However, the last thing she needed was to develop a fancy for a man. She was still angry at Gabriel for risking his life in that stupid carriage race. She’d begged him not to go. Cocksure, as usual, he’d kissed her goodbye and tweaked her nose, telling her she worried too much.
That was the last time she’d seen him alive. He’d been thrown from the carriage, landing in such a way that he’d broken his neck. Rage, tears, and depression had taken over her life for months.
After her narrow escape from Lord Barton, she’d only been in London and at her new situation at the bank for a few weeks when Gabriel Pennyworth had appeared one morning and begun to take notice of her. A well-placed solicitor and the third son of a viscount, he had not been exactly handsome but had possessed a personality that charmed women wherever he went.
Including her.
Only a month after their marriage, all her hopes for a happy life with a husband, a comfortable home, and children, had vanished on a rainy Saturday morning at Hyde Park. The arrival of her menses a week later had added to her sorrow for the child who was not to be.
The owner of a sizeable trust fund from his grandparents, Gabriel had left her with a lovely townhouse, along with a nice income that would last the rest of her life.
One would think, after her experience with Lord Barton, she would realize no man could be trusted. Gabriel had promised to love, honor, and cherish her. What sort of honor was risking your neck in a carriage race with a group of ninnyhammers? She intended to take care of herself from now on, which was why it rankled to have to ask Mr. Baker for help.
“Are you planning any social events in the near future?” Mr. Baker’s deep voice cut into her musing.
“I have accepted an invitation to a poetry reading at Mrs. Bertha Ainsley’s home tomorrow evening.”
Mr. Baker pulled a face, which piqued her curiosity. “Why do you ask?”
“Right now, it appears your persecutor is a member of your social circle. The best way for me to uncover this culprit is to attend the events where you will be. Since I do not travel in your circles, I will need to accompany you as your escort. Although I abhor poetry, would it be difficult to obtain an additional invitation to this affair? Also to any others you will be attending?”
She pursed her lips, mentally reviewing the various occasions on her social calendar. “No, I do not believe it will be a problem.”
He placed his pen back into its holder on the desk and stood. “Excellent. I will call for you at…”
Startled at his abrupt change of demeanor, she hesitated. “Oh, the reading begins at eight o’clock, so I would think seven-thirty or so shall do it.”
“Please give your direction to Mr. Gleason as you leave.”
She scrambled to gather her things at being so summarily dismissed. “But…we haven’t discussed your fee. Or whether you think you can assist.”
“Madam, if I could not assist in the search for this man, I would not be foisting my company upon you. As far as my fee, I will charge you less than you expected, yet more than you had hoped.” He offered a smile, enough for her to realize the man had a smile that should be declared illegal. White even teeth, full lips, and small lines alongside his mouth that gave him a rakish look. None of which I need note.
He clutched her elbow and walked her to the door of his office. “Don’t forget to leave your information with Mr. Gleason.”
Her head spinning with the energy emanating from Mr. Baker, she nodded and made her way to the front office where she gave the needed information to the secretary. Feeling hopeful, she left the building, took a deep breath, and was immediately overtaken with a spasm of coughing from the ever-present coal dust in the air.
She headed to the hansom cab she’d arrived in, since her coachman, Bones, had developed an ague, and she had insisted he stay abed.
Thinking ahead to tomorrow’s poetry reading and being accompanied, of all people, by a private investigator, she let herself into her house and headed straight for the kitchen. Another cup of tea would be just the thing to settle her nerves and help her decide what to wear. Not that it made a whit of difference. This was just another social event.
…
Ensconced in a safe place, it was easy for M to watch the woman climb out of the rented equipage and hurry into her snug little house. Why was she not using her own carriage? Had she found it necessary to let the coachman go? To sell the carriage and pair? That would never do for sweet Anne.
Anne. Now going by the name of Charlotte. M sighed at her trickery.
Perhaps the next gift should be one of value, so she could sell it if she needed the funds. How comforting it would be to take care of her again. To watch her lovely face light up with pleasure at the little gifts. To remind her to wear a pelisse when it was chilly outside, and to be sure to eat breakfast since she tended to start her day with only a cup of chocolate.
Anne was such a delicate little thing and had brought great happiness to their life together. Except when she hadn’t. Memories returned of when it had been necessary to punish her. That was why other, more unpleasant, gifts had been left on her doorstep. The bloodied rose and dead bird would not have made her face light up with joy. Things that would make her sweet breath catch, and her delicate hand tremble. Reminders that she was being watched.
Turning away, the fog swirled around, enshrouding M on the short walk home. The wind picked up, and the fall weather with the abundance of colorful leaves, that Anne loved so much, took away some of the heaviness at her absence.
Tomorrow night would be another chance to gaze upon her, would even, perhaps, present the opportunity to speak with her. A smile burst forth at how Anne had failed to recognize her lover. M knew her and would always know her, no matter where she ran and hid.
Upon M’s arrival home, Mrs. Gearing, the neighbor next door, attempted to begin a conversation. There was no time for Mrs. Gearing. Preparations had to be made for tomorrow night’s poetry reading and seeing beloved Anne once more.
Chapter Two
Elliot chastised himself as he dressed for the blasted poetry reading. Several times since Mrs. Pennyworth had left his office, he’d considered sending a note explaining that time did not permit him to accept her case, after all.
Not a complete lie, since he did have other assignments, as well as some legal work that needed his attention. Of course, no other job required him to be available in the evenings, which was when he would be doing most of the work for his newest client.
Every time he thought of Mrs. Pennyworth, Annabelle’s face rose to mind. Her sweet countenance, her fake blushes, her batting eyelashes as she had lied through her teeth. There was no other way to put it. She’d made a fool of him, cost him his career as an Inspector, and put him on guard with every woman he’d met since.
Especially Mrs. Pennyworth, with her delightful round face, pleading eyes, and shaky hands. An act? Perhaps. Whatever she was about, he would bet his yearly income she was holding something back from him. He would have to remain cautious with her.
Returning his attention to the task at hand, he gave his best suit a good brushing, and dressed. Not having attended one of these functions before, he hoped his closely tailored slack suit with a wingtip collar and four-in-hand tie would be acceptable attire.
He was not attempting to impress Mrs. Pennyworth, merely endeavoring not to embarrass the woman. As a former Inspector with Scotland Yard, and now a private investigator and solicitor, his usual social engagements consisted of a round of boxing at Gentleman Jim’s, followed by a few mugs of ale in the local pub, or a snifter of brandy at his club.
While he pulled on various pieces of clothing, his mind once more wandered back to the disaster that Miss Annabelle Walters had caused. Lovely Annabelle, with her deep-brown eyes and wavy black hair. Beautiful, charming, sensuous. And deadly.
No matter how many times he castigated himself, he still felt anger at her duplicity. And his stupidity.
He had believed those s
ultry looks and promises of carnal pleasure. He’d fallen hard for her, spending much more time dancing attendance on her than concentrating on his work. He’d been assigned to meet a ship sailing from India with a jewel onboard to be transported to the Tower of London where the Crown Jewels were stored. Annabelle had pouted and complained that she would miss a theater performance to which she had demanded his escort.
It was after she had threatened to attend with another man who had been seeking her favors, that he’d passed the assignment off to an underling. The poor man had been crippled in the attempted robbery of the priceless piece. Weeks later, Annabelle, along with three men who had been her accomplices, had been arrested.
He’d been the one to handcuff her and place her into custody. The venomous words she’d hurled at him in front of the other Inspectors had brought him shame and disgust. After a very brief meeting with the Chief Inspector, Elliot had resigned. He’d spent the past two years attempting to recover his good name.
Now, he was once again working at the behest of a beautiful woman. One to whom he was unquestionably attracted. Unfortunately, due to the nature of her situation, the best method to uncover her tormentor was to delve into her world and spend time with her. He broke into a sweat at the thought of again falling under the spell of an unknown female, and placing his reputation on the line.
Besides attending social events, he would assign someone to watch her doorstep to see if the man could be caught that way, but it was highly unlikely the suspect left the repulsive objects himself.
Placing his derby on his head, he left the house to travel the two miles to pick up Mrs. Pennyworth. Night had fallen, and with the ever-present fog not too heavy, he eschewed hiring a hansom cab for such a short jaunt and instead chose to take the omnibus and then walk the short distance to her house.
The neighborhood changed as he made his way from his lower-middle-class flat to her upper-middle-class home. There was more space between the residences, and the front gardens were better kept. Most likely, these dwellers had permanent staff, as opposed to Elliot, who relied upon his landlady, Mrs. Murray, to clean his rooms, and provide him with breakfast each morning. He sent his laundry out and hired a horse or hansom cab when the need arose.
One day he might take a wife, but until he felt he had recovered his reputation, he would not saddle a woman with his name. If his standing as a crack private investigator, and a top-notch solicitor, continued to grow, he might consider marriage.
Mrs. Pennyworth would make some man a fine wife.
He snorted and shoved that idea from his mind. He barely knew her, had reason to believe she was hiding something, and she was above his station. He’d just spent a half hour reminding himself of the repercussions the last time a woman had distracted him. It was best to squash whatever fancy he might have for her and concentrate on getting the job done.
He was humming a tune by the time he reached her front step. He took a quick look around to see how visible the area was to someone he would send to watch. He could see down the street from both ways clearly enough.
A young fresh-faced parlor maid opened the door to his knock and escorted him to the drawing room—a well-appointed, lovely room.
Deep rose-colored patterned wallpaper covered the walls, with white wainscoting along the bottom. A plush decorative carpet protected most of the highly polished wooden floor. He groaned at the uncomfortable-looking, yet stylish furniture taking up a great deal of the floor space. ’Twas obvious no man had selected these pieces.
Dozens of knick-knacks, clocks, bowls, lamps, picture frames, figurines, and other whatnot decorated the area, giving him an immediate sense of claustrophobia. Yet, from the little he knew of Mrs. Pennyworth, the room looked very much like what he would have supposed. Attuned as he was for sounds, he knew immediately when she entered the room. The slight swish of a gown, mixed with the light scent of roses he’d noticed when she’d come to his office.
He turned, and wished he had not decided to conduct the investigation in this manner. His client was a stunning vision who robbed him of breath. Her deep-lavender dress displayed her form to perfection. Her warm smile and intelligent eyes suggested she was not just another pretty face. Mrs. Pennyworth possessed an inner core of steel that attracted him as much as her visage.
Despite the trouble her maid no doubt went to in arranging her hair, all he wanted to do was pull the pins holding up her golden tresses and run his fingers through its length.
I am in deep trouble.
He gave her a bow and smiled. “You look lovely this evening.”
She gave a quick curtsy in return which, given their stations, was not required, but she looked almost as confused as he felt. Before he could make a cake of himself, he extended his arm. “Shall we?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath and licked her lips, causing his lungs to seize. Every single drop of blood in his body traveled south, shouting hooray! After Elliot assisted with her cloak, they headed to the front door.
The muscles in her arm tensed as the parlor maid opened the door. He bent toward her, a whiff of her delectable scent filling his nostrils. A big mistake. “Do not concern yourself. There was nothing there when I arrived.”
She offered him a slight smile and relaxed as they stepped onto the empty front steps.
“Shall I fetch a hansom cab?”
“No. I have my own carriage. Yesterday, I arrived at your office in a hansom because my coachman was down with a chill, but he has recovered.”
No sooner had she finished her explanation when a smart carriage and matched pair rounded the corner from the mews and rolled to a stop in front of her house. Whoever Mr. Pennyworth had been, he’d certainly left his widow in a comfortable place.
Elliot waved at the coachman to stay where he was, opened the carriage door, and helped Mrs. Pennyworth in. He followed her, and when they were both settled, he tapped on the ceiling of the carriage, which rolled away to the familiar sound of horses’ hooves clomping on the cobblestones.
“Tell me a little bit about the poetry reading.”
Mrs. Pennyworth laughed, a light tinkling sound. Somehow, he had expected her laugh to be deeper, throatier. However, this appealed to him more, and suited her well. “Do you realize, Mr. Baker, that you wince every time you mention poetry?”
“I am afraid poetry is one art form that escapes me. If it rhymes, and the writer uses words that make sense, I can understand it. But I find most of it boring drivel.”
“Well, do not hold back, Mr. Baker. Please do tell me how you feel.” She tempered her words with another smile.
He offered her a lopsided grin in return. “I am afraid that is one of my character traits.”
“Therefore, I assume you do not suffer fools?”
“No, not at all.” He hesitated as he studied her. “’Tis something to remember.”
Her raised eyebrows were her only response.
Arriving at the townhome, they entered the room where the poetry reading was to take place. Mrs. Pennyworth nodded at a few people, most of whom were already seated. They took their seats, and Elliot looked around at the crowd of about forty people. His attention, of course, was on the men.
From what he could see, none of them were paying any special attention to Mrs. Pennyworth. All those who greeted her were friendly and seemed harmless enough. However, he knew from experience that meant nothing when it came to crime. Some of the most congenial people committed the most horrendous misdeeds.
After about ten minutes, an older lady moved to the front of the room. The feathers in her hair wobbled as she nodded and welcomed everyone, and announced the first reader. Elliot groaned inwardly and prayed he could stay awake.
One final sweep of the room revealed no one looking in their direction. Satisfied that, for the moment, he could relax his guard, he gave his attention to the young man at the podium with a sheaf of papers, adjusting his horn-rimmed spectacles.
Let the torture begin.
…
Although she would never admit it, Charlotte was no great fan of poetry herself. In fact, she had rather enjoyed Mr. Baker’s description of it. She also felt if it didn’t rhyme, it wasn’t poetry. The only reason she had accepted the invitation was because her dear friend’s son was offering a reading of his poems.
Mr. Alvin Macon was third in the program, and his mother, Lady Oldridge, was unable to appear due to attending her daughter in Bath. The woman had just delivered her third child and desperately needed her mother’s assistance.
Lady Oldridge had never accepted that her daughter had married a member of the merchant class. As such, she did not live in a grand house, have a horde of servants to see to her every need, and had to actually—gasp—deal with her own children as they did not employ a full-time nurse and governess.
Even so, she had agreed to help her daughter, with the strict understanding that she would only entertain the two older children, and not deal with the new baby. Charlotte adored the woman, even though she sometimes found her insufferable. She’d never told Lady Oldridge of her own meager beginnings, of being forced into service in a noble’s home when she was seventeen years.
Papa’s older brother, who had acted, rather reluctantly, as her guardian after her parents had perished in a carriage accident, had given her from the age of fifteen to seventeen to find a husband. When no one appealed, she was shipped off to her first servant job. In fact, Charlotte had never told anyone about her background. She still worried about the theft charges brought by Lord Barton. She was certain he had carried through on his threat, and right now there was a warrant for her arrest hovering over her head.
Oftentimes, in the dead of night, she would awaken and think of how her comfortable life could disappear in a blink. She shivered at the thought.
“Are you chilled, Mrs. Pennyworth?” Mr. Baker’s smooth voice brought her back to where she was. Safe in Mrs. Ainsley’s drawing room, among friends and acquaintances, who liked and respected her.
As safe as anyone could be with an unknown man leaving upsetting items on her doorstep. “Yes, perhaps a bit.” ’Twas better to say that than explain to Mr. Baker about her past. A past he would surely question, considering what she had hired him for. Former Inspectors were not of the ilk to dismiss a pending arrest warrant, nor view the recipient thereof in a favorable light.
The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth Page 2