“Lady Penelope, have you ever read any of Letty’s poetry?” Mr. Oglethorpe said in a hesitant voice.
“I cannot say that I have. Why?” Her gaze flew to his face, taking note of his highly embarrassed flush. Whatever Mr. Oglethorpe was about to confide had to be
postponed when Letty sailed into the room, her face bearing a self-satisfied look.
“You look well, Cousin Penelope. I fancy my program of improvement is going to do you good. Mr. Oglethorpe, what brings you to my hearth?”
He gave her a narrow look. “I begin to wonder.” His hint of possible disenchantment fazed Letty not the least. She plumped herself down on the sofa to regale them of her latest efforts, and how she simply knew that her new natural diet would improve her poetry.
Penelope looked at Mr. Oglethorpe. He leaned against the mantelpiece, somewhat behind Letty, and was shaking his head in the most gloomy manner possible.
“Letty, I fear that your household is not best pleased with the notion of forsaking meat,” he offered.
“A natural diet from the bounty of the earth will have them cheerful in a trice,” Letty declared, quite obviously unwilling to see any point but her own.
A stir at the door brought Penelope to her feet. “Lord Harford, what a surprise.” Her voice did not betray the fact she had been waiting for him.
Harford looked about the room, observing that there would be no quiet spot where he might discuss plans with Lady Penelope. He had best offer his alternative plan.
“Good afternoon, cousins, Oglethorpe. I trust I find you all well?”
“As well as can be,” murmured Penelope, thinking of the meatless meals to come.
Harford seized the opportunity. “I believe you could use a bit of pink in your cheeks, Lady Penelope. Would you like to take a drive in my carriage? Now?”
Penelope floated across the room with deceptive speed. “Just what I longed for—a bit of fresh air. I feel sure that Miss Nilsson would adore to join us.”
“By all means.” Harford nodded with resignation. Why he would rather be alone with his impossible cousin, he couldn’t have said. Of course, that kiss lingered in the back of his mind. One did not go about kissing a near-stranger, even if she were your cousin, yet it had been rather delightful, even if he had been a trifle elevated at the time. Not foxed, mind you, just a touch bosky.
Penelope surveyed the tastefully rigged-out landau with approving eyes. Black leather gleamed with the soft patina of diligent polishing. Four chestnuts awaited the office to start with commendable patience. The coachman tipped his hat as the ladies entered, followed by Lord Harford.
“You rescued me just in time, my lord,” Penelope said in a soft voice, as though she feared Letty might yet hear her.
Harford leaned back against the squabs with a smile crossing his handsome face. “Rescued? I know I am to assist you with . . . clothing? advice? But to rescue you?”
“Cousin Letty has done the most bird-witted thing.”
“Miss Winthrop has embraced the philosophy of Mr. Shelley, the poet,” Miss Nilsson inserted helpfully. “She has become an advocate of a natural diet, one which excludes all meat, fowl, and fish.”
“By Jove, you don’t say!” The perfect angle of Lord Harford’s beaver hat tilted as he started in amazement.
“We are,” Penelope intoned solemnly, “to have potato-and-leek soup with bread and cheese for dinner this evening. Would you care to join us?”
“Horrors!” Harford shook his head. He shuddered at the mere thought of such Spartan diet.
“Enough of this silliness.” Penelope grinned at the shaken Lord Harford. “As long as I am able to sneak into the kitchen, I shall see to it that Nilsson and I are properly fed. I fear that if I don’t make certain the servants get food on the sly, we shall have a mutiny on our hands. One of the maids threatened to give notice just before I left.”
“Oh, dear,” Nilsson murmured, looking to Lord Harford as one does to a savior.
Not accustomed to that sort of look in the least, discounting his sisters who begged him to get them out of a pickle, Harford ran a finger around inside his collar, then began his questioning in a different line, hoping to change the topic. “I have made a review of mantua-makers deemed suitable for a young lady. My sisters and my mother are fond of a woman named Madame Clotilde. I think she will be most proper for you.”
“I heard the name Madame Grisette mentioned. Is she acceptable? The gown she designed for a lady at the Collison ball was magnificent,” Penelope said.
"No."
“What do you mean, just ‘no’?” Penelope demanded.
“She is not suitable in the least,” Harford continued warily. His hope that he might not have to explain went sliding down the drain as his third cousin, once removed, tilted that pretty blond head and narrowed her eyes at him.
“She caters to the demi-reps and high-flyers, not at all the sort of thing for a young lady, if you catch my meaning.”
“Well, the gown was perfectly lovely, if you ask me. Nothing out of line that I could see.”
“Perhaps a trifle low-necked, my love, and maybe a bit daring in color. Although I am certain you would look well in vivid crimson with cascades of blond lace and ribbons,” Miss Nilsson inserted in a soothing voice.
His respect for the companion grew as he saw her skillful handling of what could have been a touchy thing. Harford concealed a smile behind a hastily raised hand, coughing slightly as he did.
Lady Penelope crossed her arms before her, staring out across the expanse of green park. “I expect Madame Clotilde should be well enough if your family uses her. But I do not believe I should like an insipid gown.”
“Nothing would ever look insipid on you, dear cousin.”
“You failed to see me at the Collison
