“Is she being mulish? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Since she’s about to become betrothed, she deems herself to be an adult. She no longer feels she should have to listen to me.”
Penny had never felt much of an inclination to listen to Millicent. It was hardly a new phenomenon, but he didn’t mention that fact. It was an old argument over which they’d regularly squabbled.
“There’s no harm in her being friendly with Miss Carstairs,” he said. “She’s a celebrity. Why shouldn’t Penny have a chance to gush and fawn?”
Millicent’s lips were tight with disapproval. “Miss Carstairs is an actress or have you conveniently forgotten that pesky detail?”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“I would think—with your history—you’d be a tad more concerned about the influence such a disreputable charlatan can exert on a gullible girl like Penny.”
He breathed out a heavy sigh. “Let it go, Millicent. As far as I’ve observed, Miss Carstairs has exhibited the highest moral character while she’s been in residence. She performed for us—once—at Penny’s specific request, and her story was very moving.”
“You can’t have been tricked into believing her drivel. I’m not convinced she’s one of those lost girls. It’s been two decades since they were rescued. Who can be certain? She’s probably an imposter, and her pathetic narratives are a charade to captivate audiences. How can we guess if any of her ridiculous tales are true? I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she made the whole thing up.”
“I thought it was enormously stirring.”
“You would.”
Miss Carstairs’s cousin, Mr. Falcon, sauntered by. Penny was walking with him, grinning at him in a flirtatious way. A slew of females tagged after them, all of them gazing at him with stars in their eyes. Obviously, Penny wasn’t the only one who was enthralled by the boy’s handsome looks and showy demeanor.
Penny was eighteen, and Charles had been that same age when he’d traipsed off to London and had landed himself in so much trouble. He’d swiftly stumbled into the decadence of gambling, vice, and debauched opera dancers, and he’d had no parents around to urge caution.
Penny was much more immature than he’d been back then. It was difficult to accept that she was old enough to engage in the antics that had once tantalized him so completely.
For a moment, he struggled to remember that passionate interlude, where every facet of his life had been so vital, but all of it seemed so bizarre now, as if it had happened in a dream or perhaps that it had happened to some other unfortunate dolt.
“That Mr. Falcon is a piece of work, isn’t he?” Millicent sounded as if she was fuming.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s so . . . so . . . attractive.” She spat the word attractive as if it were an epithet. “The female guests are falling all over themselves, trying to get him to notice them.”
“Is that type of conduct forbidden these days? I didn’t realize it was a crime to be young and good looking.”
“You’re aware, better than anyone, that flash and dazzle can lead an unsuspecting person to ruin. I’m stunned that you’re not more worried about him. If it was up to me, I’d quietly ask him to pack his bags and return to London.”
“It’s Penny’s party, Millicent,” he said. “She’s happy to have him here, just as she’s happy with Miss Carstairs. They’ll depart soon, and we’ll never see them again. You shouldn’t fret over it, and it’s absurd to be so riled.”
“Don’t tell me I’m over-reacting!” she curtly retorted, proving his point.
“I didn’t say that.” Charles never argued, and he especially wouldn’t argue with her. “I merely think we’re both tired, and I’m about to head to my bed.”
“Yes, by all means, go to bed. Abandon me to play the chaperone by myself.”
“There are plenty of other people to serve that role, and no one in this crowd needs a nanny. You’re even more fatigued than I am—and a bit grouchy. You should head upstairs too.”
“Grouchy!” she huffed.
“Yes, grouchy, and it’s silly for you to tarry. Don’t be a martyr. Besides, with how you’re glowering, you’ll spoil the fun.”
“It’s evident you don’t appreciate all I do for you.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m worn out, and it’s too late to bicker. Even if it wasn’t late, I wouldn’t quarrel with you. As you know, I never quarrel over any issue, so why are you picking a fight with me?”
Unable to conceal his irritation, he glared at her, and she instantly smoothed her features, her fit of pique neatly tucked away.
“Maybe I am grouchy.” It was her attempt at waving an olive branch. “It’s been a long day, and it’s stressful to entertain so many guests.”
“Yes, it is, and you don’t have to dawdle in this parlor. In fact, I would suggest you don’t. Goodnight.”
He hurried away, not inclined to let her waylay him further. She constantly reminded him of how lucky he was that she’d come to Roland after Florence died, and he couldn’t figure out what was bothering her. She was always so eager to be sure he was content, but occasionally, he wondered how she was faring.
She’d hitched her star to his wagon when she was much too young to decide on that path, and she’d never left Roland, so she’d passed up any opportunity she might have had to marry and have a home of her own. Over the years, he’d frequently encouraged her to move on and build a life for herself that was separate from him, but she ceaselessly claimed that she’d rather remain at Roland.
Now she was a very aged thirty-five, so she was a confirmed spinster. Her wastrel brother had emptied the family’s coffers, so even if she hadn’t been quite so old, she didn’t have a dowry. Was she starting to grasp that it had been a bad choice to stay at Roland? Was she wishing she hadn’t stayed?
He recalled Fish’s comment that Millicent was in
