At this point Muffin strolled into the room to twine about Penelope’s legs. A plaintive cry caused her to scoop her pet up in her arms, scratching that spot beneath the chin that always brought a satisfied purr. Penelope clutched the cat in her arms in a near-defensive move.
“As I explained before, there is no need for you to take care of my debts. I am quite able to pay whatever expenses are incurred in my behalf.” Her clear blue eyes gazed back at him without the least trace of coquettishness. Even that blasted cat stared at him with unblinking amber eyes.
Jonathan studied that stubborn, very lovely face, tilted so defiantly at him. He’d never had a woman challenge him like this. Usually they were only too happy to fall into his arms, indeed, attempted to do so at the first possible chance. Yet there she stood, that silly cat in her arms, with enchanting silver-gold curls tumbled about her head, a glint in her eyes simply daring him. To do what?
“I insist upon sharing the expenses of the ball,” she continued. “And that is quite final. When I asked for your advice, I had no intention of becoming a leech upon your generosity, my lord. Fortunately, I am a lady of independent means. I intend to remain that way.”
Whatever rejoinder Lord Harford might have issued was lost when Mrs. Flint paused in the doorway, her voice sounding distinctly upset. “Lord Everton and Lady Winthrop are here.”
“Ernest and Aunt Winthrop?” Penelope dropped the cat, her hands flying to her face as she considered the horror of this news. She struggled to calm her temper while coping with the vexatious information.
“Good grief!” Instinctively Lord Harford drew closer to Penelope, as though to shield her from her unwelcome relatives. His, too, for that matter.
“Dear child, what is this I hear about your coming to London?” gushed the thin woman who bustled into the room, poking her nose in every direction to discover who else might be present. “I am utterly crushed that you did not turn to your dear Aunt Winthrop to assist you. Ernest and I shall take over now, dear girl. We know what is best for you. Don’t we, Ernest?” She jabbed her son in the ribs with a bony elbow.
“Yes, Mother,” replied her dutiful son, wincing at the thrust.
He had been a pudgy, not overly bright child, and the years had not been kind to him, for he was now a regular puff-guts, Penelope reflected. An unhealthy pallor clung to his rounded cheeks—from long hours spent gaming, no doubt— and he looked quite miserable. The thought of being married to this pathetic creature was beyond thinking. Take over, indeed.
Aunt Winthrop inspected with distaste the near proximity of her distant nephew to her niece. They did not frequent quite the same circles—so she had not seen him up close for some time, but nevertheless she recognized him. Repressing the desire to order him from the house, for she knew some g iris might be foolish enough to prefer him to her beloved Ernest, she bestowed a frosty glare on his poor head. “You were just about to depart, Lord Harford?”
“Actually, dear aunt, Penny and I were about to join my sister. There are so many preparations for her ball, as you may well imagine.” He gave his aunt that sort of lofty look he normally reserved for encroaching mushrooms.
“Ball? What ball? Never say you have been so precipitate as to allow someone else the pleasure of doing your come-out ball? I am desolate.” Her thin, sharp nose fairly quivered with indignation. The shock of a pet name was forgotten in the horror of learning she was too late to take charge of the ball. She had quite looked forward to spending all that money, not to mention arranging the marriage between her precious son and the heiress.
Strongly suspecting the entire display of sensibilities all a hum, Penelope took a firm grip on her nerves, tossing a grateful glance at Lord Harford before she countered, “It is a pity, I expect, but true. Lady Charis and I have become bosom bows and look forward to sharing our ball. Lady Harford has been all that is amiable in extending her assistance to this motherless girl. Such kindness is truly appreciated.”
Deciding she might as well put on her own performance, Penelope demurely hung her head, stealing a hand to her face to wipe away a nonexistent tear. While it was true she appreciated all that the Harfords, collectively, were doing for her, she normally did not gush her thanks quite so effusively nor behave so dramatically.
Lord Harford rose to the occasion by placing a protective arm about Penelope’s shoulders. “Now, Cousin, we look upon you as one of our family. No tears, please, dear girl. Come, Mother will be waiting for us, and I know you do not wish to keep her waiting.”
Penelope favored Harford with a melting smile that she hoped might be deemed sisterly. “How thoughtful you are, dear cousin. I shall fetch my bonnet and pelisse directly.” She glanced around to find Miss Nilsson standing in the doorway. “Oh, dear Eva, you are ready to leave, and I tarry.” Turning back to the intruders, Penelope added in dulcet tones, “We must see you sometime whilst you are in London, Aunt. What a pity Cousin Letty has no rooms for you. I daresay you will enjoy opening Everton House. It will happily occupy your energies, I am sure. Although I feel sure my parents left it in good repair, it has been some years, and no doubt you wish to make a few changes. Please excuse me now.”
Ernest had ignored the ancestral London residence while in Town. He had acquired quarters considered adequate for a bachelor, then spent his time in wild dissipation. Penelope would wager
