by Cheryl Holt
“Don’t fret. The staff has been in a frenzy for weeks, cleaning and preparing the house. The bedchambers are spotless, the menus picked, the musicians hired, the food ordered. I guarantee no crisis will arise, so what is your question? Ask it, then leave me be.”
“There’s a trio of guests coming at the last minute.”
“They weren’t on the list, and they’re coming anyway?”
“Cousin Stewart asked them, and they accepted. We can hardly send a note and un-invite them, can we?”
“I would have no problem writing that letter. We’ll be packed to the rafters, and this will mean we have to rearrange the bedchambers. Will they all need rooms? We don’t have three rooms.”
“They just need one. Two of them are servants, so they can bunk down in the attic.”
“This is outrageous,” Millicent fumed.
“Yes, yes, I figured you’d think so.” Penny waved a hand, as if incorrigible manners were of no account. “I want them here.”
“Why?”
“The woman is famous on the stage in London.”
Millicent was surprised she didn’t faint. “You expect me to play hostess to an actress?”
“She’s not an actress. She’s a performer.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“What’s her name?” Millicent inquired.
“She’s one of the Lost Girls of the Caribbean. Libby Carstairs?”
“I haven’t heard of her in years. I can’t believe she’s still alive.”
“She’s such a celebrity!” Penny gushed. “If she attends, people will be agog, and they’ll talk about my party for ages.”
“It would have been a success whether she was included or not.”
“I was wondering this,” Penny said. “Would it be uncouth of me to ask her to perform for us? And how many times could I ask? Since she’s barging in, it’s only fair that she entertain us. Or would she feel as if she has to sing for her supper?”
“I’ll have to reflect on this. She might love to show off for us or she might consider that we’re forcing her to work. We’ll have to wait until we meet her. Once we have a notion of the sort of person she is, we can decide the best course.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
Penny jumped up and headed to the door, and Millicent attempted to command her. “Find Mrs. Skaggs, would you?” Skaggs was the housekeeper. “Tell her we have to change the bedchamber assignments so we can make room for Miss Carstairs.”
“You tell her,” Penny snottily replied. “I’m just as busy as you are. I have a full plate today.”
Then she was gone, and Millicent yearned to chase after her, to scold her and warn her to guard her impertinent tongue. But from long, exhausting experience, she’d learned that it was futile to reprimand Penny on any topic.
She and Penny had never bonded, and Penny had never recognized her as the mother she was anxious to be. She had limited maternal tendencies, and Penny had never acknowledged her as having any authority.
Millicent’s sister, Florence, had been Charles’s second wife. They were all cousins, and he’d married Florence after Amanda had vanished with Henrietta.
As a young man, he’d been betrothed to Florence, but he’d been swept off his feet by Amanda who’d been a cunning, seductive siren. They’d eloped without Charles first breaking it off with Florence, apprising his father, or garnering the man’s permission. The shock of it had ultimately killed the poor fellow who’d suffered an abrupt apoplexy and died shortly after.
It was another layer of guilt under which Charles still labored.
After Amanda had run off with her lover, he’d promptly divorced her. He’d settled down, regrouped, and walked the path he’d been destined to walk from the start. He’d trudged to Florence and had begged her to wed him. He was an earl, so she’d relented without much argument or dithering. She’d never forgiven him though, and she’d never recovered from the shame of having a divorced man as her spouse.
She’d locked herself away in the country, never having guests or socializing. She’d been determined to never face anyone who knew of the scandal, but just about everyone knew.
She’d quickly birthed Warwick and Penny, then she’d perished when they were two and four years old. Millicent had been eager to take her place. She’d always loved Charles and had felt Florence didn’t deserve him. Florence had been plain, boring, and miserable, while Millicent—with her lush brown hair, big brown eyes, and slender physique—was pretty and could be vivacious when the situation called for amusement.
She’d moved in when Penny and Warwick were toddlers, and she’d never left. She’d been certain that Charles—as a grieving widower—would be so happy to have her loyal assistance that he would finally notice her in an amorous way. But he never had.
Despite how helpful she’d been, how proficiently she’d managed his home and cared for his children, he remained blind to her keen interest in being his third wife.
She’d arrived when she was nineteen, and she was thirty-five now, an aging spinster who had nothing to show for her fond devotion. Charles didn’t seem any closer than he’d ever been to picking another bride. He was content with Penny and Warwick and wasn’t inclined to sire more children.
As to herself, her other romantic chances had passed her by. She didn’t have any money of her own, and her brother had married a harpy who hated Millicent and would never let her move back to the family estate. She was stuck at Roland, a sort of glorified housekeeper and unnecessary nanny.
One of Charles’s two children, Warwick, had fled. The other was about to, and Millicent had to hope—once Penny departed—Charles would realize that Millicent had been waiting for him to step up.
Penny would leave for Barrett with Luke, and Millicent’s sole regret was that Barrett was just a few miles away. If Millicent had been allowed to choose Penny’s husband, she’d have selected someone whose residence was up on the moon, but she couldn’t ever mention that aloud.
She could simply smile and carry on in her role as Charles’s dedicated sister-in-law. She intended to push the wedding along and get it accomplished as rapidly as she could. After Penny was gone for good, Charles would have to notice her then.
Wouldn’t he? He’d have to see that his next wife was standing by his side, and it was time to claim her.
She refused to accept any other conclusion.
Luke was in his library at Barrett, and he stared out the window at the park, wishing he could think of a reason to tarry. It was a pleasant summer day, the sky blue, the sun shining brightly, the roads clear, so he had no excuse to postpone his appearance at Roland.
As the crow flew, he could practically throw a rock and hit the fence where his land adjoined Charles’s. It took quite a bit longer to travel to Roland Manor by carriage, and he was expected that afternoon. He always behaved as was expected.
In that, he’d resolved to be the exact opposite of his brother, Bertie, who’d been extravagant and wild. He’d killed himself during a drunken horse race with a royal cousin. The cousin had been gravely injured in the process, so the name Watson was being disparaged throughout the kingdom. Until the Prince Regent stopped fuming over the debacle, Luke and the Barrett title were in disgrace in the highest circles.
Because of the predicament, he couldn’t figure out why Charles had suggested the betrothal to Penny. It was likely because Charles—after his antics as a young man—was as averse to scandal as Luke declared himself to be.
When Charles had approached him about an engagement, they’d had a lengthy discussion about moral rectitude and public reputation. They’d heartily concurred that their families had had enough ignominy and dishonor. Charles had been adamant that he would only consent to the marriage if Luke could swear there would be no fast living or improprieties.
Luke had vowed that he would never commit a contemptable act, would never shame himself or Penny.
In the past, he’d never exhibited a single wicked proclivity. Up until he’d met Libby Carstairs, he hadn’t assumed he possessed any. A man was judged by his relatives though, and after Bertie’s many misadventures, he had a lot of cleaning up to do.
He wasn’t firmly obligated to the engagement yet. He could back out if, after further reflection, he didn’t like Penny, but short of her turning out to be deranged, he couldn’t imagine reneging. She was the precise girl an aristocrat of his station hoped to locate: pretty, rich, educated, and trained to her duties so she’d be a stellar countess.
In picking a wife, he couldn’t ask for more than that.
She was awfully young though, and he had no idea what type of life she envisioned for them. Would she want to spend their time in town attending soirees and balls? Was that what she planned? He probably ought to get his sorry behind over to Roland and find out—but he couldn’t force himself to go.
His carriage was harnessed out in the drive, his bags loaded, the driver ready to depart. He could have ridden to Roland on horseback, but he was staying the entire two weeks, so he was arriving with luggage. If an emergency arose, he could rush home, but he intended to tarry at Roland and prove to Charles—and himself—that he was the perfect choice to be the man’s son-in-law.
His own parents had been deceased since he was a boy, so he didn’t have them to guide him in the important matter of selecting a bride. He was letting Charles steer him in the proper direction. He trusted Charles, but what if Charles had made the wrong decision? What then?
His collar suddenly felt much too tight.
His qualms were all Libby’s fault. He understood that fact. He’d been fully prepared to shackle himself to Penny, and her Aunt Millicent had requested a September wedding. He’d been amenable to the quick schedule, having convinced himself that it was best not to dither.
But now, Libby had lodged herself into his head, and he simply wished he’d never agreed to the stupid party. He yearned to be in London with her instead. How could he wed Penny in ten weeks when he was so besotted with Libby that he couldn’t think straight?
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and his butler, Mr. Hobbs, entered.
“Your driver is waiting, my lord. I thought I should remind you.”
“I’m being a sluggard. I can’t seem to get moving.”
“It’s not every day a bachelor goes off to engage himself. Are you having a few jitters?”
“I guess I am,” Luke said.
Hobbs had worked at Barrett all of Luke’s life, so he was in a position to offer a personal comment. “Lord Roland is a fine man, and Lady Penny is pretty as a picture. Your parents would be delighted with this match.”
Luke smirked. “I’ll keep telling myself exactly that, and I suppose I’d better be off.”
“Have a grand time, Master Luke.” It was the affectionate term Hobbs had always used when Luke was a boy. “I shall cross my fingers that, when you return, you will be well on your way to being a husband.”
“I can’t determine if that’s a worthy goal or not. Does Lady Penny deserve the curse of having me as her spouse? If that’s to be her fate, I pity the poor girl.”
“She’ll be lucky to have you,” Hobbs loyally stated.
Luke snorted at that and trudged out to his carriage. He was the guest of honor at his apparent betrothal party, and it was being held just down the road.
“Oh, no.”
Luke glanced out the window of his carriage, and at the sight he observed, he moaned with frustration. They were rumbling up the driveway to Roland Manor, and it seemed as if the entire household was present to greet him. It meant there would be a big fuss, which he would hate.
He’d been earl for the prior year, having learned of Bertie’s death when he was off on his navy ship. He’d come home as quickly as he could manage, and he’d slid into his higher role as quietly as possible.
He hadn’t hosted any celebrations, hadn’t printed announcements in the newspapers. He wasn’t the type to tout his elevated situation. But once he departed Roland in two weeks, he’d likely be Penny’s fiancé, so the grand welcome was probably just what he should have anticipated.
Charles was at the front, Penny on one side and her Aunt Millicent on the other. Millicent was practically snuggled to Charles, as if they were married, but as far as Luke was aware, no romance was blossoming.
Behind the three main characters, there was an array of the senior servants, elderly aunties, and Pendleton cousins. There were also many people who appeared to be Penny’s age. He supposed they were her friends, and they looked so accursedly young. Like children really, with whom he’d have nothing in common.
He tamped down a sigh of aggravation. What would he talk about with any of them?
Charles had recommended the party as a way to mingle with the significant family members. He’d suggested too that Luke view the event as a sort of test for Penny where he could evaluate her attributes as she played hostess.
Luke had agreed to the plan, so it was a little late to complain about the size or the number of guests. Obviously, they didn’t know what kind of man he was or what kind of entertainment he enjoyed. With any luck, after they trudged through the morass, they’d all end up with a better understanding of each other.
His coach lurched to a stop, and he dawdled as a footman walked over and opened the door. He climbed out to a few cheers and a bit of applause that was humorous and bizarre. He reminded himself that it was an indication that the Pendletons were excited about the match and wanted to lead things off on a positive note.
He went over and made his helloes, and Penny said, “I hope we didn’t scare you with this large reception.”
“Just a tad,” he admitted. “I was expecting a small family gathering.”
“That’s how we initially started, but we constantly remembered relatives we’d like you to meet, and the list grew and grew.”
Charles explained, “We weren’t specifically watching for you. For the past hour or two, people continued to arrive, and the crowd expanded on its own. We simply haven’t gone inside because one carriage, then another, rattled up the drive. We’re curious as to who will roll in next.”
“I’m delighted to hear it wasn’t all for me,” Luke said. “It will put me in my place and keep me from getting a big head.”
“We have a secret guest coming too,” Charles said. “We’re mostly waiting for her.”
“Is she more important than me?” Luke teased.
“Yes, sorry,” Charles teased back. “Apparently, you quite pale in comparison.”
“Who is it?” Luke asked.
“We’ll let it be a surprise,” Charles told him.
Luke didn’t like surprises, and he prayed it wasn’t anyone from the royal family. He was still in the doghouse with the Prince Regent, due to Bertie’s misadventure, and Luke couldn’t abide an awkward moment that would embarrass him and detract from his need to focus on Penny.
She knew why he was there. Luke had insisted Charles tell her they’d been discussing an engagement, and he had a very low bar with regard to his opinion about her. He was already certain he’d wind up proceeding, and he couldn’t fathom why he wouldn’t.
But he had to recollect that, while he was assessing her, she was also assessing him. It would be the ultimate irony if—at the conclusion of the party—she didn’t care to wed him. He was always assuming that the entire choice lay on his shoulders, but she would be allowed to have a choice too, and if she spurned him, it would serve him right for being such a conceited ass.
While they’d been chatting, a small carriage had turned up the lane. It was noticeable because it was painted pink, and he’d never seen a pink carriage before. There were no outriders in livery and no crest
on the door to supply a hint as to the identity of the occupants, but there were streamers of ribbon attached to the corners and back.
The spectacle made him think of a princess in a fairytale or perhaps Cinderella on her way to the ball.
He gestured to it, saying to Penny, “You have more guests arriving.”
“It’s been hectic like this all afternoon,” she said.
“It’s probably for the best. You’ll have the greetings done at once, and you can progress to the socializing.”
“I have people showing up tomorrow too, so we won’t be finished today. And of course, the neighbors will join us tonight for dancing. I don’t know when we’ll finally have everyone accounted for.”
At the news, he could barely hide a grimace. He’d spent too many years in the navy, surrounded by tough, brave men. He’d never been much of a reveler, but he had to muster the energy to play the part she was clearly expecting him to play.
He kept peeking at her, trying to imagine what it would be like to have her as his wife. She was quite fetching as British girls usually were: blond, blue-eyed, and brimming with good health.
She was a petite female, so he towered over her, and she was very young. He couldn’t move beyond that pertinent observation, but it was commonly accepted that a man was wise to marry a younger bride. He could train her to her carnal duties before she developed more independent traits, but the whole notion of training a bride was exhausting.
He was especially disturbed by the prospect of fornicating with her. He simply couldn’t envision crawling into a bed and touching her in intimate ways.
“Penny,” Charles said, “I realize you love loitering in the driveway to discover who will appear next, but after this carriage, let’s begin escorting people inside. The servants need to get bags unpacked and bedchambers assigned.”
“Oh, Father,” she fondly replied, “you always want every process to run in a perfectly normal manner. You’re determined to ruin my fun.”
“I am not. I dote on you, and don’t you dare pretend in front of Luke that you aren’t spoiled rotten.”