“I suppose you have been fending off proposals for your hand,” he said as they paused in the country dance, watching the others. “I heard your cousin is a dragon, guarding you and your fortune well. Word has seeped out that Harford, not Everton, is the one to approach.”
She was silent at this tidbit. Harford ought to have told her about every one of the gentlemen who requested to court her. When the dance concluded, she accepted Lord Harford’s hand, while Lord Stephen smilingly claimed Charis.
“What a chore this must be for you, my lord,” Penelope said in a seemingly demure manner.
“I have not missed that neckline, Penny. You are fortunate I have not insisted you fill it in with a fichu or round of lace.” He led her through the first movement of the country dance, the warmth of his band as he held hers distinctly felt even through their gloves.
“Indeed? And you think I would obey your demand? You forget yourself, my lord.” Her eyes flashed with the blue fire that so frequently flamed when near this toplofty man.
“Take care, my little termagant, or I shall have Miss Nilsson remove all those altered gowns to be repaired.”
Penelope gasped, utterly outraged. “You would never!” He failed to reply, but the sly expression on his face gave her the clear impression there was nothing he would not do if he so chose.
Penelope fumed in silence, completing the dance with automatic grace. Abominable, detestable man. She had merely requested he assist her in finding a husband, not asked that he stand custodian over her.
As they circled the room following the dance, she touched the matter which had been simmering in the back of her mind. “I would have you tell me precisely how many offers for my hand you have received to date, sir. I have the most peculiar notion that you have not told me of them.”
He had the goodness to look uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he said, “Perhaps we ought to seek a glass of lemonade, I find I am uncommonly thirsty.”
“What do you conceal, my lord?” she demanded in a silken voice.
Resigned to a fierce wigging, he looked down into that disapproving face. “Watkins, for one. The fellow is a scapegrace, a thoroughly wild fellow, so naturally I rejected him.”
“Naturally,” she replied smoothly.
“Willowby, as well. I knew you could not wish such a frippery fellow as that. He hasn’t a feather to fly with, and while he might be complaisant, you could never depend upon him to remain so.”
“I can scarcely pull cape with you over that, can I?” she said with deceptive calm. “Anyone else?”
He continued, naming several others, listing his objection to each with irrefutable logic for each denial and a sound reason as to why he had not consulted with her. When he finished, he waited for her to speak. He hadn’t long.
“Although you have indeed pointed these men out to me at various times, I think it positively wicked that you would conceal the offers from me,” she said in a tight voice. “I am persuaded that I do not suffer from an excess of vanity. You might have told me. I doubt I would succumb to sham proposals, my lord.” She gave him an angry look, then continued, “However, I have no intention of combing your hair in public.”
“I am indeed thankful for small mercies, Cousin. But you must understand, my dear, that it is not the easiest of matters to discover a potential husband who would meekly do as you insist. You are rather lovely to be left alone in the country.”
While secretly mollified at his explanation, she gave no inkling of her reaction in his words. “And to think I trusted you to guide me to find the sort of husband I want.” She gave an indignant sniff.
“Do you still feel the same way about being left alone? You have not altered your opinion since coming to Town?”
Memory of those odd sensations that had gripped her when close to Lord Harford returned, but she was saved from a reply when her next partner presented himself. “I believe I shall reserve my answer to that, sir.” She whirled off on the arm of young Patterson.
Concealing his thoughts beneath a bland facade, Harford crossed to solicit the hand of the young lady he had asked for this dance. He then found a place in the set that Penelope and her partner had joined and proceeded to put her utterly out of countenance by giving her knowing looks whenever their eyes met.
Penelope was provoked at how frequently her gaze strayed in Harford’s direction. Quite deliberately, especially after that uncomfortable dance, she set about keeping as great a distance between them as possible until she chanced to see him with that brown mouse of a girl, Miss Dunston.
Words exchanged earlier with Lady Harford returned in her mind. Penelope had queried her hostess at the inclusion of the drab girl. Lady Harford had replied that while she felt the girl to be more than a little peculiar, Mrs. Dunston was an old friend, and she could not slight her daughter.
Penelope felt the girl to be unbalanced, what with her odd habit of staring at Lord Harford with such a fixed gaze. Penelope felt a stirring of unease when Miss Dunston offered a glass of wine to Lord Harford. What a strange thing for the little mouse to do, a bold action for one usually so timid. It brought to mind the other incongruity, when the girl had importuned Harford with false accusations.
Penelope drifted across the room, skirting several groups who sought to include her in their numbers, until she reached Harford’s side. She paused only once, and that was to make a request of one of the footmen.
“Miss Dunston, how charming you look. I trust the herbal potion I sent you did the trick? You seem quite in plump current this evening.”
