Seeing that her humor was restored, Harford went on enumerating the invitations she might accept, those she should not. “My mother has promised to sponsor you at the next court presentation. You cannot truly be considered ‘Out’ until you have made your curtsy there. Then,” he added, “I induced her to include you—for she recalls your parents well—in the ball that she gives for, my sister.”
He was quite well aware that this offering was anything but what Lady Penelope deserved. As a considerable heiress, and a beauty as well, she merited a magnificent ball of her own. However, he knew of no woman he might ask to take on the task of presenting Penelope to Society. As it was, his mother raised her brows and sighed at the mere thought.
Harford had promised her extra funds, which had done the trick quite nicely.
Penelope studied her gloved hands, smoothing the fine French kid over each finger with care. “That is asking a great deal of your mother, sir. I beg you not to trouble her.”
“Dash it all, Penelope—or may I call you Penny?—you must be presented at court. I shall take care of the trifling matter of cards and all that, and Madame Clotilde can see that you have a proper presentation gown. But as to a ball, well, I know you deserve better, but unless you want me to summon Aunt Winthrop from the country, my mother will have to be it.”
“I should like to be called Penny, I believe,” she replied primly. “I can see you know what must be done, and truly I shall try not to give you any more bother than necessary.” Penelope had never had anyone even offer to give her a pet name. Since that was a privilege reserved for families and dearest friends, of which she had precious little, she’d never had such.
“I doubt if Mrs. Winthrop would care to oversee her niece’s coming-out, as it were,” Miss Nilsson said carefully.
Jonathan wasn’t so sure about that. If rumors were to be believed, their cousin Ernest had frittered away a considerable amount of his inheritance. Jonathan imagined the fellow expected to forge a link with Penny, since she was devilish warm in the pocket. She didn’t seem the least inclined to marry the chap, however.
“Never!” Penelope declared. “I shall not have that woman fluttering about me with her nasty little barbs. And I feel certain that that toad Ernest would come with her.”
“Dear, it has been an age since you last saw her.”
“Yes, she came down for the memorial service for my parents and made it plain then that she would expect to control my life when the time came for me to wed. I intend to see that does not occur.”
Jonathan didn’t bother to conceal his grin. Lady Penelope might be a naive little thing fresh from the country, but she had determination and she certainly possessed spunk.
They bowled along in the park, ignoring the occasional carriage, while they made their plans. Dates were fixed, arrangements were made. The weeks would be busy ones.
“You must see the mantua-maker as soon as possible. In fact, I believe I shall take you to see her this instant. The court gown takes time, unless she has an ordered one that was never claimed. That does happen, you know.”
Penelope wrinkled her brow. “I cannot imagine someone going to that trouble, then changing her mind.”
Jonathan exchanged a cautious glance with Miss Nilsson, but made no reply. There were actually a number of reasons one might have a change of heart: losing a fortune, illness, deciding to marry before the court date, to list a few.
“I suppose I must wear something vastly insipid for my come-out ball? White muslin has ever made me look ill.” Penelope sighed and sought Jonathan’s eyes with a beseeching plea that he found hard to resist.
“We shall see,” he temporized.
“Will it not look compromising if you come in with us, Cousin?” Penelope gave him a curious look, wondering how he proposed to wiggle out of this situation. Surely he had no love for sitting about while a lady picked out a design, and all that it entailed.
“For a young woman who has been buried in the country, you have some remarkable notions,” he answered in a repressive tone with a haughty stare.
“I was merely curious.” She glanced about the street down which the carriage now progressed. The shops looked terribly exclusive, just the sort she expected she must patronize to look her most fashionable. “And we do receive the papers, you know. We are not quite the heathen you might think.” As he made no reply to this statement, she went on. “I still do not see why I must go through all this nonsense just to acquire a suitable husband. Surely you might be able to draw up a list of possibilities—men who enjoy London, perhaps
a hunting box, and travel abroad? My guardian, Lord
Lanscomb, has been in the Austrian Alps for years, I believe.
I cannot apply to him. Even his wife undoubtedly has not
seen him in ages."
“Clearly a blessing for both parties.” Jonathan recalled that Lord Lanscomb was a quiet man with a harpy of a wife, one who would drive any sane man to head for the Alps.
“Perhaps I must take a page from her book?”
This outrageous suggestion was not remarked upon as the carriage drew to a halt before a shop painted a pretty dove gray, with windows picked out neatly in gold. Penelope decided it was as elegant a shop as she had seen yet.
Any idea that Lord Harford intended to sit silently in the shadows while Penelope waded through the fashion plates, Miss Nilsson at her shoulder, went by the wayside immediately. First of all, Madame Clotilde turned to him to ask what was required. Apparently he had overseen his sisters’ wardrobes, being a gentleman of notably excellent taste.
Penelope sniffed
