Grandpapa coughed, then said, “My Penny doesn’t suffer fools gladly, boy. And she doesn’t forgive easily, either. Just ask your brother.” He coughed again, then fumbled for a glass of brandy.
Penny put it into his hand, against her better judgment. “And you ought to know better than to exhaust yourself, especially by encouraging budding libertines.”
“Well, you ought to have more fun, my dear.”
She would, as soon as West came home.
At Lady Gossage’s waltz party that night, Penny took on the unfamiliar role of chaperone. Lady Bainbridge stayed home claiming a sour stomach, most likely the same one affecting Nicky at the thought of a dancing party among the schoolroom set.
Lud, Penny felt ancient, shepherding her two step-siblings. She was not as old as the mothers of the other debutantes about to make their come-outs, the girls not quite ready for grand affairs. Nor was she as young as the dancers, who would not be permitted to waltz in public until approved by patronesses of Almack’s, or some such nonsensical rule. They had to know how to perform the steps, though, in case. Their partners were spotty-faced brothers and underage cousins and raw country connections, all as reluctant as Nicky.
Somewhere between generations, Penny found a seat between two pillars, like a cabbage plant in a rose garden. Her lips rose at the analogy, and a woman close to her own age smiled back at her, as if accepting the invitation to sit in a nearby spindly chair. Mrs. Curtis was a widow, bringing out her younger sister. Penny found a new friend, someone to converse with, and a new committee to join.
Together they kept an eye on the dancers. Penny also kept a careful watch on Nicky, making sure he did not scarper out the back door while she was discussing the dire situation of war widows left destitute.
He dutifully danced with the hostess’s daughter, then with Mavis, the elder Miss Entwhistle. They were laughing, wagering on how many times the other pairs bumped into them. Mavis’s honest laughter, not the high-pitched giggle she usually affected, was a happy sound among the glum couples who were concentrating on the steps and the tempo. In addition, Penny was glad to see, she was not flirting with Nicky. Of course not; he had no title. He was an excellent dancer, though, just like his brother.
He returned Mavis to Penny’s side and gave her a pleading look. Penny was pitiless, however. She nodded toward Amelia, who was standing nearby, staring at her feet.
Nicky bowed. “Miss Amelia, I would be honored to partner you in the next set.”
Still looking down, Amelia accepted his hand and followed him to the dance floor to wait for the music to begin again.
Incredibly, Nicky had Amelia flashing her pretty smile within minutes, and actually engaging in a conversation. Penny was amazed, although she realized she should not have been so surprised. Nicky had a charming manner, also just like his brother.
Seeing Amelia so animated, other young men later asked her to dance, and she skipped off with Lady Gossage’s jug-eared nephew.
“Good grief,” Penny told Nicky, “you have worked a miracle. What did you speak about to bring her out of her shell?”
He shrugged. “Poetry. She knows a great deal about it.”
“Do you?”
“Next to nothing. But I went to school with an almost-famous poet, Gareth Culpepper.”
“The one who goes to the Lake District in the summer?”
“Don’t they all?”
“Is Mr. Culpepper in London, do you think?”
“Of course. Not even Gary can bore people in the shires all year, can he? And he needs to see his publisher here in Town.” He stroked his chin, thinking. “I don’t suppose you’d want me to invite him to your ball, would you?”
“I could kiss you!”
He stepped back, looking around to make certain no one heard her. “I’d be content if you let me off your leash.”
Penny laughed. “Go. You have done enough for the night.”
“Ah, but the night is just beginning. Are you sure you do not need my escort?”
Penny looked around at the other guests, boys who barely shaved and girls who were putting their hair up for the first time. “I think we will be safe enough here, and on the carriage ride home with the footman and a guard Mr. Parker insisted upon.”
Nicky looked torn. His brother had asked him to look after his wife, but nothing was said about dancing with budding wallflowers. “How about if we had one waltz together before I leave?”
Penny’s new friend nodded her agreement.“Go on and dance, Lady Westfield. You should enjoy yourself, too.”
She would, when West came home.
Oh, how she would enjoy locking her bedroom door, after calling him every slimy name she could think of, in return for Lady Greenlea’s morning call.
Penny was near her front door waiting for Lady Bainbridge when the widow arrived, so she could not deny West’s former lover, who was dressed all in green, of course, with a green-painted carriage waiting outside. But the gall of the woman! The nerve! The emeralds at her throat!
Penny would not curtsy, despite being the younger woman. A lot younger, Penny thought with satisfaction, noting the other’s careful application of cosmetics. A viscountess outranked a mere baronet’s widow anyway. “I am on my way out,” she announced in cool tones.
“I seek a mere moment of your time, my dear, to avoid further awkwardness and gossip.”
Penny could not see how a visit could halt the inevitable talk, but she nodded and showed her unwelcome guest to a bench down the hall set aside for waiting servants or uninvited callers.
“And I wanted to warn you, before it is too late. Woman to woman, you know.”
“Warn me?” Penny’s chill turned to ice.
“About West. You’ll never hold him, you know. I do not wish to see your heart broken.”
“We are married. I do not need to worry over ‘hold ing’ him.”
The other woman laughed. “You cannot be that innocent.”
Penny prayed for Lady Bainbridge to hurry, or Parker to return with her cape. “I will not discuss my marriage, madam.”
“That is too bad. West and I discussed it at length.”
Now Penny could feel the color drain from her cheeks down to her leaden toes. He wouldn’t, would he?
“Oh yes,” Lady Greenlea went on. “You see, after years of marriage I never conceived. West needed an heir, naturally, so we could not wed. Not that I would have him, of course. Only a foolish heiress places the keeping of her fortune into the hands of a handsome wastrel. Oh, but you did just that, didn’t you?”
Penny found her feet, and her way to the front door. “You waste your time. West and I are married, and he will keep his vows.” She put as much confidence as she could into the words, perhaps more than she felt. “So there is nothing here for you.”
“But of course there is. The game, don’t you know.”
Penny opened the door. “Marriage is no game. It is my life, mine and West’s. He loves me and I love him.”
Lady Greenlea turned on her way out. “Then you are doubly a fool.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Lord F. and his lady shared their fine house for thirty years of wedded bliss after their arranged marriage . . . she in the east wing, he in the west wing, a false wall between them.
—By Arrangement, a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber
3One horse threw a shoe. Another threw West. That’s what he got for not paying attention to the road and the rabbit that crossed his path. Instead he’d been thinking of his wife, and how quickly he could get back to her.
Not quickly enough. The storage barn was almost completely destroyed, damage to the stables was more extensive than he’d thought, and many of the horses were injured or missing. Worse, the stable manager had suffered a seizure after the steward sent his letter to West. McAlbee was the finest trainer, breeder, and veterinarian West knew—and now he was incapacitated, for who knew how long. Possibly worst of all, the local magistrate sus
pected the fire had been purposely set, likely by a senior groom that McAlbee had fired for drinking on the job. The man was still on the loose, so the grooms were looking for him, the missing horses, and any further threats.
Most of West’s money went to hiring extra men as guards and carpenters to rebuild the barn and the stable. He set up a pension for McAlbee, replaced the burned fodder, and offered a reward for the arrest of Fred Nesbitt.
Most of his energy went to working beside the men or with the injured horses, doctoring what he could, grieving when he couldn’t. He fell into his bed at night, barely noticing that his ancestral home was damp, dank, and dirty, with no one caring for it. He hadn’t been able to keep on an indoor country staff while he lived in London, or fix the leaking roof and smoking chimneys. How the hell was he going to bring Penny here? Damn, he should have held out for Sir Gaspar to make this place fit for a lady, too.
Or he could borrow money from his wife. The idea made him as sick as thinking of a person who could harm defenseless horses. If Fred Nesbitt was nearby, he was as good as dead.
Unfortunately, he did not seem to be nearby. So how could West leave? The bastard might have left the neighborhood, or he might be hiding out in some game-keeper’s hut, waiting to make another move against McAlbee and Westfield itself. West could not take a chance on guessing wrong, leaving his men, his horses, his property, subject to a drunkard’s grudge.
West drove himself and his men harder, raising the reward, battering at the magistrate’s door to keep the man and his deputies looking. The missing horses were rounded up, repairs were under way, one of the senior stablemen was promoted to replace McAlbee, and some of the new men had wives willing to clean the manor house in exchange for food and lodgings. Some worked in hopes of permanent positions when he brought his bride home. Hah! As if she’d come.
She’d never forgive him for missing the blasted ball, the date for which was looming ever closer. Nor could West blame her. He’d left her in London knowing few people, burdened with his ramshackle residence and her own impossible relations, in addition to the improbable task of finding husbands for some of them. If he had it to do again, he’d still leave for the sake of their future, but he regretted the need.
Poor Penny, he thought, she didn’t even know how to dress or act like a lady, or what was expected of her as a viscountess. She definitely did not know how to weed out the fortune hunters and rakes from her stepsisters’ suitors. They’d be there aplenty, like hounds scenting a scrap of meat.
Damn, what if she fell susceptible to one of those hounds—one of those heartless hedonists—herself? A beautiful woman with a fortune of her own and more coming when her father died was an irresistible lure. The hunters might already be circling their prey. They all knew he’d left her on her own days after the wedding. There was no way that news would not spread through London like the fog. Penny would look like fair game to every philanderer in London. And she just might be mad enough, distressed enough, lonely enough, to listen to some silver-tongued devil with evil intentions. She had not known enough compliments in her life, enough caring, to tell real affection from Spanish coin. He blamed himself for that, of course.
And for introducing her to the pleasures of sex. Jupiter, she took to it like a duck to water. He might as well have been the arsonist, starting a fire that went out of control. What if she thought he wasn’t coming back? Would she take a lover?
Only if she wanted her lover to join Fred Nesbitt in hell.
West rode to every hedge tavern and cutthroat hideaway in miles. Well-armed, and with murder in his eyes, he was safe enough. No one tried to rob him, which he almost regretted. A good fight might have relieved some of his pent-up frustration. His wife was waiting. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and tell her he couldn’t live without her. He wanted to make sons with her, and yellow-haired daughters.
He wanted to borrow money from her? He was a worse dastard than the missing stable hand.
He left bribes, drank foul brews, and visited more whores in one week than he had in a lifetime, only now he was looking for answers, not pleasure. A lot of people knew Nesbitt. No one had seen him since the fire. West kept looking, ready to take justice into his own hands.
If he was forced to miss Penny’s party, he might as well be dead. West, not Nesbitt.
He sent a message, but couldn’t put into words what she meant to him, what being away from her did to him. He was a man, dash it, not a poet. Everything he tried to write sounded silly or insincere, so he decided to wait until he could see her, face-to-face, hopefully before she shot him.
Penny’s thoughts were equally as murderous, and not only about Lady Greenlea’s words. The widow was a woman scorned, trying to cause trouble, Penny told herself. That was all the viper meant, to have her vengeance. Penny almost convinced herself, except one note, one short, impersonal note, was all West sent. And it arrived on the day she thought he’d be returning. But no, not only had the miserable worm run off, riding neck or nothing on unfamiliar roads and unfamiliar horses, but now her bridegroom was tracking down a drunk or deranged horse groom! How could he be so uncaring, so reckless, so very, very stupid? Didn’t West realize he had responsibilities now? He was probably enjoying himself playing at knight-errant detective, when he could be killed, the jackass! He’d gone and left her to worry, the same as she’d done with him in the army, only then she had worshipped him with a schoolgirl’s calf-love. Now she was a woman, a wife, a lover. She cursed his black heart for making her all of them.
She crumpled the note into a ball in her fist and went to throw it into the fire. Then she smoothed it out and reread it, especially the signature line. Yrs., West. She touched his writing and his name, and the Yrs. The chow derhead couldn’t even commit to the ou in yours.
He was hers. And she was his. To the devil with jealous lovers. If he got killed, she’d . . . she’d step on his grave. No, she’d take his lifeless body and hang it from a pole, so every man could see the rewards of a reckless, feckless life, and every woman could be warned about the grief in store for her. No, she’d cement him into the family crypt, so he couldn’t run away ever again. No, she’d . . . go shopping.
The house was almost ready for its debut, and so were the Entwhistle females. Lady Bainbridge had the young ladies in hand, and was chaperoning them this afternoon to still another gathering for fledglings. Lady Goldwaite was content to let someone else do all the tedious traipsing about, as long as the girls were with the proper sort of gentlemen, which meant of titled families. She was wise enough to know that her presence was a handicap to her daughters’ chances, reminding the toplofty nobs of their connection to trade.
Michael Cottsworth had offered to drive them all, which filled his carriage, which gave Penny the excuse to stay behind. Besides, the former officer and the widow seemed to have a great deal to speak of, and Penny would have been in the way.
Nicky had not been home since the waltzing party, as far as Penny knew. He was most likely avoiding her and any more escort duty. So much for his promise to stand by his brother’s wife.
Grandpapa was off to his favorite chemist, having more of his paint colors mixed, then to visit another of his old artist friends, this one married to a woman young enough to be his granddaughter. Mr. Littleton was looking forward to seeing old Jamison, before the man suffered a heart attack.
Penny took her maid along to Bond Street. Not that she felt in need of a companion or the escort of another female. She was not the one in danger. But the gossipmongers in London looked for any chance to stir up a scandal, and breaking with the conventions would set tongues wagging. Besides, Penny knew she would need help carrying the thirteen parcels she intended to buy.
Thirteen gifts, that’s what would be waiting for West when he got home, not an angry, agitated wife, no shouts or recriminations or reasons to leave again. He’d given her that number of presents, one for each birthday he’d missed, and she was determined
to show West that she held him in equal esteem and affection. She might not say the words, and he might not believe her actions were genuine or sincere, but perhaps this would nudge him into understanding her feelings—and his own.
She knew he needed a new robe, not that he wore it for longer than the steps between his room and hers. Still, his dressing gown was frayed at the cuffs, so purchasing a new one was an easy decision. She selected a dark brown velvet that matched his eyes, and took the garment home to embroider with his monogram and family crest.
He never carried a watch, so she bought him a beautiful timepiece from a fashionable jeweler. The outer casing held an engraved compass, and the delighted clerk assured her they could affix a diamond chip at west. The watch also had a tiny chime for the hour, but that could be turned off with its own winding key. She blushed when the clerk explained that some gentlemen did not wish to hear the chime in the middle of the night.
When he saw her still looking in other cases, the eager salesman suggested a snuffbox. “They are all the thing with the gentlemen,” he said to this obviously wealthy patron. “Many of them have a different snuffbox for every day of the week, or to match each ensemble.”
“My husband does not take snuff. Or smoke,” she offered, when he started toward a gold pipe stand.
“A new stickpin for his neckcloth, perhaps?” The man took a tray of pins from one of the glass cases.
West had his favorite, and several others, Penny knew, but she was attracted to an interesting piece, a tiny gargoyle holding a ruby in its hands. She thought West might like that, so had the clerk wrap it for her to take with her.
“Now perhaps I might show you something for milady?” He gestured to trays of rings and brooches.
“Oh no, I am shopping for my husband today.”
The clerk smirked, as if that ever stopped a female customer from looking. “Your anniversary, perhaps?”
The Bargain Bride Page 21