by Abigail Agar
“You never did say whether you found any of the gentlemen that we met in this foray to your liking?” Lady Winchester’s question was not so much pressing Penelope to the point of compulsion, but it left her little room but to answer.
Penelope looked away from the twinkling stars and at her mother. The woman’s blue eyes were like stars, really, Penelope decided as Lady Winchester’s eyes caught the light of the lamp outside the manor home. “I cannot say,” Penelope said noncommittally.
“Seems to me that a lady of your learning should know whether she sees a man as a potential husband,” Lady Winchester said as she pressed her lips together.
Penelope lifted her shoulders in a shrug, the material of her dress constricting the movement of her shoulders upward ever so slightly. Perhaps the dress had been tailored a bit too snugly. She might have noticed it more if she had consented to dance more than she had. Then again, Penelope did not favour dancing much, especially when it concerned gentlemen who fancied themselves halfway to the altar with her.
She knew that her mother would press her soon enough into giving in and answering the question, but for now, Penelope chose to avoid the waiting disagreement. There was not a way to tell the woman that Penelope saw too much of her father in all the men she had seen at the ball. Penelope frowned and knew that she would never tell her mother that. How could she say such as that to her own mother?
Lady Winchester stood beside Penelope unaware of the war of emotions that waged within Penelope. Penelope did not want to suffer the fate of her mother. There had to be another way, another sort of man in this world.
“Penelope,” Lady Winchester said in that way she had that told Penelope she required an answer.
Penelope drew in a breath and said finally, “I did not particularly like or dislike them. That is really the trouble.”
“Do not dance around with your words. It is unbecoming of a lady,” Lady Winchester scolded as she shifted her shawl tighter around her.
Penelope pursed out her lips. “None of them seemed to have any true fire in them. There was no passion or intellect to be found skittering around their empty heads. It is a wonder that they do not sing like the seashells at the shore when held up into the wind.”
“Penelope Withersfield,” Lady Winchester hissed in reproach to her daughter. The woman’s eyes darted around, but they were still quite alone.
Penelope sighed. “All of them were dull or fancied themselves the dictators of the kingdoms they rule in their hollow heads. Why should I be a subject to their whims? It is quite a fate that you would have me tied to, Mother.”
“You act as if I send you off to the gallows,” Lady Winchester said with a frown. “You really must outgrow this overly dramatic streak, Penelope. It is fit more for the roguish actors of the theatre than a lady of your standing.”
Pulling at her shawl, Penelope pretended to peer deeply into the dark night and promptly ignore her mother’s redressing of her. Perhaps she was overly-dramatic, but failing anything short of a death scene at the end of the night would probably be passed over by Lady Winchester’s discerning eye. Penelope was about to say something to her mother, but her thoughts were stolen by a loud noise that brought her up short.
“I say, I hope that was not the carriage,” Lady Winchester said as she peered down the street in the direction of the loud noise.
Penelope dropped down a step on the stone staircase that led to the sidewalk. “That did not sound of wood and stone, Mother. It sounded like someone was being murdered. Did you not hear the shout?”
“I heard only the sounds of a loud crash,” Lady Winchester said dismissively to her daughter. As Penelope took another step down onto the sidewalk in front of the manor house, Lady Winchester warned, “Penelope do not go jaunting off. It is probably just some swill who has fallen down on the slick stones of the street.”
Penelope threw her mother a frown. “And what if it is not?” With her question thrown at her mother, Penelope took off as quickly as she dared. The dew had begun to collect on the stones in the dark and, indeed, the stones were rather slippery on the sidewalk.
Behind her, Lady Winchester called, “Penelope!” There was a touch of fear in her mother’s voice, but Penelope had to see what the noise was about. If someone were in trouble, how would she ever forgive herself for not offering aid?
“Stay there then,” Penelope called back. “I shall just go to the alley there and spy what it is that has happened. Bring the coachman to help when he gets here!”
Lady Winchester stood under the lamplight. Penelope hurried off trying not to think about the frown on her mother’s face. Her mother had a particular look about her when she feared Penelope would be hurt in some way. Penelope tried not to think about what ways she could be hurt as she hurried towards the alley.
Chapter 2
(Manor home of the Earl of Havenshire, London. Earlier that same evening)
Jules Daventry, Duke of Richmond, strode through the halls listening. He heard laughter, compliments, and more than his share of the impossible meanderings of people too rich to have any grounding in reality. He was one of these people, Jules reminded himself for the thousandth time.
The home he was in belonged to one of his family’s dear friends, the Earl of Havenshire, and Jules had no great wish to disrespect the man or those he chose to spend time with. Up until three months ago, he was much like them, after all.
The air of the April evening was quite chill, and even in the halls, the drafts were not to be deterred. Jules was glad he had worn his dark blue tailcoat for the occasion. His mother had always been fond of the dark blue colour on him, and Jules had found it comforting to wear the colour since the woman’s death.
“Oh, you must not,” a young woman giggled somewhere to Jules’ left, and he turned his head to see what the issue was that had her in such amusement. A young man was busily reenacting some event for the young lady’s amusement.
Jules shook his head and walked on away from the bemused pair. He caught snippets of conversations, but none were what he was looking for, and he sighed. He had come to the season, not to find a bride, but to find answers, and it looked like he would very much not find anything if this ball was to be the starting point for his enquiries.
“Lord Daventry,” a male voice called to Jules.
Frowning, Jules turned to find a familiar face. “Lord Portland, I did not know you were in attendance,” Jules said without trying to hide his surprise.
“Nor I did I know that you would be here. I apologise for addressing you so familiarly, Your Grace. I was caught off-guard at seeing you,” the man said with a frown.
Jules waved off the man’s concern. He had scarcely gotten used to his new role as Duke of Richmond and found it odd to have people speak to him as if he were his father.
Lord Portland stopped near Jules and adjusted his cravat. “I fear my valet tied this thing entirely too tight.” Lord Portland hooked his finger in the fabric at his neck and tugged it a bit before sighing when he found some relief from the constriction. “Out scouring for a bride?”
Jules looked around at the room full of women ensconced in their gowns that flaunted and stirred men to come to them. Jules said, “I am looking more for things that I cannot find I am afraid.”
“Well, I am just glad to see you out. I have not heard much of you since the incident happened.” Lord Portland seemed to stumble over the last few words, and Jules watched the man.
Jules cleared his throat. “I had things to attend to,” Jules said simply. Lord Portland had been there that night. He had seen what had transpired.
“I am sure you did,” Lord Portland assured Jules. “Three months is a long time to be with yourself and your grief. Is there anything that I can do to help you?”
Jules stared at the man for a moment. For months all he had wished was for someone to believe him, and there was a man of good stature offering him aid, and yet … Jules shook his head. “No. There is nothing you can do.�
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“I heard the courts found you blameless; that is at least something,” Lord Portland said. The man’s eyes went to a young lady who passed by. The woman’s eyes lingered on the nobleman as well before her escort tugged her away.
Jules sighed. “Yes, but we all know that it is what the people in this room think, not the courts.” Jules smiled at the man. “Do not fret over me, Lord Portland. I fully intend to dispel all the rumours about my parents’ death. Nothing does that quite as well as the truth.”
“Oh? Have you learned anything new about who could have been behind that night?” Lord Portland asked as he leaned in a bit as if to keep the conversation private between them.
The nobleman before Jules reminded him of the night his parents were killed, poisoned. A draught of wine that should have killed Jules, but instead killed his parents. If he had just chosen not to abstain that night from alcohol, perhaps they would be alive. Jules hissed, “I do not wish to talk about that night.”
“Very well,” Lord Portland said, albeit with a bit of reluctance.
Jules narrowed his eyes at the man. “You seem very interested.”
“I was there,” Lord Portland reminded Jules. “I could have swallowed that poison myself. I dare say that I have a right to be curious.”
Jules snarled, “Did not seem to bother you while you were stealing from my family.”
Lord Portland adjusted his waistcoat and said in a low voice, “Keep your voice down. Do you really need any more scandal?” The man eyed Jules for a moment before he shook his head. “I had every right to those shipping contracts. Your father and I often bidded against each other; you know that as well as any here do, Your Grace. I would advise you to keep your slander in your thoughts. I shall not be so lenient if I hear it again.”
“You cannot cowl me, Lord Portland. The fact remains that very few others benefitted from my parents’ death the way you did,” Jules said with conviction. He pulled himself up to his full height, which was quite impressive as Jules stood a good two inches taller than Lord Portland at his six-foot height.
Lord Portland shook his head at Jules as if he were not at all impressed by Jules’ station or title. The man smiled ever so slightly and said, “No one except for you, Your Grace.” Lord Portland turned on his heel and walked away with Jules glaring at his back.
Scowling, Jules watched Lord Portland go over and strike up a conversation with the same young lady who had passed by Jules and the nobleman earlier with her escort. Someone clearing their throat behind him attracted Jules’ attention away from the suspicious nobleman. Turning, Jules’ scowl only deepened. “Duchess,” Jules said in as falsely flat tone.
If the woman noted Jules’ displeasure at seeing her, then she did not let on. “Duke,” Lady Sutton said with a smile. “I appear to have lost both my husband and my niece. Have you seen them?”
“I cannot say that I have,” Jules said. “Perhaps they are in the next room.”
Despite Jules’ suggestion, the noblewoman seemed in no hurry to go after her wayward family members. She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I have meant to apologise to you, Duke. My husband and I were out of the country and could not attend your parents’ funeral. They were kind people.”
“Being out of the country is more than enough to persuade anyone into forgiving you and your husband, Duchess,” Jules said as he subtly removed his arm from her grasp. She gave him a faltering smile. “Pardon me, but I have to go meet someone.” Jules did not even care if the excuse was as flimsy as the woman’s gauzy sleeves; he had enough of repeating platitudes the month after his parents’ deaths.
Besides, Jules noted that Lord Portland was on the move again. Apparently, the conversation with Lord Portland’s paramour was not amusing enough to keep the man rooted for too long. Jules gave Lady Sutton a half-hearted bow as she looked at him with something akin to confusion. He did not worry about his odd behaviour for Lady Sutton would also put herself at risk to be denounced for her forward behaviour. Jules had long suspected the woman was carrying on affairs behind her husband’s back, and he had no interest in being counted among the number of her conquests.
Jules had other things on his mind than women. If Lord Portland knew of anyone that might have harmed his parents or was even in league with them himself, then he would certainly make haste for his conspirators to let them know that Jules was unwilling to let the matter lie. Jules spied the back of the man’s head moving towards the hallway.
Without any more thought of the infuriating Duchess, Jules moved away through the knots of nobles and peers. Conversations floated around Jules as he frowned. He had lost sight of the Earl of Portland again. Where could the man have gone?
“Someone has to inherit the land and look after things once your father is gone,” a woman said, and Jules turned his head slightly to catch sight of the person speaking but could not see them.
“And I as a woman cannot do those things,” a young lady said. Jules smiled as he made his way through the crowd and spotted the two ladies, which were clearly mother and daughter by the tell-tale sign of their hair and faces. The older woman Jules thought he knew, but he was uncertain of her name.
Jules chuckled as the mother began to reprimand her willful daughter. He had to focus on the matter at hand. As much as he felt a kinship with the girl at that moment at the utter absurdity that was this London Season, Jules had other things that he needed to attend to.
“Your Grace,” a female voice said at his elbow. Jules had to forcibly stop himself from groaning as he turned to see the Dowager Reynolds and her niece.
Jules put a smile firmly on his face and gave the women a bow. “My good Lady Reynolds, you look as if you are here to finally throw off the yokes of solitude and find a partner.”
The older woman laughed jovially and waved off Jules’ words. “Not at all,” she assured him. “I am merely here to play escort to my niece. May I present, Miss Henrietta Douglas, to you, Your Grace?” Dowager Reynolds gave her niece an impatient, yet gentle shove forward which sent the young lady up onto her tiptoes.
Jules just managed not to laugh at the very literal picture of the dowager throwing her niece at him. The girl mumbled, “It is wonderful to meet you, Your Grace.” She gave a stilted and sloppy curtsy that Jules held no grudge against her for.
“Never you mind the nerves, Miss Douglas. They get better with time,” Jules assured the young lady whose cheeks were coloured a deep pink by this time with the stern gaze of her aunt burning into her.
Miss Douglas gave Jules what appeared to be a grateful smile before her aunt apologised for the intrusion and ushered the girl away. Jules could hear the hissing of the woman’s breath as she redressed the young lady for her awkwardness.
The London Season could be a cruel place when someone first took a step into the world of high society, Jules mused as he turned again towards the door that he had seen Lord Portland go through.
Jules made it a couple of feet towards his goal when a hand clasped around his arm. The pressure was so great that Jules thought the person might just mean him harm, but he turned to see his childhood friend Thomas Sullivan, who was now a Count if Jules remembered correctly. “Tom,” Jules whispered, unable to say more.
Thomas nodded at him. “Your Grace,” Thomas said with a glint in his eyes that Jules did not like.
“There is no need for such titles,” Jules chided. “As long as we have known each other we should look on the other as a family would.”
Thomas’ hand dropped back to his side. “Your parents were also my family. They loved me well and I them.”
“I miss them too,” Jules said as he tried his best not to take offence at the way Thomas’ eyes stared right through him. “I have not seen you since they were laid to rest. I suppose you have been busy.”
