by Ava Rose
He had a point. They must not allow Edith to learn anything of what was going on, and to do that, they would have to accommodate this social call.
However, she still found his attempts to take control whenever and however he wanted positively irksome.
Penforth held out his hand. “Shall we?” Anna ignored his hand and after a moment, he rolled his eyes. “After you.” He motioned for her to precede him.
They found Edith sitting primly in the drawing room with an expectant smile on her face. The minute she took note of their presence—Penforth's in particular—she rose to her feet with an excited air.
"Your Highness," she began with a simper that only served to make her look ridiculous. "I did not expect to see you here."
"I came to see Anna, Miss Harper."
The guest’s face fell instantly and the hand she'd been proffering to him for a kiss hung limply in the air. "You call her by her Christian name?"
"Yes, I have leave to use it."
Edith's fine brows knit together in a frown and her eyes misted. "I have given you leave to use my Christian name, too."
Pen turned to face Anna, a small mysterious smile on his lips and an even more mysterious gleam in his eyes. He was up to something and she did not have a good feeling about it. "I would rather remain on formal terms with ladies I am not courting and ladies who are not relatives of mine."
Edith's mouth fell open. "You're courting Lady Anna?" She looked appalled, as though Anna did not deserve to be courted. It annoyed Anna.
"Yes," Pen said, taking Anna's hand in his.
She wanted to pull her hand out of his grasp and ask him to cease this nonsense, but curiosity was the stronger urge and she let the scene play out.
"You can't court her. She..." Her eyes met Anna's and she didn't complete her statement.
"She what?" Pen asked with something like amusement in his voice.
"She is not nice."
"I am not nice?" Anna was surprised by that revelation.
Edith’s eyes narrowed. “She believes in…women’s suffrage.” She almost whispered the last part, as if the very speaking of it were an appalling thing.
“You say that as if it’s something bad.” Pen’s matter-of-fact response shocked Anna. She drew in a breath and held it. Did he mean that?
"Of course it is!” Edith cried. “Anna, you know how I feel about Prince Armstong-Leeds, yet you allowed him to court you. Friends don't do that.”
Anna's free hand went up to massage her temple. What had Pen gotten her into?
"Forgive me, Miss Harper, but I rather think this is not Anna's fault."
Anger flashed in the visitor’s eyes. "I will not forgive you for this." Her words were still directed at Anna. Grabbing her purse from the sofa she'd erstwhile occupied, she made for the drawing room exit.
"Was there something you needed?" Anna called after her.
Edith Harper was a woman of routine and calling upon Anna before noon was very uncharacteristic, to say the least.
She paused at the door and turned. Her eyes were cold and unforgiving. "I heard a rumor that Libby is missing so I came to confirm."
Anna's heart sank, and Pen's handhold slackened.
"Libby is fine," Anna said.
"I know of the police search, Anna, so you can quit pretending."
"What are you going to do with this information?" Pen stepped forward, challenging Edith.
"I wanted to offer my help, but now I think I'll just sell the story to The Brahmin Times."
"You will do no such thing," Pen countered.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I have a better idea. You could buy the story from me."
"You can't mean that, Edith," Anna said, her stomach turning. Edith was not the fool she'd thought. It was a smart move, blackmailing them. And if it wasn't so wrong, Anna might have complimented her for it.
"Oh, I mean it, Anna. I am sick of playing second fiddle to you. You get all the attention and glory while I get nothing. Nothing!" Edith had lost her control now. "Do you know how hard it is to live in your shadow?"
“Listen, this is just a story we came up with to explain the time we’re spending together to solve Libby’s disappearance. We are not courting.”
“Too late, Anna. I don’t believe you. And even if it’s true, I am not letting this go.”
"Miss Harper, please have a seat and let us discuss how we handle this." Pen beckoned for her to sit.
Returning to the sofa and lowering herself onto it, Edith gave Anna a look that said, I have won.
“What do you want?” he asked.
She quoted a hefty amount. “That, or marriage. To you.”
Pen swore under his breath and ran his hand through his hair. After what appeared to be a moment’s contemplation, he said. “I’ll pay you.”
“Pen, you can’t do that,” Anna said, taking hold of his arm and pulling him aside. “It’s a lot of money.”
“And Libby is my sister, with a reputation to repair.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you think marrying that woman is the better option.”
“She likes you.”
“More reason to avoid being snared by her. And there will be stipulations. I am not just going to hand money to her without any insurance.”
That made Anna feel better, but only slightly.
“Wait here for me to make the appropriate arrangements,” he said to Edith before leaving.
Anna stared at Edith. “I understand you have problems with me, but Libby is your friend. Why would you want to hurt her?”
Edith’s mouth twisted with disdain. “Oh, you’re not the only one I have a problem with. Lady Elizabeth has even less patience with me.”
It was true that Libby had less tolerance for Edith’s histrionics than Anna, but it was not reason enough for Edith to be this cruel.
“So you’ll happily destroy her life?”
She shrugged. “I am not the one who made her disappear, Anna. I simply put myself in a position to take advantage of any opportunity that may arise.”
“If word gets out, Libby’s reputation will be in tatters. Think about what this will do to her family…to little Mary, who is yet to come out.”
“Her brother has gone to take care of it, has he not?” She smiled. “You know, at this point, I am not as keen on gaining Sir Penforth’s favor for courtship as I had earlier been. I am going to walk out of this house today a very wealthy woman. That surely surpasses my desire of marrying him. After all, his wealth was his main attraction.”
Anna could no longer listen to Edith talk. She rang for the butler and stalked out of the room when Webb arrived.
“Watch her. Don’t let her out of your sight,” she instructed. “And let me know when Penforth returns.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
CHAPTER SIX
Pen was unsettled by Miss Harper’s blackmail, but he was not foolish enough to just hand over that kind of money without protective measures in place. Miss Harper was something of a prattler. She could easily take his money and still sell the story.
Paying her off would buy some time to concoct a reasonable explanation for Libby’s absence, so that even if the woman did talk, in the end it would not matter.
He also knew something that Anna did not. The Harpers’ finances were in dire straits. Word in the clubs was that Miss Harper’s brother Johnathan had more gambling debt than he could ever repay. It came as no surprise that she would try to capitalize on his sister’s plight.
As his eyes moved over the contract his attorney had drawn up on short notice, he couldn’t help but wonder how Anna felt about all of this. She was angry, of that he was certain. This was his fault. If he had not told Edith that lie about himself and Anna, the stupid woman would not have snapped and decided to blackmail them.
He would fix this. He had no choice.
“It will suffice,” he said to his attorney, James Wrotham.
“Excellent. All that’s needed now is her signature
. She will only be able to access the funds after her ladyship has been found and after her discretion has been verified. Beyond that time, of course, we can’t necessarily stop her talking.”
Pen nodded and rose from his chair, pulling a watch from his vest pocket to check the time. It was twelve past one in the afternoon. If things had not taken an ugly turn this morning he and Anna would have been at the Cambridge location looking for Sir Anthony by now. Nevertheless, they could still make it before the day’s end.
Miss Harper had made herself very comfortable in the Wrexford House drawing room with tea and cakes. The sight of food reminded Pen that he’d not eaten anything today. Later. He would deal with food later.
“Let’s get to business,” he said to Miss Harper. She dropped her teacup back onto the saucer with a loud clatter. He waited for her to compose herself before nodding at his lawyer, who handed her the agreement.
She perused the contents and when she was finished, looked up at him with a frown. “This isn’t fair.”
“Don’t talk to me about fairness, Miss Harper.” He held out a ball pen. “Sign it.”
With deliberate slowness, she scrawled her signature. When she gave him back the contract, the smugness was gone from her expression. That change assured him of the rightness of his action.
Anna was standing to one side, watching them all. “Now,” she announced in an icy tone. “Get out of my house and don’t ever come back, Miss Harper.”
Pen turned to look at Anna. She was holding herself stiffly, and not hiding her displeasure. He handed the signed agreement to Wrotham, who departed immediately.
Anna immediately attacked. “Are you happy?” she seethed.
“No, I am not. But it’s settled now.”
“This could have been avoided, Penforth, and you know it.”
“I was in your house before breakfast, and you had not received me in any of your drawing rooms. Don’t you think that would have drawn some suspicion? Saying I am courting you was the best excuse I could come up with to protect your reputation.”
“Fine.” She exhaled audibly. “Not that I have a great reputation to uphold. You know. Suffrage.”
For a moment they shared a quick smile, and then he saw her shoulders slump slightly. “You just parted with almost a quarter of your fortune,” she said.
What he had potentially given Edith was not even one-tenth of his fortune, but he didn’t correct her. Not even his family knew the extend of his actual wealth. He’d invested in steel manufacture as soon as he’d left the Navy following his injury. The decision had proven a profitable one for Pen himself, and for the family as a whole.
“Miss Harper is not going to get those funds easily. I’ve made sure of that.”
“Penforth,” she drew out his name, “you can’t be controlling my life like this. If my father had not thought me worthy of inheriting his title, then a male cousin I’ve never met would be standing here now. My mother trusted me enough to leave this house in my care and depart for England indefinitely. Now I need you to afford me the same respect. I need you to let me have a say in how we manage things.” Her voice was low and soft, but the message in her words was clear.
She wanted him to regard her as his equal. Impossible.
“Until Libby is found, I will remain in control and that’s final.”
Anna opened her mouth as though to say something but then clamped it shut. He didn’t like disagreeing with her, but someone would have to make her understand that the equality utopia she was dreaming of was beyond reach.
“A lot of time has been wasted, but I can still make it to Cambridge. Though now I have decided. I am going alone.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes flared, predictably. “And you expect me to remain here.” She made a dramatic gesture. “Prepare both houses for Libby’s return, right?”
“I think that’s a splendid idea.”
“You are mad.” She stood up. Her fire was rather remarkable, really. “Who discovered the location in the first place?”
She had a point but he did not indulge her with a response.
“I am not going to waste any more time arguing,” she announced. “Do whatever you want, Penforth. I don’t care.”
He became suspicious of her concession. Even more so when she brushed past him to leave. His hand shot out to take hold of her arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To find my best friend, of course.”
Never in his thirty-two years had he had to deal with a woman as stubborn as Anna. “Fine,” he grated. “We go together.”
“Come on then.” Anna already had a carriage waiting in front of Wrexford House.
Of course she did. Pen ground his teeth again, wondering if they would remain intact beyond the next few hours.
She jumped up into the carriage without needing help. As he climbed up behind her, an unfamiliar feeling washed over him. A feeling akin to tenderness. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it.
She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt about that, but he had seen his fair share of beautiful women and been unmoved by them. So, what was different about this particular beautiful woman?
Everything, his brain yelled.
“Penforth?” Her fine brows drew together when he paused in the doorway.
He shook his head and sat opposite her on the rear-facing seat, avoiding her eyes.
Anna gave the roof of the carriage a knock and they started moving. Pen seldom felt uncomfortable, but the direction his thoughts had taken and Anna’s voice breaking into those thoughts had him feeling invaded.
“Hmm?” He thought he heard her say something.
“You’ve not heard a single word, have you?”
“Forgive me. I am a bit distracted.”
“I can see that,” she said wryly. “You’ve been staring at this pillow beside me for ages.”
Had he? His eyes focused on the velvet pillow.
“I asked if we have a plan for when we get there.”
“Simultaneously search for Libby and Sir Anthony. We don’t know what he looks like, but we have the location, and Libby’s portrait to show around. If luck favors us, we should uncover something.”
A grimace twisted her mouth. “I don’t believe in luck,” she muttered.
“That’s an unusual thing for a woman to say.” He shifted his focus to her face, trying to read her expression. He got nothing.
“Really?” Her tone turned acerbic. “Why do you say that?”
“Women usually believe in luck.” He paused, contemplating the wisdom of saying the last words, and then added, “And fairytales.” Instantly, he regretted it.
A disdainful laugh escaped her and her cerulean-blue eyes darkened. “I’ll bet you think it a weakness; to believe in luck and fairytales.”
She seemed ready to defend those of her gender who did believe in those things, regardless of how she felt herself. Her spirit was admirable, and Pen wondered how she contained all that fire within.
He swiftly held up a placating hand. “Before you send me to the butcher, I’ll have you know that I find it fascinating. Now, I don’t believe in fairytales myself, but I am a strong believer in luck.”
“You?” Her brows shot up in disbelief. “You believe in luck?”
“Is that hard to fathom?”
“Penforth, you have the disposition of a cynic.”
He chuckled. “I am a cynic, and a skeptic, too.” He watched the play of emotion on her face; surprise, curiosity… admiration?
Maybe he was seeing things.
Or feeling things, his inner voice suggested. He trampled it as quickly as it registered. There was no room for such sentiment. There never had been and there never would be.
“You can’t be all those things and still believe in luck. It doesn’t work like that,” she said.
He shrugged. “It does for me. I would not be walking if fate had not looked kindly upon me.”
Anna lowered her eyes. “I see.”<
br />
She was not going to challenge him anymore, he was certain.
“How did it happen?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand what she meant by it. He had succeeded in temporarily dispelling her challenging spirit but awakened her curiosity in its place. Should he share tales of his wounds? Women loved to hear about how men got injured while protecting them or their country.
But he’d been defending no one except himself when the bullet pierced his knee and almost rendered the entire limb obsolete. A drunk officer had lost a game of cards to him and they had brawled it out. Dissatisfied with the outcome of the brawl, the officer had pulled out his pistol.
“I was shot,” he said peremptorily.
Heedless of his dismissing tone, she pressed him for more information. “How did you get shot? Was it in the line of duty?”
“Good Lord, Anna! Why do you want to know?”
“I have known your family for over a decade but I know nothing about you.”
“And that is the first thing you ask?”
“It’s an important part of who you are.”
Why was she interested in knowing him now? The few times he’d been home for holidays during his naval career, Anna and Libby had been too busy perusing the newspapers and dreaming of leading the women’s revolution. And when he’d returned for good after his injury, she had avoided him altogether.
“You never cared before.” That sounded petty, he knew.
She folded her arms across her middle. “Really, Penforth? You close yourself up and push everyone away, yet think they don’t care about you.”
Perhaps she was right. Had he pushed everyone away? Perhaps she actually did care. And perhaps not.
“You were so bitter when you came back,” she said.
“Do you blame me? I thought I would never walk again. Every physician I saw gave me the same low odds.”
“But you beat them. Your limp is hardly noticeable, but your manner remains the same.”
“I suppose I like being this way.” He knew his darkness already. It was easier to deal with than any alternative.
“Then you’re never going to have many friends.”
He laughed. “You think I care about friendship?”
