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

by Deborah Villegas

  Penelope felt sorry for the harried man. It was time to move things along before they got further out of hand. “If you don’t mind, I only need a moment of your time,” Penelope spoke above the chaos.

  The mass quieted and stared as if enthralled.

  “I require your pocketbook if you please, sir.” The click of the hammer of the pistol aimed at the gentleman’s heart added the theatric touch of deadly intent.

  Penelope’s eyes bored into him with a peer of the realm; I am invincible, gaze.

  He licked his lips and patted his girth as if he’d lost his spectacles.

  When he retrieved his purse from his pocket, a hand shot out and yanked it away.

  “I want to give it to him, Papa.” The saucy female bounced out if his reach and bounded right up to Penelope’s horse.

  Penelope stared down at the silly girl from her perch.

  She batted her eyes and held the fat pouch up as if it was an offering freely given, and Penelope was only too happy to receive, but when she reached out to take it, the girl stayed her gloved hand.

  “You have to kiss me if you want it.”

  The shocked inhales of the audience demanded a proper outcome. It was a dare. A taunt. A wild and deliberate breach of etiquette that cried out to a kindred soul.

  Humor played around the chit’s pert smile, and deviltry lit her gaze.

  By God, Penelope was going to do it. It was ingrained in her. She was a St. James and a St. James never backed out of a dare.

  She bent down, clasped the girl by the nape of the neck, and planted a swift, hard kiss on her lips, mimicking Edward’s kiss. When she released the dumbfounded girl, the purse slipped into Penelope’s hand, and she righted herself.

  The girl stepped back as if in a glorious haze.

  Penelope glanced at the audience; the gaggle fanned their faces and practically swooned. Their Papa clutched his chest. His cheeks mottled, and lips sputtering as if anticipating a fit of apoplexy.

  “It has been a pleasure, sir. I wish you good tidings.”

  With a touch to her hat, Penelope turned her horse, galloped down the lane, and bounded into the woods. From a distance, she heard the father scold his daughter. “Annabelle, I am going to put you on the first packet home even if I have to secure your ticket on a barge. Asking for kisses from a dangerous highwayman? You’ll be the death of me, Belle. And what kind of example are you showing your sisters? Your poor mother, may she rest in peace...”

  The voices retreated as their distance increased. Gads. Did she really kiss the girl? This was definitely a memory to be captured in her diary.

  The occupants of the carriage were not English. No, their accent placed them squarely in the colonies, and by the weight of the purse; it held the promise of a tidy sum. More likely, Miss Annabelle was an heiress. Ferris came directly to mind.

  Tom joined her a few minutes later, and the two rode, hard and silent for the next hour. When they crossed the stream, Penelope stopped Hell Spawn and washed the flour from his forelocks.

  Tom was off his horse and pacing the creek bed. “Of all the blasted idiotic things to do Miss St. James. In all my days I would never have expected to witness such a sight.”

  Penelope schooled her features. “Twas a bit unexpected.”

  “Unexpected?”

  “Honestly, the way you’re going about, one would think you’d never witnessed a kiss.”

  Her groom stopped mid-stride and gaped at her. His mouth opened and shut several times; then, he clamped his lips together and mounted his horse.

  Penelope followed suit. So, the kiss was a touch scandalous. It wasn’t as if she’d be forced to marry the brazen chit. The thought prompted a smile. If this got out, would she be considered a rakehell? Then again, if this got out, she would likely be headed for the gallows and not just for being a highwayman. It was a sobering thought that sent a shiver up her spine.

  She glanced at her groom’s rigid back, and they continued their journey in silence. When the moon peeked through the clouds, Tom turned off the road and headed across the moors. The valleys and leas hid them for the remainder of their journey and gave Penelope time to review the veracity of the night’s adventure.

  * * *

  Edward sat at the table in the breakfast room and stared at the headline in the Morning Post. Dashing Highwayman Steals More Than a Purse. The bold letters took up half the front page. He read on.

  Once again, the highways and byways of the Cornish coast have been fraught with terror. Three nights past, the Honorable Eustice Hogsbottom and his entourage were returning to their ancestral home in Lincolnshire when they were set upon by the infamous highwayman dubbed the Gentleman Bandit. Newly arrived from Virginia, Hogsbottom and his dozen daughters were terrorized and threatened with their very lives by the notorious rake. His eldest daughter, Miss Annabelle Hogsbottom, was scandalously forced to endure a parting kiss that left her dazed for days. The Honorable Eustice Hogsbottom described the incident. “The devil’s minion swooped down on his great black demon beast devouring the moonlight and held us all enthralled with his red eyes. He brandished his weapons and demanded his spoils, and I fairly covered my babes to block his hypnotizing gaze.” After interviewing Miss Annabelle Hogsbottom, the authorities were able to get a description of the Gentleman Bandit. Tall, broad-shouldered, with large hands the size of a blacksmith and the face of the angel Lucifer. His steed, larger than any beast known to man. His voice, commanding authority, His eloquent words gently luring one to do his bidding—

  Edward set the paper aside. Miss Hogsbottom’s description sounded as if it were straight out of a Gothic novel. More likely, the constable should be looking for the exact opposite. But the kiss.

  Edward stared into space. Something about the accounting didn’t sit right. Maybe it was because all of the robberies took place near the Cornish coast. Too close to the St. James estate. Too close to Penelope. Too close to his future Duchess.

  He was thankful her brothers remained in residence until they escorted her to London for the season. Edward just hoped they were vigilant in their promise to watch over his intended and not allow her to ride without a proper escort. He was sure Penelope had ignored his wish to forgo her daily ride. One highwayman against the four St. James brothers was one thing. It was entirely a different matter if Penelope were to come across him alone. The bandit was becoming bolder.

  He caught the flurry of skirts out of the corner of his eye and stood. Henrietta entered the morning room along with her friend Miss Wilcot.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  Two footmen helped them with their chairs, served them, and then retreated.

  Edward sipped his lukewarm tea. It was awkward enough having Henrietta cast glances over her cup, but Miss Wilcot didn’t even acknowledge him. When she tried to sip her tea, her hand shook, and she quickly put it down.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Wilcot?”

  Miss Wilcot stood abruptly, knocked over her tea and with a sob, hurried from the room.

  Henrietta tossed her napkin on the table and jumped to her feet. “How could you, Edward?”

  Edward sat back, surprised by the vehemence in her voice. “Would this have something to do with your declaration in the grand parlor when I arrived yesterday?”

  “You know it does.”

  Edward had never seen Henrietta’s eyes flash with anger before, and he raised a brow. Her usually pale face was highlighted with a bright pink blush that transformed her pallid features into a rosy blossom. It quite suited her.

  “I have never given any indication nor any thought of pursuing Miss Wilcot. Therefore, I am at a loss as to why she might be under the impression that I have considered her address.”

  Henrietta shook with rage. “She has waited for you. She has been dutiful and proper in every way. She has nary spoken to nor considered another man out of respect for you, to keep faithful, and to make sure there was no scandal attached to her name so that when the time came, you
would find no fault with her. Mother promised—”

  Henrietta clamped her hand over her mouth as if horrified by her outburst and subsequent volume and plopped back into her chair.

  It took all of Edward’s will to remain stoic throughout his sister’s impassioned and very loud reprimand. To watch her quake now as if expecting a thorough chastisement, or worse a blow, cut him to the quick. She trembled like a delicate leaf against a gale-force wind. Was she afraid of him? Had he ever given her reason to fear him? Had she heard about his legendary temper, or worse, witnessed an episode? And he was remarkably close to demonstrating. The only thing that kept him from doing precisely that was his mother’s timely presence at the door unbeknownst to Henrietta.

  He turned his attention to his mother. Her formidable height and frigid regard reminded him of a granite statue. Cold, hard, incapable of love. “I bid you wait for me in the Grand Salon, Mother.”

  Henrietta flinched. Her blue eyes widened like saucers, and her cheeks faded when she realized her mother stood behind her.

  Edward placed his hand over his sister’s, partly to stay her retreat, and partly as solidarity and comfort against the lioness in their midst.

  His mother waged a silent war of strength and authority.

  “Now.” His voice rolled over the occupants in the room like thunder on the horizon.

  Her chin rose. “You will come to me at my leisure.”

  Edward was up and around the table like a falcon diving on its unsuspecting prey. “No mother, I will come to you at my leisure, and you will remain there until I do so.”

  The only tell in her acquiescence was the slight narrowing of her eyes. She turned and disappeared down the corridor.

  Edward let out a sigh and closed the door. He needed the action to regroup. He may be the duke, but his mother was the Dowager Duchess, and she was a formidable adversary.

  He clicked the lock into place, retook his seat at the head of the table, and regarded his sister. “What did mother say?”

  Henrietta clenched her hands in her lap, kept her head bowed and lips sealed.

  The longer Edward waited for his sister to look at him, the angrier he became. “Look at me. I’ll only ask once more, what did mother say?” He tried to keep the hardness out of his voice, but her stubborn silence fueled his temper.

  Henrietta not only lifted her chin; she raised it to the level of righteous indignation. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Her lips trembled with apprehension, her eyes sharpened with determination. “Mother promised me that after you were wed to Frances, I might enjoy one season to find a suitable husband. But, until you wed, I am to remain by her side. Until you wed, it is my duty to act as Mother’s companion.” She wavered, took a steadying breath, and finished in a rush. “Until you wed, I am trapped in this wretched mausoleum, forced to endure her company, and suffocate under her strict tutelage.”

  Edward remained stoic throughout his sister’s tirade. Never had he seen her lose her temper. Never had he seen any hint of discontent. Never had she looked at him with such loathing.

  Henrietta sat back winded, avoided his gaze, and shrank into the cushion as if waiting for the inevitable blow.

  He watched her wring her napkin as he digested her words. Was it his neck or his mother’s neck his sister might be envisioning? He hoped it wasn’t his. “How did Miss Wilcot get the impression I would wed her?” He kept his words soft as if he were cooing to his peregrines. But his temper was just about at its melting point.

  Henrietta looked up—her gaze once again fierce. “Mother said you have an understanding. She said Frances was the only suitable choice. Mother has been grooming her for the role for three years.”

  Edward sat back, stunned by his sister’s pronouncement. What type of understanding? He barely knew Miss Wilcot. Her family owned the adjoining estate, and Miss Wilcot was Henrietta’s closest friend. Beyond that, he hadn’t a clue. He was twelve years Henrietta’s senior and he rarely stayed at Falcon’s Field for any length of time, choosing to reside in London instead. But the truth of it was that he didn’t want to stay for long. He did his duty by visiting his mother and sister, managed their finances, maintained the estates—all five of them, and sat in the House of Lords like his father and father’s father before him. He was busy.

  “May I be excused?”

  Edward looked up at his sister. A full quarter-hour had passed in silence. He nodded his assent, and she practically flew from the room. He sat riddled with guilt. Guilty of ignoring his sister, her companionship, her person. How could he have been so obtuse? How had he missed the signs of discontent? How could he disregard his sister’s feeling for so long? He knew full well what it was like to live under the same roof with his mother. To endure her censure, her lack of warmth, her inability to show the slightest hint of affection.

  When he left for Oxford, Henrietta was still in the nursery—seen on occasion but never heard. He barely knew his sister. He didn’t know her likes and dislikes. He didn’t know what her favorite color was, her favorite flower, her favorite book. He was so caught up in his own life; he hadn’t paid any attention to her. How old was she? Nineteen? Twenty? Good God, she was almost twenty-one and hadn’t had her first season. True he had returned to take both his mother and Henrietta to London for the season, but only because it gave him an excuse to go to all of the balls and dinner parties he would be forced to endure in order to court Penelope. His decision had been purely selfish.

  He pushed his tea away and stood. It was time to make amends. But first, he needed to speak to his mother.

  Chapter 9

  Penelope sat in the swaying coach and watched the troll across from her snore. They were nearing the end of a grueling trip. Alice insisted on stopping every few hours to stretch her legs. It rained once; a steady downpour for the entire afternoon, and by the time they made the coaching inn, Penelope was ready to claw the woman’s eyes out. Alice whined, complained, and pouted until Aunt Augustina threatened to toss her out of the coach.

  Reginald and his brothers rode alongside to accommodate the ladies, but more likely they just didn’t want to be in the same vicinity as the troll. If hell had a parlor, it was in the coach.

  Penelope opened the blind and peered out the window. She’d only been to London a few times as a child before her mother’s death and had never had the desire to return. Now, as they rolled through the cobbled streets, she remembered why. Coal fires left an oily film across the landscape that dulled the vibrancy of the city. Muted browns, grays, and dingy blues imparted a feeling of oppression and drudgery, and the cold drizzle invited none but the desperate to venture out.

  She flicked a stray curl out of her eyes. The drizzle was wreaking havoc with her hair. If the weather turned any damper, her hair was going to curl so tight Maggie would never get a brush through it.

  The coach stopped, and Alice woke with a start. She had a drool spot on her shoulder and covered it with her cape. “Where are we?”

  Before Penelope could answer, the door swung open and Reginald leaned in. “We have arrived at your lodgings, darling. I thought it best to get you out of the damp as soon as possible.”

  Alice glanced over Reggie’s shoulder, and pink blossomed on her cheeks. “But—”

  Reggie cut her off. “I had Garrett ride ahead to inform your staff of your impending arrival so your rooms would be warmed on your return. I also instructed that if there was anything you needed, they were to inform me, and I would arrange for it.”

  “But—”

  “Come, my dear, let’s get you out of this infernal weather. I would feel the guilt of a thousand souls pressing on my heart, should you take ill.”

  With the blink of an eye, Reggie had the troll out of the carriage and whisked into the townhome. Penelope would never believe Reginald capable of such concern, or purple prose for that matter if she hadn’t witnessed it herself.

  Aunt Augustina pressed her lips together but remained silent. Penelope wasn’t sure who w
as acting more out of character—Reggie the besotted, or Aunt Augustina the formidable.

  Once they were on their way again, Aunt Augustina harrumphed. “That woman has her claws so deeply embedded it’s going to take a physician to extract them.”

  “Do you think Reggie will make her his duchess?”

  Her aunt shuddered. “Not if I have anything to say about it. That woman is hiding a secret behind a beautiful face and a body more fit for a bordello than a lady’s boudoir.”

  Alice La Pierre had a secret all right. But Penelope was forced to hold her tongue. She also had a secret, and if it got out, she’d be swinging from the gallows, and even the St. James name wouldn’t be enough to sway the demand for justice. She’d seen the papers. And the bounty on her head was enough to make her think twice about her new hobby, even after Mr. Hogsbottom’s generous donation. But Penelope wasn’t even halfway to her goal.

  A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Aunt Augustina, why did you insist on having Mrs. La Pierre stay on at the manor after the house party was over?”

  The blatant stare unnerved Penelope. “Why do you think, my dear? Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but presence reveals the truth of the heart.”

  Penelope pondered this bit of wisdom. If that was the case, Reggie was either blind or well and truly besotted. The dolt. Normally Penelope would welcome anything that distracted her brother’s attention. If Reggie was busy elsewhere, Penelope was free to do as she pleased. But the idea of the troll becoming Reginald’s duchess soured her stomach. Something wasn’t right about Alice La Pierre, and that something had to do with her midnight rendezvous with the Marquis of Lansdowne, and her early morning strolls.

  * * *

  Edward walked into the grand salon expecting to find his mother, but instead, Miss Wilcot stood across the room looking out the window with her back rigid. He took a moment to study her features. She was quite lovely. Her profile was soft and serene, full lips, a flawless complexion, midnight black ringlets artfully coiffed, a figure hinting at delights yet to be discovered. She had impeccable taste. She was well composed and able to run a large household with swift efficiency. She would make any man proud to be her husband.