“Your wedding, Wellingham. Need I remind you?”
“I have a full week before that takes place,” Beau said. “We do not know how long St. Croix will remain in the country.”
“Very well,” Castlereagh said.
Beau left the meeting feeling more focused than he had since the affair at the Randolphs’ ball that had changed his life.
Chapter Nine
Elise insisted that, though they were tired from their journey, they must go to her modiste that very afternoon. It was essential if Penelope was to have a wedding gown.
“I wish I knew what color Beau is planning to wear,” Penelope said with a little laugh. “I would not clash with him for the world. Our marriage is causing enough talk without that, I imagine.”
Elise laughed as well. “We will send him a swatch of fabric from your gown so that he can arrange his wardrobe requirements.”
The duchess’s modiste was a tiny woman with white hair piled upon her head so high it almost resembled the Georgian fashion. Penelope had never seen so many selections of fabric. She knew not where to even begin choosing.
“First, we must decide on the fabric, mademoiselle,” said Madame Bellon. “I think the brocade would not be a good selection. You are too young to wear the brocade.” She swept those fabric samples to one side.
“I think satin to be too heavy for the spring,” said Penelope. “I should like something delicate, like silk tissue.”
“Ahh, you have the good taste, mademoiselle. I agree completely.” She drew out samples of the whisper-thin fabric. “With this, you must have an underskirt of plain silk, and perhaps a net overskirt, embroidered like this?” Madame Bellon said. From underneath the table, she pulled a bolt of white net embroidered with the palest of pink roses.
“Oh, yes!” Penelope said. “I must have the roses. They will remind me of Mama.”
Elise said, “Exquisite. Do you have this pale pink in silk tissue for the gown?”
Like a conjurer, Madame Bellon presented the perfect match. Penelope folded her hands under her chin. “Perfect!”
“Now we need to decide on the style. I think something very simple that will show off your delicate figure. We do not want you smothered in the flounces and the furbelows.”
For the next half hour, Penelope and Elise watched a succession of mannequins model possible styles. At length, they decided on a modest gown with long sleeves puffed at the shoulder, a square neckline, a small train, and a satin ribbon tied beneath the bosom, trailing to the floor. Her veil was to be made of the rose netting.
As she was being measured, Penelope experienced one of those little bursts of reality where she realized that she was indeed going to be married. Beau’s face rose in her imagination, wearing the tender look it had worn when they danced together. The vision was quickly chased away by her practical self.
She was not going to think about that and raise false hopes in herself. Instead, she tried to picture him in wedding clothes.
“I do not think even Beau would wear a pink suit, do you, Elise?”
Her friend laughed. “With Beau, one never knows.”
-P-
At dinner that evening, Penelope asked her aunt and Miss Sukey about the gossip making its way around London.
“There is a lot of curiosity about who this Incomparable is for whom Beau risked his life. You are going to cut quite a dash in Town, my dear, with such a debut performance.”
“What are your political sympathies, Penelope?” asked Miss Sukey.
“I have never really thought about politics.”
“Perhaps we should do a little preparation in that arena, as well as your wardrobe and flowers,” said Miss Sukey. “Do you even know the difference between a Whig and a Tory?”
“I know we have a Tory prime minister and that people often blame him for these wars we are fighting.”
“Yes,” said Aunt Clarice. “That is a good place to start. The Tories are conservatives. They have never adjusted to our loss of the Colonies in America. As for Napoleon, they have drawn this war out by years.”
“Am I to understand that the two of you have Whig sympathies, then?”
“Decidedly. We favor reform at home,” said Miss Sukey. “But you are marrying a Tory—a Tory in government service, no less.”
“Perhaps you can be a good influence on him, dear,” said Aunt Clarice. “You can work with us in some of our charities, open his eyes to the needs of the poor. Tories are frightened to death of the poor. They think that giving them any kind of voice will result in revolution, like the aristocracy experienced in France.”
“What are your charities?” Penelope asked, interested. She had been active in working with the vicar at home to better the lot of the poor in her own parish, teaching them to read.
“Elise has a soup kitchen in the East End for wounded soldiers. It is run by Society matrons. Sukey and I have charity to provide literacy for the poor. We are also raising money to eventually create an orphanage and school for girls from the East End.”
Penelope warmed to the two ladies. “Those all sound like very good causes. I should love to be involved. I have actually taught reading the last two years.”
“Well, you will need to get Beau’s approval first, of course,” said Aunt Clarice.
“I cannot imagine that that will be a problem,” Penelope said. “One would think he would be glad of the chance for me to be employed in such excellent causes.”
“He is a Tory,” Miss Sukey repeated. “I like him well enough but for that.”
Penelope laughed at her friend’s severe expression. “I hope you will still like me when I am married to him.”
“No doubt you will be entertaining many a Tory in your home, dear,” said Aunt Clarice. “Perhaps even the prime minister.”
Penelope bit her lip in consternation. “That will certainly be terrifying. I have no idea what will be expected of me as a hostess. Must I be political?”
“It would not hurt for you to study up on the events of the day. You had best read The Times as well as The Morning Post,” said Aunt Clarice.
Penelope sat up straighter. “I shall begin tomorrow morning.”
-P-
As she lay in her bed that night, Penelope found herself wondering once again what it would be like to be married to someone out of obligation rather than love. Could there ever be love in her future?
Her parents had married for love. She remembered curling up in the chair in her mother’s dressing room as she was preparing to go out for the evening, listening to the stories of her parents’ courtship. In spite of the fact that her father’s noble rank had been decidedly below her grandfather’s, her parents had recognized that they were destined for each other almost immediately.
At first, they had been secretly engaged so that Penelope’s grandfather, the marquess, could come to know all the sterling qualities his daughter saw in the baronet. Mother had refused many proposals from other men of loftier rank in the meantime. Her grandfather was a proud man, and he had not made it easy for the pair.
Eventually, they obtained his permission, but Penelope had always sensed a bit of mystery about the affair. She knew that the course of true love had not been a smooth one.
Her situation was entirely different, and though she had managed to hide it from Elise and her aunt, she resented the fact. Beau had been perfectly civil to her, but was she never to know a lover’s touch? She got the feeling that he was steeling himself like a rider before a big jump.
Fortunately, she considered herself to be sensible. But what woman, in her heart of hearts, did not want to marry for love? Beau existed on another plane. He was a well-seasoned bachelor with a lover and a clandestine job. The ton was his milieu.
She could not see herself ever fitting in to such a life. Instead, she would exist somewhere on the fringes.
No matter how many times she punched up her pillow, Penelope could not get comfortable. Her life was about to change in ways she had no control over. She
slept but little that night.
Chapter Ten
After sending his fiancée a note requesting that she call upon them that afternoon at three o’clock for the purpose of meeting Arabella, Beau began his search for St. Croix at the Horse Guards. There, he inquired after the names of the most recent seriously wounded officers who had returned home from the Peninsula. There were three: Colonel Warburton, First Lieutenant Spencer, and Major Searle. All were expected to live and were recovering in their homes.
Colonel Warburton was the second son of Lord Desmond and was currently ensconced in their London residence in Mayfair with access to the best physicians. He had lost a leg below the knee. Beau determined to call on him at once.
He found the officer sitting on a lounge chair in the conservatory. “Colonel Warburton!” he greeted the man heartily, followed by a formal bow from the waist. “I’m Beau Wellingham, currently serving in the Foreign Office. I appreciate your seeing me.”
The man was deeply tanned, his handsome face lined in pain. He held Beau’s calling card in his hand and responded to the bow by inclining his head. “Viscount Wellingham. What the devil does the Foreign Office want with me?”
An embittered man. Beau did not blame him, but he knew he must tread carefully. “I know that anything I can say under the circumstances could never begin to express my regret over what you have endured. You have given your all for our country.”
“Not quite that. I came through with my life and my wits,” the man said shortly.
“Yes. And it is your wits I am counting on. I am looking for a man who is preying on wounded officers, posing as a French émigré, supposedly thanking them for their sacrifices to free his land from the ‘Corsican monster.’”
Anger shot from the Colonel’s eyes. “He’s a French spy, I suppose?”
“Indeed. A very deadly one by the name of St. Croix, though he uses other names, of course.”
“And you think I would fall for such a trick? You think I would give up vital information to a spy?”
“No. Of course I don’t. He has already approached Colonel Lawrence, who sent him packing and reported him to us. I only wished to know if he had approached you.”
“He has not.”
Beau indicated his calling card, lying now on the soldier’s side table. “Most likely, he will. If or when he does, I would appreciate your help. You can send me a note at that address.”
“I shall have my man bring me my pistol. I would rather shoot the blighter through the head.”
Beau grinned. “That would be a service to us all. But if that happens, be certain to inform me so I can stop looking for him.”
Warburton chuckled as Beau made his way out of the conservatory.
-P-
Arabella was tremendously thrilled at the idea of meeting his fiancée, and Penelope called with her aunt as arranged. When she arrived, turned out in an apricot walking dress with a liberty shawl, Beau noticed the purple smudges under her eyes, so evident with her fair looks. A concern for her well-being struck him. What was costing her sleep?
He berated himself. She was being constrained to marry a man she scarcely knew when she’d had every right to hope for so much more.
They met in the little sitting room where his sister was most comfortable. It was not at all grand, having been decorated in chintz fabrics of his sister’s choosing. “Pen,” Beau said, “I would like to present my sister, Miss Arabella Saunders. Arabella, my fiancée, Miss Penelope Swinton.”
His sister performed a little curtsey and giggled. “So, you are really willing to take on the task of taming the notorious Beau?”
“Arabella!” he said in his most quelling manner.
His fiancée responded, “Evidently, that is my duty. Can you give me any suggestions how this is to be done?”
His sister patted the sofa next to where she was sitting. “Come! Sit next to me. What a very lovely dress that is! And how beautiful you are!” Once Penelope was sitting, Arabella took her hands and answered her question, “He is a vast bully, as most men are, but I find that I can wear him down if I insist on my own way for long enough.”
Beau watched Arabella chatter away, amusing Penelope, whose exhaustion soon melted away, giving place to liveliness.
“I have always longed to have a little sister,” Penelope said. “I think we shall get along famously.”
Her words raised his spirits. He would be adding to her family circle, and that, he hoped, she would see as a good thing.
“I have ordered tea,” his sister said. “What are your favorite biscuits? I shall be sure to have them when next you come! Today, we are having strawberries. I do so love strawberries, do you not?”
“I am fond of lemon biscuits,” Penelope told her. “But I do find strawberries very pleasant.”
“Are you to have a wedding gown? What modiste do you patronize?”
Penelope opened her reticule and took from it a scrap of fabric. To his surprise, she said, “Beau, this swatch of my gown is for you. I should not want our ensembles to clash.”
He took the scrap. “Pink! I see I shall have to revise my plans.”
Raising an eyebrow, his fiancée said, “Surely you have something in a soft shade of blue? That would be best, I think.”
“It would certainly not do for us to clash,” he said, feigning seriousness he did not feel. “How very wise you were to bring this to me. I shall see what I can do.”
She smiled at him, a glint of humor in her eyes, and he wondered what she was thinking.
Arabella’s voice was enthusiastic. “You shall make a beautiful pair in pink and blue with your blonde hair and blue eyes. You could not have planned it better!”
“Shall you come to the duchess’s fete for us tonight?” Penelope asked.
Arabella’s expression changed into a heavy pout. “I am not yet out. It would not matter if this were just a family party, but Her Grace has invited Beau’s particular friends, as well. I think it very hard that I cannot go.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Penelope, flashing a look at him. “I did not know it was to be more than a family affair.”
“Shall you mind?” he asked. “The duchess asked me, and I found I did want my friends to make your acquaintance. You shall like them, I think. Sir Herbert Backman is a baronet like your father. We have been the best of friends since childhood. If you know the least little bit about horses, he will be very pleased. He is quite mad on the subject.”
“Is Viscount Strangeways to be there?” asked Arabella, looking at him from under her lashes.
“Yes, of course.” He spoke to his fiancée. “I have gone about with Lord Anthony Gibson, Viscount Strangeways, since Oxford days.”
Penelope asked, “And what are his interests?”
“Anything and everything,” Beau said. “We have had many adventures together.”
He noticed that his sister’s face had pinked.
“He is a handsome fellow,” he added.
Teatime passed agreeably, and Beau was very glad to see how well Penelope and his sister got on. This marriage would clearly be a good thing for Arabella. His hope grew that it would not be entirely miserable for Miss Penelope Swinton either.
-P-
The evening started out well enough. His valet had dressed him in robin’s egg blue, and he was able to suppress his earlier lack of enthusiasm toward the obligation. In fact, it was very good of the duke and duchess to have this celebration on such short notice.
Upon his arrival, the butler ushered him into the blue-and-gold drawing room where he was received by their graces. A footman offered him a glass of Madeira.
“I am so happy that you were available this evening, Beau!” said the duchess. “I do not imagine you have many evenings free during the Season. We have invited your friends so that they may meet your bride.”
When he looked up, it was to see his fiancée carrying on a conversation with Lord Anthony Gibson, Viscount Stangeways. Bertie was also present, in addition to Pe
nelope’s Aunt Clarice and her companion, Miss Sukey. Penelope’s father, who had arrived that day, conversed with the latter over near the fire. A striking beauty with auburn curls whom he knew to be the duchess’s sister, Fanny, approached him.
“Welcome to the family,” she said. “Never did I think to see the great Beau Wellingham fall to matrimony.” She lowered her voice. “Seriously, this was a nasty incident, and we are all very glad that you are, in truth, the gentleman you are reputed to be.”
Of course she would know the real story. She was Penelope’s cousin.
“I shall endeavor to make Miss Swinton a passable husband. I would not risk inciting your wrath, Miss Edwards.”
She gave a robust laugh. “How well you know me! Were I in Penelope’s situation, I think I would throw over society altogether and go on the stage!”
“It is good of you to support Penelope. Will your sister Sophie be here for the wedding? I am afraid neither of my brothers will be present.”
“Sophie wrote that she is planning to journey down from Derbyshire.”
“I am very glad.”
They were joined by Strangeways, who bowed. “Miss Edwards, how fine it is to see you again. Viscount Strangeways at your service. You once did me the honor of dancing with me.”
The woman laughed melodiously. “Ah, I hope I was not ill-behaved. Did I say or do anything outrageous?”
“You gave me a stiff lecture on my duty to the poor, I remember.”
“I am so sorry,” she said, extending a hand. “Forgive me?”
“Done,” he said. “In fact, I am now one of the gentlemen who escorts the ladies to your sister’s soup kitchen.”
“Ah! You are doing your bit, then! Excellent.”
“Beau,” said the viscount, “I heartily approve of your bride. She is far too good for you, however.”
“She is a beautiful little thing,” said Beau, “and without all the unfortunate baggage that attends a beauty in London.”
Her Fateful Debut: A Regency Romance (Three Gentlemen of London Book 1) Page 7