“Is this another of your commands? I thought we were to begin with simple ones.” Penelope hid a sinking feeling. She had not quite understood what Graham meant by a marriage of convenience. It was convenient not to have to sleep together, but to pretend she had no husband at all was not within the bounds of propriety that she knew. Wives simply did not let other men escort them to social occasions, but he seemed to think otherwise.
“It will be quite simple, you will see,” Graham assured her as he retrieved his walking stick. “By this time next month you will be a part of the social whirl and will forget you have a husband.”
Penelope stared in apprehension as the door closed behind him. He might wish to forget he had a wife, but how could she ever forget a husband such as hers?
Chapter 5
Penelope gave the glittering dinner table one last critical look, adjusted a crystal wine glass, removed a wilted marguerite from the flower arrangement on the sideboard, and sighed. She had never given a formal dinner party, and it was increasingly obvious that Graham’s domestics were either very new or long out of practice. If she lived through every disaster looming on the horizon, she could walk on water.
Dashing back up the stairs, she took a hurried look at the coiffure her lady’s maid had arranged. Wisps of honey-brown hair already escaped their imprisoning pins. She had not quite intended an artfully disheveled look, but there was no time left to remove all the pins and try to catch all those stray pieces that had been the bane of her life. Twirling the loose ends around her fingers, she succeeded in creating a halo of light curls about her face. That would have to suffice.
She had refused to wear the low-cut lilac gown, but finally succumbed to Graham’s insistence that she need not wear high necks and long sleeves for evening. She had decided on a simple Italian gold crepe with a ruffle of creamy lace at the throat and cuff. Though her throat and much of her shoulders were shockingly bare, the lace made her feel a trifle more modest.
She spun around at a knock on the door, then watched anxiously for Graham’s reaction as he entered. Dressed in a gray frock coat and pantaloons against an immaculately white cravat and waistcoat, he presented an enticing figure of masculine virility and grace, if one did not have to look above his neck cloth.
Then he leaned on his cane and dragged himself into the room and the image dissipated. Even stooped and tilted to one side, he stood taller than Penelope, and she had to look up to try to read his expression. It was useless interpreting the glow in one golden eye. “You must have your tailor construct eye patches to match your coats, my lord. The black is quite distracting.”
She almost raised a grin. Graham rested both hands on the massive head of his cane and looked her over. “That fashion suits you. If I can persuade you from your high-necked frocks, I might consider your suggestion for eye wear. I’ll cast it up before the Beau the next time I see him.”
“Guy tells me Mr. Brummell is no longer in favor, and that you are quite free to dress as you please. I do wish you would come down with me tonight.”
“Mr. Brummell did us all a favor when he encouraged daily bathing. I’ll not desert him for that flock of perfumed peacocks who surround the Regent now. Beau would not appear in public looking as I do just to see how many stomachs he can turn. Nothing should detract from your introduction to society, my dear. I’m more than content to watch from the sidelines.”
Penelope grimaced. “You are throwing me to the wolves, Graham. Will you at least be within screaming distance and come to my rescue when the flambé sets the draperies on fire and the gentlemen use the champagne fountain to douse them?”
This time, he did chuckle, and he caressed her cheek with his gloved hand. “I’m not certain of how much use I will be, but I’ll stand and scream beside you should that be the case.”
“Very gentlemanly of you, I’m sure.” The whisper of his glove along her cheek made her nerves jump, and she was almost relieved when the maid arrived to tell her Sir Percival was here.
“Before you go down, I thought you might want to wear these. They should go well with the lace.” Graham’s hands slid around her throat and hooked a collar of pearls at her nape.
Startled, Penelope touched the translucent glow of ivory about her neck and looked up to meet her husband’s gaze in the mirror. “I have never seen anything so lovely. Is it a family heirloom?”
Graham did not answer, but appeared fascinated with her reflection in the mirror. He touched one bare earlobe and frowned. “I did not think. You should have earbobs, too. I am quite out of practice, I fear.”
His gaze didn’t dwell long on her ear. Penelope gulped as her eyes met the heat of his in the glass. He did no more than touch her shoulder, however.
“Guy will think you have grown hen-hearted, my dear. Your guests will be arriving soon. You’d best go down.”
Penelope gathered her courage and pressed a kiss against his good cheek. “Thank you, Graham. I shall try my best not to shame your family tonight. Wish me luck.”
He shook his head in amazement. “You have no idea of your feminine charms, my dear, which only makes you that much more attractive. I will have to peel your suitors off the walls before the week is out. I’ll be in the library with a good book and brandy should you need me.”
Laughing at his assessment, Penelope departed in a flurry of dancing curls, rustling skirts, and lavender scent.
Guy had only just presented her with a posy of gardenias when the first guests arrived. In the next hectic minutes, Penelope clung to the posy as she greeted the elderly Earl of Larchmont and his dashing countess, several lords of varying ranks but all seemingly well acquainted with Guy and Graham, and a requisite number of young ladies and their doting parents. All greeted Guy with the ease of long acquaintance, received Penelope with polite words and concealed curiosity, then glanced around the drawing room as if searching for some lost object. Hiding their disappointment at not finding what they sought, they joined the growing throng of guests in the salon.
In a lull between arrivals Penelope whispered to Guy, “They are looking for Graham. Are they all old friends of his?”
Guy gazed cynically over the crowd. “Oh, yes, of one sort or another. After all these years I suspect they mostly come out of nosiness, however. Producing Trev would provide their entertainment for the evening and raise their popularity as the possessors of the latest on-dit for many nights to come. He was right not to come down. This way you will be the subject of conversation for the next day or two. Speculation has already begun, I’m certain. Prepare yourself.”
Penelope saw what he meant when she circulated among the guests. This gathering was not so very different from a village with a stranger introduced in their midst. She had thought London would be much more cosmopolitan, but the small circle of the haut ton was as confined as her home. Any new face offered excitement. The story of how the provincial baroness nabbed the reclusive viscount promised much divertissement.
Penelope preferred to be equally elusive. She answered all questions concerning how she met Trevelyan with “through his sister,” and anything hinting at his health was answered “well enough.” Since society had thought the viscount at death’s door, “well enough” took on several meanings, but none dared question “well enough for what?”
Dinner did not prove quite the disaster Penelope had feared. Trev had chosen his guests well, and animated conversation covered the flaws in the service. Penelope winced as a carafe of wine nearly missed landing in the countess’s lap as the confused footman approached her from the wrong side. She sent up a silent prayer that no one noticed the new serving maid picking up a fallen potato and replacing it in the serving dish.
The elderly Countess of Larchmont patted her hand after the last remove. “You are very brave, girl. I had hysterics at my first dinner party when the maid nearly took off the prime minister’s wig with a serving fork. They had to carry me out and give me smelling salts. Let’s leave the men to their vile habits and withd
raw to that charming salon of yours.”
With a grateful smile, Penelope did as suggested. She had been relying on Guy all evening to supply names to faces, and she threw him an imploring look as she rose to lead the ladies out. His appreciative glance followed her out but did not provide the support she needed to endure the interrogation ahead.
Within minutes of seeing that her female guests were comfortably situated, Penelope was caught in a circle of older ladies. She listened to the stories of Trevelyan’s first wife, of her beauty, wealth, and charm and of what a handsome, romantic couple they had been. A love match, they said. They shook their heads sadly over the tragic ending to the glittering fairy tale, the fateful carriage ride that had killed one, and maimed the other for life.
Penelope sensed they waited for more, eager to embellish their tales, but she had nothing to offer. She knew even less of her husband than they. Pride kept her from admitting that she was any less than the first viscountess.
Caught up in her own concerns, Penelope lost track of her younger guests. She did not notice the absence of one of the more intrepid girls until hysterical shrieks echoed from above stairs.
The men had begun to join them when the first shriek split the air. Terrified, Penelope glanced up in search of Guy. He caught her frozen look and reacted the same. They hurried for the stairs and Graham.
The crowd surged along with them, but Guy was swifter and Penelope right on his heels. The butler and Graham’s manservant rushed to block the stairway. Several of the younger men broke through and followed.
The screams had stopped by the time Penelope shoved open the half-closed door of the library. With the velvet draperies drawn, the chamber was dim at best. Tonight, only a candelabra and the fire lit the Chippendale wing chair at the hearth where Graham usually sat to read. The chair was empty, but Penelope found her husband leaning over the sofa.
Ignoring the whispered comments and hesitation of the young men behind her, she closed the door in their faces and rushed to Graham’s side. The stricken look on his poor, maimed face cut her to the quick.
She looked down to see which foolish chit had caused his pain. She vaguely remembered being introduced to the strawberry-blonde miss with the irrepressible dimple and dancing gray eyes, but she remembered nothing else of her. The bacon-brain was already coming around and would probably begin screaming all over again when she saw Trev’s piratical features over her.
Touching a hand to his coat sleeve, she nodded toward the door leading to their suite. “I’ll take care of her, Graham.”
Guy slipped into the room. Verifying his friend blocked their company from entering, Graham nodded and departed.
“She’s coming around.” Penelope diverted the attention of two young men that Guy allowed to enter the now-Graham-less library. “Will someone pour a glass of sherry? There should be some glasses in the case over there.”
Guy knelt beside the sofa and made a pillow of his arm while the two would-be knights-errant brought the requested refreshment.
“I say, was Trevelyan here? Rude of him not to stay. Not at all like, considering.” The younger gentleman with the high shirt points glanced at the crackling fire and the chair beside it.
Penelope bit back a caustic comment. “The lady must have seen one of our legendary ghosts. Graham left to inspect the old stairwell to see if someone is playing tricks.”
They seemed to accept that explanation. After ascertaining that the fainting beauty would recover, unharmed, the two young men prowled the paneled walls, looking for hidden passages.
A shudder went through the distressed maiden as she glanced at the hearth. She gratefully sipped at the sherry. “I am so sorry. I do not know what came over me.”
Guy appeared reluctant to release his lovely patient, but Penelope removed the glass from his hand and inserted herself in front of him. “I was just saying that you must have seen one of our family ghosts. We’re quite acquainted with them, ourselves, and often forget to caution others.” Penelope added a warning look.
Not unintelligent, the girl lowered her eyes. “How very Gothic,” she murmured.
“Tell us, Miss Reardon, what did the spirit look like? All white and whispery? Did it say anything?” A younger gallant leaned over the sofa while his companion lit a candle.
“I cannot say. I vaguely remember, the shock. . .” Her words drifted off as her undaunted mother swept into the room.
Lady Reardon had a fiery eye for the gentlemen leaning over her daughter. The young gentlemen backed off, allowing the lady to send a questioning look to Penelope.
“Miss Reardon seems to have taken a fright. We seldom entertain in these rooms because they are so very dark.” Penelope allowed just the barest hint of reproof to enter her voice. She would not have Trevelyan hunted down in his own rooms.
“I don’t know what’s come over her. Dolly, are you all right? Whatever possessed you to wander up here?”
After the abject Dolly murmured apologies and trailed out after her mother, Penelope slipped through the adjoining door. Trevelyan stood in front of the fire in the small salon.
His features were an impenetrable mask. “How is she?”
“She’ll live,” Penelope said dryly. “I don’t know what possessed her to come up here. Did she give you a dreadful fright?”
Graham’s mouth pulled up in what might have been a wry smile as he mimicked her phrasing. “I’ll live. I’m sorry to have broken up your dinner party. Since it wasn’t the flambé and you weren’t the one doing the screaming, I thought perhaps you would not need me to scream in accompaniment. Was I wrong?”
Penelope smiled. He hid his pain to assuage hers, and she understood why she had consented to marry him. Fearsome as his features might be, and terrible as his temper was, she knew he hid a gentle nature, and she felt secure in his company.
“I think a singular roar to match Miss Reardon’s shrieks would have given all London something to talk about for weeks to come. You have disappointed me, but I’ll forgive you this time. I’m certain tonight will provide enough meat for gossip-broth until we come up with something better.”
“Lady Trevelyan, I suspect that innocent exterior hides a wicked tongue and a cynical mind. I believe we suit.”
Graham’s chuckle gave her a curious pleasure. “You may be right, though what that says for either of us I’m not prepared to dwell on.”
She left him so she might tend to their guests downstairs. Guy hurried to protect her from the crowd, but she merely asked after Miss Reardon.
“The silly chit has gone home moaning of ghosts and spirits,” the countess announced disdainfully. “Has Trevelyan come up with a better explanation? Where is the boy?”
“Higdon says he’s up and about and searching for Dolly’s ghosts. Why ain’t he down here?” another voice demanded.
Ignoring this rude question, Penelope answered the countess. “There’s something of a draft in the upper hall. Graham believes Miss Reardon may be a reader of too many Gothics and too much imagination. He apologizes for not joining us tonight, but he’s not well enough yet to be comfortable for long in public. I did not know him before the accident, of course, but I understand he has changed considerably. You must be patient with him.”
“Of course, you are perfectly right, my dear. Give the dear boy my regards, will you? And you must certainly make every effort to attend my ball next fortnight. Hamilton, you will see to that, won’t you?” The countess’s dark eyes settled on Guy.
The remainder of the guests followed the countess’s lead. Issuing invitations, assurances, and messages for Graham, they took their leave. The evening had been every bit as entertaining and enlightening as they had hoped.
When the last of the guests had been handed into their carriages and the front door finally closed, Guy and Penelope took a well-deserved rest in the intimacy of Graham’s study where the bustle of maids cleaning below would not disturb them. Penelope gestured toward the decanter of brandy.
&nbs
p; “Help yourself, sir. I am too weary to stir.”
Continuing to stand, Guy declined and leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his blue frock coat. “I’ll be off, too. You need your rest after this ordeal. You need become accustomed to city hours.”
“I need become accustomed to many things. I am grateful for your services, Guy. I may call you Guy after tonight, mayn’t I?”
“Of a certainty, though I fear to call you any less than Lady Trevelyan. You are quite formidable, you know. I don’t know where Gray was lucky enough to find you, but he has chosen well. Your performance tonight exceeded all expectations.”
Penelope gave a weary smile. “You see only the result of many years of experience in shepherding my father’s parishioners through public occasions. Luckily tonight the most intimidating guest was the kindest. I feel I ought to send the countess a bouquet in appreciation.”
“Bring Trev to her ball and you will have acquitted yourself of all obligation.” Guy’s gaze was almost caressing as he bowed over her hand, and lifted it to his lips.
When he departed, Penelope banked the fire. To her surprise Graham lurked in the shadows of the far door.
“I did not mean to disturb you,” she said. “Why did you not make yourself known?”
In the light of one lamp she gleamed like a golden flame against the darkness, and Trevelyan experienced an unexpected jolt of pain. He had seen the way Guy looked at her, witnessed the intimate manner in which his friend had kissed her hand, and felt the old familiar jealousy gnawing at his insides. It had become habit, he supposed. It would not do to give in to such feelings.
He bestirred himself to answer gruffly, “Guy is a fickle fellow. You would do better to look elsewhere. I will not keep you from your bed. Goodnight.”
Love Forever After Page 5