat. She’d forgotten about the girl. She wondered how likely it was Lord Harry could say the same. She wondered what he’d say when she told him that she’d met the girl this way. In fact, she wondered what he’d say if he thought she’d managed to get the girl talking of him.
“It’s awfully pretty, isn’t it?” Penelope said, keeping her voice sweet and breathless. “I can imagine it might have been a gift for a lady, from her lover, perhaps.”
Passion and Pretense Page 8
