Miss Nilsson muttered something in Swedish that Penelope was just as glad she didn’t catch.
Penelope bade her dear friend and former chef good-bye, then found something she simply had to obtain in a rush, leaving Miss Nilsson alone with him. Later, she alluded to the matter, but not a hint could be drawn from her companion. Whatever their feelings for each other, it was a very private matter. The stoic countenance presented by Eva Nilsson gave not a clue.
That Wednesday evening found Penelope with Lady Harford and the delectable Lady Charis Trent entering the formidable doors of Almack’s. They passed the array of flowers and potted plants, handed their tickets to the man on duty, then walked up the stairs to the ballroom.
Penelope watched Lord Harford’s sister curtsy to the first patroness with all the aplomb of a duchess, and decided that the girl was naturally born to the roll. That she was being courted by a pleasant young man who was also heir to the Duke of Farncombe might partly account for her polish. Lady Harford was a great one for practicing.
When Penelope approached the intimidating figure of her distant relative, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, she found Lady Harford at her side. “My dear, allow me to present your relative, Lady Penelope Winthrop, a connection on our mother’s side, I believe.”
Her relation was a notably proper person; for being relatively young, she possessed a dignity that was unassailable. To think of her having such power in Society was almost shocking to Penelope.
Princess Esterhazy smiled, then tapped Mrs. Drummond-Burrell on the arm with her fan. “You must introduce us all to your relative, Clementina, for as such she comes with the highest commendation, does she not?”
When the ordeal, for that is how Penelope considered it, was over and they had passed along to the far side of the room, Lady Harford beamed smiles on all she met, while murmuring to Penelope, “Your future is settled, for with the approval of the patronesses you will everywhere be sought.”
Penelope shook her head, amused at the whims of these fashionable people. “I fancy a husband would be pleased to know his wife had been approved by the doyennes of Society, but I think it all a deal of nonsense.” At the shocked expression on Lady Harford’s face, Penelope continued, “However, I shall confine my remarks to the acceptable, in hopes that some good may come from the evening.”
It was her second evening here. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell had not attended the previous occasion, thus the lack of introduction. For some reason, Lady Harford had decided not to pay a call on her either.
Lady Jersey had been the one to extend the promise of a voucher, for Penelope could manage to be very prettily behaved when she chose. Doubtless Lord Harford played a part as well, for Penelope had observed he had teased and lightly flirted with Lady Jersey while present at a ball that Penelope had also attended. There were many ways of attaining what one wanted, she knew.
Lord Stephen sought her hand for the first minuet. “Lady Penelope, you are indeed a graceful dancer, a credit to your teacher.”
Penelope smiled, but didn’t reveal that her French chef, Henri, had performed the task. Upon reflection, she decided that her chef must have had a background far above his present station to even know the steps of the dance, let alone have mastered them. She whirled about and dipped, while wondering if she would again be found in Lord Harford’s kitchen come Friday.
“You look positively enchanting, my dear,” he whispered as they met in the pattern of the dance.
“How kind you are,” she murmured back, wondering if Lord Stephen would come up to scratch, and did she truly want him if he did? One thing for certain, she would—unless she might persuade Lord Harford to perform the task—be required to inform him of her stipulations for the marriage. Somehow, after observing Lord Stephen at various balls and parties, she suspected he would find her demands easy to follow. He seemed far too dashing a man to think of settling into humdrum domesticity.
The hour was advanced when a faint stir at the door caught Penelope’s eyes. Her Aunt Winthrop and Cousin Ernest entered the room. Eugenia Winthrop was gowned in black, with jet jewelry dripping from her ears and cascading across her bony chest. Neither the dress nor the jewelry she wore improved her appearance.
Ernest, the present Earl of Everton, looked even fatter than when last viewed; his yellow waistcoat striped in bright purple strained the brass buttons that attempted to hold it together. His lavender velvet coat pulled at the shoulders. As for those breeches that were required wear at Almack’s, it was truly a pity he couldn’t have been allowed something else. He simply didn’t do them justice.
Penelope couldn’t refrain from glancing at Lord Harford, who, as he had at his appearance at court, looked splendid in his garb. His black jacket matched his eyes, and the black breeches, hose, and shoes contrasted sharply with the snowy white of his stylish waistcoat and cravat. Restrained refinement. She felt quite drawn to him, although she did not understand this emotion in the least.
Penelope sought to avoid a confrontation with Aunt Winthrop and Cousin Ernest for as long as possible. At long last, Aunt Winthrop managed to corner her when the gentleman who had partnered Penelope was so neglectful as to deposit her near her aunt rather than Lady Harford.
“My dear girl, why did you not permit me to bring you here? I flatter myself that I have connections in the highest places. I feel certain I could have, obtained the voucher you sought, without your going to strangers.”
“Lady Harford has been all that is kind, and she is also my relation,” Penelope reminded, trying to edge her way toward Lady Harford without being obvious.
“Hmph,” Lady Winthrop snorted in an inelegant manner. Penelope thought her aunt looked nothing more than
