Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1)

by Deborah Villegas

  “Come on Pen. We’re late.”

  She tried yanking her dress down in an effort to hide her boots. “It’s no use Ferris. I really can’t go below.”

  Ferris took her hand and wheeled her out the door. “You can and you will, Pen.” He glanced at her bosom, then closed his eyes and thinned his lips impersonating a Reggie-esque frown. “And for God’s sakes, don’t breathe.”

  Chapter 2

  Ferris propelled Penelope toward the stairs until she dug in her heels. “Would you please slow down? I can hardly walk in this dress.”

  “If you wouldn’t stride like a man your boots wouldn’t catch the front of your skirt.”

  “If I was a man…” Penelope snapped her mouth shut when her brother sidelined a glance her way.

  “If you were a man you wouldn’t be wearing that ridiculous dress. Try picking up the hem. I’d rather not have to explain why you’re sprawled at the bottom of the stairs like an amateur pugilist laid out ten seconds after the first bell.”

  Penelope smiled inward. Ferris’s sulky tone lightened her mood. More than likely it was because Reginald was applying the ducal thumbscrews to Ferris’ pocketbook.

  She clutched his arm before they entered the drawing room. “Don’t you dare leave my side.”

  “No one is going to eat you, Pen.” He peered through half lids like a wolf sizing up his next meal

  Maybe not eat her per say, but she had no doubt, she’d be chewed upon. At least she wore her boots. If someone gnawed her ankles, they’d end up with a mouthful of leather. “You know I loathe catering to societies expectations. I’m not good at small talk. I have absolutely no idea what to say to people.”

  “Talk about the weather.” With a firm push at the small of her back, he maneuvered her into the drawing room and right up to Reginald. “One sacrificial sister at your service dear brother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bet to collect.”

  Ferris’ grin stopped just short of a sneer and he headed across the room, leaving Penelope to suffer her oldest brother’s scrutiny alone. The cad. She couldn’t blame Ferris for deserting her though. Reginald and Ferris were always at each other’s throats. Reginald was the proper, pompous, stickler for duty, and impossibly authoritarian, whereas Ferris worked like the devil to be just the opposite. A role he assumed for the pure joy of watching Reginald hold his temper in check. It had become a game of how far, was too far, and so far, Reginald hadn’t popped his cork. Then again, by the way he followed his youngest brother’s retreat, it was only a matter of time. If she were a man, she’d head straight to Whites and start the betting in the books. That would certainly pop Reggie’s cork.

  Reginald’s quick up down appraisal of her attire raised her hackles but he made no mention of the ill-fitting gown and the only hint of irritation was a raised right brow.

  She lifted her chin hoping to affect the St. James haughty disregard for convention stare. After all, it was his fault she hadn’t had time to update her wardrobe. If she’d known about the house party in advance, Maggie would have made sure she had presentable attire. Of course, if she’d known about the house party, she wouldn’t be here to wear any of it.

  Reggie’s eyes narrowed.

  Gad. She stifled a shudder. Could he read minds? She’d have to inform Ferris.

  Reginald half shifted and turned his attention to the woman on his left.

  With an elegant turn of her head, the troll let go of Reginald’s arm, extended her hands in a welcoming gesture, and squeezed Penelope’s fingers.

  “You must be Penelope. My name is Mrs. La Pierre, but you may call me Alice. Reginald has told me so much about you.”

  Alice’s soothing voice slithered across Penelope’s nerves like a serpent among the roses and she glanced at her brother. His warning evident in the quick flash of his pupils.

  “I’m sure we will be great friends, nes pas?” Alice finished with a kiss to both cheeks and then latched back onto Reginald’s arm as if marking ownership.

  The twins, Addison and Garrett approached saving Penelope from the awkward moment.

  Garrett engulfed her in a bear hug that had her toes leaving the floor. “I say Pen, you’ve blossomed since I last saw you. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Pen felt the blood drain from her face and go straight to her bosom. She wanted to crawl under the carpet. Garrett’s enthusiasm for life never failed to embarrass, but he always meant well, and he was so genuine, Penelope couldn’t muster up a drop of outrage.

  “Hello Pen, you look lovely.” Addison cut in before Garrett could say anything else to embarrass her.

  Addison was the broody counterpart to Garrett’s zest. They were rarely separated, and when they were, they were constantly looking around as if expecting the other to be joining them at any moment.

  “It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you both terribly. I’m almost tempted to forgive you for failing to inform me of the change in plans.”

  All three brothers flushed with guilt, but she wasn’t about to let them off the hook. They could stew in her displeasure all night.

  Spying her father on the other side of the room, she gave them the nod and headed in his direction. Lady Butterfield held his attention. Her daughters, Beatrice and Claire dutifully sat on either side of their mother. Lady Butterfield reminded Penelope of a top-heavy chrysanthemum.

  Her father winked at her. “I see you’ve managed to extract yourself from your brothers. What did you say?”

  Penelope glanced at the trio. They looked like a litter of chagrined puppies that had just had their backsides swatted with a rolled-up newspaper and weren’t quite sure why.

  Even Alice, she noted, was having a hard time pulling Reggie back under her spell.

  “Tell me, Penelope, my dear,” Lady Butterfield drew her attention. “I understand you will finally be taking your place in Society. You remember my girls, Beatrice and Claire.” She motioned to either side of her décolleté with her fan. “They will be making their debut as well.”

  Penelope stared blankly at the woman, a buzzing noise growing louder with every rise and swell of Lady Butterfield’s overly ruffled bosom.

  “Are you all right my dear?”

  She felt the slight squeeze from her father and blinked several times. “I’m fine thank you, but there seems to be some kind of misunderstanding, I don’t have any plans to go to London.”

  “Rubbish, I’ve been corresponding with your Aunt Augustina. She is quite excited to do her duty as chaperone.”

  Alice La Pierre looped her arm around Penelope’s. “And besides, it is high time you found yourself a suitable match. I know your brother Reginald is anxious to have you settled into your own home.”

  “This is my home.” Penelope extracted her arm as she watched her father retreat.

  “Hopefully not for much longer.” Alice smiled and her lips all but disappeared.

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me Mrs. La Pierre?”

  “Yes, Mrs. La Pierre, please enlighten us.” Lady Butterfield cut in dryly with a disapproving glare.

  Alice’s cheeks pinked. “Why no, of course not. I’m sure dear Reginald will always want you to feel at home here. I’m only suggesting that your season will be a grand success and you will have plenty of suitors to choose from. With any luck you’ll fall madly in love and be a happily married woman by the end of the season.”

  Lady Butterfield gave Alice a hard stare then harrumphed.

  Penelope knew it was time to take a step back. When Lady Butterfield harrumphed, it usually meant she was about to settle into a long-winded monologue and the troll was Lady Butterfield’s targeted audience. She gave Beatrice and Claire a commiserating glance and slipped away. Both girls rolled their eyes.

  Penelope spotted her father’s best friend, Artemis Mabrey, fondly referred to as Uncle Mabrey, standing next to his niece, Miss Amanda Bishop, who looked to be about as thrilled to be there as Penelope. Amanda was pretty with honey gold ringlets that
just brushed her shoulders and she had an air about her that suggested resigned tedium. Interesting.

  A man Penelope had never seen before stood near her, engaged in a discussion with her father, yet aware enough to make sure she was included in the conversation. Penelope tried to recall if Maggie had told her about him. When he turned, she decided Maggie definitely had not.

  He was neither blond, nor fair of skin and his frame was startlingly large. Not in a rotund way, but there was certainly bulk to his form. Bulk that was a direct result of hard physical labor. This man did not spend his time in salons eating sweetmeats.

  She moved slightly askance so she could better view him without gawking. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense. Tall, dark chestnut hair, with a slight wave that just brushed his stiff collar. His starched white cravat against the midnight coat and well-fitted britches were a stark contrast to Reginald’s frippery.

  Aside from his looks, there was something about him that gave her pause.

  Without warning, he trapped her with his penetrating gaze. Blue, blue eyes seemed to see right into her, through her, categorizing her. His eyes flicked from bosom to toe then back to her eyes.

  Her heartbeat quickened. Danger. That was it. He was a predator. She turned away unnerved. She was a hunter. She’d never considered herself prey. Her stomach muscles bunching with unaccustomed flutters.

  She slipped into the alcove that lead to the terrace and inhaled a much-needed breath of cool evening air. The slight breeze felt good against her burning cheeks. Her gaze followed the crushed shell path of the formal gardens to a set of steps leading to the manicured lawn and beyond to the woods and she imagined taking the tree laced path that opened to an idyllic meadow and pond. The same pond where her brothers had taught her to swim. Where they had frolicked naked as children, where Beatrice and Claire had almost drowned.

  “Penelope?”

  She jerked and turned when she heard her father’s voice. He stepped onto the terrace followed by Garrett and Addison.

  “Thank gawd,” Garrett let out a relieved, if not over exaggerated sigh. “We were afraid you might have bolted.”

  Addison cuffed his brother and sent him an if you weren’t my twin I’d let Penelope trounce you glare.

  “I’m not an idiot. It’s too cold to run off in this flimsy contraption formally known as an evening gown. I’d never make it past the hedgerows before the hem was sodden with dew.” She scorched them with a glare that even had her father taking a step in retreat.

  She was angrier with herself for not thinking to make a run for it when she had the opportunity. She could have disappeared until everyone was gone. A stash of clothes and supplies lay hidden in the old crofter’s cottage on the other side of the pond and she would have been quite content to hole up for a few days reading her pile of Gothic novels. She had to use her pin money for something besides paints and pastels.

  Her father and brothers followed her back into the drawing room, their expressions weary as if they watched a mongrel dog and were out of shot to put it out of its misery.

  She met Reggie’s watchful gaze and silently warred with him. He conceded with an almost imperceptible nod accompanied by the one twitch and it was over smile. Then he turned his attention back to the troll without missing a beat. Reggie apparently wasn’t interested in Mrs. La Pierre’s mind.

  It galled Penelope that he could be in complete control of his surroundings and still act the part of a fop.

  She turned to her father. “Who is the young lady speaking with Mabrey?”

  “Come with me my dear.”

  Penelope let her father lead her across the room and away from Reggie’s all-knowing stare. She almost tripped and reminded herself to take baby steps. Dratted dress.

  Her father stopped in front of Mabrey. The man with the wicked gleam stood to the left of the young lady. Penelope forced herself not to acknowledge him until she’d been introduced. She felt the heat of his gaze and pointedly ignored the annoying flutter.

  “Well Mabrey, have you finished interrogating our newest member of the Ornithological Society?”

  “I dare say, St. James, I’ve only just begun.” Mabrey’s quip was stoic with a hint of humor. His gaze settled on Penelope and the humor turned to genuine affection. “Pen Puss, I hardly recognized you. You’re as lovely as your mother.”

  Penelope flushed at the compliment and gave him a quick hug. “Honestly uncle Mabrey,” she admonished, “must you continue to use that dreadful nickname?”

  “Dreadful or not, it suits you and I am too far into my dotage to think of another.”

  Dotage was not even close to an apt description for Mabrey. He still carried the rigidity of state, and the intelligence of an elephant. Mabrey might be retired but she suspected, he and her father were up to their eyeballs in more than just bird watching. She’d spied them skulking off over the meadow as if they were embarking on a grand adventure. Walking sticks in hand. Bah. He might be as old as her father and well into his sixties, but neither was ready for porridge and camphor oil.

  “Penelope my dear, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Amanda Bishop, Mabrey’s niece. She has just arrived from India for the season. Her father, Colonel Bishop, was unable to join her, so your Aunt Augustina has kindly obliged to sponsor her.”

  Penelope inclined her head with what she hoped was a genuine enough smile. “Welcome to England. Have you been here before?”

  Amanda had bright blue eyes set wide with a generous mouth against alabaster skin. “No, but I look forward to visiting the museums in London.”

  “How do you like England thus far?”

  “It is very cold and wet and when it is not raining it is dreadfully damp. I miss the warm sunshine of my home.”

  Amanda’s directness surprised, and if Penelope was to be fair, delighted her. Intelligence sparkled in her bright blue gaze and she was intrigued. “You must tell me all about India sometime. I am sure you have many,” she stressed the word, “interesting stories.”

  “It would be my pleasure, but Lord Westfield’s adventures are much more entertaining than mine.” Amanda half turned to the left.

  Penelope’s gaze started at the man’s chest, slid up to his intricately knotted cravat held in place with a deep blue sapphire stick pin, and on up to stare into the face of her new nemesis. Blue mocking eyes full of intelligence and if she wasn’t mistaken, humor, met hers. Was he laughing at her attire?

  Her father’s introduction was all but drowned out by the pulsing throb at her temples. A sure sign of her rising temper. Who was he to mock her? She let the side of her lip curl ever so slightly with the St. James, thank you dear Reggie, hauteur, and met Lord Westfield’s gaze with contained hostility. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  She extended her hand and he took it. But, instead of the quick bow, he held firm and pulled it to his lips forcing her to step forward. Heat radiated from the kiss down her arm and straight to her toes. She pulled her hand, but he held on a second longer, as if to warn her that he would decide when to let her go.

  A sudden image of him touching her in other places danced through her thoughts. She flushed, realizing he had spoken. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” She stammered then bit her lower lip. Was she blushing like the housemaids whenever Farris was in residence? Her brothers would pay for the misery they had foisted upon her.

  Lord Westfield leaned in closer than was strictly proper. “I asked you if you always wear boots, Pen Puss.” His grin held a hint of wicked delight.

  Penelope glanced at her father, who was thankfully engaged in conversation with Mabrey and his niece. “Boots?”

  Lord Westfield looked down at her feet and Penelope followed his gaze. Heat coursed through her face and her forehead tightened like an over-used pincushion.

  Embarrassment fueled her anger. Lifting her chin high, she glared at him. “What you should have asked was if I always wear dresses.”

  Much to her amazement, Lord Westfield burst into
laughter bringing them both to the attention of the entire room. Fortunately for Westfield, he was saved from having his ears boxed. Templeton, the St. James butler, announced dinner.

  “Shall we Miss St. James?” He asked and extended his arm to lead her into the dining room.

  The lift of his lips dared her to decline as well as teased.

  Penelope looked around but Mabrey was escorting his niece, and her father was helping Lady Butterfield up from the divan. With a surly pout, Penelope placed her arm through his. Her brothers would pay dearly.

  * * *

  With Mabrey to her left and Ferris to her right, Penelope ignored Lord Westfield at dinner. Or rather, she tried too, but the dratted man had an uncanny ability to look her way whenever she looked his. After the third time, he had the audacity to grin.

  She picked at her food unable to eat for all the fluttering going on in her stomach and resorted to counting her peas. Mrs. Butterfield sat directly across and gave her a dear girl if you’re not going to eat put down your fork glower.

  Lord Westfield sat between Beatrice and Amanda. Beatrice spent most of her time blushing whenever he directed his attention to her, but Amanda seemed immune to his charm. The troll took up residence on Reggie’s right at the head of the table and monopolized his attention.

  By the time dessert was served Penelope was sure she was the lead horse in the race for a hangover.

  Mrs. La Pierre rose from her seat as if she were already installed as the Duchess of St. James. “Shall the ladies adjourn to the drawing room?” She suggested, taking on the role of hostess.

  Penelope’s cheeks tightened when the other women looked first at Mrs. La Pierre, then at—oh dear God no—her.