“It is one of her better efforts,” he replied, his face glum. Penelope rose, suddenly recalling it was no more proper for her to be alone with Mr. Oglethorpe than for her bewildering cousin. “I had best go to her and see if I can improve matters.”
“By all means.” He gave a gloomy shake of his head as to what he thought of her chances. “One of these days I shall give up on her.” With that sad reflection, Mr. Oglethorpe left the house.
Penelope watched him from the window, then went off to find her cousin. When she located her back in the crowded little room that Letty used for her study, Penelope entered, then leaned against the door in the hope that she could ferret out the problem bothering Letty without her cousin stalking off in a huff. Seated at her untidy desk, Letty raised her head to give Penelope a defiant glare.
“You were a bit abrupt, Cousin,” Penelope chided.
“No one understands my work,” Letty complained with a pout.
“I have yet to hear anything written by Mr. Oglethorpe, but I do not pretend to be an authority on poetry. Perhaps he is envious of your efforts.”
Letty gave Penelope an arrested look, then shook her head. “I doubt it.”
“Odd, but I have the feeling that poetry actually has little to do with your regard for the gentleman. Would it help if you confided in me? I promise that you may trust me to keep as mute as a fish.”
Letty toyed with the pen on her desk, then slowly pushed her chair back, rising to wander about the room as she mulled over the offer. That her thoughts were in turmoil was all too evident. Her hair was a bird’s nest, her gown wrinkled, as though she had spent some time crumpled on the backless sofa to one side of the room.
“He is quite smitten with you, and I strongly suspect he longs to marry with you. Is he so poor that you cannot consider him an eligible parti?” Penelope gently queried. She was at a loss as to why her cousin should deliberately hurt the only gentleman who was likely to offer for her hand. She did not accept the hints that Letty had dropped that she didn’t care if she remained single. Life for an unmarried woman was fraught with perils; she could attest to the truth of that.
Startled at her cousin’s perception, Letty snapped, utterly dismayed at her feelings being brought into the open. “No,” she denied abruptly. “He is of acceptable fortune, indeed most well-to-grass.”
“He is considerate, gentle, and rather agreeable in nature. What can be the problem confronting you?”
“Mother would never consent. He is not of the aristocracy and she is a fearful snob about that sort of thing,” Letty confessed in a rush. “His father made his fortune in manufacturing, you know.”
“I see.” Indeed, Penelope saw a great deal at this revelation. “But he is vastly loyal to you, and seems a fine gentleman, regardless of his background.”
“His mother is of the gentry, ‘tis true. I know I do not have to seek my parents’ approval, being of an age when I may marry to please myself, but I would not sever the connection with my family.” She avoided meeting Penelope’s probing gaze, staring at her clasped hands before strolling over to the window that overlooked a small garden.
‘It would seem that you must compare your attitude toward him with the reality of his fine, noble character even though he is of the lower gentry. For he is extremely clever and certainly has improved his mind.”
“Are you so certain it would be right to wed him in spite of his background?” Letty’s voice betrayed her inner yearnings as clearly as if she had spoken them. “Oh, I do not see how he can wish to marry me,” she suddenly blurted out. “I am a frump, with my peculiar dress and my spectacles.” She now turned back to glare fiercely at Penelope. “However, I refuse to go without them.” She pushed the offending articles up on her nose. “I cannot see a blessed thing without them, and I am not so vain as to believe my appearance would be greatly improved if I left them off.”
“Your dress need not be unfashionable. Lady Harford does very well with Charis. Why not seek her advice?”
“Did you?”
“Well. . .“ Penelope hesitated, not wanting to lie, yet not wishing to reveal the extent of Lord Harford’ s help. “In a way."
It was clear that Letty still had her doubts of the matter. “I still say it would not make any difference to my looks.”
A gentle rapping at the door forced Penelope to stand away. She opened it to find Mrs. Flint peering at her.
“Lord Harford wishes to speak with you, Lady Penelope.” Thankful she could have a chance to speak with her cousin, Penelope excused herself, adding before she left the room, “Do not think for a moment that this subject is closed. You must give poor Mr. Oglethorpe more consideration. What would your life be like if he disappeared from it, never to be seen again?”
With that parting shot, Penelope sailed down the hall and up the stairs into the drawing room, where Lord Harford waited. She paused at the entrance, taking note of his attire.
As usual, he looked impeccable, his biscuit pantaloons fitting him with superb care, and that corbeau coat hugging his shoulders in a way only Weston could manage. His waistcoat had an elegant pattern, with one discreet fob displayed. She reluctantly admired his total effect of elegance. Perhaps he was a frippery fellow, as she had overheard Aunt Winthrop say. Whatever did he do with his time? Or did he spend it in endless pursuit
