“Not that I am at all vain, mind you, but I forget to take care of myself. I hope, once completed, these will prompt me when I see them on the dressing table.” Letty beamed a happy, if absentminded, smile on Penelope, then bustled off in the direction of her little study at the rear of the ground floor, where she usually retired to write her poetry.
Penelope was extremely curious to see what her cousin had composed, but so far her hints had brought about no offers to share the work from Letty’s pen.
Muffin wound herself about Penelope’s skirts, complaining of neglect, which Penelope knew to be a gross exaggeration. The cat had curled up on the bed during the night, seeking warmth and a comforting hand.
Penelope measured the prepared ox marrow for the lip salve, then added white pomatum. also ready for use. After properly blending, she stirred in the remaining ingredients, dropping in a hint of alcanet to color the salve a delicate red. When completed, she put the salve into a pretty jar with a nice tight lid. It was precisely the sort of thing a lady would enjoy having on her dressing table for very discreet use.
When Miss Nilsson peeked into the stillroom to see how Penelope fared, she was met with a frowning face. “What is it, my dear?”
“I do not have sufficient jars and bottles with me. I wonder if we might not find some attractive ones on Bond Street? Perhaps my cousin will take us there. I saw some lovely things in the last issue of the Lady Monthly Museum.” Penelope gave a final pat to the jar of lip salve, then turned to inspect the ingredients for the fine-quality pomade her cousin wished.
“Most likely we shall have to go on our own,” Miss Nilsson replied with a rueful smile. “Mrs. Flint tells me that once Miss Letty is into her poetry, she will not be bothered for anything. I suspect a shopping expedition to be at the bottom of her priority list.”
“Whatever shall I do, Nilsson?” Penelope asked, her concern clear in her voice. “It seems to me that I have made a mistake in seeking the help of my cousin, no matter that she seems a dear sort.”
“A trifle wanting in a few ways, perhaps, but you are correct to say she seems a good person. I do not know what manner of poetry she writes. I trust it reflects her heart. For now, we shall manage the best we can. Something will turn up,” Nilsson added in her pretty, lilting voice.
“We shall make a hasty trip to Bond Street, where I am persuaded the proper containers should be found,” Penelope declared. “Perhaps we can obtain a glance at London gentlemen as well while we are out and about.” She tossed a twinkling glance at her companion.
Miss Nilsson shot her employer a shrewd look, then nodded. “I trust it will do you no harm.”
They left word with Mrs. Flint that Lady Penelope required a number of items, and they set off for Bond Street with expectant hearts.
Purchase of the jars and bottles was amazingly simple. Of course, it helped that cost was no object and that all Penelope had to do was decide which of the lovely items presented for view she wished to buy. Once they left the little shop, the two women strolled along the street, admiring the contents of the various windows.
“This is rather exciting, Nilsson. Fancy seeing such lovely things, and not on the pages of magazines!” Penelope gazed at each window with the rapt attention of a child.
They were passing Mitchell’s, the bookseller’s and stationer’s shop, when a young buck came tearing out the door, colliding with the bemused Penelope. He was followed by another gentleman, who hurried to catch Penelope. who looked about to fall.
“Oh, I say, miss, dashed sorry. Didn’t look where I was going, y’see. Hope no damage has been done?” The more slender of the men, the one who had crashed into her, peered anxiously at the lovely young woman now held lightly in the protection of his friend’s arms.
“You clunch, ‘tis a wonder she’s not swooned away at your thoughtless sprint.” The second man inspected Penelope’s pelisse and bonnet for damage, then stepped back, giving a proper bow. “Stephen Collison at your service, ma’am. Sorry to disturb you. This young fellow is inclined to rush about without a thought for the mayhem he causes.”
“I apologized, Collison,” the dasher snapped in a low aside to his friend. Then he turned his charm on Penelope with a smile. “Fair beauty, I count myself devastated if I so much as injured a feather of your bonnet. Allow me to atone? I shall escort you to safety.”
“Ha!” Collison declared in an amused voice. “She would be far safer with me, Willowby.”
“If you didn’t pause to bet on her chances of returning home in one piece, that is,” gibed the dashing Willowby.
It was far too much for Penelope to resist. Laughter gurgled up from within in a captivating way, enchanting both men, who had expected her to issue a scold at the very least.
“What scamps you are, to be sure,” she managed to say at last. “I am quite all right, though Mr. Collison is correct. You, Mr. Willowby, ought to look where you are going. To so madly dash about is to invite disaster.”
Willowby opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped by a discreet jab in his ribs.
“The fair lady supports my opinion,” Collison said. “We shall not delay you further, ladies. I hope we shall meet again soon. A proper meeting, when we may learn the identity of the newest charmer in London. My parents are giving a ball for my sister soon. Dare I
