Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance

by Lilia Birney

  Lady Penelope’s Christmas Charade 2

  Lady Penelope’s Christmas Charade

  By Lilia Birney

  Copyright © 2012 by Lilia Birney

  Cover Design © 2012 by Lily Smith

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Night Shift Publishing

  www.nightshiftpublishing.com

  Penelope, Viscountess Annand’s London Townhome

  Grosvenor Square

  December

  1808

  Chapter One

  The swirling snow enshrouded Viscountess Annand’s house completely, save for the brightly-lacquered scarlet door that glowed like a ruby through the quickening blizzard. Pierce Howe squinted at the address scribbled on the piece of foolscap in his coat pocket. Yes, this was the place. Blast if all these London townhomes didn’t look precisely the same.

  The driver halted, and Pierce stepped out before the coachman could open the door. Better to be over and done with this interview quickly. There were real crimes occuring in the city, and people who needed protection. How ridiculous that he was going to interview her ladyship about a misplaced maid.

  He strode up the steps in two quick strides and knocked sharply on the door. Someone opened the door. Ah yes, an elderly butler. Why where they always elderly? The old fellow was peering out into the snow as though he couldn’t see Pierce standing right before him.

  “Pierce Howe. Lady Annand sent for me. I am a thief-taker.” He flashed his card before the butler’s faded gaze.

  “Yes. Of course. Won’t you come in, Mr. Howe?” The butler divested Howe of his greatcoat and hat, and led the way down the hall. Howe took in the lush surroundings. Her ladyship had excellent taste in decorating. Of course, she probably had little else to do, other than gossip and purchase new gowns.

  The smirk was still on Howe’s face as he was ushered into the library. The grin slid away as he beheld Lady Annand. She was younger than he anticipated—maybe in her early twenties?—with a glorious mass of golden hair piled high in ringlets. She wore a filmy gown cut too low for mere lounging about the house. Perhaps she was on her way to a ball tonight. She glanced up from the ornate ormolu desk, searing him with a bright green gaze, and motioned to a chair in front. “Mr. Howe, thank you for coming so quickly. I am quite at my wit’s end, I can assure you.”

  He sat abruptly. “Quite.”

  If she was taken aback by his brevity, she didn’t show it. “My maid, Cicely, has been missing since this morning. She’s a very conscientious soul, and would never leave without telling me. She has been with me for years. It’s most unlike her to simply disappear like this. Which is why I contacted you without delay.”

  “Of course.” He leaned back in his chair, surveying her closely. “But if you’ll forgive me, ma’am, servants go missing all the time. Especially young women. Isn’t it possible that she ran away with a stable lad?”

  She narrowed her green eyes and pursed her lips. “No. Not Cicely.”

  “Or perhaps she sought employment elsewhere?”

  “Why would she do that? Cicely has been with me nearly five years.” She sighed, an exasperated look crossing her patrician features.

  “How can that be? You don’t look older than one and twenty, yourself.” Blast—why did he let that slip? Best to keep things professional and practical.

  “I am twenty-three, not that it’s any of your business, sir. I was married when I was eighteen, and hired Cicely when I set up housekeeping with my husband.” She sat back from her desk and regarded him with a wary expression.

  “Where is your husband? Perhaps it would be better to speak to the man of the house.” Yes, it would definitely be better to talk to a man. Lady Annand was too distracting by half.

  “I am a widow. My husband has been dead for two years now, sir. You’ll have to make do with talking to me. Perhaps if you use small words and short sentences, I can understand your meaning better.” She bit the last phrase out through clenched teeth.

  He shrugged in defeat. A beautiful, rich, young widow was an entrancing prospect, but she was also wasting his time. “Lady Annand, you must understand my position. Young women go missing in this city every day. Some of them run off with stable lads. Others find an employer who pays better. Others run away back home to care for sick family members. Likely your servant left for one of those reasons. Why not hire another?”

  Lady Annand rose, giving him the distinct impression their interview had come to a conclusion. “Had I wanted someone to pass off unadulterated pap as detective theory, I could have just as easily read a horrible novel.” She motioned toward the door. “If you really have no intention of helping me find Cicely, then I bid you adieu. On the other hand, I will pay you handsomely if you choose to take me seriously.”

  He rose. While it was true that the lady’s maid had probably left of her own free will, there was no need to keep laughing the matter off, not when Lady Annand was so determined to make a mountain out of a molehill. To be paid well and to work closely with such an entrancing creature—well, that prospect would certainly brighten his harsh and work-weary days.

  “Very well.” He straightened his cravat and held out his hand. “We have a deal. I will help you find your maid. But if it turns out that I am right, and she left of her own free will, then you have no need to pay me. I’ll only work for the money if there is real danger involved—which I doubt.”

  Lady Annand refused to shake hands. “Well, really, sir. Why are you so certain of yourself? Surely there is room for doubt. Much as I want Cicely to be all right, I know her too well to know that she simply fled into the night.”

  He shook his head, the old familiar rueful grin hovering around his lips. “I’ve been working as a thief-taker for many years, Lady Annand. Cast it up to experience.”

  “How can you have been a thief-taker for so long? You don’t look any older than…five and forty.” She smiled for the first time during their meeting, a light dancing in her green eyes.

  He bowed. “I am wounded that my profession has aged me before my time, your ladyship. I am three and thirty.” He extended his hand once more. “Do we have a deal?”

  She took his hand. Her delicate grasp was cold. She really was quite nervous, then? He smiled reassuringly. “We will find Cicely, Lady Annand. Have no fear.”

  She nodded, withdrawing from his grasp. “How do we begin?”

  He shrugged one shoulder as she reached for the bell-pull. “I’ll make some enquiries. It could take a while, your ladyship. Don’t worry about matters. I shall contact you when I have a lead.”

  The elderly butler scratched on the door and entered with Pierce’s greatcoat and hat in his hands.

  “Thank you, Simmons.” Lady Annand turned to Pierce. “I thought perhaps I could help you. I know all of Cicely’s ways, her likes and dislikes. Surely that could make matters go faster.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, your ladyship. There’s a pattern to this, you know. I’ll follow my usual methods and get back with you in a week or so.” He pulled on his greatcoat, and took his hat from the butler. “Good night, ma’am.”

  ***

  Penelope’s face burned with embarrassment. Well, really. Mr. Howe was most infuriating. He was just downright smug. Such a high-handed attitude could only come from years of wealth and privilege. And as handsome as he was, with his dark blue
eyes and blonde wavy hair, the excellent cut of his coat outlining his broad shoulders to perfection, he probably had women swooning at his feet. Not that she cared. And not that she found him attractive. It was just so reflective of a state of mind—that was all—a state of wealth and power that left a bitter taste in her mouth. Like so many men in London, he knew exactly what had happened and what needed to be done to rectify any given situation. Mr. Howe reminded her of every single suitor she’d had, and rejected, until Peter Annand came into her life. She stopped pacing the lush Aubusson carpet and nibbled at her thumbnail. Perhaps, rather than rely on any man, she should look for Cicely on her own.

  The doorbell rang and a cacophony of feminine voices sounded in the hall. Jane and Elizabeth, her dearest friends, must be here. Just in time to be fashionably late for the theater. She shook out the folds of her diaphanous lace gown and smoothed her hair. Luckily, none of her curls had come loose, even with all of her stomping back and forth across the carpet.

  “Penelope, darling!” Elizabeth ran into the room, arms outstretched. “Come, let’s go to the theater, and dine together afterwards. My God, before I endure six weeks in the country, I shall have my fill of London nightlife!”

  Penelope laughed, embracing Elizabeth. “What a lovely frock, my dear. That color green just suits your Titian hair.”

  “Titian? Ha. You’ve been studying your art books again, Penelope.” Jane entered the room much less dramatically than Elizabeth, keen intelligence darting from her gaze.

  “I have. After all, I must keep my mind occupied. I don’t want to become like those wealthy dowagers who do nothing but gossip and buy gowns.” She clasped her cold hands together to still their shaking. “You must know what a state I am in. I shan’t be able to go to the theater tonight. Cicely’s disappeared.”

  Elizabeth dropped onto the settee, her mouth agape. “Was she abducted?”

  “I don’t know.” Penelope crossed her arms over her chest. “She left no word. Simply vanished into thin air. I spoke to a thief-taker this evening. And he simply insists she ran away.”

  “Not Cicely.” Jane cast her shawl and muff onto the hearth. “She’s not flighty like some servant girls.”

  “Exactly!” Penelope spun on her heel and snapped her fingers. “I kept telling him that, and he simply wouldn’t listen. He refused to help me until I issued an ultimatum, and offered him quite a bit of blunt in the bargain. Bull-headed, stubborn mule of a man!”

  Jane cocked her head to one side. “Usually you simply crush those types of men with a withering glance. Yet this one seems to really have gotten on your nerves. What did he do that made you so peevish?”

  “He was just—just—” She spluttered. Why was he so dashed difficult? And why did she care? ‘Twas impossible to tell exactly why. “I don’t know. He was just infuriating. So condescending.”

  “I know.” Elizabeth nodded her head sagely, triumph glinting in her almond-shaped eyes. “He was handsome, wasn’t he?”

  Penelope shrugged. “I suppose to some women, he might be.” If blond hair that waved back precisely so and keen blue eyes were her type. And if she liked square jaws, and nice broad shoulders—she shut off her thoughts with a snap.

  “Well, it does not signify what he looks like or what he did to infuriate me. The point is, he is not taking Cicely’s disappearance seriously, and I refuse to think that such a smart, steady girl simply ran off without saying a word of goodbye.” She sat next to Elizabeth. “Surely I can find her, if I only try hard enough.”

  Jane nodded. “That’s the spirit. You know, I would be happy to help you.”

  “As would I.” Elizabeth leaned over and patted Penelope’s hand, her many rings sparkling in the firelight.

  “Surely there must be some blessing in widowhood,” Penelope murmured. “After all, I have my husband’s wealth at my disposal, and no one to tell me what to do. If I can use Peter’s money for good, and help find Cicely, why not do so? Life should be more than just soirees and card parties.”

  “There is more to life than society,” Jane averred. “You may laugh at my novel-writing, but it has made me an independent woman. I don’t have to marry now, unless I choose to do so. And I agree—I would like to do more with my wealth than buy new gowns and attend social functions.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with lovely gowns and card-parties.” Elizabeth eyed them both uncomfortably, color rising in her cheeks. “And before I assume the reins of Papa’s estate, I can assure you I am most ready for a little fun and frivolity. Surely I can have the best of both worlds, can’t I?”

  “Of course you may, Elizabeth, dear. I’m not denying the luxury we live in. I just wonder—well—” Penelope looked around the room, trying to make sense of her jumbled emotions. “The three of us occupy extraordinary positions in society. We are all independently wealthy. Jane, you have made your own fortune from writing. Elizabeth, your father willed you the estate after your brother nearly gambled everything away. And Peter left me all his money when he died.”

  “It’s true.” Jane smiled. “We’re not beholden to anyone. We can do what we please, when we please. Even the dowagers of society steer clear of us.”

  “So, we are, in a way, the merry widows of Windsor.” Elizabeth concluded with a chuckle, folding her be-ringed hands onto her silken lap. “But only you, Penny, can lay official claim to the title of widow. Jane and I have it more as a ceremonial title.”

  “We should call ourselves the Liberated Ladies.” Jane, ever the clever novelist, suggested.

  Penelope grinned and clapped her hands. “C’est tout! So, why not use our wealth and power for the betterment of others? We can start by finding Cicely. And then—who knows what other young women may need our help or protection?” She rose and made her way to the little mahogany table, the one that always held her favorite Scotch in a cut-glass decanter. Pouring three stout glasses, she handed them to her friends. “Hang Pierce Howe and his domineering ways! We shall find Cicely ourselves.”

  “And when we find her,” Jane said, spluttering a little from the burn of the liquor, “you can rub his face in it.”

  “Ah, well, I shall take it easy on his delicate vanity.” She didn’t really want to taunt the thief-taker. Only to challenge him. But the whisky made her talk bigger than she meant to—a surefire downside to imbibing. “To the Liberated Ladies’ Club. Long may we reign.”

  The three friends touched their glasses together with a satisfying clink.

  Chapter Two

  Pierce rubbed the stubble of his beard with a weary hand. He was ready to leave his office and head for his flat for the evening, but he was still waiting on one informant. It was possible that Silent Sam knew something about the disappearance of Lady Annand’s maid. After all, he saw and reported on almost everything that happened in the back streets of London. A missing servant girl on the run might have crossed her path—or at least gossip about her might have made her way to Sam. Pierce toyed with the bag of coins on his desk. Sam was a solid informant, and worth waiting for even when he was usually tardy.

  The door to his office opened, but it wasn’t Sam’s toothless, grinning face peering around the frame. Instead, Jonathan Twist entered the room. The old reprobate was a thief-taker too—had been doing it for many decades longer than Pierce, in fact—and they shared a friendly rivalry.

  “Twist? What ho, man. Come in and have a drink.” Pierce extended his hand cordially.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Twist sank heavily into one of the leather chairs that flanked Pierce’s desk. “You’re here mighty late. What are you up to?”

  Pierce poured two brandies with a heavy hand. “Waiting on Silent Sam. I thought he might have information about a servant of hers who went missing.” He held out one short glass, which Twist accepted with a gleam in his eye.

  “Oh, really? Anything you care to share?”

  “Not at all, you old bastard. I am almost certain it’s another lovelorn runaway maid.” He took a long dra
ught of the burning liquid and grimaced. “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?”

  “Ah, well.” Twist took a sip of his drink, deliberately drawing out the suspense with a smile. “I’ve had a message from Dick Ford. He wants me to join the Bow Street Runners.”

  “You?” Pierce spluttered, the brandy stinging his nose and throat. He coughed several times, and a good whack from Twist across his back enabled him to breathe once more. “Why—you wouldn’t be caught dead. Would you?”

  “I’m thinking of it.” Twist resumed his seat. “He made me a mighty good offer. Wanted me to test you out and see if you’d think of it too. They want our contacts. Blokes like you and me—we’ve got all the informants and back-alley dealers. The Runners have all the official stature and authority. Blend the two together—”

  “And all hell might break loose.” Pierce swirled the brandy around in his glass. “You know me, Twist. I like being able to pick and choose my cases, and I prefer not to have to answer to anyone.”

  “I agree. I’m the same way. But hark ye this…” He leaned forward in his chair, his grizzled eyebrows drawing together. “Ford wants to do away with the Gilded Lily. Seems the madam who runs it has gotten a little too free with kidnapping very young girls to work for her. She and her pimp are in a lot of trouble. And that’s where we come in. We know the best ways to break through and get the information we need about the Lily. We know all the thugs and informants who can help shut the place down.”

  “True, we do. But why go in with the Runners? Seems like a step backwards to me.”

  “Money, my friend. The government is kicking in a lot of blunt to make it worth everyone’s while. You need never worry again if you join the Runners and shut down London’s most notorious brothel.”

  “I don’t worry now.” Pierce reminded him with a lifted eyebrow.

  “Oh well, la-di-da.” The old man slapped his knee. “Not all of us are nobility, your lordship.”

  “Stubble it,” Pierce hissed through clenched teeth. If Silent Sam knew he was wealthy, his price would triple. “I go to great lengths to keep my identity secret.”