Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance

by Lilia Birney

  She pushed open the door, a peppery tirade poised upon her lips.

  “Ah, darling.” Pierce spoke up smoothly, dismounting from his horse. “It seems you rode off without me. I thought I made it clear, I was coming to Dunstable with you.” He tied his horse to the back of the carriage and nodded to the coachman. “Seems to me you were traveling a bit fast. We’re in no great hurry. You may ease up.” He tied the lathered bay to the back of the carriage, giving the beast a final pat.

  The coach man looked from Pierce to Penelope with a glint of humor in his eyes. “But the lady said—”

  “Never mind what the lady told you. She was mistaken. We are in no rush to reach our destination. Please don’t tax any of the horses further.” With that, Pierce grasped Penelope about her waist, tossing her up into the carriage. She tumbled across the cushions with a gasp. Pierce followed her in, closing the door firmly behind him. With a sharp rap on the window, he signaled the coachman, and they were on their way once more.

  “How dare you?” Penelope’s hands trembled with anger. Once again, Pierce and his autocratic ways had overridden her wishes. “I left you behind in Leicester for a reason. I never want to see you again.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” he responded blandly. He was sweating—little beads of perspiration standing out across his forehead. For a distracted moment, Penelope’s mind flashed back to their previous night of lovemaking, with Pierce crouched over her, sweat beading his brow, his expression a mixture of pleasure and passion.

  She shook her head as though that gesture alone would clear her mind.

  “I am coming with you, my dear. Depend upon it.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket, swiping it across his brow and his cheeks. “Now I have only to ask—why you left me in Leicester. I was worried about you, you know. Until I remembered what a formidable mind you have.”

  “Flattery will get you nothing, sir.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I am tired of your company. I’m tired of this investigation. I want to find Cicely and then go home so I can be blessedly alone again.”

  Was that a flinch? She could not tell for certain. Surely the suave and smooth Pierce Howland wasn’t wounded by what she said. He was too much of a rogue for that.

  “Why are you tired of my company and tired of our journey? If I recall correctly, you were quite well-pleased with me just last night.”

  Her fingers fairly itched to slap his smug face. Fine, if he was going to be so infuriating, then she would happily call his bluff.

  “Oooh, I likes ‘aving a toss in the hay with a toff, Lord Howland,” she crooned in a high-pitched Cockney accent. There. Now it was all out in the open.

  Pierce’s jaw clenched and his dark blue eyes turned black. “Damn it to hell. Twist told you the truth.”

  “Yes, he did. And I appreciated the fact that one man, in the whole course of my life, was honest with me.” She faced him squarely. “Talk your way out of this, if you can.”

  He swallowed. He looked, for all the world, like he was ashamed of himself. He darted a glance at her from under his eyebrows. “Penelope, darling, my family history is so sordid. When I first started seeing you, I had to maintain that professional façade. No one knew about the Howland connection, and as a thief-taker, I tried to keep everyone from knowing the truth.” He leaned forward a bit. “If people knew I was a lord, they might refuse to work with me. Or else, try to take advantage of the title. So I had to create this image of a working man so that I could do well in my profession.”

  She tapped her slipper impatiently against the floor of the carriage. She was finding it hard to give a damn whether he succeeded in his profession or not.

  “When you and I became involved,” he hastened on, adjusting his cravat with a nervous gesture, “I couldn’t find a way to tell you the truth. I wanted to, but I couldn’t do it. And so I just kept up the pretense of being a commoner.”

  “So, you get to know everything about me, but have the pleasure of concealing the truth about yourself? Good God, you know it all.” A sob choked her throat, and she had to swallow before she could go on. “You even took my virginity, for heaven’s sake. I have nothing left to conceal. You know everything. And you traded on that.”

  “No, I didn’t, Penelope. Oh, sweetheart, please listen to me.” Pierce knelt on the carriage floor before her, capturing her hands in his. “I meant to tell you, truly I did. Only I knew how badly Peter had hurt you. And I didn’t want to be just another bastard out to break your heart.” He opened her palms and pressed his lips against them. A scorching trail of fire burned down her arms, and she drew her hands away.

  If she gave in to him now, she would be just another weak woman. She turned a blind eye to Peter’s activities so that they could both rub along together in society. And that willful ignorance was an awful precedent to set. It meant that men could simply walk all over her, taking advantage of her to achieve their own means.

  That’s what it all boiled down to, didn’t it?

  She snuck a glance at Pierce from under lowered eyelids. He still knelt on the carriage floor, but his face had turned a dull ashen color. He no longer looked the smug and handsome rogue. He looked downright sick. As she watched, he closed his eyes and swallowed.

  She resisted the sudden and overpowering urge to reach out to him by folding her hands primly in her lap. She would never be taken advantage of again. If Pierce lied to her now, and only told her the truth because Twist beat him to it, then who knew what he would be capable of in future? Would he have mistresses and lie about them too? Would he gamble all her money away and then laugh it all off? She had endured too much for too long to take another risk on a man.

  “I don’t want to talk about it any longer,” she murmured, keeping her eyes downcast. “When we reach Dunstable, I shall go in search of Cicely. You may return to London if you wish. And do be sure to send me the bill for your services, as you have certainly earned a fair wage.”

  ***

  Penelope’s icy tone was like a punch in the gut. She was releasing him like she would release a recalcitrant servant. He felt a fool, kneeling before her like this.

  “Penelope, listen.” This was his last attempt to make her see reason. Only by laying his soul bare could he possibly begin to repair some of the damage he’d done. “It wasn’t just a professional ruse. There’s terrible scandal associated with the Howland name. Scandal I would sooner forget. When I left home I changed my name and set about to earn my own living. I didn’t want anyone to know about my family.”

  Her features softened a bit, the corners of her mouth turning down a bit, showing her dimples. “Are you speaking of your mother’s murder?”

  “Yes.” He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He hadn’t spoken of his parents in years. “My father killed her. She was having an affair with another man.” He darted a glance up at her. “Not a pretty story. Do you see why I concealed it from everyone?”

  She nodded, her bright henna-tinted hair glinting in the pale sunlight streaming in through the carriage window. “We both have sordid histories, do we not?” she murmured.

  “We do.” Was she going to forgive him? His heart hammered in his chest.

  “Pierce, I am very sorry for all you suffered. It must have been very difficult indeed.” She was no longer looking at him. She turned her lovely face away so he could only view her profile, as clean and as pure as a cameo set against velvet. “I am amazed at what you were able to accomplish simply by your own wits. But I am afraid I must end our tryst. This whole thing was ridiculous from the start.”

  “Ridiculous? Ridiculous how?” He had been keeping his own temper on a tight leash, knowing that he was, after all, the source of the problems they now confronted. But hearing those words made him lose his grip a bit. Their affair was anything but ridiculous. Scandalous, delicious, torrid—but not ridiculous.

  She shrugged and pulled at her neckline, as though checking to make sure none of her beautiful bosom was on display. S
he said nothing—which was probably for the best. Any subsequent remark would surely be rather cutting.

  He was still on his knees before her. With one swift movement, he situated himself on the bench opposite her, keeping his anger tightly leashed. “Very well then, Lady Annand. We have a day’s journey ahead of us. Surely we must stop to change horses once more before reaching Dunstable. What do you propose?”

  “Well, Lord Pierce,” she responded in a scathing tone, “I arranged with the coachman to take me as far as Northampton, and from there I had planned to go on. I had not planned to spend the night anywhere, but to press on through after a change of horses.”

  “Very well.” That was for the best. Another night in an inn with her, unable to embrace her or make love to her would drive him insane. He would ride along beside them, or on the box for the rest of the journey. And then, once they found her damned maid, she could go to hell for all he cared.

  He was a fool, thinking that he could melt the Ice Goddess. Talk of ridiculous. Hadn’t he thought of proposing? Hadn’t he imagined the two of them together in his flat? He would come home at the end of a long day and see his beloved. He would tell her of that day’s cases, his work in the field, and his plans for what to do next. And he had imagined her listening, offering a word of advice along with a drink. And then later, making love until the wee hours of the morning in his bed. Day after day. Night after night. The future had been poised before him, each day sparkling like a diamond on a debutante’s necklace.

  But she no longer cared for him. He’d have to find some other satisfaction in life.

  He watched her as she stared out the window, feigning obliviousness to his gaze. She was gone from him already. A door had closed somewhere in her soul. And the generous, warm woman who had witnessed his desire and longing last night and then joined him to end both of their misery was vanished. She was the Ice Goddess once more. And he was merely a paid servant.

  Damn Twist and his sneaking, lying soul. He had gotten everything he wanted from Pierce and left nothing behind. With one word, he had obliterated Pierce’s future. And though he was going half-mad from anger and frustration, the worst part of it was—he could blame no one but himself. Had he been honest with Penelope from the very beginning, Twist would have had nothing on him. He had lost his beloved through his own folly, and that was the most maddening thing of all.

  Chapter Twenty

  They were nearing the outskirts of a village, so they must be near Dunstable. She could make out thatched roof cottages and fences made of piled-up stones. Penelope stretched her aching limbs and yawned hugely. She had never driven this far this fast before. Once they changed horses in Northampton, Pierce had chosen to ride on the box with the coachman, and bade him not to spare the whip any longer. Accustomed to traveling at a leisurely pace, and with every material comfort cared for, it was now certain that luxury had its charms. She could not wait for a steaming hot bath in her own rooms, her favorite oolong tea steeping in her Limoges teapot with the violets hand painted on each side. These creature comforts would soothe her bruised spirit. They wouldn’t mend her broken heart, but they would feel quite refreshing after such a long, hard journey.

  Pierce had informed her, in a terse and terrible voice that he would inquire of Cicely at the first cottage they came to. And so, as the outlines of the thatched cottages grew bigger as they drew nearer, the carriage slowed to a halt. She didn’t like for Pierce to be the one going in and making inquiries. For heaven’s sake, she could do that herself. But she was sick to death of fighting him, and her sensibilities ran rampant in his presence, so it was better to avoid contact with him altogether.

  Pierce muttered a few words to the coachman and alit, his booted footsteps thudding across the dirt path that led up to the cottage door. He knocked, the movement of his raised arm sending the muscles of his back rippling, even under the fabric of his jacket. Penelope shook her head. She was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. Even when furious at him, and poised to leave him for good, she could not deny her attraction to the man.

  The door opened a crack, and then wider, swallowing Pierce inside. Penelope pressed her face against the glass of the carriage window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside. But the flickering light of the carriage lamps illuminated nothing, and there was no moon to shed light on the scene, either. So she could do nothing but wait.

  The seconds stretched out before her, and she drummed her fingers impatiently against the window ledge. Her heart beat a nervous tattoo. Why hadn’t he come back? Surely the cottagers inside would have told him by now whether or not they knew Cicely. There was no reason for this visit to take so long. So what was transpiring? Was Pierce all right? Had he been harmed in some manner? Perhaps Cicely’s disappearance was more sinister than they had originally guessed.

  She gathered her cloak more tightly about her. She would have to go in after Pierce, that’s all there was to the matter.

  She laid her hand on the door latch when it moved under her touch. She scuttled back onto the cushions and untied her cloak as Pierce opened the door. It would never do for him to realize she was about to brave any possible ruffians to come to his rescue.

  “Penelope.” His voice was quiet and dark. He looked at her from underneath his brows, his face slightly pale. “She is here.”

  “Cicely?” Penelope drew on her cloak again, her fingers trembling. “Is she all right?” After the past few weeks of endless searching, ‘twas almost too good to be true.

  Pierce shook his head. “You had better come inside.” He extended his hand to her and helped her alight.

  Was Cicely ill, or injured? Penelope landed on the packed earth with a thud and ran to the cottage, not bothering to knock before she burst through the rickety front door. Cicely was there, sitting before a log fire, her long hair unbound, her curls tumbling down her back. Something wasn’t right about her. Penelope skidded to a halt, staring at her maid. Cicely was decidedly bigger than she had been before she left—all womanly curves. Her faded calico dress hugged her rounded belly.

  “Cicely, my dear?” It was Cicely, it couldn’t be anyone else. But she looked so different…

  “My lady?” Cicely rose, cupping one hand over her stomach. “What happened to your hair? Why are you dressed in that fashion?”

  “I’ve been trying to find you everywhere!” Penelope enfolded her in a warm embrace. Goodness, Cicely had gotten positively corpulent. “This was part of a disguise I had to wear to track you down. My dear, you have no idea what I’ve been through to find you. Why on earth did you disappear like that? Without a word? You scared me to death.”

  Cicely drew back from Penelope’s arms, her eyes downcast and the color in her cheeks rising. “My lady—I found myself with child. And I came here to Aunt Bea—first to see if I could rid myself of it, but then found I could not. And so, I stayed for my confinement.” She looked up at Penelope, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I meant to come for just a few days. Aunt Bea has helped many other girls who find themselves in trouble. But I was too far along, and so I decided to stay here and have my baby.”

  The cottage door opened and shut, admitting a disheveled-looking Pierce.

  “Who is that gentleman?” Cicely asked, turning away from her mistress.

  “Pierce Howe, at your service, miss,” Pierce replied with a bow.

  “He’s a thief-taker. I employed him to help me find you,” Penelope replied shortly. “You have no idea what we have been through, Cice. We tried finding you through the Barclay Agency, and then a dreadful house party in Derbyshire…”

  “Oh, no—the Barclay?” Cicely paled, and sat back on the bench before the fire rather abruptly. “Then you know about my cousin Emma.”

  “Yes, we’ve met Emma.” Penelope sank down beside Cicely. “In fact, she was the person who pointed us toward Aunt Bea’s cottage in Dunstable. Had we not spoken to Emma, we might never have found you.”

  Cicely shook her head, tears spilling down her che
eks. “I was so ashamed, my lady. When I went to the Barclay with Emma, it was just to help her find a position. I thought it was a reputable place, until we found out the truth. When I knew what it was, I left as quickly as I could. But Emma’s head was turned, your ladyship. They promised her pretty gowns, and food to eat, and all the money to buy trinkets she could hope for. And so she stayed, even though I told her not to.”

  “And you never thought to ask me for help?” Penelope could not hide her incredulity. “I would have given Emma a job. I would have helped you through your pregnancy.” She patted Cicely’s back gently. “Why did you feel the need to run away?”

  “I know you would have helped me, my lady,” Cicely sobbed. “Emma wouldn’t listen. She wanted to make lots of blunt as quickly as she could, and she didn’t want to be a servant to anyone. And I thought I could get rid of the baby before anyone had to know. But I was too late.” She buried her face in her apron and wept.

  Penelope wrapped her arms around Cicely’s rotund form and held her close, rocking her gently. “Hush. It’s all right. Everything will be fine. You’ll have your darling baby, and then you can both come and live in my household again.”

  Cicely sniffled, raising her tear-streaked face to Penelope’s. “Are you certain, my lady? I am so ashamed. I’ve brought dishonor on your house and on my family.”

  Penelope sighed. “Oh, rubbish. You are a good girl and one of my most trusted confidants. I’m just happy to know you are alive and well. Did you know that I thought you had been kidnapped by ruffians, or forced into slavery by some infamous nobleman? I am just delighted that you are fine. We’ll turn the third floor parlor suite into a nursery and bedroom just for you and your little one.”

  Cicely shook her head. “That’s too generous, my lady. And I am not sure yet if I will keep the babe.”