Darling set about ordering up some tea for her ladyship, while Penelope strolled into the library, wondering just how soon “directly” would be.
It truly was a lovely room, she thought once again. It exuded a warmth and homeliness that was infinitely appealing. She decided it wasn’t just the shelves of varicolored tooled bindings, nor the leather chairs. The colors and textures in the room contributed as well. She would emulate that at Fountains in the small room she had turned into a library.
His desk was cluttered today. Books were tumbled about, and a letter lay open. She wondered what was written on the heavy cream paper. Too long for a business communication, she thought. And the writing looked ladylike.
Curious, unable to prudently refrain from reading another’s mail—something she normally never would do—she drifted over to the desk and picked up the dainty epistle.
“My beloved, how I long for the sight of your dear face . . .“ the letter began. Feminine handwriting in exquisite copperplate disclosed the most tender expressions of love that Penelope had ever read, in spite of the volumes of poetry Letty had thrust at her. Such love shook Penelope, for it seemed so total, so very giving. As she lowered herself onto one of the leather chairs, the implication of what was in her hands sank into her mind. This beautiful declaration of love from a lady who signed the letter with a simple initial, 5, was addressed to Lord Harford.
She mentally ran through the women she had met, but could think of no one with that initial who might be so terribly close to him. Yet what did that mean?
Someone had written him this vow of eternal love, one who adored him as anyone would long to be cherished.
When Darling entered with an elegant tray of tea and biscuits, he found Lady Penelope standing by the window, gazing out at the street with an abstracted air.
Politely thanking the butler for his care, Penelope waited until he closed the door, then returned the letter to the precise place where it had been. At least she hoped that was the place.
Her hand trembled as she poured her tea. While she sipped the steaming blend, she thought furiously and hard.
What a noble and gallant gentleman Harford was. He was willing to sacrifice his happiness to save a member of his family from an admittedly horrid fate. She cared far too much about him, she confessed, to permit such a thing to happen, even if it meant losing her own joy. But what could she do? The foolish man insisted they were to be married. Nothing seemed to deter him. What a pity there was no love upon his part; exasperation appeared to be his most frequently displayed emotion when about her.
She must take matters into her own hands. But how? If she merely took off on her own, she sensed he would simply bring her back. She needed help. But whose?
Placing the empty teacup on the tray, she gathered her reticule and stepped from the room. At Darling’s query, she only said, “I forgot an appointment. Since I shall be seeing his lordship later on, we may discuss the matter then.”
After thanking the butler in a proper way, she left the house, walking to Upper Brook Street rather than take a hackney. The air was fresh and pleasant, far nicer than Threadneedle Street.
A phaeton dashed past her, then came to an abrupt halt. A gentleman jumped down and handed the reins to his tiger. He walked back to Penelope, his jaunty air making him instantly recognizable.
“Lord Stephen, how pleasant to see you,” Penelope said, welcoming him with an outstretched hand.
“What, pray tell, are you doing alone at this time of the morning, my lady?” He looked about as though expecting a maid to pop out from behind a pillar.
“The household is at sixes and sevens. I had a brief errand nearby, and thought it silly to pull one of the maids from her tasks merely to walk along behind me.” Penelope knew she should be in disgrace by her ill-advised actions. It was one thing to drive to the village for a paper of pins or to saunter along the village walks by oneself. It was quite another to venture beyond the front door of a London residence without a maid or footman in attendance.
“Suppose I offer you my carriage for the rest of the way? Since you are engaged, I expect you will escape censure.” He slanted a grin at her, a rather charming one.
The very reflection on that so-called engagement to a man who so passionately loved another chilled her. She studied Lord Stephen as he assisted her, and her face grew thoughtful.
“Problems?” Lord Stephen said as he joined her in the phaeton. “You look as though your day has not been all you could wish so far.”
“I do need help rather badly, as it happens.” She gave him an assessing look, wondering if he would be willing to dare the possible lash of Society tongues should his help be revealed if he assisted her in what she planned.
“Why do we not take a little drive through the park while we discuss this. You do not think Harford will mind?”
Touched at his obvious concern, she shook her head. Recalling that tender letter of love, she seriously doubted that Lord Harford cared a jot. He most likely wished her to Jericho. That letter explained his unloverlike proposal and abrupt kiss quite well.
They jogged along at a fine pace through the Stanhope Gate and along the wooded lanes of Hyde Park. It was thin of company at the moment, for this hour of the day saw most women at home tending to household matters, or sleeping off the rigors of the previous evening. A few riders could be seen cantering beneath the trees along Rotten Row.
When they reached an
