No, wait. It was not wonderful. Anthony approved it! He was ready to send her off to buy wedding clothes! He was supposed to be cautioning her, warning her that this course of action might lead to ruin. He was supposed to be against such an alliance! Oh, this was not wonderful at all. This was dreadful!
“Now I’ve got to be off,” Anthony said, pushing his plate away and rising. “I have settlements to draw up and announcements to be making…”
“Oh no you don’t!” Mamma said, holding up her hand to stay him. “The gentleman’s name?”
Anthony swallowed and glanced toward the door, clearly wishing for escape. But then he smiled. Again.
“I think Penelope should give you the excellent news.”
Ooo, the coward. She would have certainly scowled at him, but thought it best not to give Mamma any further reason to be unhappy with her just now. Perhaps it was just as well that Anthony expected Mamma to oppose the match. It showed he was not as entirely enthralled with the idea as he was purporting.
Penelope cleared her throat then replied evenly, “He is Lord Harris Chesterton, Mamma.”
“What?!” Mamma burst from her chair, rattling dishes and sending tea slopping about. “That was Harris Chesterton with his hands all over you in the garden last night?!”
Now Anthony raised one eyebrow at her. “All over you?”
“Only the appropriate parts,” she replied, feeling rather small as they loomed over her.
“There are no appropriate parts!” Mamma exclaimed. “Good heavens, but I should have known there would be trouble when I saw the way you were looking at him last week.”
“Oh, so it was love at first sight, was it?” Anthony asked.
“I don’t know that love could possibly have anything to do with it.” Mamma sighed. “The man has barely been back in the country a fortnight after some of his wild travels, and yet you think you know him well enough to agree to marry him, Penelope?”
She thought it a bit early in the game to say something like, “Perhaps if you had let me go to Egypt I could have found someone more acceptable,” although it was tempting. After all, it was the truth. Still, she ought to play along with this until Anthony was as convinced as Mamma that an engagement with Lord Harry was completely the wrong thing. Then she would lay her cards on the table. Then she would have something to bargain with.
“He seems genuinely to care for me,” she said, batting her eyes and hoping they believed her. “Is it so very wrong for me to want to be loved?”
“There, she’s completely happy with him and so am I,” Anthony said. “Now I’m off.”
And he was. Without any further question or concern over what she’d just done, he left. Mamma, however, stayed.
“This is not settled,” she said. “Not by a far cry.”
Well, that was good to know. To hear Anthony, one might think she’d end up married to Lord Harry in no time. At least Mamma still showed some sense about these things. Although, she could ill afford to let the woman know it.
She tucked up her lip as if she were trying not to pout. Really she was trying not to smile.
“Mamma, don’t you want me to be happy?”
Mamma was used to these dramatics, so she merely rolled her eyes. “You’d best think long and hard about this, Penelope Rastmoor. You play at this marriage game as if it means nothing. But it does mean something—it means your whole life, my dear. It would be a shame to see you end up with someone despicable just for the sake of getting yourself some attention.”
Penelope rose to excuse herself. Breakfast had gone on far too long already. “Thank you, Mamma, but I assure you this means far more to me than simply getting attention.”
HARRIS WISHED HE’D HAD FUNDS FOR A BETTER CARRIAGE. Usually that thought would never enter his head; caring what others thought of him was usually the last thing he’d do. Today, however, it would have been nice to arrive for Penelope in something a bit more showy than the clattering gig he’d managed to secure. Surely she was used to the finer things. It would not take her long to realize practically every carriage in London was finer than this one.
Not that he cared what Penelope thought, either. She was merely a means to an end. Rastmoor had suggested he take her driving today, so he would take her driving today. Hell, he never expected the man to be so accommodating! It was practically too good to be true, but who was he to complain? If Rastmoor wanted to throw away his sister and his money, Harris knew exactly what to do with both of them.
She came dashing out of the house the moment he pulled up. What, was he not expected to go inside to collect her, perhaps make uncomfortable small talk with her mother or be scrutinized by the servants? Well, this was a pleasant relief. He jumped out of his seat to help her into hers.
“Anthony is out and I thought we might spare the discomfort of meeting Mamma,” she said.
Her gown was yellow, as bright as a daffodil. It made the blue of her eyes even more blue. Her bonnet matched to perfection—he supposed, not really being a bonnet expert—and he flattered himself to think she had gone to some extra effort to appear particularly fetching. And she did. She appeared quite as fetching as any woman he’d come across here in London. He couldn’t deny a moment of pride as he realized passersby would notice that he was the one handing her into his shabby carriage, and not some other lucky man.
“So, your mother is not overjoyed at your good news?” he asked when she was situated and he had climbed up next to her.
“She thinks I’ve decided hastily and…”
She didn’t continue, so he knew of course there was more to her mother’s disapproval. Well, he could only credit that to the woman. It would be an odd mother, indeed, who might actually wish her daughter to make a match with the infamous Harris Chesterton.
“And your mother does not approve of me,” he finished for her, slapping the tired horse into motion.
“No, not really.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Doesn’t that fit with your plan?”
“Yes, but I would not want you to feel… well, insulted, or anything.”
He had to laugh at that. “Miss Rastmoor, I assure you it would take a good deal more than your mother’s lack of approval to give me insult. In fact, I would be rather concerned for you both if she did approve me. I am, after all, quite the monster.”
“No, you aren’t,” she said lightly.
He glanced at her and discovered she was serious. “Not a monster? Well, then, I am evil, at least.”
“Certainly not evil!”
Hell, was the chit rethinking her initial estimation of him? That could be a bother when it was time to end this charade. He needed to put her more in mind of his true character. Just as he needed to overlook those huge blue eyes and the swell of her hearty young bosom.
“You will allow I am wicked, though, will you not?”
She laughed, and it was a sound he very much enjoyed, despite the fact it made it nearly impossible for him to overlook the dancing blue eyes or the, er, other bits.
“Yes, I will allow you are wicked.” She giggled.
He eyed her. “You will allow me to be wicked? Or you will simply allow that I am?”
“According to my mother I already did allow you to be wicked last night.”
Memory of how she felt in his arms ran like electricity through his body. He itched to touch her, though of course that would be folly. Rastmoor’s generosity would surely disappear the moment he suspected Harris did not treat Penelope with the utmost respect. If Harris felt the urge to manhandle his new fiancée, he’d best wait until they were alone and there would be no one around to carry the tale.
“And just what exactly did you let your mother believe we did last night, Miss Rastmoor?” he asked. “I think I would have remembered it this morning if we’d done anything truly wicked.” Now he smiled at her. “And I’m certain you would have.”
Her cheeks went a lovely shade of pink. Even after four fiancés and a turn with Fit
zgelder the girl could still play the innocent. And perhaps she was; he had no way of knowing. Yet.
“It’s discourse like this that makes you the perfect pretend-fiancé, Lord Harry,” she said. “If you speak that way around my mother, in no time she will insist Anthony sways me against you.”
“I thought you expected it to take two full weeks to bend him to your will?” he asked.
Two weeks seemed adequate. Harris would do well to be in the man’s favor a short while. Hell, Rastmoor’s unknowing generosity might save Professor Oldham’s life. And if Harris could use his pretty little companion to lead him to her source for that stolen necklace, then perhaps all this deceit might be justified in the end. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to give the girl some additional motivation to encourage her brother in his generosity, would it?
“It may be more difficult than first expected,” Penelope was saying as she clutched at the side of their carriage when he intentionally guided them through a gaping hole in the roadway. “Heavens, if we hit any more of those, this poor gig will likely fall to pieces around us!”
And then perhaps Rastmoor might feel compelled to procure them a better one—which might be sold for a proper penny when all this was finally over, of course. It was going to take a good many proper pennies to rescue Oldham.
“Terribly sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m not made of money as your brother seems to be. If you are unhappy to be seen around town in such a sad rig as this, I don’t know what’s to be done about it.”
“I don’t mind being seen in it,” she said, righting her jostled bonnet. “I would simply prefer not to be seen tumbling out of it. Pity we couldn’t borrow Anthony’s lovely new curricle.”
“Yes, pity, but of course he has frequent need of it for himself. But tell me, my dear, what makes your estimation of our scheme assume that things are now more difficult?” he asked.
“Well, because Anthony likes you, of course.”
“He likes me?” Excellent. For now.
“Unimaginable, isn’t it? So we’ll simply have to think up ways to make him not like you.”
Without disrupting the flow of funds, of course. Hmm, yes, this was becoming more difficult. Quite a dance he and Miss Rastmoor had committed to here. It was going to be exhilarating to follow it through from step to step.
“Perhaps, Miss Rastmoor, we should continue our drive through the park. I’m sure as opportunity arises we can find ways to assure that your brother might not be altogether pleased with certain aspects of my behavior.”
She laughed again. “Gracious, Lord Harry. Are you suggesting I should allow you more opportunity for being wicked?”
By God, he most certainly would like to suggest that. He knew of two or three places where a couple could go to be all manner of wicked right in the middle of London. But no, that was actually not what he’d been suggesting. He would have to be far more subtle than that.
“Sorry to disappoint, my dear, but I was merely thinking perhaps we could find a family friend or Rastmoor acquaintance for me to insult or otherwise verbally injure.”
“Oh yes. That would probably work,” she replied.
And damned if she didn’t sound disappointed.
Chapter Four
The park was full on this pleasant afternoon. Penelope was glad she’d gone to so much effort to look her best. The moment Lord Harry guided his rattle-clap gig onto the carriage drive, she knew they were the center of attention.
It was exactly the sort of attention they needed, too. Oh, but she could practically see the juicy gossip dripping from the lips of London’s fashionable matrons. Men were watching with a combination of perplexed curiosity and knowing conjecture. No doubt rumor and innuendo would circulate like wildfire and soon Anthony would be hearing things he would not very much care for. He would realize what a mistake he’d made by allowing her to accept Lord Harry.
And then she could begin her campaign. She would pretend to be hopelessly infatuated. She would claim life was not worth living without her dearest Harry. Eventually she would announce that the only way to mend her broken heart would be to sail away to Egypt.
Then Anthony would pack her bags and send her off. Ah, but things were working exactly as planned. Even better, actually. She found Lord Harry’s company to be quite agreeable. Considering what a horrible person he was, of course.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the gazes and gawking around them.
She’d brought a light wrap but left it draped low so as not to hide the expensive lace trimming her gown. There was a slight chill to the air, but the day was remarkably clear and the sunlight warmed her. She smiled at her companion and made sure everyone knew he was expressing a very fiancé-like concern for her comfort.
“How sweet of you to worry, Lord Harry,” she said, just a bit louder than needed. “I’m quite comfortable. As long as I’m with you.”
Hold on, did he just roll his eyes at her? Silly man. Could he not realize their watchers would notice? When it was safe she might have to remind him what was properly expected.
“Your esteem warms me, Miss Rastmoor,” he said, though since it had been accompanied by that eye roll, his words did not have the romantic effect she assumed he had intended.
Oh well, she supposed she could not expect more. Likely he was doing his best, and she should be glad for that. It did not seem his careless eye roll had let too many people in on their ruse. From the looks on the faces of passersby, they were indeed giving every impression of being a very smitten couple.
Certainly, they were not easy to overlook in this forlorn conveyance. Penelope was very nearly jostled right out of her seat as their poorly sprung wheels clattered over a series of deceptively deep ruts. Honestly, it was almost as if Lord Harry were hitting them on purpose.
Of course he wasn’t, however. It was simply that she was used to traveling Rotten Row in a much finer carriage, one that did not bump and list and jar her teeth so dreadfully. How Lord Harry could sit there so seemingly proud and confident when she knew they must look quite ridiculous in this dilapidated rig, she had no idea. She rather was impressed by his demeanor in the face of such indignity, as a matter of fact.
She would see to it that Anthony found them something a little bit better to travel in. It just would not do to be seen about like this day after day, and she did intend to be out and about with Lord Harry as frequently as possible. What better way to assure Anthony’s feeling that he must do something drastic to separate them?
Of course, it seemed nearly everyone was in the park today to see them in this pitiful carriage. What would they think if tomorrow they showed up in something shiny and new? Hmm, what would they think, indeed? Perhaps Lord Harry would be branded a fortune hunter! My, but wouldn’t that simply be wonderful. Anthony would hate it.
“What are you smiling about?” Lord Harry asked, giving Penelope a sideways glance.
“What? Oh, I was just thinking that we will very likely be the talk of the town after simply driving through the park.”
“You do seem to love attention, don’t you?”
“Why do you say that?” It was as if he’d been talking to Mamma.
“Because you carry yourself so well. People cannot help but pay attention to you, and you, my dear, give every impression of enjoying it.”
“When it is attention that suits my purposes, yes, I suppose I do enjoy it.”
“Heaven pity the thing that doesn’t suit your purposes, Miss Rastmoor.”
She supposed she could have been offended at his words, since they did seem to imply he thought her just a bit self-centered, but he was smiling good-naturedly so she decided he’d meant nothing by it. He had a good laugh. It was confident and free and just loud enough to secure a few glances from the one or two people who had not already taken note of them. Penelope laughed along with him.
Ah, but then she noticed a gleaming barouche coming their way. The hood was folded down, and she had no doubt who was
inside. Her laughter faded and she felt her muscles go tense. Drat, but she was not quite ready for this meeting.
Lord Harry seemed to notice. “Who is that?” he asked.
“Lady Whorton.”
“That tells me little.”
“She is the mother of my most recent fiancé.”
“Ah. The ancestor of my predecessor.”
Penelope slid a glance at him and frowned. “Don’t ancestors have to be dead?”
“Is that what you wish for Lady Whorton?”
Hmm, tempting thought. And Lord Harry seemed the sort of person who might possibly be able to make such a thing happen. But no, she was not quite as desperate as that. She shook her head.
“No, but I would very happily settle for blind right at this moment.”
“What? And miss such an excellent opportunity? I’m disappointed in you, Miss Rastmoor.”
She struggled to relax her tense body and melt the ice from her artificial smile. If Lady Whorton was going to see her with Lord Harry, she was not going to see her looking nervous and self-conscious. By heavens, if anyone would be disappointed in her today, it would be Lady Whorton. Not Lord Harry.
“Of course you’re right, sir,” she said, feeling brighter already. “It is a lovely day and I am having a most wonderful time.”
“Of course you are. After all, you are with me.”
Oh, but the man’s vanity was delightful. She couldn’t help but laugh in earnest. How many people wasted so many hours in false modesty and such outrageous self-deprecation that the hearer was forced to dole out endlessly contrived flattery and exhausting encouragements? Certainly Lord Harry needed none of that. He did not demand her praise, nor, she suspected, would he much value it should she volunteer. It was quite refreshing, as a matter of fact.
The barouche was drawing nearer, and she could see it the moment Lady Whorton’s eye caught on them. First there was that familiar look of scorn when the lady recognized Penelope, then there was an expression of sheer delight as the woman took note of their pitiful carriage, and then came the final stage. The woman’s face contorted in a wave of horror at seeing Lord Harry.
Passion and Pretense Page 5