Penelope followed. Reggie would be furious if he found out Amanda had commandeered his wardrobe. She even sported his favorite stickpin. The St. James emerald.
“Stop standing out.” Amanda murmured. “You need to walk with less authority.”
A man smiled from across the room and wiggled his eyebrows.
Penelope shook her head then tilted it toward her companion, indicating that she was already attached.
Amanda promptly grabbed her hand and scowled. “Come on, Perry.” It was just loud enough and low enough to resemble a manly half-growl.
Penelope lifted an imperious brow. Now, who was standing out?
The next room was darker. She scanned the occupants. Several men were playing cards. A few were milling around the fireplace conversing, and a pair was in the corner. She turned away. Her heart knocking on her ribs to get out. Amanda’s face flamed a crimson red.
She heard a familiar laugh and studied the man with his back to her at the card table. He wore a French coat rather than the half coat the English favored, and he was broad across the back.
The man directly across signed a paper and tossed it onto the pile of coin. “You have an uncanny knack of winning, My Lord.” The brogue was thick with disgust.
She moved to the side to catch a better glimpse and stifled her stutter of surprise. Archibald Granger and Clive De Chevalier, the Marquis of Lansdowne, sat across from a Scotsman, who was clearly well into his cups, and losing.
It was time to leave. Leave before they recognized her. Leave before—She grabbed Amanda’s arm, pushed her into the shadows, and kissed her.
“Don’t scream. We need to get out of here. I found the person I was searching for.”
Amanda looked as if she’d swallowed a bug. “Um…” She tracked her eyes sideways.
Penelope followed Amanda’s gaze, and her heart slammed against her ribs then high-tailed it up her throat.
Ferris. And he was fuming.
He walked up to the Marquis of Lansdowne and dropped a thick letter next to his elbow. “Take it, and we’re through.”
Clive’s hand slid over the letter, and he slipped it into the outer pocket of his coat. “We are finished when I say we are finished.”
Penelope nudged Amanda and whispered. “We have to get out of here.”
Amanda gripped her hand but didn’t move. She looked pale. “My balls are dropping.”
“What?” Penelope lowered her gaze. The potatoes were not where they were supposed to be. How the hell did that happen? She’d never dealt with this problem. Then again, her britches were tight and held her balls in check. Amanda was new at this, and even though Reggie’s britches hugged Amanda’s hips, they were looser in the thighs.
She watched one slip further down the inside of Amanda’s leg heading toward her Hessians. “Can you wiggle it into your boot?”
Amanda shook her head. “It’s stuck.”
“Switch places.”
“What?”
“You’re taller.” Penelope took Amanda’s shoulders, and they turned in unison. “Open your fall.”
“You have got to be bloody kidding me.” Amanda’s cheeks flushed.
“Do it. No one is looking.”
Amanda fumbled with the buttons.
Penelope reached in and snaked her hand down the inside of Amanda’s thigh. “Got it.” She straightened, gripping the potato in her fist.
Amanda squeaked, and Penelope was squashed against the wall.
Ferris leaned over Amanda’s shoulder, and Penelope’s gaze met a pair of furious green eyes. “You’re new here. How about a threesome?”
Penelope dropped the potato, He had them both pressed like specimens between two pieces of glass.
“You two have exactly thirty seconds to get out of here while I draw attention away from the door.” His hiss registered like a losing bet entered into the books at White’s; desperate and ill-advised.
He let them go and punched the first man within range. “Touch me again, and the only thing you’ll be swabbing is a deck.”
Another fist flew, and Penelope stared at the chaos that ensued.
A man in a dress lunged at Ferris.
Without thinking she stuck her foot out and he barreled into the gaming table upsetting the coins, the cards, and toppling into the Marquis of Lansdowne. Apples bounced from the man’s bosom across the floor, and the two men rolled around, a blur of taffeta and wool.
She spotted the letter on the floor and snatched it up.
Amanda grabbed her hand, and they dashed for the door.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter 18
Edward stood outside Penelope’s window. The house was silent, her room was dark, the tree was gone. A knotted sheet hung from her balcony.
It was just after ten, and he debated whether or not to ring the front bell. He doubted anyone would interfere if he walked in and straight up to Penelope’s room which was exactly what he was going to do.
He trudged around to the front and barged into the house, waving the surprised butler off and headed for the stairs. “If the earl is in, send him up.”
“Lord Stansworth is out this evening, Your Grace.”
Edward turned up the landing. “Did he escort his sister to a ball?”
“No, Your Grace.” The butler tripped up the steps behind him.
“Is Garrett or Addison home?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Is anyone home?”
“Just Miss St. James and Miss Bishop, Your Grace. They retired early.”
Edward stopped in front of Miss Bishop’s door and knocked. When there was no answer, he opened the door to reveal an empty bed in an empty room.
The butler didn’t bother to show surprise and Edward figured disappearing misses was endemic in Reggie’s household.
Edward crossed the hall and didn’t take the time to knock on Penelope’s door. He walked over to the lump in the bed and yanked down the covers.
Lizzy rolled over and continued to snore.
Edward handed the empty decanter to the butler and picked up the maid. “Where is Lizzy’s chamber?”
“Attic. The third door, Your Grace.”
“Have a bath drawn. I like my water hot and plenty of it.”
“Shall I prepare a room for you?”
“This is my room.” Edward headed for the back stairs. “Have a meal brought up as well.” If he was going to have to wait for his marauding tabby to come home, he was going to wait with a full belly in a warm bed.
“Yes, Your Grace. Hot and plenty of it.”
He glanced back at the butler who had followed him out of Penelope’s room.
The butler bowed then practically skipped down the hall.
Smyth would have needed smelling salts.
When Edward returned to his newly acquired chamber, Reginald’s valet was laying out a robe.
“Good evening Your Grace. My name is Mr. Riggins. I serve as Lord Stansworth’s valet. Mr. Bowers suggested you might require a few essentials this evening. Would you like me to give you a shave before, during, or after your bath?”
Edward scrubbed his jaw. Bowers must be the butler. A deep tub, large enough for a grown man to sit in and extend his legs, had been set before the hearth and the fire had been banked. No water as of yet though and he expected it might be a while before enough could be hauled up to fill his bath. “Before will be fine.” He stripped to the waist and sat.
Halfway through his shave, grooms began to parade in and out. Edward counted fifteen buckets of steaming water, and another five were set next to the hearth. Twenty hot buckets in less than twenty minutes. “Were you anticipating more than one bath?”
Riggins tilted Edward’s head and swiped his neck. “Lord Stansworth had a heating room added behind the kitchen. Water is brought in from the well and allowed to warm naturally in a stone basin adjacent to the ovens. The ovens keep the stones warm, so it takes less time to heat larger amounts of water.”
&nb
sp; “A heating room…”
“It is also used for the laundry and a separate bathing area if needed. Lord Garrett designed it.”
Garrett? Interesting.
“I see you have made yourself quite at home, Westfield,” Reginald growled from the doorway. “My tub, my robe, my valet. What’s next?”
Bowers arrived with a large platter of food.
“Your dinner.” Edward displayed a rare full-bodied grin and rubbed his cheeks. “Thank you, Riggins.”
Edward stripped, indifferent to his audience, sank into the steamy tub and reached for the soap and cloth.
Reggie slouched in the chair opposite. “Why are you here?” His casual slump belied the sharpness of his tone.
“Where is my intended?”
If Reginald worked his jaw any harder, he was going to end up eating gruel in his later years. “When I left two days ago, she was locked in her room with strict orders that she remain so.”
“And you assumed just because you gave the order, she would oblige.”
Reggie rubbed his temples. “Pen is independent. No one has ever been able to force her to do anything. It just makes her more contrary.”
“Did you ever try spanking her?”
Reggie looked up. His face awash with astonishment and then he laughed. A great belly laugh that traveled to his eyes. Mirth, merriment, and intense frustration. “You think she’s never been disciplined? I paddled her with the morning paper after you left. I cut down the tree next to her window, had the trellis removed—and the bushes. I removed her clothes, her shoes, her unmentionables. I nailed her windows shut and locked and bolted her door. I instructed Lizzy to stay with her at all times. I even threatened to sell her beloved Hell Spawn if I found out she disobeyed.”
“Do it.”
“Do what?”
“Have her horse moved to my stable—and Tom too.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Are you afraid?”
“Afraid? Afraid of my sister?” He leaned forward, his fingers gripping his knees until his knuckles turned white. “You may think I am but a pup just finding my legs, but I have twenty years’ experience raising my sister. Yes, I am afraid. Very afraid.”
Edward leaned back and digested Reggie’s words. Reggie appeared desperate. Desperate for Edward to understand his meaning. Desperate for Edward to comprehend his dilemma. Desperate for a savior.
“Why?”
“Why?” Reggie blinked as if coming out of a trance and not quite understanding where he was or how he got there.
“Why are you afraid of Penelope?”
The half smirk was back, and he settled into the chair as if it was a golden throne and he the king surveying his lands. “How is your sister Henrietta these days?”
The question caught Edward off guard. “Fine.” He assumed. He hadn’t spent a great deal of time with her. Aunt Augustina made sure Henrietta and Frances were at all of the right parties, balls, and teas. She kept him abreast of their schedules and told him when his presence would be required. Other than that, he was out of the house before the ladies had their morning chocolate and often didn’t return until it was time to dress and escort. He honestly couldn’t find fault with Reginald’s aunt—other than going through his private stock with the enthusiasm of a first-year at Oxford enjoying his first semester of drinking and carousing.
“Has she a beau?”
He scowled. He did not like thinking about his baby sister in the arms of a man. “Not as of yet.”
“That you know of…”
Edward sat forward. “What are you getting at Stansworth?”
Reggie steepled his fingers. “What would you do if your sister ended up on the shelf?”
He stood in the tub and rinsed his hair with one of the spare pails. Discussing his sister while in a bath with a not-quite-brother-in-law made him queasy. “She won’t.”
Reggie passed him the drying linen. “Are you sure?”
“It’s my duty to see her wed.”
“Happily? Or will the first suitor do?”
Edward stepped from the tub, snagged the robe, and tied it before he turned around. “I think she should have the right to choose.”
“What if she won’t choose, or worse, there are no suitors?”
“Henrietta is well dowered.”
“And therein lies the quandary. Are her would-be suitors interested in her or her money, or her connections to the great Duke of Berwick?”
“I trust my sister’s judgment.”
“I trust my sister’s ability to shoot a man through the heart at fifty paces. That does not make it a wise thing to do.”
“My sister has a good head on her shoulders. She will do what she is told, and make whoever she marries a happy man. She knows her duty and will do an exemplary job.”
Reginald started to strip. “But will she be happy?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? What are you doing?”
“I’ve been on the road for two bloody days. I’m not going to waste a perfectly good bath.” He poured another steaming bucket into the tub, sat down and scrubbed vigorously.
“Where have you been?”
Reggie splashed water over his head and rinsed his hair. “Following the storm.”
“Did you find Ferris?”
He shook his head. “No, I did not. When I do, I’m going to bloody well strip his hide.”
“Where did you look?”
“Everywhere. All of his old haunts, his mistresses, past and present.”
“Plural?”
“My brother is a busy boy.”
“What about his friends?”
“They haven’t seen him in over a fortnight. It’s rumored that he’s been seen in the company of the Marquis of Lansdowne. I’ve put Garrett and Addison on that trail.”
Edward absorbed this bit of information. Could the ringleader of the smuggling operation be the Marquis of Lansdowne? It made sense. Their properties sat next to each other. Clive De Chevalier was half French, so it was probable he had connections.
Reggie scowled at the blazing fire in the hearth. “Did you know my parents were madly in love?” His voice was low and musing. “I remember the day my mother died. Ferris refused to leave the room. I had to drag him away, kicking and screaming. He cried for days. There was no soothing him. No comfort. No words. No consoling. Penelope didn’t understand. She was the exact opposite. Quiet at first, then she asked all sorts of morbid questions. We couldn’t get her to shut up. We finally had to lock her away until after the funeral.”
“What about your father?”
Reggie popped the water with his fingers. “He walked through the motions with the stoicism of a St. James and left me to cope as best as I could with my siblings. Garrett and Addison had each other. Ferris and Penelope were close enough in years…those two followed me around for ages. I didn’t think I would ever have any privacy.”
“It must have been hard.”
“It was the happiest time of my life. Were your parents happy?”
Edward’s throat constricted, and he swallowed the bitterness. His parents were the least happy people he knew. He couldn’t think of one instance when his mother had been content before or after his father’s death. When he was small, he hid behind the furniture. When he was out of the nursery, he stayed out of doors. When he was old enough to leave, he rarely returned.
“No, they were not.” He sat at the table and lifted the dome from his dinner and frowned. A soup tureen, two bowls, bread, butter, and jam.
Reggie grabbed the other drying linen, draped it around his middle and took the seat opposite the small table. “Potato soup with chunks of ham. Hearty, hot and delicious. Go ahead. You’ll enjoy it.”
He picked up his spoon. Soup was not what he was looking forward to. A steak, roast beef, meat. At least it was hot, and there was plenty of it. He took a tentative sip, then dove in.
“Told you.” Reggie grabbed a thick slice of bread and dipped a hunk into his soup the
n moaned through a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “My mother loved to cook.”
“Your mother was a cook?”
“My mother was the daughter of the daughter of a French Saucier. My father married her for her recipes.”
Edward concentrated on his meal. Simple divinity. A humble meal fit for a king. “Are they written down?”
“The original recipes were left to Penelope when my mother died. She made the rest of us copy them for lessons.”
“Can she cook?”
“Who? Pen?” Reggie laughed and relaxed in a remembered daydream. “No. She cannot cook, and if you want my advice, don’t ever let her try.” His smile slipped, and he stared into the shadows. “Have you ever studied the young ladies of the ton?”
Edward grimaced. Reginald switched topics with such regularity, he was going to need to take notes just to keep track. “No. I can’t say that I have.”
“Have you ever noticed the resemblance between mother and daughter? Can you tell which husbands are happy? Which ones are browbeaten? Which ones disappear into the card rooms to consume copious amounts of libation as soon as they have made their required trip around the room?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Who is the biggest female influence in your sister’s life?”
“I would think the answer is obvious. My mother, of course.”
“Who do you think the biggest female influence is in Penelope’s life?”
Edward put down his spoon. Penelope didn’t have a mother.
“Aunt Augustina has been the most significant female influence in Penelope’s life. Most mothers teach their daughter’s etiquette, how to run a household, how to be proper ladies. They teach by example.
Aunt Augustina taught my sister how to keep the books, how to run an estate, how to invest her money. She taught Penelope how to run with the big dogs and beat them.”
“I wouldn’t say those were bad traits for a female to have going into a marriage.”
“What you fail to understand is that daughters tend to turn out just like their mothers. Augustina was the closest person to a mother Penelope had. Penelope wants to be just like her. She wants to be independent.”
Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1) Page 18
