She took the ring, unable to cope with both at one time, then accepted the champagne, ignoring Darling’s frantic motions from behind Jonathan’s back. “I must say,” she said while trying to focus on him after taking a healthy sip, “this seems to be the nicest of all. Very nice,” she pronounced, drinking every bit of champagne with delight.
Her legs were getting distinctly capricious in their willingness to hold her upright, so she abruptly sat on the stool that Darling had rushed to place behind her.
Lord Harford took a closer look at her, then turned to his butler. “Just how much has she had this evening?”
“I tried to warn you, sir. I doubt the young lady is accustomed to wine. She has tasted each of them, at her insistence, I might add, sir.”
“Oh, dear, er, heaven,” Jonathan said, exasperated.
“Darling, would you please get me a sedan chair,” she said slowly, with extreme care. "I do believe it is the better choice.” She smiled like a proud child who has completed a difficult recitation.
“I shall take you home in my carriage. Where is Henri? Not at the meeting of the Benevolent Society for Refugees, I fancy?”
“He’s gone to France. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to help him and he didn’t want to ruin your dinner party. I’m a good cook,” she repeated. “You said so yourself.”
Jonathan issued some terse orders to Darling, then scooped up Penny in his arms, wishing he could do as he pleased and not as he must. Darling hastily took the glass that was slipping from Penelope’s grasp before it fell, then he disappeared.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Penelope said, quite agreeable to anything. She snuggled into Jonathan’s arms, placing her head against his strong shoulder with a sigh of contentment. She reached up to stroke that utterly irresistible face before slipping her arm about his neck.
Jonathan took a fortifying breath, then marched up the stairs, through the baize door, and into the entry. While awaiting his carriage, he sought a chair in the dim recesses of his library.
The aroma of leather and sherry, fine old books, and the scent of her rose perfume mingled together. He looked down at a very drowsy face. Bemused, he said, “You shan’t feel in plump current tomorrow, I suspect.”
“Aunt Winthrop is coming to call. She does not like my cat,” murmured Penelope in reply. “I shall sleep in, and the old girl can go away."
Amused, Jonathan shifted her a little, then said, “If she gives you any trouble, please call on me. Can you remember that, I wonder.”
“Oh, yes,” Penelope whispered, sighing with delight at her place of repose. She would cheerfully remain here all night rather than face her aunt in the morning. “In fact,” she mused aloud, peeping up at him, “I should like to sleep right here.” With that, she snuggled more comfortably into Jonathan’s arms, one hand curved trustingly about his neck, and closed her eyes. Fatigue, worry, and more than a little wine had caught up with her. She snuffed out like a candle.
Jonathan nestled her close to him, leaning his cheek against her tousled blond curls. What was he to do? He bent his head while tilting hers, bestowed a loving kiss that he ruefully conceded she wouldn’t remember. He would.
“Your carriage, sir. Oh, I say, sir,” Darling said, utterly dismayed at the sight that met his eyes.
“You have never seen this lady, nor do you know her name. Correct, Darling?”
“Absolutely, sir.” The butler assisted his employer from the house and into his carriage with great care, keeping an eye open for others who might be out. The street was silent; not so much as a curtain twitched.
Jonathan settled on the cushion on his coach, content that Darling would give directions to his coachman.
“Darling,” murmured Penny in her drowsy state, snuggling more closely to Harford.
“Would that you meant that, little termagant,” muttered the elegant Lord Harford into a blond curl.
* * * *
There were fiendish little hammers at work in her head. The soft light coming through the blinds that had been let down when Jonathan carried her up to her room, turning her over to a dismayed Eva Nilsson, seemed blinding to Penny.
She rolled over to find that a definite mistake. Her stomach seemed a bit squeamish this morning and did not take kindly to being jostled about. “I do believe I had a shade too much wine last evening.”
“Are you able to dress? Your aunt shall be here before long and I cannot be two places at once.”
“If I am careful, I believe I can manage. Soda water?” she queried as Miss Nilsson handed her a glass.
“It will soothe you.” She busied herself about the room, leaving the blinds nearly closed, softly fetching a simple rose gown from the wardrobe to give Penelope some needed color in her cheeks.
“Could you hurry, my dear? Time is fleeting.” Penelope set down the empty glass, amazed that Nilsson had been right. She felt considerably better. That hideous ache in her head had eased. Obediently she stepped into the pretty rose gown with the demure ruff, then stood still while Nilsson pinned her up before nudging her onto the bench in front of the dressing table.
While she brushed the lovely blond curls, Nilsson said, “The dinner went well?”
“They drink a shocking amount of wine, I discovered, in addition to eating well. I do believe I tasted every bottle.” Her eyes met Nilsson’s in the looking glass. “You needn’t laugh at me. I suffer terribly."
“How much do you recollect of the evening, particularly the end of it?” Nilsson put away the shawl and hat that had come over this morning, looking at them with raised brows.
Penelope gave
