A Lady's Dilemma Or The Dandy and Lady Penelope

by Margaret Bennett

  “That is not necessary, Mother,” Penelope said. “I will lie down before dressing for dinner.”

  “If you are sure, dear.” Turning to her husband, Lady Lenwood said, “Victor was most attentive last night of Penelope, Lenwood. He even told Lady Northington that he wished the wedding could be moved up. It was quite romantic. What say you to that, Penelope?”

  Suddenly, she lost her appetite for eggs and scones. In fact, the very thought of marrying Victor tied her stomach in knots. Last night, he exposed more of his brutish nature, a side that she’d been unaware of until recently. She’d lain awake most of the night, wondering just how abusive and oppressive he could be. Oh, how she dreaded her future as Mrs. Victor Bynes.

  “Leave her alone, Ellen,” Lenwood said. “She’s already set a date.”

  “Yes, but even Lady Northington commented that many people will not be in town as they will have left for their country estates. She and Northington spend late summer at their estate in Yorkshire.”

  “The date’s set, Ellen,” Lenwood said, sharing a conspiratorial look with Penelope. “Let Penelope have her fun for the rest of the Season.”

  After breakfast, Penelope slowly mounted the stairs to her bedroom where she encountered Lucy putting away laundry. Sitting at a window seat that overlooked the rear garden, Penelope ran a hand over her growling stomach and considered her options. Her father, she knew, would allow her to break the engagement. Her mother would most likely rant and rave for a good month about her ungrateful daughter and the amount of damage Penelope had done to her reputation. Victor . . . Well, she was beginning to believe what Max had said about Victor wanting her dowry. He’d certainly shown his true feelings toward her last night. If only she could confide her feelings to someone, someone impartial.

  Glancing out the bedroom window at a hazy sun behind thin, wispy clouds, Penelope decided to quit moping around and asked Lucy to accompany her on a walk to the Stanburkes’ townhome in Mount Street. Maybe if she unburdened herself to Lady Anne, together they could come up with a plan to . . . what? Penelope didn’t know.

  A short while later under a slightly overcast sky, Penelope strolled with Lucy around Grosvenor Square. The weather was warm, so she wore only a light Indian shawl over a pink muslin gown. As they neared the corner of South Andley Street, she heard Max hail her as he reined in his huge stallion next to the sidewalk.

  “Out for a stroll, Lady Pen? I would have thought dancing all night would have been enough exercise for a young lady.”

  Her pulse raced at the sight of him, and she returned his broad grin with a smile of her own. He appeared truly pleased to see her, and for the umpteenth time she wished he cared for her in the same manner she cared for him. “Indeed, my lord,” she answered demurely, “except I have a tendency to eat too many of the delicacies offered during the suppers.”

  “Then I will make it my duty to help clear your plate,” he said with a playful wink. “Will I see you tonight?”

  “We are to attend Lady Lowthrope’s card party tonight. Do you know her?”

  Max shook his head, his expression somber. “Unfortunately, no. Perhaps I can finagle an invite with Blackmoor. I am on my way to Whitehall now to see him.” With another wink and a smile, he saluted her as he rode off. “Wish me luck.”

  Thinking he was one of the handsomest men she’d ever met, Penelope studied Max’s back as he rode down South Andley Street. More traditional than what he usually wore, his robin egg blue, double breasted, cutaway tailcoat was nipped at his waist, making his shoulder appear even broader. With his curly beaver tophat set at a rakish angle over his black curly hair, he was the epitome of fashion. Then, remembering his lean muscular thighs, encased tight inexpressibles tucked into his gleaming, silver tasseled Hessians, Penelope felt a blush stain her cheeks and quickly averted her face away from Lucy.

  While some in the ton derided his flamboyant clothes, she rather liked Max’s style. In fact, she could easily form a tendre for the man himself.

  Who was she fooling? She already had! Her racing pulse declared her love for him. When he entered a room, her heart pounded, waiting until he saw her, waiting for his smile that always made her insides flutter. She dreamed nightly about the kiss they shared at Vauxhall Gardens. She’d been totally unprepared for it. Yet, the memory of that kiss still took her breath away, and if it had been any other man, she’d swear he lusted for her. That night and like so many others since then, she cried herself to sleep for what could not be. No, Max did not desire her.

  What a conundrum. She was engaged to Victor, a man she now loathed. And even if she wasn’t engaged, she knew Max’s heart marched to the beat of a different drummer.

  Chapter 11

  The Duke of Blackmoor frowned. “What color do you call that?” he asked pointing to Max’s vest.

  “Coral red, you like it?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking. He knew his father was a stickler when it came to dressing the part of a diplomat. And such a man would think twice before donning something that another statesman might find garish or offensive.

  Seated in one of the two chairs before Blackmoor’s enormous, oak carved desk, the Earl of Lenwood replied, “Actually, I do. I’m tired of wearing the same old waistcoats. Might I have the name of your tailor?”

  Max flipped the tails of his robin egg blue hammerclaw jacket and took the other chair next to Lenwood. “I’ll check with my man Fenton.” He gave his father a cheeky smile. “He’s the real genius behind my wardrobe.”

  “If you two are through with the sartorial chitchat, there are more important issues at hand,” Blackmoor barked, his expression grim.

  “Another development?” Max asked.

  Blackmoor nodded. “Unbelievably, with all the precautions in place, another document has gone missing.”

  “This one is especially important,” Lenwood said, coming to the edge of his seat. “It contains names of our agents and their sympathizers and where they meet.”

  “Just that, nothing else?” Max asked.

  “What else do they need?” Blackmoor shifted in his chair. “There were several other important documents in the pouch, but only that one was missing.”

  “It’s imperative we get it back before it leaves the country,” Lenwood said.

  “Any ideas, Maxwell?” Blackmoor asked just as a knock sounded at the door, and he called out. “Enter, Coburn.”

  Max turned in his seat and saw a stocky, well-dressed man enter. When he saw Max, he ducked his head and cleared his throat. “Your Grace, a runner is waiting for a reply for Earl Grey, who has requested you join him for a meeting at the Admiralty after lunch.”

  Max’s ears perked up, but otherwise he kept his expression blank. He’d heard Coburn’s voice before on the night he’d broken into Pierre Arnaud’s home and hidden in the cloak closet. Coburn was the man who’d told Arnaud he had to replace stolen documents before they were missed.

  And now, taking in the man’s build, Max knew he was looking at the man he’d seen in Hyde Park with Arnaud. Coburn was also the person who’d knocked him out in the alley. Resisting the urge to take out his quizzing glass and ogle the man, Max assumed a bored expression for Coburn’s intrusion before turning his back on the man.

  “Reply in the affirmative,” Blackmoor said, then waited until the door closed behind Coburn. “Well, Maxwell, have you any ideas?”

  Max had quite a few but hesitated to voice them in case Coburn had his ear to the door. “Maybe,” he hedged, “but I’ll need a little time.”

  “We’re out of time,” Blackmoor barked.

  Max gestured for both men to lean over the Duke’s desk and in a half whisper said, “I recognized Coburn as the man I saw with Arnaud.”

  With his mouth set in an angry line, Blackmoor raised his head, obviously intent on acting upon this revelation, but Max quickly staid him with another hand gesture. “It would be best to put a man on him. That will give me time to locate the document.”

  Blackmoo
r and Lenwood exchanged looks before Lenwood asked, “You know where it is?”

  “I’ve a suspicion,” Max replied. “But I can’t act on it until tonight.”

  ~~~~~

  Penelope had managed to avoid Victor by not being at home most of the day. Instead, she and Lady Anne had visited a modiste, then spent an agreeable afternoon browsing the shops on Bond Street for ribbons and other fripperies. However, Penelope neglected to share her troubles with Lady Anne, believing it would do little good. Instead, she decided to talk with her father again since he also seemed to see Victor’s flaws and then make up her own mind.

  Needless to say, she dreaded seeing Victor tonight and had even contemplated begging off going with her parents. But when Lord Lenwood sent a note home, claiming he couldn’t attend Lady Lowthrope’s card party due to an urgent matter that had come up at Whitehall, she thought better of it.

  After greeting their hostess, Penelope patiently listened again to her mother’s displeasure over her husband’s last minute defection. “Ordinarily, I would not complain, Penelope, but Lenwood has been absent far too much lately.” A frown marred Lady Lenwood’s heart-shaped face, so like her daughter’s. “I suppose that means neither Blackmoor nor Aldwyn will be here tonight.”

  The image of Max’s flamboyant style and devil-may-care attitude made Penelope wonder what involvement he could have with Whitehall. Following her mother up the wide staircase to the first floor drawing room, she asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “Your father never speaks of his affairs, mind you. However, on several occasions, I have noticed Lenwood with Blackmoor and Aldwyn, all three of them with their heads together.”

  “That hardly makes Lord Aldwyn an agent for the government, Mother,” Penelope replied.

  Lady Lenwood bestowed Penelope with a sapient eye. “You will soon mark their absences.”

  The one bright spot during her day had been the anticipation of seeing Max tonight. Although he’d told her he hadn’t received an invitation, Penelope remembered he’d said he’d apply to the Duke to gain entrance tonight. Now, any enjoyment she might have derived from the evening evaporated with the knowledge that Max would not be coming. She pondered whether or not her mother would let her escape if she claimed a headache.

  As they entered the enormous drawing room, Penelope opened her fan. The night was warm, and even with the floor to ceiling windows open, the crowded room already felt overheated as guests milled around a half dozen card tables set up among the settees and occasional chairs.

  Penelope immediately saw Victor talking with a young woman as they stood by the fireplace. While her mother joined several of her friends, Penelope quickly ducked her head and made for the other side of the room, where she espied Lady Anne and Mr. Kingston. But before she reached them, she discovered Claudine Arnaud at her elbow.

  “It is much too warm in here, certainement!” Mrs. Arnaud gasped, fanning herself.

  Penelope smiled in agreement, then noticed the Frenchwoman’s flushed face. “Would you care for something to drink?”

  “Oui, but where?” Mrs. Arnaud asked.

  Penelope remembered seeing a room set up for refreshments on the other side of the hall and directed Mrs. Arnaud toward it.

  “Will you come with me?” the woman asked still fanning herself vigorously. “I know so few people here tonight. It is Pierre who knows everyone.”

  Penelope led the way, slowly traversing a path through the crowd toward the drawing room’s double doors and then across the hall. After procuring a glass of champagne for both of them, she asked, “Monsieur Arnaud did not come with you?”

  “Non,” Mrs. Arnaud said, shaking her head, “something urgent came up that required my husband’s immediate attention. So, he dropped me off but will pick me up later.” She took a sip of her champagne, regarding Penelope with keen interest over the rim of her glass. “Your friend, Lord Aldwyn, he is not here tonight?”

  “I have yet to see him,” Penelope said.

  Mrs. Arnaud frowned before relying, “Is that so. Do you expect him?”

  “No,” she said as she turned to lead the way back toward the drawing room. In the hall, they were met by their hostess coming up the stairs.

  Claudine Arnaud began fanning herself again as she stepped around Penelope, into Lady Lowthrope’s path. “Forgive me, s’il vous plaît, but I feel unwell. Perhaps I may beg a ride home?”

  Lady Lowthrope’s smile became forced, as she eyed her crowded drawing room. “Of course, just give me a moment to see to my guests.”

  Recognizing a legitimate excuse to leave, Penelope immediately seized on the opportunity and stepped up to their hostess. “My lady, perhaps I can be of assistance,” she interjected. I can take Mrs. Arnaud home, for I--I have a headache.”

  “Could you, my dear?” Lady Lowthrope said, her smile relaxing once again. “If it is no trouble, that will solve Mrs. Arnaud’s problem and you would be helping me out as well.”

  Penelope concurred and added, “I will send the carriage back for my mother, so there will be no need to disturb her.” Then, she quickly found her mother, who was preparing to partner Lady Stanburke in a game of whist, and outlined the situation.

  “If you are sure you do not need me,” Lady Lenwood said, glancing up at Penelope, “that will be fine, dear. You have been looking a bit peaked lately.”

  ~~~~~

  Once again, Max found himself traversing Crawford Street, headed for the Arnauds’ townhouse. But this time, he rode Hugo and had requested his new stable hand, ex-corporal Thomas Mulvey, to ride along and act as lookout.

  It was just after ten, and few people were out. However, the night was unseasonably warm with a bright waning moon, giving Max the added worry of rousing the neighbors, especially since most had windows wide open.

  A light burned in the front room of the Arnauds’, which Max knew to be the downstairs parlor. Otherwise, there was no sign of anyone home. Next, they checked the mews in the back alley and discovered that the Arnauds’ carriage was gone. Leaving Mulvey in the back alley with instructions to keep an eye open while holding the horses, Max headed back to Crawford Street.

  He decided to use the same entry he’d used the last time. Inspecting the street once more for any sign of activity, Max then ducked into the shadow of the townhouse by the ground floor multi-paned window. Pulling out his knife, he was surprised to find the pane he’d loosened on his last visit apparently had not been discovered.

  Gently using the knife to pry the small pane out, he unlocked the window, lifted it slowly, and poked his head between the heavy damask drapes. He threw a leg over the window sill and climbed into the parlor. In the hall, this time a lit taper sat on the table, which Max picked up and made his way to Arnaud’s study.

  Once inside, he set the taper on the desk and went directly to the tall cabinet he’d seen Arnaud take the other documents from. But when he pulled on the glass doors, they wouldn’t open. Using his knife, he pried open the lock and began searching. It took a while to locate the document with the agents’ names, wedged in the middle of a French newspaper. Just as he was tidying up the contents of the bookcase to cover his tracks, he heard angry voices coming from the back of the house.

  Tucking the document inside his jacket, he quickly snuffed the taper and hightailed it out the door and down the hall. But before he could make the parlor, he heard Arnaud call out, “Arrêter! Stop him!”

  The pounding of feet coming up behind him put wings on Max’s as he rounded the parlor door. He had one foot over the window sill when he heard, “Stop, monsieur, or I will shoot!”

  Hanging half in and half out of the window, Max knew he presented a silhouetted target, one that would be hard for even a poor shot to miss. So slowly and carefully, he brought his foot back inside and stood up, facing Arnaud and Coburn, who stood next to the Frenchman.

  “Light a lamp,” Arnaud ordered Coburn, who moved to a round table that had a large oil lamp on it. Seconds later, with the roo
m lit up, Arnaud emitted a demonic laugh. “It is as you suspected, Coburn,” he said, motioning with the gun for Max to move away from the window. “My Lord Aldwyn is the agent who has found you out.”

  “I ain’t alone in this, Arnaud,” Coburn growled half under his breath. “You made me do this, and I’ll take you and Bynes down with me.”

  “Shut up, you fool,” Arnaud hissed. “You give too much away.”

  “Give what away?” Coburn asked incredulously. “Five o’clock is hours away. Bynes will likely be caught before he meets your agent at the George Inn.”

  “Why the George?” asked Max, hoping to gain some information as well as time.

  Arnaud studied Max for a second before shrugging his shoulders unconcernedly. “Who will pay attention to one man or another? A posting inn receives visitors all hours of the day or night, oui?”

  Coburn snorted. “Can’t you see we are well and truly caught?”

  “Mais non, you are wrong,” Arnaud said with a sneer. “Monsieur Bynes will still make the drop. What you have failed to see is that an intruder broke into my home in the middle of the night. Look at him dressed all in black. No magistrate will convict me for killing such a threat to my wife and me.”

  ~~~~~

  Less than fifteen minutes later, releasing a mental sigh of relief, Penelope followed Claudine Arnaud, who issued an audible sigh as she sank down on the soft velvet squabs in the Lenwoods’ crested carriage.

  “Are you feeling better?” Penelope asked.

  Claudine waved her hand about, saying, “It is a touch of vertigo brought on by the heat, no doubt.”

  For lack of anything else, Penelope replied, “I am sorry you are feeling unwell.” Looking out the window as the carriage threaded its way through the posh streets of Mayfair, Penelope felt Claudine Arnaud’s eyes on her. Turning her head, she met the Frenchwoman’s dispassionate stare and said, “We will have you home shortly.”