Several riders approached, but Penelope paid them no attention, figuring that if she ignored them, they would ignore her. It didn’t work quite as she hoped. She skirted a large oak, hoping to get on the far side, and thus out of sight.
“I say, isn’t that Lady Penelope over there?” came a familiar voice.
Startled, Penelope looked up to discover Lord Stephen cantering across the grass in her direction. Behind him were Mr. Willowby and Sir Aubrey Preston, as well as a fourth gentleman. She was dismayed to find that when he lifted his head it was none other than Lord Harford. Double drat! He must have dashed home to ride out with his friends.
Lord Stephen reined in his bay, then slid down, walking up to meet Penelope with a quizzical look in his eyes. “Alone in the park? I say, Lady Penelope, that will not do.”
“Oh”—she waved her hand vaguely about in the air— my maid is somewhere nearby. We are looking for my cat, who escaped from the house earlier.”
“Her cat is gone missing,” Lord Stephen in turn relayed to the others, who had lagged somewhat behind.
“What color is it?” demanded Sir Aubrey.
Penelope explained the size and coloring of her pet, helpless to prevent their joining in the search.
“Another contretemps, Lady Penny?” came a dulcet voice too close for comfort, a voice she had come to know all too well. He joined her, looking about for the cat.
“I did not request your aid this time, my lord,” she retorted in lofty tones, albeit very quiet ones. She had no desire to argue with him so others could overhear their words.
“You are without a doubt the most shatter-brained female
I have yet to meet,” he replied in repressive, although equally
soft, accents. “Not even Charms would be such a goosecap.
If your maid is anywhere this side of Upper Brook Street,
I shall be amazed.”
“I no doubt suffer from a disgraceful want of conduct, my lord,” she said with a deal of composure, considering all that had befallen her this day. “However, my concern for Muffin brought me here in haste.”
“Without due regard, and you completely forgot you are in the heart of the most gossip-loving city in the world.” The touch of irony in his words was not lost on her, but she refused to yield an inch.
“Oh, I seriously doubt that. Why, I have it on good word that the Italians are no better than we. Nor the French, for that matter,” she added thoughtfully, gazing across the park while searching for a wisp of orange. “Besides, I expected to be nearly alone, but for the nannies and their charges. ‘Tis not the fashionable hour as yet.”
He shrugged, finding it impossible to counter her excuses. “Your bonnet is still askew. Allow me.” He glanced about; then, seeing that the others had gone afield, he took the liberty of straightening her chip straw bonnet, retying the violet ribbon that precisely matched her pelisse. He stepped back to study the effect of his work, then caught sight of her face.
“Now, do not be in a pelter. I doubt if the others will have noticed your problem.” His tone was fatherly, kind, and his voice as smooth as fine satin.
“Please, do not say another word,” she said through gritted teeth, although why she should feel such ire was rather silly, for he had just performed a kindly gesture.
"I know," he said sadly, ‘‘you had rather be left alone."
“Actually, I would rather find my cat, so that I might return to Letty ‘5 house and rest,” she retorted, though without her earlier spirit.
Concerned at her sudden lack of animation, Lord Harford remounted his horse, a splendid chestnut, and trotted off in the direction opposite to where the others had gone.
Penelope watched him leave, then turned to resume her own search. She was pleased he had left her alone. That depressed sensation within was merely concern for her missing pet.
Lord Stephen cantered up to where Harford rode, a smile lighting his face. “Hullo, words with the heiress? But then, you have no need for her fortune."
Harford gave him a curious look, but said nothing, although he seemed to invite further confidences.
“I fancy that you,” Lord Stephen continued, “like everyone else, believe my competence quite adequate, as does my father.” It was evident that Lord Stephen did not agree with this view.
“You are not precisely a pauper,” Harford reminded his friend.
“Does one ever truly have sufficient? Tell me, what are the conditions for marriage to the lovely Lady Penelope?” The offhand curiosity didn’t fool Harford in the least.
A wry grin crept across his lean, handsome face. Harford glanced at his friend, then resumed searching the brush for a glimpse of orange. “I fancy you’d not find it too difficult to handle.” Then the thought that Stephen might not honor Penny’s stipulations occurred to him, and the image of Stephen taking her to bed flashed across his mind. Frowning, he glared at Lord Stephen. “Are you serious?”
“Why not?” the other replied flippantly. “I’ll wager I can find that blasted cat and she will be so grateful that I will have her hand in a trice.” He did not sound in the least as though he contemplated something as solemn as matrimony, more like a lark.
An irrational anger gripped Jonathan. This was precisely what Penelope had claimed she wanted: a gentleman of acceptable birth and patrimony who would wed her, then take himself off to a merry round of dissolution in London and points abroad. He found it immensely distasteful.
“Tell me, how do you feel about traveling on the Continent?” His voice was austere,
