THE WICKED PROPOSAL
Emily Hendrickson
Chapter 1
The young woman garbed in a soft blue pelisse to reflect her sensible blue eyes resolutely entered the attractive town house situated on Upper Brook Street. “Lady Penelope Winthrop to see Miss Winthrop, if you please,” she intoned in her best manner and with the regal air of one born to command.
Giving a significant look at her companion and former governess, Miss Nilsson, Penelope waited with not a few trepidations while the stout woman in black bombazine—the housekeeper, most likely—trotted off toward the rear of the house, mumbling something about hunting for her mistress. Clearly this was an unusual household.
Penelope glanced about with curious eyes. Although the place appeared respectable enough, peculiar touches could be seen here and there, like the Grecian bust with a paisley shawl draped over his head and a clutch of peacock feathers stuck at a crazy angle in the umbrella stand. She wondered if her cousin possessed a pianoforte, for Penelope dearly loved to play. She did rather well, finding music company.
“I do hope she received my letter,” she muttered to Nilsson in a soft aside.
“I warned you against coming ahead without a clear understanding, my dear,” Nilsson replied in a similarly quiet tone. The basket at her feet gave a lurch, and an inquisitive nose poked from beneath the lid, whiskers quivering, followed by the tip of an orange striped tail and a questing paw. “It is to be hoped that she will tolerate your pet. Not everyone appreciates a cat, you know.”
An offended “Meow” followed this comment.
“I shall pay for any damages.”
“How many times must I remind you that you cannot always buy your way through life?” Miss Nilsson said with a touch of asperity in her usually mild voice.
Penelope gave Miss Nilsson a wry look. “So far it has proved to be remarkably effective. I have yet to see a person who will turn down money."
“One day you shall discover the truth of the matter. I only hope it does not turn out to be a painful experience.”
An end to this familiar lecture came with the rustle of skirts. A short, plump young woman with untidy brown hair and gold spectacles perched on her little nose peered at the callers with obvious puzzlement as she hurried toward where they waited. She halted directly before Penelope, studying her with a disconcerting gaze. “Your face is familiar, but I fear I cannot recall where we met,” Miss Winthrop declared with disarming frankness. Tilting her head, she extended her hand in greeting. “At any rate, welcome.” A paisley shawl similar to the one on the Greek head was draped across her shoulders at a perilous angle, looking about to slide off.
“I am your cousin. You stayed at our home, Fountains, in Kent a few years ago while you painted butterflies and flowers. And this is my companion, Miss Nilsson,” Penelope explained patiently. “You urged me to visit you sometime.”
“Penelope!” Lettice exclaimed in recognition. “I believe I had a letter from you not long ago. At least, I think I did. I could not find my spectacles at the moment, and it was put aside.” Turning to the housekeeper, hovering in the background, she added, “Where did I put that letter?”
The older woman sighed, then shuffled off down the hall, muttering softly to herself as she went. She disappeared through a door near the end of the hall.
Suddenly recalling her manners, Lettice nodded her head toward the hall, then led them along into the haphazardly furnished morning room. “She ought to have brought you in here, but one does never know.”
At Penelope’s silence, Lettice went on, “But of course you do not know, for how could you? You see,” she confided, “I am dreadfully absentminded and nearly everyone knows about my difficulty. Ladies sometimes seek my advice, although why they should is totally beyond me. I doubt I would be of help to anyone.”
Hoping the dismay she felt was not revealed on her face, Penelope glanced at Miss Nilsson, then back at her cousin. “I see. In that case, perhaps I had best leave you.”
“Nonsense! I declare, I am vastly diverted. Why have you suddenly turned up on my doorstep? You have changed a great deal, you know. I say that in defense of my not recognizing you at first. The alteration into womanhood can be most striking in some girls. You certainly have become a beauty,” she concluded without a trace of envy in her voice.
Clearing a restricted throat, Penelope replied, “I wrote you all about it.” Deciding she might as well plunge to the heart of the problem, now recalling how her cousin could take it into her head to wander off in the middle of a conversation, Penelope continued, “I need to find a husband, a not-too-unusual dilemma, I fancy. However, I do not wish Cousin Ernest or his mother to know about my decision to wed. One of these days Aunt Winthrop is sure to remember my age and get the idea in her head that she will marry me to Ernest. I assure you that would not be the least to my liking.”
“I fail to see how I may help you, although I can see why you’d not wish to many our toad of a cousin.” Lettice turned as the housekeeper bustled into the room with a piece of stiff cream paper in her hand. “Is this it? Wherever did you find it?”
“Stuck in the spotted fern, Miss Letty.”
“Fancy that,” Lettice mused as she broke the seal and began reading the letter that had been sent off two weeks before. “Yes, I see, it is just as you say.”
“Will that be all?” the housekeeper prompted.
“You had best prepare rooms for my cousin and her companion.”
The housekeeper eyed the basket at Penelope’s feet with a suspicious look. “And what’s that?”
“That is Muffin, my cat. I could not spend time away from her, for she would never forgive me,” Penelope replied.
Lettice nodded as though the statement made
