It took all of twenty seconds for Hugh to formulate a reply. “Well, er, one does what one must.” New land steward? A fortune?
It had been nearly three weeks since he’d abandoned Penelope Crone on his estate. But it had been done for his protection as well as hers. She would be just as unhappy wed to him as he would be wed to her. He hadn’t really thought she would remain there for very long after he’d departed. But apparently…
New land steward? What had she done with Periwinkle?
“And I’ll tell you, my neighbor was none too happy to lose his housekeeper. She’d been working for the family forever.”
Hugh was flummoxed. Hiring good help required funds. Where had the funds come from?
She had discovered them in the library that day! She must have. There was no other possibility. She’d discovered the monies, sacked Periwinkle, and gone about setting his estate to rights.
Oh, bollocks.
He’d been utterly wrong about her. He’d assumed she’d been flirting with him. Penelope Crone! He chuckled to himself at his own tomfoolery.
He’d never have assumed she’d been setting her sights upon him if it hadn’t been for that dream. Had it been a dream? Of course! Why else would he have thought of her in such a light?
She was the most abrasive, managing bluestocking of a female he’d ever known.
Not that there was anything wrong with a woman being capable. It was just that, well, a man liked to be the manager of his own affairs.
He ought to take her to task for assuming the responsibility of Augusta Heights after he’d left. He ought to speak with her father—tell him his daughter needed to be taken in hand.
He smiled as the doorman held open the door to the club for him to exit. She was a damn smart woman. Not only that but a damn smart person. She truly could hold her own against any man intellectually.
Most likely, Augusta Heights was in the process of becoming one of the most lucrative estates in the country. He had known that Penelope was the brains behind her father’s success. That had been no secret amongst the gentlemen of the ton. Again, he smiled ruefully to himself. Men gossiped just as much as women. Only instead of nattering on and on about balls and hair ribbons, they gossiped about horses, gambling, and ladies. Mostly the disreputable kind.
And, on occasion, they discussed the marriageable ones.
On that thought, Hugh’s mind turned to Mrs. Merriman’s niece, Miss Louisa Redcliffe. Upon meeting her, he’d initially thought she was exactly the same as every other London debutante he’d ever met. She was of average height, slim, fair-skinned with brown hair, usually done up in ringlets and cunningly coy.
Mrs. Merriman was sponsoring her niece because there was no other woman in her life to do so. She had only her father.
Who happened to be rich as Croesus. Word had spread that she came with one of the largest dowries in recent memory.
Hugh had, in fact, escorted the ladies to the first ball of the season, a lavish affair, and stood up with the niece for her first dance. She was all of seventeen and sweet as a peach. She was delightful in that she listened to him with wide fascinated eyes and never failed to laugh at any of his jokes. She never failed to mention what a handsome and respected gentleman he was and how much she had enjoyed spending time with his mother at Land’s End.
She gave him pause to think.
Marriage to her would fill his coffers for generations to come.
And he could perhaps enjoy her for a while. When he’d tired of her, he supposed he could tolerate her company for the occasional visits to London. She would most likely want to be set up at Land’s End for most of the year. Although she was by no means a country bumpkin, she had mentioned her preference for the simple life.
She was not a redhead, however.
She would not surprise him, or manage him, or do any of those things gentlemen resented. He would have a well-ordered life and at last his mother would be satisfied that the title would not go to a distant cousin.
He would finally set up his nursery. Any girls would be left to his wife to raise, and he would send his son off to Eton, just as he had been.
Would his daughters turn out as insipid as their mother? He hoped not. For some reason, he hoped to have intelligent daughters. Perhaps he would have to guide his daughters’ educations, as well as his sons.
If Penelope Crone ever had daughters, he suspected she would direct them to be better educated than even she had been. What a novel idea that was! Educate his daughters so that they did not become mere pawns of society.
But then, as the Baron of Riverton was, would he be saddled with them for life?
Poor fellow. Except… Penelope was no financial burden to her father.
And, Hugh considered, she had most likely deepened his own pockets as well.
The thought lightened his steps considerably. Perhaps he’d play a bit of cards tonight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Roughly ten weeks had passed since the little marquess had been born to the Duke and Duchess of Cortland.
Penelope and Rose had arrived in London, much to the delight of the Baroness Riverton, after missing only a few weeks of the season. Her mother had been so pleased that she’d insisted on taking Penelope to her favorite modiste in order to bolster her only daughter’s wardrobe. She’d told Penelope that it would be extra important to look her best this season, since next year there would be no hope.
For when the season rolled around next year, Penelope would be only one year shy of the ancient age of thirty.
Rose was delighted, as well, with the prospect of Penelope acquiring several new gowns. For she knew that Penelope would only be able to wear then for a short while, and they would then be available for her own exclusive use.
Standing on the pedestal as the seamstresses fussed and measured her, Penelope could only wonder at the fact that her midsection was already expanding. Her bosom had increased in size as well. She winced as a tape measure wrapped around that tender part of her anatomy. Rose was right. She had to find Hugh and extract a commitment for marriage from him before she became any more bloated than she already was.
She was going to wear more vibrant colors this year. It had been decided that since she was no longer a young miss, she could wear some deep blues, olives, and perhaps even something red. Her mother had insisted that she order multiple gowns, made up of the finest muslin, and even satin and silk. It was to be the most striking wardrobe Penelope had ever owned.
Catching sight of herself in the large looking glass on the wall, Penelope examined her person. One could not really see any differences in her appearance yet. She looked the same as she always had.
Except perhaps for the fact that her face looked softer. Her normally prominent cheekbones were somewhat less defined, and her hair looked… duller.
Frumpish and boring.
“Mama,” Penelope said to her mother, who was perusing some fashion plates on the other side of the fitting room, “I think I’d like to do something different with my hair this year.”
The Baroness Riverton nearly went into raptures. It was the most wonderful thing her daughter had ever said.
“Not… so… tight… Rose!” Penelope nearly swooned as her damnable maid pulled the laces tight on her corset. Good Lord, when was the last time she’d worn the ridiculous garment? And why did she continue to expand even though she could hardly keep down any food in the mornings?
“It’s gapping at least an inch more than it ever has before.”
“I don’t care,” Penelope said, holding tight to the bedpost. “I won’t be able to speak to the man if I cannot breathe. And surely, it cannot be good for the baby. Loosen it, Rose.” Penelope leaned her forehead against the round wooden post. She would hopefully run into Danbury tonight. She knew he was in Town. Her father had mentioned in passing that he’d shared a drink with him at White’s earlier that week.
“Ahhh… much better.” Penelope inhaled deeply as her lungs were able to expan
d normally once again. Some of her new gowns had been delivered earlier in the day, and she and Rose had decided on a low-cut gown of emerald silk with blue embroidery accents. And Penelope had gotten her hair cut into soft layers the day before. Instead of pulling it into the austere knot she’d worn for over a decade, Rose had curled it softly and then pinned several loops around the crown of her head. Swirly tendrils fell softly around her face and neck.
Penelope barely recognized herself.
“Do you think he’ll be in attendance tonight?” Rose asked.
“Dash it all but I hope so. If not, I’ll have to figure some other way to track him down. It’s not as though I can simply arrive upon his doorstep.” Doing so in Manchester had been one thing. Such a breach of etiquette in London would be beyond the pale.
“It wouldn’t do to arrive at his residence,” Rose agreed. “Perhaps you could send him a missive.”
“Yes, I’ve thought of that. Hopefully, it won’t be necessary, though.” Penelope located her slippers and then allowed Rose to drape a silvery-green gossamer-like wrap upon her shoulders. Penelope reached up and touched one of the silk flowers in her hair. Rose had made certain her mistress was dressed to the nines tonight. It was in both of their best interests that Penelope not become a fallen woman and thus be ostracized from all of society. Rose would suffer as well if that were to become the case.
Sitting across from her parents in the carriage as they waited in the long line of vehicles to pull up to the entrance at the Helmer’s ball, Penelope’s nerves became even more tightly strung. The debutantes she could see already milling around looked fresh from the schoolroom. They wore pastels and whites and looked fresh and innocent.
None of them would ever do such a thing as she had.
If any of them guessed, or discovered…
That wave of panic that was becoming all too familiar swept through her once again. She had lain with a man who was not her husband. She had done so while he’d been intoxicated, and he did not even remember. And now she was increasingly increasing!
She was most definitely not fresh and innocent.
The door was swung open by a neatly uniformed footman, and Penelope exited the carriage behind her mother. As she did so, the fine silk fabric of her dress caressed her legs. It was just the reminder she needed to boost her confidence.
She would be fine. Everything would be fine. She mustn’t think the worst.
They climbed the steps and entered the crowded foyer to wait in the receiving line. Penelope nodded in the direction of a few familiar faces. She noticed a few second glances sent her direction. Her appearance was a bit startling, even to herself.
And then she saw him.
He was not alone.
Hugh, confirmed bachelor, had only ever attended ton events with his mother and sister or alone. The woman on his arm was neither his sister, nor his mother.
She was one of those simpering types, dressed in a dusty-rose pastel gown that matched the glow on her cheeks. Unlike many debutantes, the pastel shade did not cause her to look colorless and bland. No, the color suited her perfectly. She was darling.
Hugh tipped his head in the direction of his partner so that he could listen more carefully to what she had to say. Whatever she said caused him to chuckle and pat her hand fondly.
Panic shot through her. What on earth was he doing? Had he finally found the one, after all?
Hugh was already tiring of the season. As he stood in line, he wondered how he had allowed himself to be corralled into escorting the two women to yet another event.
Mrs. Merriman was reeling him in for her niece, that was how. With each passing day, Hugh found himself more and more thrown into the company of Miss Louisa Redcliffe.
Tonight, he’d promised the lady two dances. Although, neither was a waltz. Miss Redcliffe hadn’t yet received the nod from Almacks.
But two dances!
It was nearly the equivalent of an engagement announcement!
He needed to make a decision fast, before it was made for him.
“Wouldn’t you agree, my lord?” Miss Redcliffe had been speaking to him.
“Pardon?” He leaned down so that he could hear her. That was something else he was beginning to find quite annoying. The woman spoke in a voice just barely above the volume of a whisper. He was constantly having to lean toward her in order to hear her words.
He supposed that it wasn’t too horrible of a thought to have a wife one could not hear.
“This foyer would look lovely with a few Grecian statues. It’s rather bland, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Ah, yes, I suppose, although where would the guests stand if the room were crowded with effigies?” Really, who gave a damn about such nonsense? He glanced around. The foyer seemed fine to him. Grand columns and molded archways were tastefully placed in useful positions. What more did a foyer need?
And then, he caught a glimpse of red.
Not scarlet, as in a dress or a flower. But that particular golden-red hair, silken and curled.
The lady’s hair was set off most advantageously by an emerald gown with hints of blue, rather like some eyes he’d been remembering. Hugh’s gaze traveled the length of the lady’s shapely form and then settled on her face.
Green eyes glared at him.
Good God, the lady was Penelope!
After the shock of seeing that this beauty who’d caught his attention was none other than Penelope wore off, Hugh quickly excused himself and strode across the floor. First greeting the Baron and Baroness, Hugh then turned toward Penelope and raised one eyebrow. Remembering Pinkerton’s words from earlier, he dismissed his momentary attraction and leaned close to her ear. “What the hell have you been up to?”
Her head snapped up at his words. “And such a pleasure it is to see you, as well, my lord.”
Oh, hell, he never seemed to exhibit any manners whatsoever around her.
“My apologies,” he said before bowing in her direction. As he did so, Penelope curtsied. He could not remember her ever doing any such thing before.
And as she curtsied, Hugh was given a rather pleasing eyeful of some delightfully plump cleavage. Penelope looked to be fuming when he finally met her eyes.
In that moment, he did not know which of his urges was the strongest. The one to press her body up against his own and deliver her a punishing kiss, or the one to drag her off into some private room and demand an accounting of her actions in up north.
The baron raised his brows at him, apparently sensing Hugh’s conflicting inclinations, whereas, the baroness was looking quite pleased with her daughter, which as far as he could remember, was something of a first.
Hugh cleared his throat. “Miss Crone, will you do me the honor of saving me a dance?”
In an un-Penelope-like demeanor, she dipped her chin in assent. “Of course, my lord” and then lifted her arm.
Hugh pulled a pencil from his pocket and took hold of her dance card. As he did so, he noticed for the first time how delicate her wrist seemed, and as his hand brushed against hers, above her short gloves, how soft and fair her skin was. It was even paler than Miss Louisa Redcliffe’s, only Penelope’s was not flawless. Tiny freckles dotted the back of her arm, as though even her skin wished to mock the dictates of society.
Dismissing his ridiculous musings, he wrote his name next to a waltz. He did not wish to attempt a discussion with her in between circling other partners and across the line.
On impulse, he added his name to a second dance. The supper dance. They had much to discuss.
And then he did something he hadn’t planned. He raised her wrist to his lips and held it there a moment. As he inhaled her fragrance, strange memories troubled him. He’d been close to this clean floral scent before. In fact, he was certain he’d tasted it.
As though burned, he dropped her hand and stepped back. It seemed lately, that whenever he was in Penelope’s presence, he felt like he was losing his mind. “I’m looking forward to our dance,�
� he managed, before turning away from her and returning to Miss Redcliffe and her aunt.
“Who is that, my lord? I haven’t yet met that lady, and I’ve met hundreds of people since I arrived in London!” Miss Redcliffe placed her hand upon his arm. She had an amazing grip for such a petite little thing.
“She is the Baroness of Riverton, there with her husband and unmarried daughter.” Miss Redcliffe had sharp nails. It was a good thing the fabric of his jacket was a sturdy wool, or it was quite possible she would have drawn blood.
“It was most generous of you to single the daughter out. I noticed you placed your name upon her dance card. A spinster of such advanced age most likely had all of her dances to choose from. You did remember which ones you’ve promised me, I hope, my lord?”
He was beginning to feel more than a little annoyed at her possessiveness. “How could I forget, Miss Redcliffe? I have claimed a waltz with Miss Crone.” He smiled at her but did not allow it to reach his eyes. Her grip loosened somewhat. “And the supper dance,” he added.
The woman must have realized she had overstepped her claim to him and so she once again became the timid London miss. Summoning an attractive pout, she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “You are such a kind gentleman. If I were in her position, I would be so very grateful to not be a wallflower for the entire night.” And then she giggled into her hand. “It’s a good thing you claimed your dances with me when you did, my lord, since my dance card is nearly full!”
Hugh made a tight smile and was relieved to see they’d reached the receiving line. Lord Helmer shook his hand jovially and welcomed him. Lady Helmer used her fan to chastise him for being absent from her ball last season. The elderly couple were close acquaintances of his mother’s. He knew that his appearance with Miss Redcliffe would be duly relayed.
After the majordomo announced them, Hugh, promising he’d return in time for the first dance, made a vague excuse and escaped the suddenly cloying company he’d found himself in. He wished he could escape altogether, but that would not do. And if he did that, he would miss his opportunity to interrogate Penelope.
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