A Lady's Dilemma Or The Dandy and Lady Penelope

by Margaret Bennett

  Reflecting her astonishment, Miss Heaton’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “Yes, I can see that is exactly what you have achieved.”

  On his left, Max heard a giggle, which was quickly stifled. Turning, he met Lady Penelope’s crystal blue eyes, luminous in their merriment.

  ~~~~~

  Her giggle escaped before she could stop herself, for surely, the man spoke tongue in cheek?

  When Lord Aldwyn first arrived, she was taken aback first by his dramatic attire and his affected mannerisms. But then she focused on his face. With a strong jaw, hawk-like nose, dark curly hair, and intelligent sherry-colored eyes, she thought he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. His tall, lean build emphasized his broad shoulders, the narrow cut at the waist of his clawhammer jacket displayed his narrow hips and long muscular thighs. He was probably in his mid twenties, she decided.

  “Do you paint, Lord Aldwyn?” she asked when she realized he was smiling at her. He appeared even more handsome with white teeth contrasting his bronzed complexion, and Penelope felt her chest unaccustomedly constrict.

  “No, though I do like to draw,” he answered honestly. “Why do you ask?”

  She gave him a broad smile. “You remind me of an artist. Do you write poetry?”

  “Alas, my lady, again I lack the talent.” Lord Aldwyn sadly shook his head, then tried for a pensive expression. “Perhaps I will take it up, and you can be my first subject.”

  She smiled again. “Now you are teasing me, my lord,” she said playfully.

  “Has no one ever written an ode to your beautiful blue eyes?” he asked incredulously.

  Her smile broadened. “No one.”

  “Then it shall be done,” he said with conviction. When she started to turn back to Bynes, he quickly asked, “May I call on you tomorrow and take you for a ride in Hyde Park?”

  “I am engaged, my lord, and--”

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “Still, if you have no prior commitments, I would like to recite my poor verses to you, and you could critique my inferior work without anyone the wiser.” He must have read the rejection in her eyes, for he pleaded, “It is only to spare my ego, Lady Penelope.”

  “Very well, my lord,” she acquiesced before Victor snared her attention.

  “What was that all about?” Victor asked.

  “Lord Aldwyn has invited me to ride in Hyde Park tomorrow,” she answered.

  “I suppose you said no?”

  “Actually, I accepted,” Penelope said.

  Victor glanced around Penelope to give Aldwyn a onceover look. “Don’t know why. A dandy like him is bound to be quite conceited.”

  “He appears most attentive.” Penelope felt compelled for some reason to defend Aldwyn, even as she noticed the two men were complete opposites in looks. Victor’s sandy hair, styled a la Brutus, topped his longish face and round chin. His fair complexion accentuated brown eyes that far too often focused on other young women rather than her. While good looking, Victor did not have the command of presence that Lord Aldwyn possessed even with his foppish behavior.

  Still, as the dinner progressed, Penelope couldn’t help slewing several glances toward Lord Aldwyn. He was such a handsome gentleman.

  ~~~~~

  After the ladies withdrew to the drawing room for the gentlemen to enjoy their port and blow a cloud, Max made it a point to take a chair next to Pierre Arnaud. After accepting a goblet of brandy from a footman, Max said, “It was disappointing not being able to see your native country, Monsieur Arnaud.”

  Arnaud nodded. “There can be no city more beautiful than Paris.” He swirled cognac around in the goblet before taking a sip. “Two years you were making the Grand Tour?”

  Max nodded. “I’m in no hurry to settle down. Besides,” Max grinned, “there’s much to learn yet.”

  “Indeed, we all have much to learn.” Arnaud’s tone was silky, and his eyes held a calculating glint. “Do you play baccarat?” When Max nodded, Arnaud said, “Perhaps later, we can retire to a place I know in King Street?”

  “Might I bring a friend?” Max asked. With Arnaud’s nod, he then made arrangements to meet later at a gaming hell in King Street.

  ~~~~~

  “Never took you for a fop.” After rejoining the ladies, Edric Kingston sidled up to Max and slapped him on the back. Kingston, heir to the Viscount Wardley, had rescued Max from more scrapes during their years at Eton, even if most of them had been initiated by Kingston himself. Tall with the solid, square build of a pugilist, he eyed Max with a knowing smile. “What kind of game are you running?” he said under his breath.

  “A deep one I’ll explain later,” Max replied. “In fact, I could use your help.”

  Kingston’s intelligent, light brown eyes sprang to life. “Name it.”

  Max laughed. He’d never known his friend to run from a challenge. “Put a rumor about that my travels seem to have overly refined my tastes, especially my clothes.”

  “What about your Corinthian leanings--Four-in-Hand Club, riding hell for leather? You were one of Gentleman Jackson’s best sparring partners.”

  “Yes, but a lot can transpire in two years.”

  Kingston nodded. “Ah right, your Grand Tour.”

  “Also, my pockets are extremely lean with no prospects for fattening them since I’m a second son and all that.”

  “Want me to hint Blackmoor disowned you?” Kingston inquired with a smirk.

  “Not yet,” Max said before raising one dark eyebrow. “Fancy visiting a gaming hell?”

  Kingston eyed Max sagely. “So that’s why you’re cozening up to Arnaud? Cold fish, that one.” With another slap to Max’s back, he grinned. “Count me in. Together we can fleece him for every franc he’s earned.”

  “That’s not my intention,” Max said. “You can take him if you like. Just be forewarned that the man’s a rotter and a card cheat to boot.”

  After making plans to meet later, Max and Kingston had just made their adieux when Max caught his father motioning for a word with him.

  “You’ll come by Berkeley Square tomorrow?”

  Max understood it wasn’t a question but a command. “Oui, Père,” he replied with reservation. Well aware the Duke was less than pleased with his cover, Max figured his father had more than a few words about his attire and wondered what the old boy would have to say in the coming weeks as Max paraded about in the new finery he’d instructed Fenton to purchase.

  “Be careful with this one, Maxwell,” Blackmoor admonished before bidding him goodnight.

  Chapter 2

  Kingston and Max met up with Pierre Arnaud at White’s before setting out for Mrs. Doodles, a Gentleman’s Club, on St. James’s Street. From the front, number sixty-three appeared no different than the other similar establishments. But once through the freshly painted, red door, ostentatiously elegant decor screamed gaming hell. Max even suspected the upstairs rooms served for other purposes as young ladies in low-cut gowns roamed about with trays holding goblets of brandy. Several small rooms lined the main hall where high stakes card games were played with clouds of cigar smoke hovering over the tables. At the rear, a big gaming room emitted noisy chatter with bursts of laughter as young bucks and older gentlemen gathered around tables for games of hazard, baccarat, and faro.

  “Name your game,” Pierre Arnaud said making a hand gesture encompassing the room, “or would you rather make it a small, friendly game of vingt-et-un?”

  Kingston made it easy for Max, saying, “Vingt-et-un has always been Max’s best game.”

  “Is that so,” Arnaud almost purred. “Then allow me to secure a room.”

  Once the Frenchman was out of earshot, Kingston asked, “Tell me, Max, are you winning or losing tonight?”

  Giving his friend a speculative look, he asked, “Why so eager to know?”

  Kingston grinned wickedly. “So I’ll know how to bet. Any other time, you’d clean me out.”

  Max looked about the crowded room, spotting several personage
s of political note. “I won’t be the big winner.” Looking at Kingston, he said, “Have you given thought that our French friend may fuzz the card?”

  “Don’t suppose you’d let me call him on it?” Kingston asked. When Max shook his head, he said, “Then I’m thinking that before this is over, you’re going to buy me Pritchett’s hunter. He’s eager to sell it since he’s got his eye on another one.”

  “Word is Pritchett’s asking a bloody fortune for the beast,” Max groused.

  “That’s what they say,” Kingston said, turning to greet Arnaud with a most welcoming smile.

  ~~~~~

  Looking up as he reached for another scone from the basket in the middle of the table, Lenwood asked, “What did you think of Maxwell, Penelope?”

  Penelope stopped in her tacks as she entered the breakfast room. “Who?”

  “Maxwell, Lord Aldwyn,” her father answered while smearing butter on the scone.

  “Your father was quite taken with the young man,” Lady Lenwood said, leveling her eyes meaningfully on Penelope as she took a seat across from her mother.

  Lenwood chuckled. “I must admit the Grand Tour seems to have changed him.”

  “Quite a bit and not all for the good,” Lady Lenwood replied.

  “How so?” asked Penelope, more interested than she should be.

  “Before he left,” her father said, “he was a noted Corinthian.”

  “Many Corinthians are meticulous dressers, Papa,” Penelope said, wondering why she felt the need to defend Lord Aldwyn.

  “Very true,” her mother said before Lenwood could reply. “Still and all, Maxwell seems to have crossed the line from a dandy to an exquisite . . . fop!”

  “I’ll admit he’s odd taste in clothes,” Lenwood tempered.

  “Odd?” Lady Lenwood huffed. “Why, even the Duke looked none to pleased.”

  “I have agreed to ride in the Park with Lord Aldwyn this afternoon,” Penelope said, looking at her mother to gauge her reaction.

  “You are engaged, my dear,” Lady Lenwood said.

  “Can’t hurt for Penelope to get out some, Ellen,” Lenwood said. “Besides, Bynes doesn’t seem to care for that sort of stuff.”

  “Very well then, Penelope,” Lady Lenwood acquiesced. “Just remember that a lady’s reputation is everything.”

  ~~~~~

  Though it was the wee hours of the morning before he’d quit Mrs. Doodles, early the next morning, Max was up, riding Hugo, his large, brown stallion, to Tatterstalls. There, he purchased a pair of high stepping, matched grays, then rode to Westminster where he acquired a shiny, yellow curricle with large red wheels at Hooper & Company. Next, arriving at Berkeley Square promptly at noon, he joined his father and grandmother, both seated in the dining room for a light lunch of cold cuts, cheeses and fruit.

  Upon seeing Max, a delicate rosy-pink blush highlighted the unlined cheeks of the Duke’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Blackmoor. She wore a lacy fichu over the bodice of a blue and white striped gown that hugged her mature figure and a white lace cap from which soft white curls escaped. Like her son and grandson, her sharp wit gave insight to her shrewd intellect, and she possessed the same sherry-colored eyes and squarish jaw line, though a much softer version.

  After Max saluted the Dowager Duchess’s petal-soft cheek, his Grandmère raised one white eyebrow and said, “I must say you look quite dapper, as you did last night, Maxwell.”

  Ignoring the Duke’s derisive snort at the Duchess’s comment, Max said, “Fenton has been hard at work revamping my wardrobe. He will be pleased that you noticed.”

  A discreet knock sounded on the door and Hobbson, the Duke’s ancient and stooped-shouldered butler, announced “Lord Lenwood, Your Grace.”

  “Do join us, Lenwood,” the Duke said, glancing at Max. “As you can see, the prodigal son is also here.”

  “Richard,” the Dowager Duchess admonished, “do behave. I am sure Maxwell has an explanation for his unusual attire. And do come in and have some coffee, Lenwood. Lovely time we had last night.”

  “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the salon, Mother?” the Duke hinted none too subtly.

  “Nonsense,” Her Grace huffed as she eyed Max’s burgundy riding jacket, lace trimmed shirt, puce dyed breeches and vest. “If Maxwell will continue to go around dressed like this, people are bound to ask me questions about his dramatic change.” Leveling her sherry eyes on her son, she said, “It would be better if I were privy to whatever scheme you have hatched.”

  “All right, Maxwell,” the Duke said with a note of resignation in his voice, “explain yourself.”

  “It’s simple enough,” Max said. “No one expects a dandy or fop to be anything more than a fool.” Pulling on the lace cuffs of his puce shirt and patting his embroidered puce satin vest, he added, “Everyone will be so taken with my togs, they’ll never give a second thought to what I’m doing.”

  “Perhaps,” Lenwood said, “but no one’s going to take you for a fool.”

  “On the contrary,” Max said with a smile, “Kingston’s been enlisted to help tarnish my image. He’s also spreading the word that the family’s most unhappy with me. I’m close to being disinherited, bringing me into Pierre Arnaud’s sphere.”

  “It could work,” Lenwood said guardedly.

  “Especially if you help set the stage, Richard,” the Dowager Duchess said. “I rather think this might be fun.”

  “You’re not to get involved, Mother,” the Duke said sternly, “nor encourage Maxwell.”

  “Heavens no,” she laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “Besides, Maxwell never needs encouragement. I simply plan to be an observer.”

  Leaning back in his chair, the Duke regarded Max for a long moment. “Very well, but get rid of that awful color.”

  Max grinned. “Horrid, isn’t it? However, Fenton has assured me that I am slap up to the mark. What think you of the touch of lace?” he asked, fluffing his white cravat. “A daring touch, yes?”

  With a disgruntled look, Blackmoor said, “Thank the Fates no one’s left on your mother’s side. All Calvinists, they’re probably rolling over in their graves.”

  “Mother would have appreciated it,” Max said with a smile.

  A genuine smile also softened the Duke’s face. “Knowing her sense of fun, she’d have helped pick out your clothes.”

  Hearing his grandmother’s soft laughter, Max raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  “She’d have you dressed all in pink,” the Dowager smiled impishly. “It was her favorite color.”

  ~~~~~

  The matched grays drew attention as Max tooled the pair down Regent Street toward Grosvenor Square. Tossing the reins to a footman, he instructed, “They tend to be nervous. You might want to walk.”

  Lenwood’s butler, Cooper, took his yellow tophat and gloves and ushered him into the drawing room where Lord and Lady Lenwood waited with Penelope to greet him.

  Lady Lenwood was an attractive woman, and Max decided she looked more like an older sister than Penelope’s mother. “Would you care for tea?” she asked Max with a sweet smile even as her eyes blinked several times at his long yellow coat with gold buttons, matching pantaloons that disappeared into Hessian’s trimmed with gold braid and tassels. His cuffs and standup color were black velvet, contrasting with the puce waistcoat and gold and green striped ascot.

  “Thank you, but I don’t wish to keep my cattle waiting,” he replied.

  “Heard about them at White’s this afternoon,” Lord Lenwood said. “Lord Belfaire claims they’re tetchy and was glad to be rid of them.”

  Max smiled. “I’d like to show Lady Penelope first hand. Then she can report to you.”

  “I will summon my maid, my lord,” Penelope said.

  Max stopped her, coughing in his gloved hand. “I’m afraid there’s no room for her,” he said.

  Before Lady Lenwood could protest, her husband said, “Brought a curricle, did you?” At Max’s nod, he said, “So long as you k
eep out in the open, I can’t see anything wrong with that.”

  ~~~~~

  Ten minutes later, Penelope sat next to Aldwyn as he negotiated the skittish grays through the traffic heading toward the Grosvenor Gate. With a bright sun and warm breeze, Hyde Park would be crowded with the beau monde showing off their finery. After the curricle had maneuvered the Grosvenor Gate entrance, Aldwyn settled the pair into a slow trot.

  “They are quite lovely,” Penelope said, breaking the silence.

  Aldwyn nodded. “Yes, but they’ve got sensitive mouths.” He turned and gave her a smile that set her heart to beating. “I appreciated your silence back there. It can be tricky with a new team, especially these high steppers.”

  “A lesser horseman might find them difficult to handle,” Penelope added, hoping she didn’t sound breathless. “Are you not a member of the Four-in-Hand Club?”

  “Yes, but I may have to retire. My valet constantly bemoans the dirt on my coats, and it’s proving costly.” Penelope let out a tinkling laugh, and Aldwyn asked, “Why do you find that amusing?”

  “I am sorry. Only, your current image does not fit with what I heard when my father talked to yours about you or of the little I remember of you growing up. I certainly do not recall you being so . . . colorful.”

  “So you don’t like my coat?” he quizzed with an offended expression.

  “Oh, I do,” Penelope quickly replied.

  “Then it’s my waistcoat?” Aldwyn persisted. “I did wonder if the yellow embroidery was a bit much.”

  “No, nothing like that. I did not see you as . . . a dandy.” She felt the searing heat of a rosy hue as it surely colored her cheeks.

  “You don’t like dandies?” Again, he sounded wounded.

  “Now you are being silly,” she said with some acerbity, “for clothes do not make the man.”

  Aldwyn raised one dark eyebrow. “I beg to differ, my lady. I not only derive a great deal of satisfaction in my current mode of dress but believe it enhances my stature.”