“She didn’t. A housemaid eavesdropped when you were talking to her. People deem you to be a confidence artist who might involve yourself in any nefarious mischief.”
He smirked. “They might be right.”
“So they’re painting her with the same bad brush. They contend she’s hoping to blackmail my father.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“I know that, and you know that, but my father and aunt are in an absolute snit.”
“I can imagine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her? You concealed it from me, so I’m concerned about the level of your attachment.”
“She only apprised me earlier this afternoon,” Simon said. “After my father died, she found some old letters he’d hidden, and she’s been struggling over how to come forward.”
“You haven’t been deceiving me?”
She studied his eyes, hunting for dishonesty, and he gazed back intently and said, “Of course I haven’t been deceiving you. How could you think I would?”
Apparently, she located the candor for which she’d been searching, for she nodded. “I believe you.”
“You’d better.”
“And I believe Libby, about her being my sister.”
“She wouldn’t lie about it.”
“I can’t fathom why my father doesn’t understand that fact.”
“It has to be a lot for him to absorb. Once he calms down, he might change his mind about it. She’s always wanted to be part of a big family, and it would make me happy to have her settled with you.”
It was the appropriate sentiment to offer, but he wasn’t serious because—if Lord Roland broke down and accepted Libby as his daughter—what would it mean for Simon? If her story was true, then Simon wasn’t really her cousin, but she was very loyal and would never leave him behind.
If Lord Roland relented and embraced her, Simon would constantly rub elbows with the Pendletons. Penny would be wedged into the middle of his life, and with her being willing to have him there, was there any reason to avoid her? Her father would never permit them to wed, so perhaps an elopement was a viable plan.
Her smile turned sly. “Guess what else?”
He was almost afraid to ask. “What?”
“I sent Lord Barrett home. I pressed him about his affair with Libby, but the coward wouldn’t even discuss her, so I told him I’m not interested in a betrothal.”
“He left?”
“Yes. I demanded it, so I’m free and available to do whatever I’d like instead.”
He snorted at that. “Not exactly whatever, I don’t suppose.”
“If I choose to encourage the attentions of a younger man who is much more to my liking, I can, and I won’t be branded a flirt.”
“Is there a young man who’s tantalized you?” he cockily inquired.
“You know there is.”
“If we keep on, it has to be a secret. You can’t let your father find out. If he suspected we were growing too close, he’d have me kidnapped and dumped onto the first ship bound for the Orient. I’d never see you again.”
“My dear Simon Falcon, that will never happen.”
“I will pray that you’re correct.”
He stared up at the manor, wondering what was winging in his direction. He felt a terrible perception of peril lurking, as if he’d tiptoed out as far as he dared onto the wobbly cliff where they were hovering, but then, he liked to live dangerously.
“Am I kicked out of Roland too?” he asked. “Was I expected to slither away with Libby and Fish?”
“No one has remembered you. In everyone’s haste to be shed of Libby, no one thought about you at all.”
“I usually hate to be ignored, but for once, maybe I’m glad of it.”
“After supper,” she said, “ I shall have a headache, so I’ll retire to my bedchamber much earlier than normal.”
“You, Penny Pendleton, are such a tease.”
“Will you join me there after it’s safe to sneak in?”
He realized he shouldn’t, that it was mad to agree, that it was stupid to agree, but he was Harry Carstairs’s son. When had he ever behaved in a sane manner?
“Yes, I’ll join you.”
He dipped down and stole a quick kiss. He shouldn’t have, but the garden was empty, so there were no observers. She grinned, winked, then whipped away and sauntered into the house. He stood in his spot until she disappeared, then he followed after a bit so it wouldn’t seem as if they’d entered together.
If he’d had any sense—and he’d always possessed very little of it—he’d proceed to town, even though night was falling. He’d catch up to Libby and Fish and escort them the rest of the way.
But evidently, he wasn’t departing Roland just yet. He still had business to conduct with Penny, and until he’d had his fill, he wasn’t about to flee.
Millicent paced in her bedchamber, and her temper was on a slow boil.
Charles had derided her warnings about the scandal that was brewing. He’d trusted Libby Carstairs not to spread her falsehoods about being Henrietta, but the instant his meeting with her had ended, she’d started shouting the lie in every direction.
Penny had heard it. Luke had heard it. A London newspaper reporter had heard it and had already accosted Charles.
The housemaid, Peggy, knew it too, and Millicent was no fool. The tidbit about Henrietta would be too delicious for Peggy to resist. Before supper was over, she’d be whispering it to the staff.
Charles had trotted off to London on a mission to thwart Miss Carstairs. His strategy was to bully and sue anyone who refused to be silent about her story, so Millicent had no idea when he’d be back.
Miss Fishburn was in town now too, thanks to Charles insisting she slink off with Miss Carstairs. He loathed London and never went there if he didn’t have to, so Millicent couldn’t help but fear that Miss Fishburn was a hefty portion of the reason he’d been so eager to rush to the city.
Charles, Penny, and Penny’s brother, Warwick, were Millicent’s family. She’d abandoned her own for them. She’d given her life to them, and for her efforts, she was ignored by Warwick, scorned by Penny, and disregarded by Charles. He’d rather
