by Ivory Lei
Chapter Fourteen
Penelope went up the winding grand marble staircase and headed for Olivia’s bedchamber.
She needed to put her encounter with Lucas behind her. She thought she had finally reached him today, but she saw the panic in his eyes after they’d made love and the relief in his features when Lord Westville had interrupted their discussion. It was obvious her husband regretted the entire interlude.
That hurt, but she tried to focus on the positive. She knew Lucas had been trying to avoid spending time with her since their wedding night. Oh, he joined her in bed every evening, but during the day, he kept their discussion light and impersonal. There had been none of the teasing banter she had shared with him at Highfield Manor. They’d spent the long journey to London discussing travel arrangements, and since arriving in Town there had been so much to do, they’d hardly talked at all.
At least they had finally spent some time alone together during the day, even if he’d regretted it afterward. She angrily cast thoughts of her confusing husband and marriage aside. For the moment, she would focus her efforts on Olivia. Penelope wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt today by Lucas’s callousness.
She reached Olivia’s bedchamber and knocked on the door once before letting herself in. Olivia was sitting on the frilly bed, her yellow muslin dress arranged carefully about her.
“Have you chosen which gown you’re wearing for the ball?” Penelope asked.
Olivia looked up, and it occurred to Penelope once more how very much the girl resembled Lucas. Her eyes were the same shade of midnight, and her raven hair tended to curl at the ends like her brother’s. Her coloring wasn’t the only thing she had in common with her brother either. There was something about Olivia that seemed too somber for a girl of eighteen.
Penelope rummaged through the young woman’s closet. “I think you should wear that pale pink gown. You would look beautiful in it.”
“Did Lucas send you up here?”
She whirled. “Of course not! Your brother is downstairs in the study with his friend, Lord Westville.”
Olivia’s fingers trailed over the cover of the book they’d bought at Hatchard’s. It was a tome on architecture, written by a man named Gibbs. Penelope didn’t care a whit about the subject. In her opinion, merely thinking about architecture was already such an arduous process that reading about it would be sheer, unmitigated torture. So she decided to discuss their visit to the bookshop instead.
“It was very kind of Lord Blakewood to recommend that book. I must admit, I don’t know anything about architecture myself.”
Olivia’s features softened with a dreamy smile. “I’ve met him before, you know.”
“Who?” She sat on the bed beside Olivia. “Lord Blakewood?”
“Yes. We talked before Lucas sent me home to Ravenstone while he claimed you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your brother thinks it’s a bad idea for you to associate with him.”
“Lucas doesn’t even know him! Lord Blakewood is a gentleman right down to the tips of his toes.”
“His toes, really?” she teased. “I didn’t realize a man’s toes could be an indicator of whether or not he was a gentleman. I usually rely on things such as clothes and manner of speech.”
Olivia giggled. “You say the oddest things, you know.”
“I know.”
“I am nervous about tonight,” Olivia confessed.
She nodded. “Me, too.”
“You are?”
“Of course. You’re not the only one who’s having a ‘come-out.’ And I am not nearly as statuesque as you are, so it will be difficult for me to stare down the gossipers.”
Olivia giggled again. “I shall be right by your side to do the staring down for you.”
“I would appreciate that. The important thing,” she advised, “is that you have fun. If you are not enjoying yourself, then all of this would be no different from sewing with a broken needle.”
“A broken needle?”
“Pointless.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said simply.
The statement surprised her. “For what?”
“For making me laugh.”
She smiled and got off the bed. “You’re very welcome.”
• • •
The laughter was back in Penelope’s face when Lucas spied her from the balcony that evening at the Uffington manor. His eyes were drawn to her like a magnet as he debated how best to approach her. He’d spent part of the evening at his club, as Anthony had advised, to confront the gossip about his sudden marriage. He’d endured surreptitious stares in the club, but no one had actually dared to ask him about his married state until David Maitland came in and joined him for a glass of brandy.
“Ravenstone,” Maitland said, seating himself across from Lucas. “I thought I’d find you here.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Maitland.”
The air of anticipation that swept across the roomful of aristocrats was palpable. He didn’t have to wait long before one of the gossiping fools approached the table.
“By Jove, so it is true then?” asked Lord Haynes, an aging fop with a balding head, as he moved toward Maitland. “Ravenstone has married your cousin?”
“Yes, it is,” Maitland confirmed. “I attended the wedding myself.”
Lord Haynes’s bushy brows shot up. “By Jove. So you have married her, then?” he demanded of Lucas.
“Maitland has just told you that I have done so.”
“Well, by Jove! Rumor has it you did get married. Odd, that.”
He turned his head very slowly, pinning Haynes with his gaze. “You find it odd that I have married?”
Lord Haynes’s moustache twitched. “By Jove,” he croaked before walking away.
Maitland chuckled and lifted his glass to Lucas in a mocking toast. “If only I could do that to annoying little gossips.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here, Maitland?”
“I arrived this morning,” Maitland explained. He took a sip of his brandy before continuing, “I thought Penelope might need my help in confirming her identity, seeing as my father couldn’t even be bothered to go to your wedding.”
Lucas arched one brow in a sardonic gesture. “Why are you suddenly so interested in Penelope’s welfare? I understand you have not deigned to visit her in years.”
“I understand you had not deigned to visit her at all,” Maitland shot back before he continued his explanation. “I have recently found out some truths about my father, and I think it’s time I make up for the mistakes he made.”
That sentiment was something Lucas understood very well. So it was without hesitation that he informed Maitland of Penelope’s itinerary for the evening.
“The Uffingtons?” Maitland paused, gathering his thoughts. “I shall have to change my attire, but I will be there to show my support.”
“I appreciate that,” he said quietly. If Maitland attended the ball, there would be no further questions about Penelope’s identity.
His wife had been so concerned about his reputation and Olivia’s debut, it hadn’t occurred to her that she would also be under scrutiny. In typical Penelope fashion, she had been worrying about everyone but herself. Even during their bargaining over marriage terms, the things she had asked for concerned her stepfamily, her servant and even her dog, instead of herself. Except for her demand for him not to order her about or to take a mistress. He smiled at the memory.
Now that he was her husband, it was his privilege and duty to make certain she remained safe. Protecting her reputation had been foremost in his mind on the way to the Uffington ball. The minute he arrived, however, he realized his concerns had been unnecessary. The nymph seemed to have found a way to captivate London’s elite with her u
nique combination of humor and warmth, the way she did with everyone she encountered.
Dressed in a decadently graceful puce-colored, velvet gown with ruched sleeves and a pleated skirt with gold and silver stripes at the hem, Penelope looked like a sorceress from an Arthurian legend, a complete antidote to the jaded occupants of the ballroom.
His jaw tightened as he noticed the man she was dancing with. Ethan Banks, a simpering fop who had entered Society a couple years ago, was twirling his wife around the dance floor and, in his opinion, holding Penelope much too close.
Lucas told himself it was not jealousy that made him hurry down the stairs and cut through the endless sea of people. It was natural for any man to be annoyed at the thought of having to cut through another man to claim his wife for a waltz.
• • •
It amazed Penelope that Ethan Banks had the nerve to approach her now after he had told her a couple years ago that her lack of dowry made marrying her an impossibility, and then started courting Mari barely a week after dropping his suit.
She’d never had any deep feelings for Ethan, but for those few months she had believed at least there was someone who seemed to appreciate her and not how useful she could be. How wrong Penelope had been about this man. Her lips curved with amusement as he twirled her about the dance floor in a waltz — how inferior this experience was to the waltz she had shared with Lucas at their wedding.
What did Ethan think he was going to get out of this?
She didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“Please accept my felicitations on your marriage, Penelope.”
“Thank you.”
Ethan looked uncomfortable. “I noticed you were friendly with the Duke of Granderly’s daughter.”
“Lady Beatrice appreciated my advice about her cat’s flea problem. She said she would try my recipe for peppermint soap as soon as she gets home.”
Her dance partner’s brows furrowed. “Indeed? Well, I was wondering if you could introduce me to Lady Beatrice. You and I are old friends after all, are we not?”
Her smile froze. “Of course. I will introduce you to Lady Beatrice if time permits.” Right after I warn the young woman about you, you money-grabbing weasel.
He looked relieved. “I appreciate your help, Penelope. Have I complemented you on your gown, by the way? You look radiant tonight.”
Lucas’s bored drawl made both Penelope and Ethan stop in mid-step. “She does look beautiful, does she not?”
She whirled around to see her husband’s forbidding features, his eyes glittering with an unsubtle threat as they rested on her dancing partner.
“Banks,” Lucas clipped out, “you don’t mind if I cut in, do you? I have been looking forward to dancing with my wife all evening.”
Ethan paled as Lucas advanced on him. “Not at all, my lord.” He bowed to Penelope before stepping back as if he couldn’t wait to get out of reach.
Lucas’s arm snaked around her waist, and he expertly maneuvered her into the waltz. “You seem to be enjoying yourself, my dear.”
He sounded like he’d just swallowed ash. She tried to hide her smile. “I am.”
“How do you know Banks?”
Her smile widened. “He offered to marry me once, a long time ago.”
“While you were engaged to me?”
“Yes.”
“I shall have his head on a platter.”
Laughter spilled from her lips, which garnered curious stares from the other couples on the floor, who visibly strained to hear the conversation between Raving Ravenstone and his new countess.
“You are not putting anyone’s head anywhere,” she whispered. “I did not accept his suit, Lucas. So there is no need to be jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“I’m glad.”
A grunt was all the reply she got.
She rolled her eyes. “What took you so long to get here?”
“I was delayed by your cousin.”
She gaped at him. “David is here?” She looked around her. “Where is he?”
“He will be here soon.” Lucas whirled her to a halt near the French doors that led to the gardens. “Come, I have a need to discuss things with you.” He was about to tug her out the door when David appeared at their side.
“Penelope! How wonderful to see you here, cousin!” he said in a voice loud enough to be heard by the people milling around them in the crowded ballroom. “I hope you’re not missing the Lakes too much. London can be quite confining.”
She hugged her cousin with enthusiasm. “David! My goodness, you look impressive tonight.” She looked over his shoulder, as if trying to locate someone. “I wish Mari was here, but you should dance with Olivia, if you can find her. She’s been dancing all night.”
She noticed the coolness in David’s eyes at the mention of Mari’s name. She had no opportunity to comment, however, because David suddenly launched into a discussion of politics with Lucas. Lucas’s friend, Lord Westville, soon found them and joined as well. They were talking about the merits of reform when she felt her stocking slide down her leg.
“Excuse me, I have need of the retiring room,” she mumbled before striding carefully to the far end of the ballroom, smiling at people who wanted to greet the new Countess of Ravenstone along the way.
Several people seemed disappointed that she was not stopping to chat. She already knew what they wanted to know. They would ask first if she was well, and then they would express their concern about her fate. The less tactful ones would warn her about Raving Ravenstone and assure her they would be there to assist her if needed.
Assist her with what, she wondered.
It was only her first ball, yet she was already tired of people’s assumptions. And it was not even her character being scrutinized. She wondered how Lucas could have borne it all these years.
She strode through the empty, darkened corridor. She had no idea which door led to the ladies’ retiring room. She tried the first door on her left and promptly tripped over a small furry creature, which yelped in astonishment.
“I am so sorry, little dog,” Penelope whispered, as she reached out to light one of the small wall sconces. The faint light from the sconce revealed a library.
“Wrong room,” she muttered.
Still, Penelope realized she was quite alone in here. Acting quickly, she adjusted her garters and was about to leave the room when she heard a muffled noise.
Slowly, she turned back, noticing as the little dog scurried out of the room that it had a rope around its neck. Who would take it out for a walk at this time of night?
She cautiously stepped deeper into the large, dark library, following the strange, scuffling sounds. Soon, she heard voices. A man and a woman were talking in hushed tones. Penelope knew she blushed as she thought of what she might have interrupted, but the voices sounded angry, not amorous.
“I told you to leave the dog,” she heard the man hiss.
“The boy wouldn’t leave without it.”
“Well, we have tied the boy up, so there is no need for the dog.”
“But it knows what we are doing now!” The woman’s voice was frantic.
“Shut up! Everyone is busy with the ball. No one will pay heed to a yappy dog. Now get the boy; we have wasted too much time as it is.”
She jumped into action as soon as she heard them struggling to get the window open. She searched for “the boy” and found him in a narrow aisle slumped against one of the bookshelves with his mouth gagged and his hands bound behind him. This was an abomination! He could not have been older than nine. His eyes widened when he saw her and she put a finger to her lips, warning him to be silent.
This was clearly a kidnapping. She didn’t know who the child was, but at that moment, all that mattered was he
needed her help. She wished she’d worn something less cumbersome, for her gown made it very difficult to move quickly. She knelt in front of him and started fumbling with the ropes at his back when she heard the man’s incredulous voice behind her.
“Who the hell are you?”
She whirled and faced the barrel of a pistol pointed straight at her. She grabbed the boy and backed deeper into the aisle. She could see only the man’s silhouette as he confronted her.
She swallowed a lump of what tasted like panic. Though she knew she would excel at panicking if she indulged in the emotion, at that moment she thought it best to try to remain calm.
“What are you doing to this boy?” she asked, backing deeper into the row of shelves.
The man blocked the only exit, but she knew pistols became less accurate the farther away the target was, so she tried to place as much distance as possible between her and the weapon.
“Stay right where you are, lady. We are taking him away, and if you stay out of our business, we will let you live.”
The kidnapper’s female accomplice appeared behind him. “Ned? What is going on here?”
“Some Society chit wandered into the wrong room. But she is going to stay put and let us leave, ain’t that right, m’lady?”
“Ned, I don’t feel good about this — ”
Penelope wasted no more time. The boy stumbled and she grabbed a fistful of books, hurling it straight at the kidnappers. A deafening shot rang out just as she ducked to tug the boy up on his feet while a searing pain numbed her right shoulder.
“You’re not going anywhere, lady!” the man hissed.
At that moment, she knew she was going to die. It seemed an apt end to her life as well, she thought deprecatingly. Even to her last breath, she would prove to be useful, for there was no way she was going to let these villains take the little boy.
“You’re not going anywhere either,” she vowed with only a slight tremor in her voice.
Penelope lifted a heavy book threateningly.
Lucas’s voice filled the room. “Penelope? Are you in here?”
She clutched the boy in her arms. “Lucas! Help!”