Chapter Thirty-five
In which another snake appears in the garden
Two days later, Philip was staring out the window when the carriage pulled up in Hanover Square. Penworth House looked as oppressive now as it had when he had stayed here upon his return to England—was it just a few months ago? A lifetime ago. Then he sighed, stepped down, and stopped before he handed Anne from the carriage. She did not belong in this gloomy mausoleum.
“It is every bit as pretentious inside,” he said, “and in far worse repair. I will leave it to you to decide if refurbishing and refurnishing can make it habitable, or if we should simply tear it down.”
She smiled at him. “It is just a house,” she said as she stepped down and took his arm. “And it looks remarkably like the other houses on the square, if a trifle larger. If it is old-fashioned, I will enjoy bringing it up to date.”
The door sprang open before the footman could raise his hand to knock. Was the butler—Jacobs, if he remembered the name—hoping to assure his continued employment by this display of alacrity? He certainly looked nervous enough. Philip nodded at him as they stepped inside. “Good day, Jacobs.” Lord, the man looked uncomfortable.
“Welcome, my lord,” the butler said. Then he cleared his throat and spoke again. “The marchioness awaits you in the drawing room.”
Philip froze.
The marchioness awaits you in the drawing room. Those words—the same words another butler had spoken all those years ago. The same words!
He could not speak; he could barely manage to breathe with the bile rising in him. He wanted to smash something. What in God’s name was that…that witch doing here? How dare she… Then he felt Anne’s hand tightening on his arm, pulling him back. He had not even realized that he had stepped toward Jacobs, who was now, Philip saw, looking far more nervous. Anne gave a little laugh. A thoroughly artificial, social trill. What on earth was she about?
“Do not be absurd,” she said to Jacobs. “I am right here, not in the drawing room. Oh.” She paused a bit theatrically. “Oh, you must mean the dowager! Yes, it must be confusing for you after all these years. But that is a mistake you will not make again, will you?”
The steel in her voice was unmistakable, and only a fool could be misled by the smile on her face. Jacobs had obviously not survived in the Penworth household by being a fool. He swallowed uncomfortably. “I am indeed sorry, my lady. I do apologize.”
But Anne was no longer attending to Jacobs. She had turned to Philip. “How kind of your grandmother to stay to welcome us. However, I find myself quite fatigued from the journey, and you must be too. Perhaps we could go refresh ourselves now, and receive the dowager later?”
Even through his haze of fury Philip realized what she was doing. He managed an expressionless nod, and Anne turned back to Jacobs.
“You may show us to our rooms. Then invite the dowager to join us for dinner.”
Jacobs blanched still more—Philip would not have thought that possible—but managed to speak. “Certainly, my lady.” He bowed and turned to lead them upstairs.
God, Philip would love to see his grandmother’s face when she received an invitation to dine at his table. He forced himself to move and stiffly held out an arm for Anne.
Upstairs, he stopped at the door of the marquess’s rooms, where he had slept on his first stay here. He raised a brow at Jacobs, who seemed inclined to lead them farther down the hall.
“Ah, I’m afraid the dowager insisted upon occupying her old room, and ordered all the old marquess’s things returned to this room.” Jacobs looked worried, as he should be. Philip looked at him incredulously, as did Anne.
“Unbelievable arrogance,” she said under her breath, but quite loud enough for Jacobs to hear. Then louder, and still in imperious mode: “Since we are here, I wish to see the rooms.” She walked through both sets of rooms, holding her skirts back as if she feared contamination if they so much as touched the furnishings, and making tiny sounds of disapproval.
She ran her fingers over the gilded chest, the gilded dressing table, the gilded chair. “The dowager appears to have a great appetite for gilding, does she not, my lord? Well, I suppose it does offer at least the appearance of value.”
Finally she turned to Philip with a frown of distaste. “My lord, I do not think I could ever sleep in a room that looks like this.” She made a moue of distress and with a wave of her hand dismissed a fortune in gilding and red brocade. “Perhaps the dowager would like to take these things with her, since they will have to be discarded.”
“A kind thought, my dear.” Philip would have applauded her performance but he was still having difficulty keeping his voice even.
“And Jacobs,” she continued, “while it is hardly worthwhile moving the dowager for a single night, do see that she has all the assistance she needs in packing for her departure tomorrow morning. I am sure she is eager to be on her way, and we would not wish to delay her.” She smiled benignly at the butler.
Penworth kept his expression icy as he turned to Jacobs. “I trust there are other rooms prepared for us?”
“Of course, my lord. The suite that faces the garden.” Jacobs led them around a corner, opened the doors, and looked at them hopefully. “It is not so large as the marquess’s suite, but it is quiet.”
After a quick look at Anne, who nodded her approval, Philip said tightly, “This will do.” His room had his prime requirement—a nice large bed. He leaned against the wall—he was so tightly wound he could hardly stand. “We are tired now and do not wish to be disturbed. We will ring when we want anything.”
Anne looked nervous. Did she think he was angry with her for interfering? What nonsense. No sooner had the door closed than he pulled her hard against him and was kissing her hungrily. “I need you,” he said hoarsely. “Now. I want you right now.” The words were half muffled against her skin.
“Oh yes,” she answered, wrapping her arms around him. His hands were everywhere. Buttons were opening, laces were slipping loose—she had not realized clothing could fly off so quickly. Before either of them could start to think, they were on the bed, skin to skin, nothing separating them. His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing. Her hands flew as quickly, finding every muscle, every inch of his body.
She kissed him—his mouth, his cheeks, his shoulders, Where she could not reach him with her mouth, she reached him with her hands. He gloried in her touch. She was his talisman, his haven, his sanity. He needed her, needed to have her with him, needed to have her beside him, needed her loyalty, needed her love.
And he needed her body, her beautiful body. His hands caressed every curve of her, and his mouth followed behind. He lavished his attentions on her ear, her neck, her shoulder, her breasts. He moved lower and nuzzled her belly, her hip, and slid his hand between her legs.
She gasped and held his shoulders. He smiled and lifted himself, seizing her mouth and plunging into it as he plunged into her between her thighs. Then they were flying, flying through the universe together, so completely together.
They collapsed together at the end. He rolled over, pulling her next to him, and held her close. Here with her, he was at peace. She restored the balance of the universe.
She ran her hand over his chest in a rhythmic caress.
“You are not angry with me, then? You do not mind that I gave orders to your butler?” she murmured.
“Angry? Don’t be foolish. After all, he is your butler as well, and you handled him more effectively than I would have.” he said. “With you—only with you—I am safe and whole. You are my heart’s ease. No one can harm us. You and I, together, can face anything. No one can touch us.”
“It is the same for me. When we faced my uncle, I was not afraid because you were with me. I knew I was safe. I was no longer alone.”
“And so it is now for me.”
“I was afraid I might have overstepped earlier,” she said, “afraid I might have gone too far and that you would be angry.�
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“Because you leaped to my defense and charged forth to slay my dragon? I am not such a fool as to object to that.”
“I hardly did anything so dramatic.”
“You underestimate yourself. I was ready to throw her out the door, and that would have made a martyr of her. You, my clever wife, have turned her into a petulant child, having a temper tantrum because her toys have been taken away. And we are now the understanding and long-suffering adults. You have reduced her to what she is, a minor irritant. To say nothing of the fact that you have let it be known that she will be leaving in the morning without even speaking to her. You have a delightfully devious and tortuous mind. I like it almost as much as your other attributes.” He leaned over and began nibbling on her neck.
“Mmm.” She turned her head and gave his ear an answering nibble. “But there remains the evening to get through. I think it might be wise to dilute the company a trifle. I shall send a note to Aunt Augusta, asking her and Uncle George and Mr. Whyte to join us for a simple dinner en famille.”
“You cannot think they would like to dine with her?”
“Of course not, but she may be remembering you as the helpless boy you were when last she saw you. She should be reminded that you have friends and allies, possibly more than she has. Also, their presence may avoid unpleasantness. Although, if there is to be unpleasantness, I would prefer that she be the one to start it.”
“Are you expecting unpleasantness?” he asked. “Beyond her mere existence, I mean.”
Anne looked at him. “You are failing to think clearly about her just as I failed to think clearly about Uncle Herbert. Why is she here? She could have avoided any meeting with us forever, if she so chose. Instead, she has taken up residence in what is now your house without even informing you, no less asking your permission. She obviously thinks she will be able to bully you as she bullies the servants. She clearly knows nothing about you.”
He propped himself up on an elbow to look at his wife. He did enjoy looking at her, especially when she was all mussed and flushed from lovemaking. “Couldn’t we just have our dinner on a tray up here, and leave the dining room to her? It is an ugly room anyway.”
She sighed in exasperation. “You do not mean that.”
“Oh but I do. You have not seen it. It is really a remarkably ugly room, very gloomy, with paintings of dead animals on all the walls. I was very careful to avoid it when I was here before. Any meal eaten there would be sure to give you indigestion.”
Anne tried to keep a straight face but could not. “You know perfectly well what I mean. We need to know what she wants, what she is planning. The sooner we know, the sooner we can take care of it. In any case, I think it might be wise to have witnesses.”
He gave a theatrical sigh and rolled over onto his back. “Not just a clever wife but sensible as well.”
Her dressing room, Anne discovered, was a pleasant enough chamber, and her clothing had been unpacked and neatly arranged. However, while the room included a writing table and chair, there were no writing materials. Clearly the housekeeping was not up to her standards, she thought. Such an oversight was not acceptable, but that lesson could wait for another day. Just now, she needed to arrange the coming evening.
She rang for a footman and requested paper, wafers, ink, quills and a pen knife. When he returned, she dashed off her note, had him deliver it to Lady Augusta and wait for a reply.
The reply assured her, as she had known it would, that all three would be present to lend support this evening. Aunt Augusta would be an invaluable ally in the coming confrontation. There was no one who could outface that lady.
Anne smiled and returned to the bed chamber, where her husband was sprawled out in a doze. She dropped her dressing gown on a chair and slipped into the bed to join him.
Chapter Thirty-six
In which the remaining viper is scotched
Penworth and Anne were respectably covered in dressing gowns when they rang for baths in the late afternoon. He had the footmen arrange two tubs side by side, and they leaned back in the steaming water facing each other.
“You know, Philip, there are many things I enjoy about being married to you…”
“I should hope so.”
“…but high on the list is being able to call for a hot bath whenever I choose.” Anne tilted her head to the side and smiled at her husband.
He smiled back. “I was thinking that I would like to investigate the possibility of having a larger tub made. One that is big enough for two. Much as I enjoy seeing you in your bath, I think I would enjoy sharing it even more. Might you find that enjoyable as well?”
“I do believe I would, my lord.”
Her face turned quite rosy. Penworth still enjoyed making his wife blush.
He also enjoyed drying his wife off, and she enjoyed drying him. They were enjoying this so much that they almost forgot to dress, but a scratch on the door recalled them.
Shortly thereafter, Penworth was the impeccable aristocrat, with snowy linen and faultless tailoring, conservative without dullness. Anne wore a gown of heavy brocaded silk in a deep red with full, sheer sleeves, its simple lines showing off the richness of the fabric. Only a few small feathers decorated her hair. Millie had wanted a more elaborate gown and coiffure—“to put that dowager in her place”—but Anne had overruled her. “It is, after all, just a simple dinner en famille, so to speak.”
“I should have gotten the family jewels from the bank for you,” said Penworth.
“Not at all,” said Anne. “My mother’s pearls are perfect. Pearls are sufficiently subdued—elegant but not ostentatious—to show that we do not consider this anything more than an ordinary family meal, and these pearls are of excellent quality, quite enough to show that we have no need of the Tremaine jewels.”
He raised a brow quizzically. “Are you sure the dowager will speak the same unspoken language as you?”
“Doubtless,” said Anne. “And if she does not, I will still have the comfort of knowing I have dealt her an elegant set-down that she was too foolish to understand.”
So it was that they were laughing together as they came down the stairs arm in arm and entered the drawing room. There in the armchair beside the fire sat an elderly woman who was definitely not laughing. She was dressed all in black, in an elaborate gown with a great deal of lace, a black lacy shawl, and many diamonds. Many, many diamonds. They glittered around her neck, around her wrists, on her fingers, in her ears, and in her hair. She did not smile. She simply sat and glowered, like a malevolent toad.
Penworth and Anne halted briefly in the doorway, their laughter subsiding, and then approached the gorgon. He had never had a good look at his grandmother at their one encounter, for which he was now grateful. She was not simply ugly. She seemed to radiate evil. He would have liked to send Anne from the room, but he knew she would not go. However, he held her back and stepped slightly in front of her. He could at least keep his wife from the gorgon’s touch.
“My dear, I assume this lady is my grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Penworth.” He nodded stiffly to the old woman. “You will forgive me if I do not recognize you, madam. After all, the only time I was ever in your presence, we did not even see each other face to face.”
She hissed and glared at him, but did not speak.
Penworth smiled slightly, pleased by the reaction. “Allow me to present my wife, Lady Penworth.”
Anne gave a nod as brief as Penworth’s had been. “Lady Penworth. So kind of you to stay to welcome us, when I am sure you must be eager to get on with your life. But you need not have gone to so much trouble with your toilette. We are, after all, just family.” Anne was smiling the same smile that had terrified Jacobs. The dowager was less easily intimidated but she narrowed her eyes at the younger woman, so Anne continued, “Or are those the family jewels? Did you get them out of the bank for me? How very kind.”
The dowager’s response, which looked likely to be vitriolic, was delayed a
s Jacobs announced the arrival of Greystone and his party. These greetings were cheerful and informal. After all, they had only parted that morning. Anne and Lady Augusta embraced. Greystone, Whyte and Penworth clapped each other on the back. Penworth then embraced Lady Augusta. Greystone and Whyte embraced Anne.
The dowager sat immobile and stared.
Eventually Penworth said, “Do you all know my grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Penworth? I am sure you have heard me speak of her.” He turned a chilly look on the old woman. “Allow me to present my cousins, the Earl of Greystone and his sister, Lady Augusta Lamarche, and my friend, Mr. George Whyte.”
Chilly nods were exchanged, and a special glare was directed at Philip by the dowager. He returned a smile. He had offended her consequence by first introducing her to his friends rather than introducing them to her. It had been a deliberate insult, and he was quite certain that she knew it.
The dowager took no part in the ensuing conversations, but continued to sit and stare until dinner was announced. Penworth offered his arm to his grandmother—he wanted to be certain she could not usurp the hostess’s seat. In fact, he led her to the seat on his left, reserving the more honorable seat on his right for Lady Augusta. Greystone sat at the dowager’s other side, providing a buffer between her and Anne.
The dowager looked less than pleased. Penworth suspected she was looking forward to a battle and felt balked by the company. This pleased him, and he and the others kept up a steady stream of innocuous chat about things they planned to do while in London. An occasional question was directed at the dowager, enough to include her politely in the conversation. That her responses were brief to the point of rudeness bothered them not a whit. The presence of servants throughout the meal prevented any serious discussion.
It was a meal more notable for quantity than quality. Anne waved away more dishes than she tasted. Turning to the dowager, she asked, “Did you by any chance speak to the cook about the menu?”
A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS Page 22
