“Definitely!” Genie had easily convinced Lady Bremerton to let her visit Penelope at the Marchford house. She told Pen and the dowager of her planned meeting with Mr. Blakely, which was met with enthusiasm. As soon as Blakely arrived, the dowager suggested they visit the garden, and so Genie found herself on a bench next to him, with Penelope somewhere amongst the hedges to maintain propriety.
“Look, they list their names,” exclaimed Genie, turning the page on her red, bound volume of The Picture of London. Genie had purchased the fat volume for five shillings and despite the grief she had endured about it, was quite enchanted with the two pullout maps and several nice engravings.
“Miss Fanny?” read Blakely. “Seems a rather tame name for a lioness.”
“Look, there’s a panther named ‘Miss Peggy,’” giggled Genie. “I had a friend by the same name. I should like to visit her.”
“Yes, let’s! What a helpful guidebook this is.”
“Thank you!” Genie was pleased someone finally recognized the value of her volume.
They passed an enjoyable afternoon reading about the various glories in London, including St. Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, Kensington Palace, and many other notable sites. Genie was desirous to stroll through Hyde Park, which had apparently been recently planted with trees. Blakely confessed an interest in visiting the armory at Carlton House, the residence of the Prince of Wales, which according to the guidebook was the finest in the world.
After an hour, Blakely reluctantly stood to take his leave. They walked to the front door, Penelope discreetly following behind as any good chaperone should do.
“Well, hallo there!” called a familiar voice.
Genie turned to find Grant strolling down the grand staircase. “Grant! Are you visiting the duke?” Despite her concerted effort not to care a fig for Grant, her heart beat a little faster and a smile sprung to her face.
“Just leaving,” he said with a smile, but as he approached, she noted he had an unusually disheveled appearance and, if she was not very much mistaken, was wearing the same mustard waistcoat he had worn the day before. “I see you have been visiting with your new friend.” Grant’s smile dimmed.
“Yes, we were reviewing my guidebook.”
“How… edifying.”
“May I drop you back at Bremerton house, Miss Talbot?” asked Mr. Blakely.
“Actually, I was hoping to visit Hookham’s library. I have arranged to be picked up there later.”
“Why, Hookham’s is exactly on my way!” declared Grant. “You must allow me the pleasure of taking you.”
Despite a furious glare from Penelope, Grant insisted he be given the role as squire and soon Genie was sitting next to him on his phaeton.
“You seem to be on friendly terms with Mr. Blakely,” said Grant in a manner slightly less than cordial.
“He seems a very nice man,” said Genie, not sure what to do with the winter in Grant’s tone. “Tell me how does Jem do today? I saw him earlier this morning.”
“Then you have seen him more recently than I,” replied Grant. “He’s a squirrelly fellow. Never seems to stay where I put him.”
“Little boys are like that,” laughed Genie. “He needs a place to run.”
“Might have found a place. Bunch of Quakers take in orphans on a country estate.”
“Yes, it sounds exactly like what Jem needs, as long as the people there will be kind to him. I believe country living is a good choice for young boys. I should have known you would find the right place for our Jemmy.” A bump in the road threw her against Grant. She straightened but left her shoulder touching his. For balance, she told herself.
“Here we are.” Grant pulled up in front of Hookham’s Lending Library. He jumped from the phaeton and lifted Genie neatly to the ground, his hands almost encircling her small waist. He lingered a moment longer than he should have, his eyes meeting hers, his hands on her waist. Genie forgot to breathe, looking into his silver-blue eyes and unshaven face.
“Thank you again,” murmured Genie, heat crawling across her face and down into unmentionable regions.
“I am always at your service.” Grant walked her to the door and left her with a bow.
Grant returned slowly to the phaeton, watching Genie through the window of Hookham’s. She looked around for a moment, then threw open her arms wide to give a long embrace to a handsome young man.
Twenty-one
“I think these are all good candidates,” said the dowager over tea that afternoon. She examined sorted cards Penelope had created with the names, positions, and significant information for the potential bachelors they wished to put into the running for Genie’s hand.
“I agree. These five would be good potentials. I should think Mr. Blakely is the frontrunner. They had a nice visit together over that guidebook. I believe they could become good friends,” replied Penelope.
“Friends? What difference does that make? She is choosing a husband not a lover.” The dowager carefully chose a biscuit from the tray.
Penelope stared at the dowager.
“You needn’t look so scandalized,” chastised the dowager. “You young people are so much more moralistic than we were in my time.”
“Should I apologize? How was it exactly in your time? Did you entertain many lovers?”
“A lady would never quote a number,” said the dowager with a sly smile. “It used to be a marriage was for family name, inheritance, and breeding. Love was something reserved for other relationships, after, of course, you provided at least one or two legitimate heirs.”
“I can come back later if I have interrupted a private conversation,” said the duke, who was standing by the door.
“Your grandmother was telling me of her numerous lovers. I’m not certain you would quite like to hear it.”
“I am sure I would not. Miss Rose, could I have a moment in the study?” They walked down the corridor to the study, where the butler was standing guard outside the door. “Thank you, Peters.”
“You are leaving nothing to chance,” said Pen, following the duke into the study.
“No, not after yesterday,” said the duke, motioning Penelope to sit down. He sat across from her and she could see worry lines about his eyes she had not noticed before. “I expect the thief will try again, and this time I intend to be better prepared. Tell me what was that man doing here?”
“Blakely? He came to visit Genie without the watchful eye of Lady Bremerton. Genie has a guidebook she wanted to review with him without suffering her aunt’s set-downs regarding the topic of guidebooks.”
“A guidebook for London?” Marchford asked with a twinge of disgust.
“Exactly so.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“Most of the staff have in some way been either threatened or bribed to retrieve what you are hiding in this study.”
“I am aware. I’ve had to send agents out to protect the families of several housemaids and a few have left altogether.”
“Why did I see Mr. Grant here this morning, looking like he had slept in his clothes?” asked Pen.
“We had some fun last night and he passed out on the floor. Not safe to wake Grant until afternoon, so there was nothing I could do but let him sleep.”
Pen raised an eyebrow.
Marchford sighed. “That is the story you are to tell grandmother.”
“Would it do me any good to ask you for the truth?”
“I needed to go out last night and I trust none but Thornton and Grant to guard the letter. The footman and any guards I could hire are vulnerable, and I’ll not trust any agents from Neville’s office.”
“Mr. Grant offered to drive Miss Talbot to the lending library. She left in that high-perch phaeton of his.” Penelope’s tone was accusatory. Marchford may trust Grant to watch over his document, but she did not trust him to watch over Genie.
“You do not approve?”
“If he has no intentions of offering marriage, which I think we both know h
e does not, he should clear the field.”
Marchford sighed. “I will speak to him. Anything else you have to report?”
“Miss Talbot has befriended a young boy, a street urchin and thief, and is trying to rehabilitate him. Lord and Lady Bremerton rejected the notion, so Mr. Grant has agreed to house the urchin.”
“I confess Grant did tell me much the same, but I thought it must be one of his jokes. And my grandmother?”
“Feisty and plotting your demise.”
“Everything is normal then, capital. I must thank you, Miss Rose. I have rarely seen my grandmother in such fine fettle. Whatever you are doing to lift her spirits, please do continue.”
“I shall remind you that you directed me in such a manner sometime in the future.” Pen could not help but smile.
Marchford smiled in return, a rare occurrence. “I do not mind having you in the house nearly as much as I thought I would.”
“Was that a compliment? I fear I may have missed it.”
“It was a little backhanded, I apologize. Let me try again. I enjoy your presence, Miss Rose. I shall miss you when you leave with my grandmother to the dowager house.”
“Thank you. Since we have no plans at present to leave, you shall have the pleasure of enjoying my presence for the extended future.”
“I shall accept my fate with the courage that befits an Englishman,” said Marchford gallantly. “I should warn you, I shall be around the house and most likely in my rooms for the next few days. I believe I will become ill.”
“You are going to keep to the house to try to catch this thief.”
Marchford graced her with another smile. “You are a clever one, Miss Rose. If you could pass along my apologies for tea? Tell my grandmother I told you I was feeling ill.”
“As you wish,” said Penelope, standing to leave.
“Oh, I almost forgot. This arrived for you.” Marchford reached for something in his inside coat pocket.
“Thank you.” Penelope took the letter he handed her. It was address to her, but other than originating from London, it had not return address or information. She broke the seal quickly, curiosity overtaking her. One glance inside told her she must read this particular letter in private. “I think I shall take a moment to rest and read my letter in peace.”
If he had hoped her to explain the letter, he accepted her silence and merely bowed in response. Penelope proceeded upstairs to her room to open the mysterious letter without prying eyes. There was another sealed letter inside the first one. The letter within was addressed to Madame X.
***
“Why, George, whatever is the matter?” Genie frowned into her brother’s formerly playful eyes. They had a dull appearance now. She took his hand and drew him to sit with her near the window of Hookham’s Lending Library.
“Nothing is the matter. This has been a great lark.” He rubbed his tired eyes with his hand.
“You look dreadful. Have you slept at all since we last spoke?”
“Been having too much fun to sleep,” said George.
“It does not look like you have been having any fun at all,” retorted Genie.
“Shows what you know. Some things are not meant for a girl. Turns out I have a knack for cards,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest.
“Cards! Please do not tell me you have been gambling away your school money, George.”
“All right, I won’t tell you. I didn’t ask you here to quarrel but to give you this.” He handed her a small box. Inside were two twinkling, emerald earbobs.
“George! These are beautiful!”
“I thought they would look nice with your coloring,” said George like he had been living in Town all his life.
“Why, yes, yes, they will. Thank you so much.” Genie gave George a warm hug. “But how could you possibly afford them?”
“Like I said, I have had a run of good luck. The cards love me!”
“Father and Mama would not approve of you gambling.”
“They would not approve of me losing money, but you see, I’m winning money. I cannot lose!”
“I do not think that is exactly what they meant by not approving of gambling.”
“I told you I wanted to do something to help you. I have seen the way so many of these ladies dress, all flash and sparkle. I know you haven’t a single earbob from Mama, so I thought your baby brother could come to your aid.”
“Thank you, George, now please go to sleep.” She could not help but feel concern over his gray complexion.
“Yes, Genie,” he said with puppy dog eyes.
“And go back to school.”
“One more night tonight and then I’ll go.”
Genie gave her brother another big hug.
Outside the window, Grant snapped the reins and drove off in his phaeton. He had seen enough.
***
Penelope glanced around her bedroom to ensure she was alone. The outside letter was a note asking her to direct this letter to Madame X and no one else (this last part was underlined). Inside was another sealed letter with the simple direction, Madame X. No signature accompanied the missive and no identifying marks were given. She examined the handwriting, but she did not know it. She turned the letter in her hands, wondering what to do.
Of course there was no Madame X, except herself and the dowager. She wondered if she should turn the letter over to the dowager but stopped, pondering why the letter had been addressed to her in the first place. It seemed more reasonable if someone was trying to connect with Madame X that they would ask the dowager, so why was the note addressed to Penelope? Only one way to find out.
Penelope broke the seal. When she unfolded the paper, a hundred-pound note fluttered to the floor. She stared at it as if it might jump up and bite her. She scooped it up quickly and read the note.
Dear Madame X,
I write you for I am greatly distressed and do not know where to turn for help. I have accepted an offer of marriage that is not of my parents’ choosing. Unfortunately, I am already officially betrothed to another. How can I break this long-standing marriage contract and wed the man I choose?
I have included a small deposit. If you choose to help, please send me advice through Mrs. Roberts at 7 Chandos Street, London.
Sincerely,
Desperate
Pen read the letter again and again. Who was this “Desperate” character? And who was Mrs. Roberts and how had she heard about Madame X? No, Pen could guess the answer to the second question. She had overheard Lady Bremerton whisper to the Comtesse de Marseille that she had retained the help of an infamous matchmaker, Madame X. The news must have spread.
Penelope thought about the situation for a while, then composed a response. She rubbed the crisp hundred-pound note between her fingers. She had never felt one before. There must be a rationale that would allow her not to tell the dowager but still keep the money, but alas she could not think of one. Whoever “Desperate” was, she had gone to great lengths to prevent the dowager from reading her letter, and Penelope was determined to find out why.
With a longing glance, she folded the hundred-pound note back into the letter and sealed it, addressing it simply to “Desperate.” She then wrapped it in a second paper and sealed it also, addressing it to the mysterious Mrs. Roberts.
Penelope put the letter in a book to conceal it and walked downstairs to rejoin the dowager. Tomorrow, Pen planned an outing. This letter would not be franked; no, this letter she planned to deliver to Mrs. Roberts herself.
Twenty-two
“I am looking for Mrs. Roberts. Can you direct me?” Penelope Rose asked the young man at the apothecary. The day after she received the mysterious missive, she followed the direction in the letter to a storefront in a nicer part of Town. The sign on the door said “Dr. Roberts” and inside there was an apothecary with rows and rows of bottles on the wall behind a smart young man in an apron at the counter.
“No Mrs. Roberts here, ma’am. Just a Dr. Roberts.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you sure? I received a letter from a Mrs. Roberts and I am looking for her.”
“No, ma’am. No missus and both of Dr. Roberts’s parents are deceased, ma’am. God rest their souls.”
“Yes, quite so,” answered Penelope absently. This was not the answer she expected. She wanted to find this Mrs. Roberts, but apparently she did not exist.
“Can you tell me something of Dr. Roberts? Has he been in practice long?”
“Dr. Roberts is a fine gentleman physician, ma’am. Best in London. He has been called to treat the queen and other notable persons. He is quite well known.”
“I have never heard of him.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but it is not the healthy who need the doctors.”
The sound of laughing and murmuring of happy conversation floated down from above.
“The doctor is seeing a patient,” explained the lad at the counter.
More laughter could be heard. “I do not remember my visits with the doctor being so diverting,” said Penelope under her breath. “I would like an appointment. May I see him next?” asked Penelope.
“Oh no, he is far too busy. He only accepts certain cases.”
Penelope opened her mouth to argue, but the door upstairs opened at that moment and out walked Lady Louisa.
“Thank you very much, Dr. Roberts,” she said in more sober tones. “My mother will appreciate your advice.”
“Please let me know if I can be of any greater assistance,” said the doctor. He was a young man, handsome and tall. His features were pleasing and his eyes were dancing and bright. If he were to be the physician, Penelope would hardly mind being sick.
“Dr. Roberts,” called the man behind the counter. “This young lady was looking for a Mrs. Roberts. Do you know who she is talking about?”
Louisa froze, recognizing Penelope. Louisa appeared to grow visibly pale, but the impression lasted but a moment. With crisp determination, Louisa continued down the stairs.
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