The Bargain Bride (24 page)

 

 

 

P
enny was sore, but she was soaring. She hardly felt the stairs beneath her feet when she went down to breakfast. West had risen earlier and left quickly, before he changed his mind and never left at all, again. Penny had lain in bed, feeling absolutely decadent, watching a virile man get dressed while she stayed wrapped in nothing but contentment. He had an appointment with his bankers, he'd said, but promised to come back quickly to spend the day with her. They would spend it on errands outside the house, they agreed, to avoid the temptation of the enormous master bed. Of course, they had never yet made love in a carriage, which sounded eminently tempting to Penny. She thought West's lovemaking was far more important than a fashionable wardrobe or a new carpet, but he laughed at her newfound appetite, and promised her tonight.

She kissed Lady Bainbridge's cheek before filling her plate at the sideboard, then kissed her grandfather's seamed cheek. She even bent and kissed George's wrinkled forehead. She had never been so happy in her life. Why, everyone should know such connubial joy. Maybe not Grandpapa, but definitely Lady Bainbridge. Penny did not even notice the grins on her companions' faces as she sat, moonstruck and marveling at her good fortune.

West had not said he loved her. Not yet. But he'd shown it in so many caring ways, far beyond the music and the flowers. His gentleness betokened affection; his words spoke of adoration. His knowing when gentle and slow were not enough indicated to Penny that two minds were working as one, not simply two bodies finding mutual pleasure. Surely they shared more than mere lust.

Penny regretted the wasted years, yes, but now she could enjoy West and his magic to the fullest as a woman, not as a young girl. She intended to do just that. He'd say the words soon. Then she could say them back and her joy would be complete.

Lady Bainbridge cleared her throat. “I thought you did not care for kippers in the morning, my dear.”

Penny looked down at her plate. She hated kippers. “I am trying new things these days.”

Mr. Littleton coughed at the understatement.

“Oh, are you still plagued by that nagging cough, Grandpapa? Should you be out and about?”

“I am fine. Do not be a nag, Penny. I have calls to make.” He stood and bowed to Lady Bainbridge, then let the butler help him out of the room.

“Yes, well, it is a lovely day for that,” Penny called after him. “Enjoy yourself.”

Lady Bainbridge looked out the window. The day was cloudy and overcast, threatening rain. Of course, Mr. Littleton might not be able to notice. She trusted his man to see that the elderly painter had a muffler and an umbrella.

When he was gone and Penny was daydreaming over her breakfast again, Lady Bainbridge said, “Your stepmother delivered her list of prospective bridegrooms.”

Penny smiled. “You know, the more I think on it, the more I feel Mavis and Amelia will be better off wed than living under their mother's thumb.”

“I thought you believed they should wait.”

“Now I am not so averse to marriage. To the right man, of course.”

“That's as may be, but I fear none of the bachelors your stepmother has in mind are right for the Misses Entwhistle. Nor will the highly placed gentlemen she named glance at her daughters, who I regret to say have neither beauty nor breeding, and only respectable dowries.”

“Oh, dear. Perhaps West will have some ideas of other bachelors, gentlemen who are looking for soul mates, not merely showpieces or shillings. Nicky might know of likely prospects, being more of an age with the girls. Where is Nicky, anyway?”

Mr. Parker bowed as he removed the offending, uneaten kippers from in front of Penny and replaced them with sweet rolls and butter. “Master Nicholas seldom takes breakfast. We usually see him after noon, before he begins his daily rounds.”

“He stays out all night, in other words?”

“In those precise words, yes.”

Penny could not approve of such dissolute living. “He might need a wife, too.”

Lady Bainbridge laughed. “From what I gather, the young man is far from ready to settle down. Until he is, he would make some poor girl's life a misery.”

Parker silently agreed, nodding as he poured Penny a cup of chocolate.

As soon as the butler left, Lady Bainbridge laughed again. “Look at you, Penny, wed less than a month and already matchmaking. Marriage agrees with you.”

“It does. I want everyone else to be as happy.”

Penny looked at Lady Bainbridge with such a speculative gleam that the older woman quickly redirected Penny's thoughts. “Your stepmother also reminded me that we need to set a date for your ball, and begin to assemble your wardrobe. Lady Aldershott's rout is this Friday, so we have few days to accomplish much. You need to make a grand appearance, according to Lady Goldwaite, so no one refuses your invitations when they are sent.”

“Can we not simply hold card parties or quiet dinners? Amelia would be more comfortable, and both of the girls can become better acquainted with any suitors, far more easily than during a contra dance in a crowded ballroom.”

“One would think so, but that is not how it is done, my dear. Whom you know is almost as important as how much dowry you bring. Connections are part of the game society plays. If the girls wish to marry well”—she did not say above their station, in deference to Penny, who did that very thing—“then they have to be sponsored by a popular hostess, not a retiring, quiet female who sits with her knitting.”

Penny was thinking of sitting with West, of having him to herself.

Lady Bainbridge was not done with her lecture. That was her job, after all. “Further, you shall be invited everywhere once it is seen that you are accepting invitations. You will be expected to reciprocate. If you hold one ball, in a month's time, say, that will be enough for the Season. Of course, you can still hold small gatherings, especially if the Entwhistle girls wish to encourage a particular acquaintance in more private surroundings, but a viscountess in London is not the same as a squire's wife in the country. And your wardrobe must reflect your husband's standing. And your father's wealth, so mothers with eligible sons will know the family is well provided for.”

“Which reminds me, I shall have to find out precisely how generous Father is being with the girls.”

“The more generous the better, or our work is cut out for us to make them acceptable. I have already spoken to your estimable cook about complexion potions for the older girl, mashed strawberries and the like. I do not yet have a plan for the younger.”

“She likes poetry. And sheep.”

“Ah, how much easier to find her a beau in that case.” Sarcasm dripped like the raindrops that were starting to gather on the window. “And one acceptable to her dear mother, at that. We have our work cut out for us, my dear.”

“Not today. Today West is taking me sightseeing about London.”

“What about your clothes?”

Penny chuckled. “Oh, I shall wear some.”

Poor Lady Bainbridge. The coming Season was going to be even harder than she'd imagined.

 

On Lady Bainbridge's insistence, West took Penny to a fashionable dressmaker first.

“But no man likes to shop for gowns and such.”

“Oh, West has had plenty of experience at modistes',” Nicky volunteered as he shuffled down the stairs, “or paying their bills, at any rate.”

His brother suddenly took offense at Nicky's neckcloth, or the drooping bow that passed for one. He grabbed Nicky by the limp linen and pulled it tighter. “There, now you might be fit for company.”

Nicky couldn't speak, which was what West had in mind.

“Do not let his foolishness bother you, sweetings,” he told Penny as he led her out to the waiting carriage. “The past is past. The future is now.”

Penny could not help thinking of her husband's expertise in other areas. She could not regret his skill between the sheets, so she tried not to mind his mistresses. His former mistresses.

Nicky was right, though, that West was welcome at the most exclusive dressmaking establishments. Madame Journet greeted him with kisses on both cheeks. When she found that she was to dress the viscountess for her first entrance into society in nearly a decade, with less than a week to do it, she started to shake her head.
“Non, c'est impossible.”

Ah, but Lady Westfield was needing an entire wardrobe for the Season? The Entwhistle misses needed new gowns also, at Sir Gaspar Goldwaite's expense? Ah, anything was possible. She kissed Penny on both cheeks; then she set to work.

West was not overbearing in his opinions, as Penny had feared, but he did know what was stylish. On the other hand, he did not want any other man to see his wife at her barest—at her best, he amended. Penny had not unpacked the dress lengths from the attics, so they selected a blue lutestring that matched her eyes, with gold trim that matched her hair. He wanted pink flowers embroidered on it, too, to match Penny's blushes, but Madame insisted there was not enough time. They settled on a cluster of silk rosebuds at the vee of her décolletage, which was lower than Penny was used to, lower than West, the former rake, approved, and higher than Madame thought fitting.

“Lady Westfield has the bosom to flaunt, no?”

“No!” Penny and West both shouted. They went on to pick several styles from the fashion plates the modiste recommended, for the fabrics Penny already owned.

The choosing and fitting done, West took Penny to the Emporium for new gloves, stockings, and shifts, although she made him wait outside when she selected a new corset.

Then they were free to drive around London, with West pointing out other shops she would want to patronize, milliners, booteries, furniture showrooms, and upholsterers. They toured the British Museum, looking for her grandfather, then stopped at a coffeehouse for a late luncheon. They walked through Hyde Park, despite the slight drizzle that still fell, so Penny would not grow homesick for the country. Few others were out and about, so West could pull Penny behind a tree, a hedge, or a carriage for a quick kiss and cuddle.

They cut the sightseeing short.

That night they attended the opera. West had a box, and they filled it with Lady Bainbridge and Michael Cottsworth, Mr. Littleton, and Marcel in footman's garb. Nicky paled at the idea of the opera, and Penny's family was, happily, committed to a dinner party at a banking associate's home.

West was magnificent in formal white satin knee breeches and dark coat, with a black pearl in his cravat and the garnet ring on his finger. Penny would have felt insignificant next to him in her best country gown, despite its hasty repairs, except for the ruby pendant at her throat—and the admiration in his eyes. She sat toward the back of the box anyway, avoiding the opera glasses trained on Westfield and his new bride. In the dark, no one could see that his arm was around her shoulder, that his hand held hers, that his lips brushed the tip of her ear when he pointed out this notable, that member of the cabinet.

At intermission, Lady Bainbridge introduced the new viscountess to her former patron, a few boxes over. The duchess was so pleased at the match her granddaughter had made with Lady Bainbridge's help that she invited Penny to the wedding, and to tea on next Tuesday.

Michael Cottsworth could not go with West to fetch refreshments, but he could stand guard at the entrance of the box, fending off West's more rakish friends who begged an introduction, or a better glimpse of the female who had caught their comrade in parson's mouse-trap. Since half of them were foxed, and the other half unfit for polite company, the former officer felt no compunction about denying them access to Lady Westfield, or Lady Bainbridge for that matter. Why subject such a delightful, refined female to those crude chaps?

So Penny was not bothered by the crowds or the curiosity. West came back and said he missed her, and they left before the end of the final act.

In the following days, Penny did select new rugs and wall hangings, and scores more gowns. She unpacked her mother's china, her crates of books, her rolls of dress fabrics. She hired more maids, approved livery for the footmen, and went on morning calls with Lady Bainbridge, while West was busy with his parliamentary responsibilities and his investments. They drove in the park at the promenade hour, and they visited Astley's Amphitheatre, the Royal Menagerie at the Tower, and three cathedrals.

Nights, however, they spent in each other's arms.

All too soon the date of Lady Aldershott's rout arrived. Penny knew that after that, she would have to be on public view, making the social rounds, performing like the perfect peeress she never wanted to be. She was West's wife, so she had no choice, not without embarrassing him and putting paid to her stepmother's hopes of a higher-ranking hunting ground for her daughters.

Penny's gown was ready. Lady Bainbridge made sure her manners were polished. West made sure the Westmoreland tiara was, too.

“You look like a princess,” he whispered in her ear as they stood at the head of the stairs, waiting for the majordomo to announce them to the hordes waiting below, every eye fixed on the elusive Lady Westfield. “Not one of the run-of-the-mill princesses, either,” he teased, “but a princess of fairyland, who will enchant every person she smiles at, the way she has enthralled this poor mortal.”

Penny basked in the magic dust of his love, even if he had still never said the words. She remembered all Lady Bainbridge's lessons, impressing the dowagers. Her style, her smile, her intelligence—and most of all the reformed rake's obvious devotion—impressed everyone else. A woman who could win over Westfield had to be a true Diamond. And the diamonds in her tiara were nothing to scoff at, either. Fund-raising females wanted her on their committees; young ladies wanted to be her friend; gentlemen wanted to be her lover.