“Nothing for the moment. Be prepared with that inventive mind of yours should I need you.”
With that rejoinder, he left her side, the depth of her neckline apparently forgotten.
Penelope watched as he sought out the most dashing widow present and flirted outrageously with her. It didn’t mollify her that she was besieged by a flattering number of gentlemen. Glancing at her dance card, she observed that every line was filled in, with one contra danse claimed by Lord Harford. She wondered if they would actually get to dance, or if he would use that time to give her another scold, then took herself off to enjoy the next dance.
She left the floor, escorted to Lady Harford’s side by a fairly nice man, if one didn’t mind conversation about nothing but the hunting field. Still, she reminded herself, hadn’t she insisted she would accept someone devoted to the hunt? She would have to find out if he ever did anything else.
Searching the room for Lord Harford, intent on having her question answered promptly, she found him absent. Murmuring something to her next partner about being utterly parched, she sent him off for a drink of lemonade while she edged her way through the crowd. With his mother and sister present, she doubted if Harford would get deeply involved with the gay widow, but something prompted her to investigate. Miss Dunston seemed missing as well.
At the closed door of a small anteroom she paused, then peeked inside. There she found Miss Dunston confronting her cousin in a most belligerent manner. Penelope ducked inside and quickly shut the door behind her, then advanced upon the pair. “What has happened?”
“He has abused me in a most shameful way. I shall never be able to face Society again,” came the dramatic reply from the clever damsel.
Penelope then caught sight of a white bandage on one dainty arm. “How gallant of him to tie his handkerchief over it. And promptly, too.,,
“Penny, I swear I know nothing of this,” he muttered to her as she drew closer.
“I know that,” she whispered in reply. “You might natter a girl to death, but you would never harm her.” She drifted closer to Miss Dunston, shaking her head in mock sympathy. “Poor dear, to be so put upon. Allow me.” With that, Penelope swiftly reached out to tug the scrap of white from Miss Dunston’s arm. As she had suspected, there was no mark to be seen.
“Heavens, this is serious,” Penelope exclaimed. “Far worse than I expected. I suggest we apply leeches, Miss Dunston. There must be deep injury, for you have no external sign of a bruise. I insist you allow me to send you some of my special herbal potion tomorrow. There is danger in using it, but this is an extreme case. Poor dear.”
“No!” The alarm on Miss Dunston’s face was almost comical. “I shall be fine.” She jerked her arm from Penelope’s light clasp, then ran from the room, murmuring incoherent words as she fled.
“When I said you were resourceful, I didn’t know just how creative you could be, given a chance.” Lord Harford strolled over to the door, opening it wider so they might both leave the small room.
“How did she lure you in here?”
“Oddly enough, she said you had need of me.”
“Odd, indeed.” Penelope cleared a peculiar obstruction from her throat, then went in search of her partner, who must be most annoyed at her disappearance.
Jonathan watched her leave his side with mixed emotions. Once again she had come to his assistance. Never in his life had he been so beset by an opportuning female as with Miss Dunston. The little mouse certainly had determination. Perhaps now she would look elsewhere.
Across the room Lord Stephen Collison escorted Penelope in a sprightly quadrille. Jonathan bestowed a sour look on the pair and took himself off to locate the charming widow he had danced with earlier. Tomorrow he must escort his ladies to the presentation, then endure the coming come-out ball with all the fortitude he could muster. He might as well enjoy himself this evening. Yet he could not shake off the sensation that something was missing from his life.
Chapter 8
‘‘I feared it would be more trying,” Penelope said as she eased her hooped skirt through the door, then followed Lady Harford and Charis up the curving stairs to the second floor and into the drawing room.
Charis spun about, carefully managing her hoop, and cried, “That really was not so frightful. It was very kind of the Queen to say such lovely things to you, Penelope. I daresay all of London shall hear of her gracious condescension. Even the Prince eyed you with more than interested notice.”
“Charis,” Penelope cried, “what folly you speak. I feel certain it was all owing to my distinguished company.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth at the remembrance of the Prince Regent’s appraising gaze. “You attracted a great deal of attention.”
Charis giggled, then turned to her mother with soft words. Penelope smoothed the white silk of her skirt, which seemed to go straight out from her waist, so full was her hoop, then caught sight of herself in a looking glass on the far wall. What a fantastic image. The modest bodice of her gown was a delicate silver above a white petticoat edged and trimmed in silver lace and beads. Blond lace lappets draped gracefully over her shoulders, and the three white plumes in her hair nodded ever so gently as she moved. She looked for all the world like a princess from her childhood book of fairy tales.
“What has happened to Jonathan?” Charis waltzed to the door, peering down the hall. “Ah, my dear brother comes now.
Penelope felt her heart constrict as the handsome figure of her mentor entered the room. He was dressed in the finest of court clothes, his elegance almost too much to endure.
His court suit was of a blue and black weave, with an old-fashioned—but proper for court—edging on his coat of
