She doubted he could’ve had much understanding of the ancient Egyptian practice of burying the dead with all the items they might find useful in the afterlife, but surely even a novice could look at that phallus and get some vague idea what it was carved to represent. In generous proportions. She’d been mortified.
Indeed, it was small wonder she found herself distracted as she tried to craft the letter to Professor Oldham. She’d had quite a lot going on of late. Besides, she couldn’t help but be just a tiny bit worried. Professor Oldham had always been very prompt in his replies to her various queries and letters of discussion. This recent lull in his correspondence was not like him.
Could it be that he’d discovered her secret? She’d tried so very hard to be careful, but perhaps something she’d written had given him a clue. Perhaps she’d gone and ruined everything by letting the learned man realize who she was. She knew what would happen then. She’d never hear another word from the man. What serious scholar would bother corresponding with an uneducated female? Even if she had read and reread everything the man ever wrote and had eagerly studied every book on the topic of Egyptian antiquity she could get her hands on.
She knew he’d never forgive her for misrepresenting herself. Men were funny that way. His pride would never let him take her seriously. That was why she’d been so careful to give no hint to her true identity and always signed her letters from P. Anthonys. She never came out and declared herself male, but she’d made sure it was implied. Perhaps he’d seen through her deception.
Well, so what if he did? Wasn’t she proof that a mere female could be quite astute? She’d make her careful description of that alabaster cosmetics jar fit so perfectly he’d virtually see the object before him as he read. He’d realize that she was someone to be taken seriously. Even if she was just a female. She rubbed the familiar wings of her dear scarab for luck and pulled out another fresh piece of paper.
After three more false starts, she was finally pleased with her description. She’d managed to include detailed reports on at least six of the objects she’d seen last night that seemed to correspond with some of the finds written of by Professor Oldham. He would realize that not only was she quite concise in her explanations, but clearly she was well versed in his work. Surely he’d be impressed by such close attention to detail.
She was just putting the finishing touches on these details when she heard someone at the front door. Mamma had gone out for some errand already, but Anthony was still at home. Perhaps he was expecting someone. She was not; it was still too early in the day to expect friends. She felt no need to trot over to the window to look down and see whose carriage might be waiting out in the street.
Unless of course it might be Lord Harry’s rackety little gig. It could possibly be him, couldn’t it? Not that he’d said anything about coming around today, but he might, mightn’t he? She abandoned her letter and trotted to the window.
It was Lord Harry! He had come to see her. How lovely. How very sweet of him. She dashed to the mirror and tidied her hair. Her morning dress was not the best she owned, but it was new this Season and would certainly do for an unexpected visitor. The light green color went well with her complexion, she thought. It would do, indeed.
She would not keep Lord Harry waiting to change into something better. Certainly she had no wish to let the man think she was eager to impress him. She wasn’t. It was only polite to make sure she was at least presentable when the butler announced the gentleman had called for her.
She pinched her cheeks—merely out of habit—and straightened the wrinkles from her gown. True, she didn’t wish to keep Lord Harry waiting, but perhaps it would not be good to go racing down to the drawing room the moment official word of his arrival reached her. Still, if she didn’t hurry, how was Lord Harry to know she was not going to any effort to enhance her appearance for him? He might assume that was the reason for her delay. He might assume that implied an eagerness on her part to look good for him.
Bother. If only she had known he was coming she would not have this dilemma. She would have to mention that to him. As well as instructing him on his responsibility to avoid crawling through respectable windows in pursuit of feminine game, she would insist he notify her before he simply showed up at the door. Apparently Lord Harry needed a lesson or two in properly conducting a sham engagement.
But why hadn’t the butler or someone come up to tell her the man was below? There was nothing more she could do to improve her appearance without actually going to some real effort. What was the man doing downstairs without her?
She slid open her door and peeked into the corridor. No sign of any household staff come to announce her caller. Odd. She left her room and crept toward the staircase that led down to the front entryway. Yes, now she could hear voices. Lord Harry’s for certain. And Anthony’s.
“Are you sure you wish to do this, Rastmoor?” Lord Harry was saying.
“I am,” Anthony replied. “Chesterton, considering the situation and my sister’s possible discomfort from it, I feel I’m honor bound to address it right away.”
Well, that didn’t sound very good. What could Anthony have heard that should make him suddenly summon Lord Harry without bothering to tell her about it? Heavens, it could be practically anything! There was no telling what rumors Lady Burlington might be spreading this morning.
What was Anthony going to do about it, though? Had he called Lord Harry here to inform him the engagement was off? Surely Anthony would have mentioned that to Penelope if it were his intent. Then she could have begged and pleaded and he would have had to soothe her by promising anything. Even Egypt. That had not happened.
Then what else could he be planning? Perhaps he meant to give Lord Harry a firm talking-to. Anthony was very good at lectures. Generally, though, he preferred to take action. The frequent lectures Penelope received from her brother generally came with some sort of alteration to her allowance or a curtailment of activities. Rarely did Anthony just talk. If he called Lord Harry in today over some rumors he might have heard, she could be fairly certain he intended to take action.
And an action that required him meeting privately—he’d just ushered Lord Harry into the drawing room and pulled the door shut—with the gentleman in question seemed to imply one action in specific. He was going to force them to marry! He was in there now, demanding Lord Harry come up to snuff, and she’d actually end up married to the blackguard!
Drat. That did not fit in with her plans. No, not at all. She’d best get herself down there and take care of this immediately.
The men were both standing when she let herself into the room. They turned to look at her as she rushed in. If Anthony was angry with her, he hid it well. He was good at that, though, so she was careful not to let down her guard. Lord Harry’s expression was even harder to gauge.
“Ah, here she is now,” Anthony was saying. “She’s the one you have to thank for my decision, you know.”
“I rather suspected that,” Lord Harry replied.
“It wasn’t me!” she protested. “It was Lady Burlington, I’ll wager. Anthony, whatever she told you, honestly you can’t believe it, can you?”
Anthony frowned. “I don’t really care what Lady Burlington has been saying about it, Penelope. I’ve seen it with my own eyes and, to tell the truth, I’d be a pretty sad excuse for a brother if I didn’t do something to protect you.”
“Anthony, you don’t need to do this,” she said.
“But if it’s what he feels he must do, I see no reason to argue,” Lord Harry said quickly.
She glared at him. “But if he understood how mistaken Lady Burlington was about what she saw last night, then perhaps he would not feel he must do this.”
Now Lord Harry was glaring at her. “As your brother said, Lady Burlington has nothing to do with this, Miss Rastmoor. If he feels this is something he must do, then perhaps you ought to let him.”
“I thought you assured me you did not wish to let him.”
“It would be quite rude of me not to let him, in this instance.”
“I think I should have some say in the matter, sir.”
“I don’t see why on earth you would. Your brother is a competent adult; he can decide where to bestow his possessions.”
“His possessions? What, as if that’s all I am—”
“Wait just one moment,” Anthony interrupted. “Penelope, what are you talking about?”
She glanced from Lord Harry’s expression of frustration to Anthony’s of suspicion. Drat. Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty in assuming she knew what they were discussing here.
“Er, what exactly are you talking about, Anthony?” she asked slowly.
“Your brother was most graciously offering me a new carriage,” Lord Harry answered. “At your suggestion, I was led to believe,” he added.
Ah, yes. She had spoken to Anthony about that. Well, how nice to see he’d considered her request and was prepared to rescue her from having to be seen about town in Lord Harry’s rattle-clap rig. Too bad she’d forgotten all about that.
So then, did this mean the gentlemen were not discussing marriage terms? Oh bother. She hoped she hadn’t put her foot into it too deep this time.
“So just exactly what did Lady Burlington see last night that she’s so very mistaken about?” Anthony asked.
“Nothing,” Penelope said quickly.
Lord Harry shrugged in blissful ignorance, and his angelic expression was the very paragon of virtue. Anthony was hardly appeased.
“But then why did you seem so eager to race in here and proclaim that—”
The sound of a carriage arriving outside the window provided a blessed interruption.
“Oh look!” Lord Harry exclaimed. “Could this be the very thing? I say, Rastmoor, you’ve completely outdone yourself.”
Penelope glanced past him out the window. Indeed, the shiny new phaeton was quite eye-catching. This was his offering to Lord Harry? Heavens, but she had no idea her brother thought quite this highly of her unsuitable fiancé. Surely he wouldn’t give the man such a prize if he did not welcome him into the family. Goodness, very worrisome indeed!
“I hope you find it adequate, Chesterton,” Anthony said, confirming that this was exactly the carriage he’d been expecting. “I know it’s a bit extravagant, but consider it an early wedding present.”
“I’m quite indebted to you,” Lord Harry said.
“Indeed you are,” Anthony agreed. “I’m letting you have my sister, after all. See that you continue to deserve her. Just what was all that about Lady Burlington, anyway?”
Drat it all, but if Anthony was feeling so very graciously disposed toward Lord Harry, any mention of last night might completely work against her. The very last thing he’d do would be to allow her to run off to Egypt. Likely the very first thing he’d do would be to drag them both off to the parson. Not at all what she wished for. Oh, but she had to get Lord Harry out of here before he ingratiated himself even further or she’d never be rid of the man.
“What a lovely carriage, Anthony! You are simply the best brother ever. Please, Lord Harry, you must take me driving in it straightaway!”
Lord Harry seemed to think that a rather prudent idea, as well. He smoothly ignored Anthony’s question and seemed to suddenly become as enthralled with the carriage as she was.
“Excellent notion, Miss Rastmoor. Surely your brother can have no objection. Such a fine carriage demands to be shown off, especially if it is conveying the loveliest young woman in all of England. Will you give us your leave, sir?”
Penelope pretended to be flattered, and she was quite certain she detected a slight eye roll from her brother, but Anthony put up no objection to them taking a ride in the beautiful carriage he’d provided. Good. Perhaps this Lady Burlington business would be soon forgotten.
“I’ll get my things right away!” she said, flitting about as if this were the most exciting thing ever.
“Perhaps this will be useful on our outing,” Lord Harry said, suddenly producing a small parcel, carefully wrapped in tissue.
She frowned at it. Had she seen this before? Yesterday, perhaps? She grabbed it from him and ripped it open. Her reaction was, most likely, not quite as refined as she might have wished.
“Good God! It’s that shawl from Tilly’s!”
Lord Harry seemed pleased that she should recognize it. “Indeed, the shopkeeper told me you’d been admiring it. So I bought it for you.”
Oh. Oh dear! Somehow he’d been horribly misinformed. Heavens, but he’d meant to make her happy by presenting her with this monstrosity. Well, she supposed she ought to work harder to pretend. It was, after all, the least she could do after nearly slipping up in her ravings about Lady Burlington’s gossip.
“Er, thank you ever so much,” she managed with a mostly convincing smile.
She gushed as much as she could stomach, hoping it would prevent her brother from pursuing additional questions about what might have happened. Lord Harry did his own gushing on and on about Anthony’s kindness and generosity and the many fine qualities of the carriage he’d just received, and finally Anthony seemed eager to escort them out the door. They were in the phaeton and down the road without further difficulties.
“What the devil were you thinking, barging in there and rambling on about Lady Burlington, of all things?” Lord Harry asked when they were alone and safely some distance from the house.
“I thought Anthony had heard rumors and perhaps he had called you here to demand we marry right away!” she replied, not altogether pleased that he would go from flattering fiancé to insolent business partner so quickly.
“Well, it appears we’ve been lucky and Lady Burlington has kept her thoughts to herself this time.”
“That hardly sounds like Lady Burlington.”
“Agreed. I’ll have to admit, I myself was a bit concerned when I got your brother’s note that he needed to meet with me this morning.”
“You were worried he might order me to cry off and then your uncle would be less inclined to think more favorably toward you?”
“No, I was worried he might order me to set a date and strap a Miss Rastmoon–shaped noose around my neck.”
“Well! How dreadful that would be for you, no doubt.”
“Oh, don’t take on. You thought the same thing and came running down the bloody stairs blathering on and on and just about made your brother seal the deal! For a truth, Miss Rastmoor, I began to worry perhaps you’d decided not to honor your promise that this engagement is only in pretense.”
“Oh, I have full intent to honor that, sir. As if I’d ever consider actually marrying you!”
“Then I’m happy we are in agreement.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Odd, though.”
“What?”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever met a truly happily engaged couple who are fully in agreement on anything.”
“That is because they have nothing to look forward to but a lifetime with each other. We can be safely assured of a lifetime without each other.”
She laughed as she spoke, but somehow the words didn’t sound nearly as cheerful as they were meant to.
“Then perhaps we should enjoy what time we do have with each other, Miss Rastmoor. Are you finding your brother’s carriage to be everything it should be?”
“And then some, sir. Anthony did very well, did he not?”
“He did indeed.”
She sat back in the comfortable seat and had to admit she was enjoying the ride. Even if Lord Harry had many moments of insufferableness, he could also be quite charming. It was a shame his uncle could not see any good in him and kept the poor man so desperately poor. Lord Harry looked good driving this phaeton. It suited him.
He glanced over at her, and she realized she’d been staring. She looked away quickly. Bother, but she had no time for staring at Lord Harry. She should be planning her journey to Egypt, plotting exactly what balance
of tears and arguing it would take to convince Anthony when the time came.
Lord, but that time had best come soon. Too many more of these pleasant rides with Lord Harry and she was likely to miss them when it was over. That did not at all suit her purposes.
DAMN. PENELOPE RASTMOOR LOOKED ESPECIALLY FRESH and glowing and lovely today. Harris was finding it difficult to keep his mind on the more important matters at hand, such as tooling his beautiful new phaeton around the nastiest piles of unpleasantness in the roadway or thinking up ways to get his hands on the treasures he so desperately needed to rescue Oldham. Even the appreciative and covetous glances of passersby did little to distract his mind from the young lady seated next to him.
The brilliant scarab glinted enticingly, and he was practically itching to get his hands on it. And all the rest of her. What on earth was wrong with him? Penelope Rastmoor was the very last woman he should find himself interested in. She was shallow, self-centered, uneducated in anything important, and she very clearly was not at all interested in him.
Perhaps that was the crux of his problem. He was used to attracting females, used to being the object of desire. With Penelope, it was very clear she desired only to get what she wanted out of him then be rid of him.
It was almost embarrassing how terrified the girl had appeared when she’d come rushing in on them, fearing that he was about to set a wedding date. He could hardly blame her, of course. If Rastmoor had heard some vile rumors from Lady Burlington it would have been only natural for him to expect the lovebirds to begin setting dates and sending out invitations. That, of course, is what people did when they were engaged. He should have been prepared for such a thing.
“You know,” he said, careful to keep his eyes on the street ahead of them despite how much he’d rather have turned to admire his companion. “It would not be a bad idea for us to concoct some ready answer should Lady Burlington decide to start spreading rumors of finding us together last night.”
She thought about this for a moment, and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. But perhaps simply denying her charges would be best, after all. Unless of course someone other than Lady Burlington saw you there and might corroborate her story. Were you seen? Did you, er, go back there once I was gone?”
Passion and Pretense Page 11
