Indeed, Penelope felt lost, but she knew that she must have courage, for it was her main resource at this point.
“We shall remain with you until your wedding, my dear,” continued Miss Nilsson. “Henri and I can share quarters once married.”
“And then Miss Winthrop may not mind me in the house,” added Henri.
They then informed him of Letty’s wedding just that morning. Penelope had the presence of mind to call for suitable wine so they might toast the coming wedding of her near-lifelong employees—and friends. The couple went off—with her kind permission—to attend to their urgent matters.
Lord Harford bowed over Penelope’s hand and departed after a word with Mrs. Flint.
Left alone, Penelope walked up to her room and methodically changed from her finery worn this morning to a day dress. How rapidly the world changed. Yesterday she lived with the illusion that Aunt Winthrop would take herself back to Everton, where she ruled the house and Ernest, once she saw that a betrothal had become a reality.
Today Penny’s guardian had agreed to meet with Lord Harford and the solicitors to discuss what the most suitable future for her might be. Oh, how she hated that! Why should she be denied participation? She wanted it clearly understood that she brooked no toleration of a marriage to Ernest; that another solution must be found.
She knew well that settlements could take ages to reach agreement on, particularly when an heiress was involved. But upon whom would she be settled?
Impatiently she paced back and forth before the neat fireplace in her room. She was foolish beyond permission to hope for another, more romantic conclusion to her dilemma. When had she altered? It was exceedingly gradual, her change from that of a young woman who had come to town, disbelieving in love and intent upon a marriage of convenience, to that of a young woman desiring a union based upon love and mutual respect.
Shaking off her absurd fancies, she headed down the stairs to Letty’s study in the back of the house on the ground floor. Here she found paper, pens, and ink in several colors—apparently Letty liked to compose her poetry in various tones. Absently chewing on a pen, she considered what she wished to say, then began to write.
When she finished, she read over the letter of instructions to her solicitor, wondering why she hadn’t thought of this long ago. Since there was no footman around, she wrapped a shawl about her shoulders, then left the house in search of a hackney.
The one she found was dirty, with bits of mud and straw on the floor and the smell of countless unsavory beings. Nevertheless, she climbed in and directed the jarvey to take her to her solicitor’s office in Threadneedle Street.
Once there, she proffered the letter of instruction to Mr. Parkhurst with an austere smile. “Here, sir, since it is deemed unseemly for me to be present, I wish you to know my feelings on the matter to be discussed by my guardian and Lord Harford with you. Have they made an appointment?”
She didn’t need his answer, his eyes revealed that they had set a time, and she fumed that so much could occur without her knowledge. She was totally helpless in this matter. Her fortune, her very life, was in their hands.
Would that she might appeal to them and be able to force their hands as she had done when she first approached Lord Harford. Jonathan. She murmured something vague, then left, accepting the insistence that a junior clerk at the office find her a hackney.
It was in considerably better condition, and she instructed the driver to deposit her before the fashionable Harding and Howell store. She whirled past the delights offered: silks in the gown department, furs, clocks, and furniture such as graced Carlton House.
She purchased a little coach clock she took a fancy to have. It would tick away the minutes of the rest of her life, she reflected wryly.
Then she gave some thought to wedding gifts. Miss Nilsson and Henri would need many things for their superior sort of inn and she decided to give them a draft on her bank for furniture. Letty and Andrew were far more difficult. At last, thinking of their love for reading, she settled on a particularly fine pair of Argand lamps that would burn colza oil and give excellent light, far better than candles.
As to Lady Charis and Lord Lisle, the problem of a wedding gift seemed impossible to decide. Penelope browsed through the contents of Harding and Howell’s for ideas, finally electing to order a complete set of crystal for them with the family crest engraved thereupon.
With this purchase completed and the dinner hour approaching, she left the store to return the short distance to the house on Upper Brook Street. The hour grew late, but who waited for her? Unless Eva Nilsson and her Henri had returned by now.
Mrs. Flint and Lord Harford met her at the door, each wearing a look of frantic concern. Mrs. Flint took one glance at his lordship’s face and retreated toward the back of the house.
“And where have you been?”
Penelope drew back in startled awareness of the subtle menace in his voice. “Shopping,” she replied, all that had been accomplished with her visit to Mr. Parkhurst’s office safely omitted.
“Did you not think to inform Mrs. Flint of your intentions?” He guided her into the morning room, then firmly drew her down upon the sofa, setting himself frightfully close to her.
“I confess I am not in the habit of telling anyone where or when
