Passion and Pretense

by Susan Gee Heino

  “And why on earth would you think that? Mr. Markland is a mere mister, while Lord Harry could very well be a duke himself one day. And true, Mr. Markland has fine enough features and he is undeniably tall and elegant, but surely you’ve noticed what a remarkable figure Lord Harry cuts without even trying!”

  “What? Even after all he’s done you still find Lord Harry more attractive than Mr. Markland?”

  This was too much. Why, how dare Maria insinuate that Lord Harry was not absolutely the most attractive man in all of London! Clearly there was something wrong with her eyes.

  “I did not see you offended by his looks as you strolled casually along with him,” she noted, probably with slightly more spite than the situation merited.

  “I was being polite.”

  “Yes, I noticed. And you weren’t particularly racing to arrive at my house where you must have known you would no longer have him to yourself.”

  “Penelope! Gracious, as if I could ever…Why, he’s not at all my type!”

  “And you claim Mr. Markland isn’t, either.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “Then who, I’m left to wonder, were you so eager to impress at the ball last night?”

  Maria opened her mouth as if to answer, then quickly shut it again.

  “So there is someone?” Penelope asked. “And he is neither Mr. Markland nor Lord Harry?”

  Maria seemed to think long and hard before finally replying. Penelope leaned in eagerly to listen. Unfortunately her eager listening was cut off. Mamma came through the door just at that moment, and she was not smiling. It was not as if Penelope would have expected her to smile, of course, considering. But drat her inconvenient timing!

  “What is this, Penelope?”

  The offensive object in Mamma’s hand was immediately recognizable. As was the young maid who sheepishly trailed her into the room.

  “It is a shawl, Mamma,” Penelope answered.

  “Well, obviously I know that. What I’m asking is why did you give specific instructions to throw it out to the rag-and-bone man? Honestly, Penelope, you cannot be discarding your purchases just as fast as you make them.”

  “But Mamma, I didn’t purchase that. It was bought for me.”

  “Well I certainly don’t recall buying this, and I’m very sure I would remember such a—”

  “It was a gift from Lord Harry,” Penelope informed her.

  Mamma paused in midrant. “Oh. Well then. Carry on, Milly.”

  She shoved the ugly article toward the sheepish maid and marched out without further word. Milly seemed slightly confused, but balled up the shawl and glanced at Penelope for confirmation. Indeed, it had been a stroke of genius to bring the girl here. There was no better place in London for her to be safe from Lord Harry. And Penelope was quite determined to keep her clear of the man.

  “Thank you, Milly,” she said to her. “Discard that and I never want to see it again.”

  Milly nodded, curtsied, and left. Unfortunately, Maria seemed to decide it was time for her to do the same. Penelope was unable to reengage her friend in the enthralling discussion of Maria’s tender emotions. With little more than a hasty farewell, the woman dismissed herself and Penelope was left alone.

  Drat. She’d been certain her friend had nearly been about to confirm suspicion; there was some particular man who’d captured her eye. But who the devil was he? The question was almost—but not quite—enough to distract Penelope from her own romantic dilemmas.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Penelope was very nearly asleep when someone rapped at her door. Her first thought, oddly enough, was for Lord Harry, but that was just silly. Of course he wouldn’t stroll through her house and rap at her bedroom door this late at night. No, indeed. He’d be far more likely to try to climb in through her window.

  Except that he probably couldn’t be bothered. He’d made it plain earlier he’d had more than his fill of her. Perhaps he was off trying to climb into Maria’s window—he had seemed to enjoy her company rather much. Not that it mattered one way or the other, of course. Maria claimed she did not care for Lord Harry, and Penelope reminded herself that neither did she.

  She was angry and done with him. Her silly brain had no reason at all to continually conjure his image, the warmth of his touch, the sweetness of his kiss…

  Oh, so infuriating! Now, even gone from her life, he was robbing her of sleep. Indeed, she had every reason to be angry with him.

  Not to mention whomever was still rapping at her door.

  “Yes, yes. Come in,” she called, tucking the blanket around her and expecting her maid.

  It was not the maid. It was Anthony. What could bring him here at this hour? Had something happened?

  “What is it?” she asked quickly.

  “This arrived for you, just now,” he said, handing her a letter.

  A letter? Goodness, but who would send a letter in the middle of the night? It could only mean something dreadful!

  “Who sent it? Where is it from?” she asked, not reaching for it even though Anthony stood just feet away, holding it out to her.

  “I cannot guess,” he replied. “But since it arrived by some anonymous boy who would not give it to a servant but insisted on waiting for you, I’m assuming it must be important. I had to become rather firm to get it from him.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It says it is only to be opened by you.”

  “But what can it be about?”

  “Perhaps if you would open it you might get some of your answers,” he said, practically shoving it at her.

  Clearly there was no way to avoid it. She snatched the letter from his hand. If Lord Harry had been brutally shot, then she might as well know of it.

  “Well?” he asked. “If it is some vulgar thing from your former fiancé, I assure you I’ll—”

  “No, it is not,” she said, suddenly full of relief on that count but at the same time, dark confusion on another. “It is from Maria.”

  “Miss Bradley? At this hour?”

  Indeed, that concerned her, as well. She scanned through the letter rapidly.

  Dearest P.

  When you receive this, I will be gone. I am eloping! All is planned to prevent our discovery until we have made good our scheme. I know this must seem very shocking and sudden, but I hope that you—above all people—might see to forgive me and perhaps even wish me happy. I simply could not leave without giving you a word, my dearest friend.

  The gentleman is good and worthy, though you have made your differing opinion clear. I dare not write his name here, but you will, no doubt, guess. You are aware he visited me today, and I only wish our need for secrecy did not prevent me from telling you more.

  I love him, and pray someday to have your blessing.

  It was not signed, but of course she knew her friend’s handwriting on sight. She did not, however, know how to make sense of the letter. Could it be true? Maria was eloping? Good heavens!

  “What is it?” Anthony asked.

  “It is Maria,” she replied, not quite sure what else to say. “She has run off.”

  “Run off?”

  “With a man, apparently.”

  “What!?”

  “I’ve read through it twice, yet I can scarce believe it.”

  “I can not believe it,” Anthony said. “Miss Bradley has run away with a man?”

  “She is female, you know. There’s no need to gape as if such a thing were an assault on nature.”

  “Yes, but…what is she doing running off with a man?”

  “They are eloping, of course.”

  “Impossible! Miss Bradley has been nothing but a wallflower all these years. Who on earth could she possibly find to elope with?”

  Penelope had to swallow a few times before she found her voice to answer.

  “I’m afraid it might be Lord Harry.”

  It was a ridiculous notion, of course. Why on earth should Lord Harry run away with Maria? More importan
tly, why should Maria run away with him? She claimed she did not very much like the man. Still, Penelope had seen the two of them together. Indeed, there was no one else Penelope could think of who had paid a visit on Maria during the day. Who else could it be but Lord Harry?

  Heavens, but she suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

  “Chesterton? Are you certain?”

  She nodded. “I saw them together today. He has made it a point to befriend Maria at every possible opportunity. It must be him.”

  “She names him?” he asked, leaning in to view the letter.

  At this point, there was little reason to hide it. She handed the letter up to him.

  “She indicates that it is him,” she explained. “See? She knows I will guess it, then begs my forgiveness. It can only be him; I know he visited her today. I saw them walking, deep in conversation. Planning this…this travesty, no doubt.”

  “You are not in favor of it?”

  “Certainly not! He’s not fit for someone so true and gentle as Maria Bradley.”

  “How true can she be if she elopes with her best friend’s fiancé?”

  “Former fiancé, may I remind you.”

  “Indeed, yet I thought I clearly detected a bit of attachment between the two of you.”

  “Of course Maria and I are attached. We’ve been friends for years, since—”

  “Not you and Maria, you and Chesterton.”

  “As you can see, any attachment you thought you detected was clearly imagined.”

  “Clearly. And these are tears of joy for your friend you’re shedding now?”

  “I am not shedding tears!”

  “Something in your eye, perhaps?”

  “You know, a dear friend of mine could be making the worst mistake of her life. It might be nice if you were to think of ways to help her rather than stand here in my chamber and accuse me of sentiment that I assure you I do not feel.”

  “You want me to help? How, exactly?”

  “We’ve got to stop them from running away, of course!”

  “So you do want Chesterton for yourself.”

  “No, I want to save my friend!”

  “Which would leave Chesterton for you.”

  “No! I don’t want him. I want you to save Maria from him!”

  He seemed to miss the point completely. Unconcerned, he simply shrugged. “And why is this suddenly my responsibility?”

  “Because you care about Miss Bradley and don’t want to see her victimized by this blackguard.”

  “You mean the blackguard you were desperate to save from Burlington just earlier today?”

  “That was before I realized just how much of a blackguard he was. Honestly, Anthony, stop trying to change the subject. We must think of a way to help Maria.”

  “And just what would you have me do, Penelope?”

  “Well, go after her!”

  “Go where?”

  “Scotland, probably. Please, Anthony. It’s the only way to save her; find them and bring her home. Surely they haven’t gotten far yet. Find her, bring her home, and then no one will ever need to know about this!”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. Hurry! Get going! They must be headed north. We know Lord Harry has little money, but perhaps he sold that lovely carriage you gave him…”

  “No, actually. He sent it back to me.”

  “He did? He told me that, but I didn’t know if I could believe him.”

  “Apparently you can. Penelope, what is really going on here? I don’t see how—”

  Before she could interrupt him to beg him to hurry, he was instead interrupted by the sound of someone pounding at the front door below.

  “What the devil could that be?” he asked.

  She could only shrug and admit that she truly had no idea. Surely Maria’s aging auntie could never pound so hard. Grumbling, Anthony marched out of her room and she heard his boots echoing down the stairway. Whoever was pounding below would certainly be in for a treat, disrupting Anthony while so much chaos was already going on around them.

  With luck it might be positive information from Maria. Perhaps the couple had not gone off as planned, after all. Penelope dashed over to her window and looked down into the street to find out for herself.

  She could tell nothing. No carriage was visible, and whoever was still beating the door was far too near the house for her to see from her vantage point directly above. She carefully opened her window just a crack in hopes of recognizing voices.

  The pounding ceased as she heard the front door creak open.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” Anthony’s voice boomed out.

  “No doubt. Is your sister here? Is she well?”

  It was Lord Harry. Thank heavens! He was not gone with Maria, after all. Even better, he was here, asking after her!

  “Of course she is here, not that I have any intention of letting you see her, though.”

  “Is she well? Has there been any trouble?” Lord Harry went on.

  “What the devil are you ranting about? Yes, she’s well.”

  “Are you certain? Is she in her bed?”

  “I hardly think that’s any business of yours, Chesterton.”

  “Have you looked in on her? Is she truly there?”

  “Of course she is. Where else would she be at this hour? And what in St. Peter’s name have you been about with Miss Bradley? That letter arrived and got Penelope all in a lather.”

  “Letter? What letter? Have you already heard something from the kidnappers?”

  Anthony was understandably perplexed. “Kidnappers? What kidnappers?”

  Good heavens! Kidnappers? Perhaps Maria hadn’t run off at all. Perhaps she’d been kidnapped and that letter she’d received had been simply to throw them off the track. Oh, but thank God Lord Harry had shown up to inform them. Something must be done!

  Pulling the window shut, she grabbed up her wrapper and ran to the corridor. She had to get downstairs and make sure Anthony was going to act. His tone of voice had sounded like he’d very much rather just slam the door in Lord Harry’s face and forget he’d heard anything of this. She could not let that happen. Poor Maria! What on earth could be happening to her?

  She was several paces away from her bedroom and just about to put her foot down onto the first step heading toward the lower floor when someone grabbed her from behind. She was pulled up so sharply all the air pressed out of her lungs. A heavy cloth was suddenly rammed over her mouth, muffling any sound she tried to make. These actions were so sudden, so unexpected, that for half a heartbeat she was simply stunned, unable to react in any sensible manner.

  When at last her instinct kicked up and she realized her urgent need to struggle, arms were holding her tightly, that cloth being stuffed mercilessly into her mouth as she vainly thrust her head back and forth trying to dislodge it and break free. It was no good. Panic took over and she staggered, flailing and kicking. Her assailant was strong, though, and nothing she did seemed to have any effect. Good heavens! She was being dragged away from the stairway, down the corridor and back into the shadows.

  Nothing made sense. Who held her? She could not turn her head and see. Perhaps more than one set of arms pressed against her, keeping her from escape and holding her upright, though her thrashing legs surely were not making their job easy. She choked and gagged on that horrible cloth. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath; her chest was tight from restraint and another cloth was held tightly over her nose. It smelled dreadful when she could drag in a short draft of air.

  But not enough. She could feel her struggles becoming weaker as the shadows around her played frightfully over the walls. She was being taken into the narrow servants’ passage—felt herself being pulled down the confining staircase there.

  Clearly she detected hushed voices. Course, unrefined tones muttered curses at her struggles, and she had the impression of two people working together at the task of hauling her against her will down to the
servants’ rooms. It was impossible to fathom; who on earth could think they might treat her this way and not face serious consequences? Surely Anthony would hear her struggles. And Lord Harry was nearby, too. No doubt he would never allow such a thing.

  But the shadows grew darker and the voices more unintelligible. She staggered, her legs crumbling beneath her. She needed air…needed to breathe…

  “I’M ASKING IF YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY POSITIVE THAT PENELOPE is safely upstairs in her room?” Harris repeated himself, as patiently as possible.

  Rastmoor’s condescension was wearing thin.

  “Yes, of course she is,” the man replied, obviously not hearing what Harris was trying to convey. “Where else would she be?”

  “Damn it, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Harris went on. “Someone is planning to kidnap her!”

  “You’re mad. Who on earth would want Penelope?”

  “Any number of people for any number of unpleasant purposes, I’m afraid.”

  “And just which people and what unpleasant purposes are you concerned about at the present time?”

  “I’m not certain. I was—”

  “Not certain? You’ve come pounding on my door claiming she is in danger and you haven’t any idea from whom?”

  “What the hell difference does it make? I was making my way into Burlington’s back hallway when I overheard—”

  “You were what? Breaking into Burlington’s house?”

  “That’s not the point here!”

  “It’s likely a point for Burlington.”

  “The man is involved in some rather unsavory things, and—”

  “And what does that have to do with my sister? What have you gotten her into, Chesterton?”

  “I’m attempting to tell you if you’d kindly stop interrupting me at every turn! I was just now at Lord Burlington’s house, where I overheard some disreputable men plotting to get her. They plan to take her tonight!”

  “Whatever for?”

  “For ransom; for anger toward me; for outright spite; who knows! The important thing is that you are aware of the threat and can make absolutely certain she will not be harmed.”