Upon meeting Miss Radcliffe for the first time, he’d not been uninterested. The lady had seemed soothing, of a sweet temperament and even attractive sexually. He’d thought he merely needed to spend some time in her company. If he did that, he thought, perhaps he could fall in love with her.
Seeing Cortland and Lilly with their newborn infant son had, in fact, made his own life feel rather empty.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how he chose to look at it, Miss Louisa Redcliffe was not the person he needed to fill it.
But could any woman?
Could Penelope Crone?
He’d known her for over a decade. Well, he’d thought he’d known her. On a few occasions, he’d even found her attractive, he recalled, almost surprised at the admission. But she had never flirted with him. He’d never seen her flirt with anyone, even Darlington. He didn’t think she knew how to flirt. Penelope scoffed at coquettish behavior. And she’d always had such high standards for conversation.
She’d required it be intelligent.
Which the gentlemen did find attractive, when they wished to understand a particular bill more coherently, or hear predictions for the cost of corn, barley, or some other commodity. She was respected for having a keen mind.
Could any of these characteristics be an attractive trait in a wife? As he entered his townhouse and handed his top hat over to the butler, Hugh knew the answer to that question.
He could discuss fashion, gossip, and parties with his wife for the rest of his life, or he could discuss virtually anything else under the sun.
There was something different about her. Aside from the mystery of her fainting spells and her showing up, uninvited and unannounced, at Augusta Heights, a subtle femininity had blossomed in her.
It was as though she’d finally admitted to herself that she was a woman.
And she looked at him differently now.
By Jove, that was it! She looked at him as though they shared an intimate secret. How did she learn such a thing? Was she hoping to land him for a husband? Was she, in fact, conniving to do so?
And even more importantly, was he willing to be landed?
He’d almost proposed marriage to her last night. He’d been very, very close.
Hugh dabbed at his nose and winced. Note to self: do not make jokes to Penelope the next time you propose to her. Because he would. Not quite yet, but he would. It just felt right. And somehow, a voice in his head whispered, it might be the best decision of his life.
Rose finished tying the lace at the bottom of Penelope’s stays and sighed. “I cannot believe he has failed to call upon you. Are you certain he remains in Town?”
“Lady Hawthorne said he was at the garden party she attended yesterday.” With a sideways glance, she added, “With Miss Radcliffe and her aunt. You don’t think he could seriously be courting her?”
“I didn’t—before. His absence, however, concerns me and it ought to concern you as well. If he is not in attendance tonight, you are going to have to seek him out intentionally.”
Penelope had told Rose everything—the pertinent details, anyhow. She’d revealed that Danbury had kissed her. She had not mentioned how many times, nor the… other things he’d done. Knowing Rose, however, Penelope assumed her maid would fill in the blanks.
Penelope turned back toward the looking glass and tried not to feel panic.
She was certain he’d been about to offer for her. She should not have allowed her temper to take over so quickly. She ought to have known Hugh thought himself clever, but really, his thoughtless joke could not have been more poorly timed.
Had she not landed him a facer, would he have proposed?
Penelope winced. Natalie had also described the spectacular blue and purple bruises around Hugh’s eyes.
She’d definitely overreacted.
She should have told him about the baby. She should have told him as soon as she’d arrived at Augusta Heights. Should haves… Too many of those lately. How many mistakes was she going to make where Hugh was concerned?
He would be at the ball tonight. It was to be hosted by Lady Hawthorne and Rome’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Ravensdale. It would be a crush. Nobody who was anybody missed the Spencers’ ball.
Penelope raised her arms as Rose assisted her into yet another new ball gown. This one was made up of a deep red silk. A gold broach where her bodice dipped, long white gloves, and a matching velvet cape in rich crimson completed the ensemble. Rose styled her hair similarly to how she had a few nights ago. But it looked even better this time. Rose said she was training Penelope’s hair.
“You must tell him tonight, Penelope. No more delays. If you don’t receive an offer soon, your situation will become dire.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Rose.” But there was truth in Rose’s words. “Stop needling me. I’ll tell him.”
“Well, you haven’t told him before. What else am I to think? What will become of me if you are a fallen woman? Would I then be consigned to a life in the country, shunned amongst my fellow ladies’ maids and ousted from society along with you?”
“He very nearly came up to scratch. If only I hadn’t…”
“And another thing, no matter what the man says, do not, I repeat, do not injure him in any way. Sissy, Lady Hawthorne’s maid, says that one of Danbury’s manservants told her that the earl’s valet told him that Danbury says this sort of thing was why he avoided marriage. He says ladies are a dangerous breed.”
“What is your purpose in telling me all of this?”
“Well, what if you’d knocked out one of his teeth? Then you would have a gap-toothed husband! Who knows what you might do next? A well-placed kick could cause serious complications indeed…”
“I won’t kick him.” But upon reflecting on the turbulent emotion that had swept through her when he’d asked her to be his estate manager, Penelope was not so certain. If he tried jesting with her like that again… She shook her head.
Hopefully he would refrain from any more ridiculously ill-timed jokes.
She touched her abdomen. Dear God, she had to tell him soon.
The Spencers’ ballroom was considered to be second only to the regent’s. It boasted intricately detailed artwork, an abundance of glass along an entire wall of terrace doors, and perhaps one of the most jewel-ridden chandeliers ever made. The parquet floor was shined to a high gloss, and hundreds of candles cast a golden glow upon the dancers and other inhabitants.
As had occurred at the previous ball, Penelope’s card filled quickly once again. A little too quickly. Where was Hugh? She needed to save time to have their little… discussion.
Locating a pencil on a table nearby, Penelope scratched his name on the supper dance and a waltz later in the evening. She was going to have to pounce upon him as soon as he arrived to ensure he kept himself available for her dances.
Where was he?
As one set passed, and then another, and then more than she could count, Penelope realized the supper dance fast approached. Missing out on a dance didn’t bother her. It was the thought that Hugh may not be going to make an appearance.
Penelope reached down to massage her ankles. She’d danced more this week than she had in her entire life. At least if Hugh didn’t show up she could sit this next dance out.
“Would it be foolish to hope that you’ve saved a dance or two for me this evening?”
He had come. She forced herself to refrain from scolding him for his absence over the last four days and smiled back at him. “Not foolish.” But she had called him foolish just a few days ago. Right before…
She held out her wrist so that he could examine her card. “See for yourself!” And then he peered at it more closely and chuckled. When he looked back up, he winked.
“So, you are not angry with me?” The blues and purples around his eyes were beginning to fade to an ugly brown.
“I deserved it Pen. Are you angry with me?” That lock of hair had slipped out of his que and
he appeared less jovial than usual.
She’d known him for so long. Why had she not ever noticed how his eyes crinkled when he smiled? Why had she not noticed that although he dressed conservatively, it enhanced the fitness of his physique and the strength of his legs?
She remembered how hard his thighs were, how solid his chest felt.
“No,” she said around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. She cleared it. “I’m not angry with you.”
He still held her hand. Before she realized what he was doing, he had drawn the long silk glove down her wrist and over her fingertips. With his index finger, he touched the outline of the cut, which was healing up nicely. There was one small puncture wound where his tooth caught her skin.
He looked somewhat satisfied. “It appears to be fine but continue to apply a salve.”
Penelope snatched her glove back and proceeded to slide it back onto her hand and arm. What would people think? He was practically undressing her in the middle of an overflowing ballroom!
“It’s fine.” Tilting her head to get a better angle at his nose, she asked, “What of you? Does it still hurt.”
Hugh touched the bridge of his nose hesitantly. That teasing glint appeared. “Not broken after all. Probably a good thing. A crooked nose would have ruined my perfect profile. But really, I deserved it. I’ll do well to remember the pain whenever I think of saying something stupid, I’ll remember that it may not be wise to make jokes—jokes where ladies are concerned anyhow.”
Penelope sat up straight. She wasn’t used to being teased. He was teasing her, wasn’t he? “Very well.” She sounded far too prim and proper. Flirting had not been something she’d ever set out to master.
So instead of coming up with a clever response, she sounded as though she were angry with him after all. “I’m glad I can help you out with that.”
He was apparently not to be baited by the edge in her voice. He took her other hand and assisted her to her feet. “The orchestra is warming up again. Which will it be? A dull country dance? Or will you walk with me again outside? I hear Lady Ravensdale’s prizewinning roses have begun blossoming this week.”
It was exactly what she wanted, and yet, in that instance, all of her good intentions fled. She could tell him later. This was not the only set she’d reserved for him, after all. “A dull country dance.” She smiled at his scowl. Taking his arm, she allowed him to lead her out to the floor. She knew that Danbury did not really mind dancing.
In fact, she did not either, when one had a pleasant partner—one who knew where he could appropriately put his hands, one who did not smell of onions, perspiration, and garlic.
This dance was a lively one. They lined up near the Earl and Countess of Hawthorne and her longtime friend Betsy and her husband. She could never remember Betsy’s husband’s name. He was a rather nondescript barrister. Or had been. Penelope believed they were now living off of Betsy’s inheritance. A distant aunt had recently passed and left Betsy an enormous portion. And what was Betsy’s now belonged to her husband.
Who currently handed her back into the hands of Danbury. “You do not look faint,” he said before twirling her off to his side. When she returned, he added, “You are well?”
“I am,” she said quickly before being relinquished to take Lord Hawthorne’s outstretched hand.
“No debates tonight?” Lady Natalie’s husband teased her. “No blood or dismemberments yet?”
Penelope used her fan to slap him playfully on the arm. Who would have thought the earl could be so good natured? She laughed up at him before being passed back to Hugh.
A warm light glowed in his eyes. Or was it just the candlelight? She hadn’t expected to enjoy this particular dance, but somehow she found herself smiling more than usual.
And then the dance ended and the doors to the supper room were thrown open wide.
Penelope found a seat with Natalie and Betsy while the gentlemen disappeared to procure their plates from the large buffet.
“You are not sitting at the hosts’ table, my lady?” Betsy did not know Natalie as well as Penelope did.
“I am not the hostess. My mother is.” She smiled pleasantly. There was a slight flush on her cheeks and forehead. It reminded Penelope of Natalie’s condition, which had still not been made public.
And that reminded Penelope of her own condition.
It was one of the first evenings in a long time that she’d not experienced any dizziness or stomach upset. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if the sickness had come to an end?
“Speaking of being a hostess,” Penelope remembered. “How is Maple Hall coming along?”
“It will be two years before we can consider living there. We’re splitting our time between London Hills and the dower house at Maple Hall. Garrett wants me to settle down this summer, though, what with—” She placed her hand over her mouth and changed the subject quickly. “Will Monfort and your cousin be coming to London at all this season?”
“Not this year.” Penelope had just received a letter from Abigail the day before. Newly married last fall, the duke and duchess were expecting their own little miracle in early June.
There must be something catching in England.
“They’ve decided to remain at Brooke’s Abby.” She leaned forward and whispered in Natalie’s ear. When she sat back, she spoke out loud again. “Monfort is very protective of the duchess.”
Natalie smiled smugly. She was convinced that it was she who had brought the duke and his new duchess together. “As he well should be.”
“As Hawthorne is of you.” Penelope added. She wanted to say something of Betsy’s husband but his name persisted to elude her.
Betsy cleared her throat and then took the pause in conversation as an opportunity to regale the table with her eldest son’s recent exploits. Penelope’s mind wandered. Was she carrying a little boy? One with black hair and warm eyes? Or was it a girl, like her? She’d be happy with either, so long as the baby was healthy. Her baby. And Danbury’s. Wonder of wonders.
Out of nowhere, a plate appeared in front of her and on it were all of her favorite foods. But how?
“I’ve known you since before the war, Pen. Of course, I know your tastes.” It was as though Hugh had read her mind. As he sat down, her awareness of him drowned out whatever Betsy was saying.
Penelope ate with her left hand, and he ate with his right. The second time they bumped arms, he leaned near her. “Next time, I’ll remember to sit on your other side.” Penelope went to hand her fork into her right hand, but he stopped her. “You don’t have to do that.” He angled his chair and slid it backward somewhat. The next time they both raised their arms, his was slightly behind hers and they did not collide.
He adjusted his needs to mine.
The remainder of the conversation covered the latest on dits as well as upcoming affairs. A trip to Vauxhall was in the planning for the coming week and Penelope could tell that Betsy had figured out Natalie’s delicate condition. The woman was mother to five strapping boys, after all.
On an alarming thought, she wondered if Betsy would see that she was increasing as well.
“We won’t be staying for the entire season,” Hawthorne said before giving his wife a loving look.
“But we’ll be able to attend your party, Betsy,” Natalie continued for her husband. “I haven’t been to Vauxhall in ages!”
Betsy’s husband was speaking to Hugh. “I’ve reserved a box not far from the large stage. Betsy would have nothing less.”
Hugh glanced over at Penelope, “What do you think, Miss Crone? Will you allow me to escort you to Vauxhall next week?”
At Natalie’s surprised glance, Penelope felt herself blushing. She never blushed! She was a cool-headed, fair-skinned redhead. She stabbed her fork into a tender shoot of corn. “You may,” she said into her plate.
She realized that for the first time in her life, she was a part of a couple. It felt that way anyhow. Perhaps the others simply assume
d that Hugh was being polite to ask to escort her. She’d always been included in their activities before, only then it had been as the token spinster, as one of the chaperones practically.
Betsy clasped her hands in front of her enthusiastically. “Oh, this will be so fun! Your mother’s ball is a resounding success, of course, my lady,” she said to Natalie, “But it will be so fun to take some activity outside.”
The others agreed and as Penelope looked around at their faces, she realized that Danbury watched her curiously. A shiver ran up her spine.
She wished she’d opted to stroll outside with him earlier, after all. The large room that had been opened up for dining was clearing out quickly. Sounds of the orchestra tuning their instruments floated in through the giant open doors. She had promised the next set to some Rome. She was not interested in dancing anymore tonight. An overwhelming tiredness swept over her.
Oh, yes, and there was that queasy feeling again, thank you very much. She held a strawberry up to her nose and inhaled deeply.
Natalie smiled impishly over at her. “Mother cultivates them herself. She’s managed to grow some amazingly sweet blackberries as well!”
Natalie then rose to her feet, followed by Betsy. After realizing the gentlemen were waiting upon her, Penelope rose as well, careful to keep hold of the tall back of her chair. She’d learned that when this feeling overcame her, she needed to move slowly. Sudden moves were not a good idea. It would pass. Please let it pass.
Placing her hand on his sleeve, Hugh steered her around a few tables and toward the ballroom. Once there, however, he kept right on walking with her, along the wall and outside onto the terrace.
Once he located a somewhat private alcove with an iron bench, he pulled her down to sit and looked into her eyes with the utmost of concern. “Are you dying, Penelope?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was the only logical conclusion Hugh could come to.
The fainting, the paleness of her complexion, and all of the other changes that had come over her. She must be terrified of leaving this earth without experiencing the act of love and perhaps marriage. She must be looking at all of the experiences she’d missed out upon during her short adult life and decided to try to accomplish a few of them now.
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