His wife, Amanda, had run off with her lover to Italy, and she’d taken Henrietta with her. Her lover had died in an accident in Rome, and after he’d perished, there had never been a single clue as to what had happened to Amanda and Henrietta. Charles had searched for an entire decade.
Amanda had been a flamboyant attention seeker, and she wouldn’t have hidden herself away, but she and Henrietta had vanished off the face of the Earth. He’d spent a fortune, having investigators scour every corner of Europe, but there had never been any sign of them after they’d been in Rome.
He hadn’t wanted Amanda back. Her actions during their brief marriage had forced him to admit that she’d probably belonged in an asylum. But he’d been terrified for Henrietta, so he’d searched for her.
Amanda had had no maternal tendencies and—after she’d left him—she’d had no money either, so her rash deed had meant Henrietta was gravely imperiled. It was ancient history now, and with Penny about to wed, he wasn’t inclined to fret over the sordid incident. What was the point?
He’d ponder it later, when he was alone and kicking himself for the mistakes he’d pursued when he’d been young and stupid.
Penny was pretty: blond, blue-eyed, short, and plump. Her mother, his second wife, Florence, had been plain, dour, and gloomy, so Penny had turned out to be more fetching than he might have predicted. She’d gotten all of his handsome Pendleton features and very little of her unattractive mother’s.
For a moment, he wondered—if Henrietta had had a chance to grow up—would she and Penny have looked alike? Henrietta would have been twenty-five that year, and if she waltzed in, would she and Penny appear to be sisters? Would there be a resemblance? Or had their mothers’ bloodlines been too different?
Amanda had been gorgeous and glamorous, which was why he’d become so foolishly besotted. He’d had to have her despite the costs. Henrietta had burst from the womb as a precocious, charming vixen. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been two, and she’d already been exhibiting her mother’s traits for dramatic posturing. She’d developed a knack for goading people into watching her.
No doubt she’d have been a stunning, elegant woman. Penny was likely a tepid, lesser version of what her half-sister would have been like and, if they’d ever stood side by side, would have paled in comparison.
He stopped his woolgathering and responded to Penny’s comment.
“Yes, Penny, it’s important that I fuss over you, and you are my only daughter. I intend to send you off to your husband as if you’re a princess. I hope every minute of your party will be smashingly fun.”
“Of course it will be. I’m Penny Pendleton. How could it not be perfect?”
She flounced out, and he sighed again.
He simply wished it wouldn’t be horrid. He wished the gaggle of youthful guests wouldn’t constantly annoy him. He wished Luke would find reasons to like Penny, reasons to proceed with the wedding and not change his mind. The contracts hadn’t been signed yet, so he could walk away without consequence.
Penny’s saving grace was that she had a fat dowry, and Luke’s brother had bankrupted Barrett. That fact ought to keep him focused on what mattered. Penny might be immature and inexperienced, but she was a great heiress. If Luke started to waver in his interest, Charles would succinctly mention the fortune that hung in the balance.
Luke could be persnickety and stubborn, but he wasn’t an idiot. Money always made a girl more beautiful, and he’d recognize the value Penny’s wealth could deliver. Charles wouldn’t consider any other conclusion.
“I have a question, Aunt Millicent.”
“Please be brief. I have a thousand chores today.”
Millicent Pendleton was seated at a table in her sitting room, enjoying a cup of morning chocolate. It was just after nine, and she wasn’t dressed, but was snuggled in her favorite robe. Penny had blustered in without knocking. Despite how often Millicent counseled restraint, Penny never approached in a calm, ladylike manner.
She and her brother, Warwick, had been spoiled and coddled, and though Millicent had worked to rein in their worst habits, she’d had scant success. Charles was too lenient with them, and whenever she’d tried to put her foot down, the wily pair would rush to him, and he’d countermand any edict Millicent leveled.
He still felt guilty over what had happened when he’d wed that slattern, Amanda. He viewed himself as having been a negligent father who hadn’t protected his tiny daughter, Little Henrietta. He’d let crazed Amanda abscond with her, and he blamed himself for not being more vigilant. The end result had been that he indulged Penny and Warwick, the children he’d sired during his second marriage.
He couldn’t bear to tell them no on any subject.
Luckily, Warwick had joined the army and was stationed in Brussels, so for the foreseeable future, she didn’t have to tolerate him. There was just Penny, and she’d be a bride soon and would live at Barrett with Luke. Millicent would finally have Charles all to herself.
“You’re still wearing your robe,” Penny said as she slid into the chair across, “so how can you be busy?”
“I will be dressed shortly, and as I’ve frequently pointed out, my schedule and plans are none of your business.”
“I’m making them my business. The guests will begin arriving tomorrow, and it doesn’t seem like we’re ready.”
“Don’t fret. The staff has been in a frenzy for weeks, cleaning and preparing the house. The bedchambers are spotless, the menus picked, the musicians hired, the food ordered. I guarantee no crisis will arise, so what is your question? Ask it, then leave me be.”
“There’s a trio of guests coming at the last minute.”
“They weren’t on the list, and they’re coming anyway?”
“Cousin Stewart asked them, and they accepted. We can hardly send a note and un-invite them, can we?”
“I would have no problem writing that letter.
