Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance

by Lilia Birney

  “Well, if you like Howe and want to embark on any kind of affair, then you need to let him know that you are open to it. Even if you are unschooled in the art of love. You have a very regal appearance, you know. You weren’t just named the Ice Goddess for nothing. Men are almost afraid to approach you.” Jane chuckled. “In fact, I must hand it to Howe. Most men wouldn’t have even attempted to kiss you. He’s braver than I thought.”

  As Jane’s words seeped into her consciousness, Penelope formulated a plan. She would have to seduce Pierce Howe. She would have to throw all caution to the wind…

  “What are you thinking?” Jane inquired, cocking her head to one side. An impish light gleamed in her dark green eyes. “Are you concocting a strategy to bring your handsome detective to his knees?”

  “Something like that,” Penelope agreed. “I will start by talking with him about the Barclay Agency. You are right about that. It may be something he can help with.”

  “Always business first, ” Jane sighed.

  “Of course, business first. Finding Cicely is more important than any affair I could have,” Penelope reminded her. “She was a good friend, and I feel as though her fate rests in my hands.”

  “Very well. Business first.” Jane sat up. “And then, what?”

  “I’ll just—I don’t know. But I will find some way to let him know I am interested in pursuing a physical relationship.”

  “Botheration!” Jane retorted. “You must try to be more comfortable with yourself, Penelope. Relinquish some control. Let him see your softer side. You have such a defensive stature, such a wall of brittle ice guarding the warmth and beauty of the woman inside. Let him see that, and you will not need to let him know anything more.”

  Penelope smiled. “That was phrased in a very literary manner, Jane.”

  Her friend returned the grin. “‘Tis my career, darling.”

  ***

  Simmons, Lady Annand’s butler, showed Pierce into her ladyship’s lovely greenhouse. A lovely brook, tiled in white, meandered around and through the plants, bubbling quietly. Dark, dusky roses climbed the dun-colored stone walls and chrysanthemums gave off a spicy scent. Yes, the beauty of the greenhouse—so fabled in London society—was enchanting. But it was also the first place Pierce had been other than her ladyship’s study. New settings always threw him off, and he tamped down the rising feeling of distrust that was working its way through his being.

  He didn’t know what to think of the Ice Goddess. One moment she was sure and in command, ordering even a hulking brute like Bill about. And then, when he tried to kiss her, she was as awkward as a schoolgirl. Which was the true Lady Penelope Annand? The domineering leader of society, or the sweet and pensive girl? He had no idea. He fancied them both, but even so, a fellow liked to have an idea of what he was dealing with.

  “Mr. Howe, how good of you to come by. Have you waited long?” Her voice, musical and liquid, floated in as though carried along on the splashing brook. She paused in the door way. Despite his best effort, Pierce’s mouth dropped open. Her ladyship was dressed in a gown of powder blue, cut far lower than he thought fashion allowed—or that the December weather would tolerate. Her hair, always twisted in a heavy knot on her head, was completely undone. The pale afternoon sun glowed through her tresses, gilding them. She was a nymph arising from a spring, or at the very least, like a desirable woman one step away from the boudoir.

  He was gawping at her, like a lad who had seen his first naughty etching. He closed his mouth and directed his attention away from her charmingly displayed bosom. “I only just arrived, your ladyship.” His voice sounded choked, strained even. He cleared his throat.

  “Oh, good. I was afraid I made you wait too long.” She offered him her hand. He bowed over it and caught a whiff of her scent. Gardenias. He blinked a few times to clear his mind. She was befuddling him, and he needed to be sharp.

  She sat in a chair and motioned him to sit across from her. “What do you think of my greenhouse? Pretty, is it not? This is my favorite place in my home. I come here every day to care for my roses.”

  He made a deliberate attempt to look away from her and to pay homage to the scenery. “It’s very nice.” He sounded like an idiot.

  “Well, I am glad you came today. I have some information you might find interesting.” She withdrew a scrap of foolscap from her bosom and handed it to him.

  The paper smelled of gardenias and was still warm from her body. He unfolded it with slightly shaking hands. “Barclay Employment Agency?” he read aloud.

  “The maid I questioned at the Gilded Lily told me we should start there. I’m sorry I withheld that piece of information from you for so long. But I wanted to try and track it down myself. My friend Jane actually inquired about it for me, but she found nothing.” She smiled, showing two adorable dimples at the corners of her mouth. “Do you forgive me? This was before we formed our understanding yesterday.”

  “Yes, of course. I forgive you.” No, wait. He should be angry. She withheld information from him, damn it. And her friend was asking questions around town, surely stirring up all kinds of trouble in her wake. But one look at Lady Annand and he was helpless. He should be angry, but he was only—besotted.

  “Will you follow up on it?”

  “Yes, I will.” He folded the scrap of paper and tucked it into his coat pocket.

  “Can I help you as you work on it? I promise not to be a nuisance.” She shook her cascade of hair and sent him a devastating smile.

  She was seducing him. That was all there was to it. He stood to break the spell. Fortunately, his overcoat was long enough to cover the evidence of her success.

  He strode over to her chair and leaned closer to her. “Lady Annand, I’ve made it clear I will work with you, but only on certain conditions. What is the meaning of this?” He reached out and grasped a silky curl with his fingertips.

  “The meaning of what?” Her eyes were emerald pools. He was drowning in them.

  “This…display.” He released her lock of hair. “Are you trying to tell me something? If so, you have my undivided attention, I assure you.”

  “Kiss me again,” she whispered, turning her face up toward his.

  Who was he to deny her ladyship anything? He drew her up in his arms, holding her close. Then he bent and took possession of her mouth. She melted against him, not fighting and not trying to gain control as she had yesterday. He groaned and deepened the kiss, teasing her lips with his tongue. With a gasp, she parted her lips, and he entered her mouth.

  She was enthusiastic but a bit tentative, a heady combination. Breaking away from her lips, he trailed a path of kisses down her neck and collarbone. Just a little bit further…

  “Please,” she panted. “Oh, Howe. Don’t stop, I beg of you.”

  “Where is your bedroom?” He murmured against the top of her bosom.

  “Um… Up the stairs. And to the right.” Her breathing was heavy. It was a delicious sound. “But the servants will see us.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” he muttered. With his fingertips he pulled down the filmy fabric that barely covered her breasts. “I will carry you over my shoulder if I must.”

  “But Pierce…” She was clasping the lapels of his coat as though they were a raft and she was at sea.

  “Trust in me, Penelope.” He gathered her in his arms and carried her towards the door, a man on a mission.

  Just at that moment, Simmons entered. He gasped as he spied Howe carrying Penelope. Oh hell, just when things were getting absolutely enchanting. With a sigh, he laid Penelope on a dainty iron settee.

  “Simmons, bring a cold compress. Her ladyship twisted her ankle, and I am helping her.”

  “Yes, at once.” The old butler scurried away.

  As he left, Lady Annand burst into giggles. “Oh dear. I am sorry. I forgot that Simmons often cleans attends to the greenhouse at this time of day. He gathers some of the flowers for arrangements in the house.”

  “It’s no mat
ter,” he replied. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course. Disappointed, but all right. And you?”

  “It may take me longer to calm myself,” he admitted ruefully. “But I hope to be in such a delightful predicament again sometime soon. Do you think I will be?”

  She lowered her eyelids to coquettish half-mast. “I suppose you could be.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Barclay Employment Agency was a dashed difficult place to find. All Pierce’s connections and contacts were brought to bear on the situation. And even then, only by assuming a false identity and by playing faro with a shady baronet who ran in a wild circle of society was he able to even track down the agency’s address.

  He flicked a glance outside the carriage window. The agency was located in a posh area of town, no doubt. Who would have guessed that he would find the place in Mayfair, just blocks from his own flat? This wasn’t really an area conducive to business transactions. The circumstances surrounding the agency grew more intriguing by the moment.

  His carriage drew to a halt outside of a pristine, unassuming townhome. A listless winter wind stirred the ivy clinging to its red brick walls. He glanced down at the scrap of foolscap the baronet had pressed into his hand. Yes, this was the right address. He alit, scanning the area carefully for signs of danger. The wind kicked up a few scattered leaves, sending them scudding across the pavement with the sound of bones cracking. His hackles raised anyway. You could never be too careful.

  Pierce let himself in through the garden gate and mounted the steps two at a time. He paused before the door, which was painted a glossy shade of black. “Knock thrice—and whistle God Save the King,” the baronet had slurred in his ear. So he tried precisely that, rapping his gloved knuckles on the heavy wood.

  The door opened, and a regal-looking older woman smiled up at him. “Yes?”

  Pierce cleared his throat. “I am looking for the Barclay Agency. I need a new…maid.”

  “Of course.” Her smile widened. “Won’t you come in?”

  As she closed the door behind him, she asked, “And whom may we thank for your referral?”

  “Lord Tristan Blake,” he replied, removing his coat and hat.

  She took both articles from him with a satisfied nod of her head. “Lord Blake has sent us many clients.”

  “Yes, he’s quite the gentleman. I’m Lord Banks, a…good friend of Blake’s.” Pierce permitted himself a short bark of laughter.

  The older woman led him down a hallway interspersed with floor to ceiling gold-framed mirrors. “Right this way, sir,” she responded. “We’ll take your interview in here. I am Mrs. Ealy, by the by. I shall help you find the perfect maid for your needs.”

  The hallway opened onto a large, airy room that was empty save for a Louis XIV desk in gaudy tones of cream and gold and two chairs upholstered in black and white toile. A large, circular stage rose four inches from the floor, dominating the empty space. Pierce cut his eyes to the left and then to the right. What the devil was this place, anyway?

  She motioned him to one of the chairs and sat behind the desk. She flipped open a black, leather-bound ledger book. “Now, what kind of maid do you seek? Do you prefer a blonde or a brunette, or something more exotic?”

  According to Lady Annand’s description, Cicely had black hair. “Something in a brunette, preferably with brown eyes,” he responded, leaning back against the chair.

  Mrs. Ealy flipped through a few pages in her ledger. “Hmmm. I have an idea or two. Do you prefer younger women or older?”

  Lady Annand had said Cicely was about twenty. “I prefer ladies with a bit more experience, but not too much.”

  Mrs. Ealy smiled a cat’s-got-the-cream grin. “How I love to hear that.”

  He chuckled politely. If only she would get on with it. This situation was deuced uncomfortable.

  “I have two girls in mind.” She snapped her ledger shut. “If you will wait here, I will bring them out to you.”

  She exited through a side door, and he was left alone in the nearly-vacant room. Somewhere, a clock struck the hour. It tolled on his nerves like a loudly played passage from Chopin. He leapt from his chair and prowled around the desk, careful to disturb nothing. The ledger was closed—if only he could take a look. But they could be back at any moment, and if she knew he was only there to prowl around, Mrs. Ealy would throw him out on his ear. And there would go his only chance at admittance to the Barclay Employment Agency.

  The door opened again, admitting Mrs. Ealy and two brunette young women. They were clad in nothing but chemises, and their hair was completely unbound. Each one also wore a half-mask, obscuring most of her facial features. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This was worse than he expected.

  “Now sir, each lady will stand on the pedestal and you can look at her from all angles. They can remove their chemises if you wish. Once you decide which you prefer, let me know. Of course, you can also have both.” She gave an appreciative chuckle that made his gut turn.

  “Never mind the chemises,” he muttered. “They leave very little to the imagination. What of the masks? I should like to see each girl’s face.”

  “Didn’t Lord Blake tell you? The girls must leave their masks on. It is our way of keeping things…under wraps.”

  It would be hard to tell if either girl were Cicely if her face was covered. If he could find a way to get either girl out of the house, and away from Mrs. Ealy, they could remove their masks and he could take them to see Lady Annand. She would be able to identify her own maid. He sighed. Time to press the matter further. “How do I know these girls don’t have the pox? Or are horribly disfigured under those masks?”

  “I can assure you, all of our girls are of the highest quality. Not a pockmark on them. Remove their chemises, and see for yourself how perfect they are.” Mrs. Ealy folded her arms across her chest.

  He shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “That won’t be necessary.”

  The girls mounted the pedestal, standing frozen. They had done this before, they must have. Otherwise, how would they know the routine so well? He circled the pedestal, feigning interest. Lady Annand had said that Cicely had a birthmark on her left arm. He peered closely at each girl’s arm, but they were smooth and unblemished, save for some goose flesh. His heart lurched with pity.

  He’d have to take both girls and question them, away from the agency. And he’d find a way to let Lady Annand see them as well. Even if neither was Cicely, her ladyship might be able to identify one or both of them.

  “I’ll take them both,” he announced, rubbing his hands together.

  “Excellent!” She opened the ledger again and scribbled down a few notes in the book. “When would you like them?”

  “Well, I should like to take them home now, of course.” His brows furrowed.

  “Sir, you really are hasty,” Mrs. Ealy replied with a giggle that set his teeth on edge. “Lord Blake must not have explained the process to you. These young women will be at your disposal tonight, or any night of your choosing, at the Gilded Lily. I will arrange a private room for your pleasure.”

  “Very well, if I cannot take them home, the Lily will do well enough. But why are they not available now?” He used his most aggrieved customer tone of voice.

  “Sir, the Lily has been under scrutiny by the Runners for many days now. We must use caution and discretion, else we may be caught. Darkness provides a good cover, and of course, we must ready the ladies themselves.” By gad, she was cajoling him—just as she might a lad who wasn’t getting a piece of candy. What kind of men frequented this agency? Men like Blake—that was for sure.

  “Very well,” he replied with a sigh. “But may I ask what makes these girls different from any other whore I might take at the Lily? After all, I am paying quite a bit for this service. How can I make sure I get my moneys worth?”

  “Well, really, sir.” She was beginning to sound put out. “We cater to men of all tastes and persu
asions at the Barclay. You don’t have to take your chances with any run-of-the-mill light skirt. You get to pick exactly the type of gel you want, no matter what type you want, or what you wish to do with her. And our ladies are trained to satisfy our customers in every way demanded of them. These two, for example—”

  He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I understand. You need not go on.”

  “As you wish.” She made a few more notes in the ledger. “These two together will come to a price of one thousand pounds. I will have them ready for you in the Red Room at half-past ten. Does that suit you well enough, Lord Banks?”

  Damn, this was going to be an expensive investigation. He counted out the money with a flourish. “Suits me well enough. Until then.”

  As he exited the townhouse, he clapped his hat on his head and tugged on his coat. He had to find a way to sneak Lady Annand into the Gilded Lily—and into the Red Room—without being seen. ‘Twould be the only way he could have her try to identify the two girls. If she could not see them, she could not tell if they were in any way connected to Cicely.

  The prospect was intriguing, truth be told. After all, he would much, much rather get Lady Annand into that Red Room than all the expensive prostitutes in London. Their tete-a-tete a few days ago had proved most intriguing. Now, if only they could finish that particular investigation together—and in private.

  ***

  Penelope spun around the ballroom once more on her random partner’s arm again. She could never remember the name of the men who vied for her attentions and favors. Once the music stopped and she had made her curtsy, she could consult her dance card once again, and get the gentleman’s name. Until then, boredom laid claim to her being. Penelope amused herself by glancing at the whirling faces of the crowd as she waltzed by. ‘Twas almost like looking into a kaleidoscope, her favorite childhood toy.

  It was only a matter of minutes until she could leave. Pierce promised to collect her from the ball at fifteen after the hour. His note had been terse and to the point. “I shall call for you outside of Lady Winthorpe’s home at 10:15. Be waiting.” Of course, it was mighty scandalous to leave a Christmas ball in full swing and much more so to leave it only to creep into a thief-taker’s carriage. But then, she didn’t care a fig for society and its rules. That was the beauty of being entirely free.