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

by Deborah Villegas

  Yet, he couldn’t remain in his own home without a proper chaperone now that Miss Wilcot was in residence and if Aunt Augustina were amenable to taking both young women under her wing, he would endure the inevitable upheaval of his domicile. He just hoped his staff would be as agreeable.

  “I’ll have Aunt Augustina and her things moved to your home by noon if that is suitable for you?”

  “Shouldn’t we ask her first?”

  “Ask me what?” Aunt Augustina swirled in with her signature rope of pearls, draping her bosom.

  Reginald blanched and stood, coughing behind his fist.

  Edward rose, and the two men exchanged guilty glances like a pair of adolescents caught smoking behind a hedge.

  “You look lovely this morning, Aunt Augustina.”

  “Thank you, dear. Lord Westfield, it’s a delight to see you.” A footman swept out a chair opposite Edward, and she settled in with a flounce. “Are you here on business?”

  Edward retook his seat and cleared his throat. “Yes, actually—”

  The butler came in and whispered discretely into Reginald’s ear, and he frowned. “Send her in.”

  A young ladies maid slipped tentatively into the breakfast room stepping from side to side, face flushed, and eyes bouncing everywhere but at the occupants seated around the table.

  “What is it, Lizzy girl?” Aunt Augustina asked.

  Lizzy glued her eyes on her hands, looking as if she wanted to melt into the carpet. “It’s Miss Bishop and Miss St. James, my lady.”

  Reginald sat forward. “What about them?”

  Lizzy looked up, eyes brimming with tears.

  “Well? Speak up.”

  Edward’s chest tightened with dread.

  “They’re gone.”

  “Gone?” Reginald and Edward chorused and stood in unison.

  “What do you mean gone?” Reginald threw down his napkin.

  Lizzy jumped at his outburst and wrung her hands. “I took them their morning chocolate, but they weren’t in their beds. I’ve looked everywhere. Miss Penelope’s horse is not in the stable and another horse is missing as well.”

  “Maybe they went for a morning ride in the park?” Aunt Augustina sipped her coffee with a blasé shrug as if this were an everyday occurrence.

  “Yes, but…” Lizzy cast her eyes to the nearest exit, ready to bolt.

  Edward frowned. He had a sinking sensation in his chest. “But what?”

  “I saw the shadow man tiptoeing down the stairs…” Lizzy’s voice barely registered above a whisper.

  The sinking sensation dropped to his gut. “Go on.”

  “I, I had to go to the privy during the night, and I thought, I thought I saw a shadow disappear down the back stair.” Lizzy’s face flushed with embarrassment. If she wrung her hands any harder, the poor girl was going to need ointment.

  “A shadow? Could it have been a footman?”

  Lizzy shook her head with such vigor she set her cap askew. “No, sir. The footmen always lumber down the backstairs skipping a step or two in their haste. Maggie is forever telling them to walk, but as long as they can stay out of her reach, they don’t listen. Some day she says she’s going to nail a leading string across the landing to teach them a lesson.”

  Reginald rolled his eyes. “Lizzy, we are discussing the whereabouts of my sister and my charge. As interesting as the goings-on of the servants in my household is, I would appreciate it if you could focus on the topic at hand.”

  Lizzy blanched, and her side-stepping turned into a dance.

  Edward took a deep, calming breath. If Reginald shouted one more time, the maid would collapse into a fit of nerves, and they’d never hear the rest of the story.

  “Lizzy, if it wasn’t the footman, then who was it and why do you think he is connected with the lady’s disappearance?” He kept his tone soothing and calm.

  “Every time I’ve seen him in London, he’s been with Miss Bishop. Whenever Miss St. James went for a midnight ride across the moors, I saw his dark shadow follow her.”

  Reginald looked like Edward felt; fish-eyed and swallowing air.

  “How many times have you seen this shadow man?” Reginald’s voice was dangerously low.

  Aunt Augustina shifted and held up a discrete finger.

  Edward almost didn’t catch the movement, and he was sure Reginald hadn’t seen it.

  Lizzy looked at her wide-eyed and swallowed. “I, uh, just one time, I think. It was dark, and I can’t be sure.”

  Aunt Augustina turned back to Reginald. “Well, there you have it. Thank you, Lizzy. You may go.”

  “Wait.” Reginald’s command cut across the room.

  “Honestly, dear, must you bark. The girl is half-scared out of her wits by all your blustering. Go along Lizzy. I’m sure Miss Bishop and my niece will return shortly and have a reasonable and quite entertaining explanation for their early morning adventure.”

  Lizzy flew out of the breakfast room dodging between Garrett and Addison before Reginald could call her back and he flopped into his chair.

  Edward wanted to excuse himself and follow the maid, but guests didn’t run after the host’s staff, and he had no right, beyond general concern, to question Reginald’s authority or how he ran his household. Edward’s only comfort was that he doubted Reginald believed Lizzy had been forthcoming with the entirety of her tale. Not that Lizzy had lied but that the poor girl knew something and Aunt Augustina had shut her down.

  “What was that all about?” Garrett quipped, leaning over to plant a kiss on his aunt’s forehead.

  “Nothing dear. Your brother is just being true to form and practicing his ducal dour on the staff. He can be quite intimidating, you know. I am vastly proud of him.”

  Addison nodded at the footman to be served. “A flea could intimidate Lizzy. Where is Miss Bishop? We were supposed to ride in the park.”

  Reginald sat back and propped his finger against his temple. “Good question. According to her lady’s maid, she and our sweet sister have disappeared.”

  Addison looked up. “Disappeared, you say?”

  Garrett chuckled. “More likely, Miss Bishop and Pen lit out at dawn for a brisk ride with Tom so as not to hear your lecture on inappropriate topics of discussion.”

  Edward’s head snapped up. “Tom is in the mews. He took charge of my horse.”

  Reginald’s piercing gaze met his, and they both shot to their feet.

  “Help!” Someone yelled.

  Edward looked out the window facing the garden. Two horses raced into the mews, and he and Reginald ran out of the breakfast room.

  They arrived just in time to see Penelope struggling to keep Ferris from tumbling off her horse.

  Reginald caught him before he dropped to the ground. Ferris’s face was pasty white and pebbled with beads of sweat along his forehead.

  “Reggie dear brother, for once in my life I am glad to see your brutish countenance.” He grimaced through a haze of pain. ”I cannot breathe.” He groaned and then passed out.

  Reginald turned toward the house. “Tom! Send a runner for the doctor.”

  Edward pulled Penelope off her horse and caught her not so fresh scent. He set her on the ground, but her legs gave out, and he swung her into his arms. The closer proximity assaulted his nostrils. “What the bloody hell have you been up to, Boots? You stink.”

  * * *

  Penelope turned her head and caught Amanda’s don’t-tell expression. She sat atop her horse, back stiff, chin high with a determined line drawn across her mouth. The thin mar between her brows and the subtle flare of her nostrils plead for silence. Addison pulled Amanda from her mount and severed their unspoken exchange. But it was enough.

  “Well, Boots?”

  Penelope glanced at Edward. What was she going to do? She needed time to sort things out. She needed to speak to Amanda. She took a deep breath and swallowed the gag pushing its way up. She needed to change.

  “Put me down.”

 
“Can you stand?”

  Maybe, maybe not. Her legs still quivered from squeezing her thighs together for so long, but it was the only way to keep Ferris from slipping sideways off Hell Spawn during the ride home, and her arms ached from holding him upright. They’d had to slow to a walk halfway home because Ferris was in so much pain and she worried he was worse off than he let on. “Of course, I can stand.”

  “Good.” Edward let her go and stepped back and away, turning his head to take a clean breath.

  Penelope lurched several feet and ended up on her backside in the dirt. Her legs felt like half jellied preserves—not quite syrup, but not fit for toast.

  “Dammit, woman.” Edward scooped her back into his arms and proceeded into the house. “At this rate, we are both going to need a bath. You might need two. You smell like the underside of a privy.”

  Penelope laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Are you trying to court me, sir?”

  Edward halted at the top of the stairs.

  The glint of amusement and barely-there smile made her breath hitch. He really was quite handsome.

  He arched a curious brow. “Is it working?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been courted.”

  Edward started down the hall. “Which bedroom is yours?”

  “Take me to Ferris.”

  “Ferris is in good hands, and you need a long soak with some very strong soap.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Boots. I’m cross enough to scrub you clean myself and take a palm to your backside for riding without a proper escort. My only comfort is that Reginald is just as annoyed.”

  Penelope squirmed. She didn’t relish the forthcoming inquisition, and she needed to speak to Amanda and Ferris before Reginald summoned her. “Far-right corner bedroom.” The room was smaller than the ones facing the front of the house, but it featured a balcony with a trellis. Easy up, easy down, and conveniently located on the side with the alley between the neighboring house and a tree hanging over the privacy wall.

  Edward pushed open the door and walked into her room as if he had done so a thousand times and was intimately acquainted with a lady’s boudoir. He headed for the bed, stopped, then turned, and set her on the window seat.

  Maggie rushed in on a huff followed by Aunt Augustina.

  “What are ye doing in my ladies’ room? Ye have no business here.” Maggie pulled herself up to her great height of five foot and shuffled like an indignant hen guarding her brood of chicks.

  Augustina waved her to shush and pushed open the casement. “I’m sure Lord Westfield’s intentions are less than nefarious Maggie. The odor is enough to wilt more than Penelope’s curls. Thank you, Edward dear. You may be excused.”

  Penelope bit the inside of her bottom lip to hold the encroaching smile at bay and watched Edward over Maggie’s shoulder. His features, though he fought to remain passive, mingled between irritation, amusement, and relief. A breeze fluttered the curtains, and he stepped back, no doubt from her wafting fragrance.

  With a curt bow, he retreated, but not before their eyes met and Penelope shifted in her seat. His I’m not finished with you, yet glower held the promise of more than a firm scolding.

  After the door clicked shut, she released a breath, and the full force of her fragrance stung her nostrils, reminding her of the time she ran across a polecat during mating season. It had taken several weeks for the lingering odor to dissipate and even longer for her brothers to remain in the same room with her for any length of time. She straightened. If they couldn’t remove the stink, she might not have to suffer through another ball for at least a fortnight. The smell did have its perks.

  Chapter 11

  Penelope stood on wobbly legs like a newborn colt. It was early afternoon, and she struggled into a serviceable gown. After a thorough scrubbing, she had been put to bed like a recalcitrant child and succumbed to the soft cocoon and welcoming warmth of down.

  A loud grumble reminded her she had yet to eat, but that would have to wait. She needed to see Ferris and speak with Amanda before she went downstairs.

  A quick check of the deserted upper hall and a sore walk to the other end and Penelope slipped into her brother’s room. The drapes were drawn, leaving the room in shadows. Ferris stirred then groaned beneath his covers.

  “Ferris?” She kept her voice low and sat on the edge of his bed.

  Ferris opened his one good eye a crack and grimaced. “Water. Please.”

  Penelope lit the lamp next to the bed and filled a glass from the carafe then helped him to sip. The effort seemed to tire him, and he dropped back against the pillows.

  “What time is it?” Tiny lines creased his mouth.

  “Almost two in the afternoon.”

  His eyes opened with surprise, and he struggled to sit tossing his covers aside only to yank them back over his naked form. He clenched his teeth and hissed a long slow breath. “Get out.”

  The bandages wrapped around his ribs didn’t cover the bruises from the beating he’d received, and Penelope pushed him back against the pillows. “Not on your life. I have you captive, and I want answers. Besides, you won’t get across the room without falling, and you certainly can’t be seen in public sporting such a colorful face and newly rearranged nose.”

  She tilted her head. “The nose suits you. It gives you a rakish quality even Reggie wouldn’t be able to match.”

  Ferris touched his face and flinched. “Bugger, that hurts almost as bad as the pounding in my head.”

  “It looks worse, too, which leads me back to my initial question. What happened?”

  “Leave it Pen. I’m in no mood.”

  “Which is precisely why I won’t. Unless you give me a bloody good reason to keep your whereabouts secret, I’m going to sing to Reggie like Alice La Pierre—long, loud, and off-key.”

  Ferris melted into the pillows in defeat. “Threatened like a true St. James.” He tried to smile through the grimace and gave up.

  Penelope rose from the bed and moistened a towel then placed it on her brother’s cheek.

  His face softened with the soothing contact, and he held his hand over hers. “I think it would be better if you told me where you found me because I have no recollection.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “The last thing I remember is a fist connecting with my face.”

  “Where were you then?”

  His cheeks reddened, highlighting the blue hues of his bruises. “Where I was and what I was doing is of no importance.”

  Penelope didn’t need to hear the details. His flush gave him away. “Miss Bishop and I found you in Cheapside a few blocks south of Moorfield’s.”

  The color drained from his cheeks and left him pallid with a tinge of green. “Where, exactly?”

  “In an alley; a few feet from a red door.”

  Ferris groaned and covered his eyes with his forearm. “Was I dressed?”

  She arched her brows. “Clothed, yes. Presentable, no.”

  His relief was evident when his shoulders relaxed. He obviously remembered more than he wanted. “Do you know why you were used as a pummeling bag?”

  Ferris dropped his arm. “I presume it was a gentle reminder regarding my debt.”

  Penelope’s chest tightened. “Whatever happened to sending a note with a calling card?”

  He winced when he grinned. “That was the calling card, and the message has been well received.”

  “Not funny.”

  “No, but effective.” He frowned. “I’ve only managed to come up with two hundred pounds. I’m eight hundred short and probably several gentle reminders away from settling the debt.”

  “If your calling card goes any softer on you, he’ll not get any of it. Dead men don’t pay their debts.”

  “Nor do they tell tales.”

  Ferris closed his eyes, and his breathing evened out.

  She worried her lip and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. She wouldn’t get any more information
out of her brother now, and it wouldn’t do her any good to hound him. Asking Reggie for help was also out of the question, and even with her four hundred and fifty pounds, Ferris was still three hundred and fifty short, which meant she needed to solicit more donations.

  * * *

  “Going somewhere?”

  Penelope swung around and almost tripped on the bottom stair. Reggie leaned arrogantly against the wall as if he were waiting for her; as if he knew she would be there. Lizzy hurried down the hall—as if he had spies.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Are you cold as well?”

  Drat, he would notice her cape. She undid the clasp and slipped it off. “I was going to the mews to give Hell Spawn an apple.”

  “First, I’d like to have a word with you in my study.” Reginald waved his hand in an after you gesture, and she passed him with as much grace as her protesting muscles would allow.

  Amanda was already ensconced in the far chair facing his desk, and Penelope sat gingerly in the matching seat.

  Reggie took his place behind his desk, and his glower slid from her to Amanda and back. His index finger propped against his nose did not bode well. It usually meant he was either tired or bored or put out. Put out was her guess since Amanda hadn’t spoken and seemed just as annoyed.

  So, it was to be a game of wills. Penelope could play that game, though she was a bit rusty. It had been years since she’d ended up on the wrong side of Reggie’s desk and she wondered how long he had made Amanda suffer his silence.

  “Reginald my dear boy, how long are we going to have to watch you pout?”

  Penelope turned toward her Aunt Augustina’s voice. She sat in the far corner, working a needlepoint near the light of a window. Her aunt gave her a studied stare, followed by a wink.

  “Now that my sister has graced us with her company, it won’t be much longer. In fact, I’m glad you decided to join us. Lord Westfield has sudden need of a chaperone for his sister and her dear friend, Miss Wilcot, who is staying unexpectedly at his home for the season. I offered your services. I was sure you wouldn’t mind. However, considering Miss Bishop,” he growled her name in a very un-Reginald way that was not lost on either Penelope or Aunt Augustina, “is also under your sponsorship, I decided it would be best if she accompanies you.”