The Bargain Bride (27 page)

Lady Bainbridge assured Penny that she had never been so silly, thank goodness.

She was silly enough, however, to suffer stunned stupidity and outright jealousy when one of the other guests happened to be a tall, voluptuous beauty dressed all in green from the feathers in her red hair to the tips of her green-dyed slippers. Colorful indeed. Penny knew the woman's identity well before Lady Bainbridge tried to hustle her away, well before the embarrassed hostess had to introduce West's wife to Lady Greenlea, his former mistress. Somehow Penny made the polite responses, while repeating to herself: “Former mistress. Former.” Well, she decided, she had every right to be furious. Here she was, enduring the sly smirk of a known seductress, while West, the cad, was playing at gentleman horse breeder.

Next on Penny's list of priorities was the house; she took her anger out there.

She deserved an orderly, tastefully decorated residence, comfortable but with the elegance her new position commanded.

She hired maids and footmen to clean the town house from top to bottom, throwing out all the useless trash, Constance's castoffs, and undesirable accumulations, like her brother-in-law.

Penny and Lady Bainbridge returned from a shopping excursion that afternoon under a mountain of parcels. Lady Bainbridge made her way up the stairs to direct the burdened footmen, while Penny carried the extra invitations from the print shop toward the library, where she kept her lists of acceptances to the ball and the few refusals. Before she reached the library, however, she heard a crash.

The butler was assigning the grooms to unload the carriage, and the footmen were busy, so Penny traced the sound herself, aided by raucous laughter, applause, and shattering glass.

She hadn't touched the billiard room yet, except to see it dusted and the floor polished. Now, still angry over West's past, no matter how irrational she knew such emotion to be, she decided to sweep the dark, gloomy room clean. “Out!” she shouted at Nicky and his friends, who were lolling in chairs, draped over the green baize table, leaning against the walls. They were swaying on their feet, swearing, singing bawdy tunes, and behaving like the naughty little boys they were too old to be.

Worse, they were swilling her grandfather's finest brandy. She recognized the bottles she'd packed so carefully. “How could you?” she demanded, grabbing the bottle from the inebriated lout who was trying to pour from it into crystal glasses most likely older than he was.

“Best I've had in a dog's years,” the dolt replied with a foolish grin.

Speaking of dogs, George was lapping brandy off the floor . . . which was littered with plates of food, articles of clothing, betting receipts, racing forms—and a silk stocking. Penny picked Nicky out of the cluster of clunches and pointed at him. Lightning should have bolted from her fingertip; she was that angry. “How dare you treat your brother's house like a . . . a . . .”

“Gentlemen's club?” one of the young men in his shirtsleeves offered helpfully. “Though they ain't as much fun.”

Penny glared at him until he reached for his coat and neckcloth.

Nicky stepped forward, over a broken plate. “M' brother said I was to stick close to home.”

“To be the man of the house, not the town drunk.”

“Here, now,” Nicky told her, “I'm not castaway, just a trifle on the go.”

“Then go. And take all your disreputable friends. I will not have such goings-on in my house, no matter what your brother might have put up with in the past.”

Nicky laughed. “Put up with? West was the worst of the lot.”

Two of his friends chuckled nervously, looking from Penny to Nicky, wondering if they should bolt for the door or defend their mate.

Another nodded and waved a cue stick. “Good old West would be right here, only he'd be winning.”

“Well, he is not here now, and this is the establishment of a gentleman and his lady. If you do not respect him, then you shall respect me.” She grabbed the cue stick from his limp fingers and snapped it across her knee.

The billiard player gulped and bowed. “Charmed, Lady Westfield.”

Penny had already turned to another of the young sots. “And put that bottle down before you break anything else. My grandpapa collected those vintages himself at great expense.”

“And never saw an excise label or I miss my guess,” Nicky said, removing the decanter from his friend's hand and studying it through eyes that struggled to focus.

Then someone coughed. Penny looked into the dark corner. “Grandpapa?”

“I sent for the bottles myself, Penny. No need to scold the lads.”

Grandpapa?With a billiard cue in his hand? Penny had to clutch the corner of the billiard table.

Mr. Littleton shrugged. “West said to make myself at home. You said to enjoy myself in London.”

“I thought you would like to spend time with your old friends, not these young jackanapes.” Who were stealthily creeping out the door, waistcoats and fob watches dangling from their uncertain grasps.

“I tried,” Penny's grandfather said. “Caswell is as hard of hearing as I am of seeing. Janeaway can't remember either of our names. Bolton has no teeth, and Ffolkes is in a wheeled chair, pushed by some witch with a wart on her nose. These lads are a great deal more fun.”

“Fun? Letting them drink and wager?”

“Well, they were mostly betting on if I could hit the balls. A few did go in the pockets!” He brandished several pound notes from his pocket. “This'll help pay for the china and the glass. I missed a couple.”

“A couple?” A mirror was cracked, and the wood paneling had round indentations here and there. So did the ceiling. “You are as cork-brained as they are, without the excuse of being young.”

“But I felt young, for a bit. And what is the point of saving the wine stock? I am not going to live forever, and wouldn't want to if I could. I can't drink it all myself, so why not share with youngsters who can still enjoy life?”

Penny had no answer. If the silly cubs made her grandfather happier, she could not complain. She could, however, have a few words with her brother-in-law, who was edging out the door.

“Don't you have anything better to do with your days?” she demanded.

He smiled, trying to look as assured as his older brother, and failing. “I am a viscount's son, you know. I am supposed to be a fribble.”

“By whose law?”

“Why, all the chaps know the way of things.” He waved his hand around, then looked surprised that his chums had deserted him.

“You, sir, are a wastrel.”

“I've been called worse.”

“Then parasite, leech, hanger-on.”

“Here, now. I ain't—”

“Your brother is working himself to flinders, flying across the country to protect his income, while you do nothing but spend his money and wreck his house. Well, sir, no more. He left me in charge, and he left you to help. You will help me get the rest of my books onto the library shelves, and this evening you will escort me and my stepsisters to a waltz party for young ladies. Lady Gossage said she needs extra gentlemen. Too bad your cowardly friends have already left.”

Nicky turned green, and not from the fine brandy. “Not a dancing party! I'll find a job. I'll polish the silver. I'll catalog the entire book room.”

“Be ready at nine.”

Nicky wasted a pleading look at Mr. Littleton, then said, “Is the woman always so cruel, sir?”

Grandpapa coughed, then said, “My Penny doesn't suffer fools gladly, boy. And she doesn't forgive easily, either. Just ask your brother.” He coughed again, then fumbled for a glass of brandy.

Penny put it into his hand, against her better judgment. “And you ought to know better than to exhaust yourself, especially by encouraging budding libertines.”

“Well, you ought to have more fun, my dear.”

She would, as soon as West came home.

 

At Lady Gossage's waltz party that night, Penny took on the unfamiliar role of chaperone. Lady Bainbridge stayed home claiming a sour stomach, most likely the same one affecting Nicky at the thought of a dancing party among the schoolroom set.

Lud, Penny felt ancient, shepherding her two step-siblings. She was not as old as the mothers of the other debutantes about to make their come-outs, the girls not quite ready for grand affairs. Nor was she as young as the dancers, who would not be permitted to waltz in public until approved by patronesses of Almack's, or some such nonsensical rule. They had to know how to perform the steps, though, in case. Their partners were spotty-faced brothers and underage cousins and raw country connections, all as reluctant as Nicky.

Somewhere between generations, Penny found a seat between two pillars, like a cabbage plant in a rose garden. Her lips rose at the analogy, and a woman close to her own age smiled back at her, as if accepting the invitation to sit in a nearby spindly chair. Mrs. Curtis was a widow, bringing out her younger sister. Penny found a new friend, someone to converse with, and a new committee to join.

Together they kept an eye on the dancers. Penny also kept a careful watch on Nicky, making sure he did not scarper out the back door while she was discussing the dire situation of war widows left destitute.

He dutifully danced with the hostess's daughter, then with Mavis, the elder Miss Entwhistle. They were laughing, wagering on how many times the other pairs bumped into them. Mavis's honest laughter, not the high-pitched giggle she usually affected, was a happy sound among the glum couples who were concentrating on the steps and the tempo. In addition, Penny was glad to see, she was not flirting with Nicky. Of course not; he had no title. He was an excellent dancer, though, just like his brother.

He returned Mavis to Penny's side and gave her a pleading look. Penny was pitiless, however. She nodded toward Amelia, who was standing nearby, staring at her feet.

Nicky bowed. “Miss Amelia, I would be honored to partner you in the next set.”

Still looking down, Amelia accepted his hand and followed him to the dance floor to wait for the music to begin again.

Incredibly, Nicky had Amelia flashing her pretty smile within minutes, and actually engaging in a conversation. Penny was amazed, although she realized she should not have been so surprised. Nicky had a charming manner, also just like his brother.

Seeing Amelia so animated, other young men later asked her to dance, and she skipped off with Lady Gossage's jug-eared nephew.

“Good grief,” Penny told Nicky, “you have worked a miracle. What did you speak about to bring her out of her shell?”

He shrugged. “Poetry. She knows a great deal about it.”

“Do you?”

“Next to nothing. But I went to school with an almost-famous poet, Gareth Culpepper.”

“The one who goes to the Lake District in the summer?”

“Don't they all?”

“Is Mr. Culpepper in London, do you think?”

“Of course. Not even Gary can bore people in the shires all year, can he? And he needs to see his publisher here in Town.” He stroked his chin, thinking. “I don't suppose you'd want me to invite him to your ball, would you?”

“I could kiss you!”

He stepped back, looking around to make certain no one heard her. “I'd be content if you let me off your leash.”

Penny laughed. “Go. You have done enough for the night.”

“Ah, but the night is just beginning. Are you sure you do not need my escort?”

Penny looked around at the other guests, boys who barely shaved and girls who were putting their hair up for the first time. “I think we will be safe enough here, and on the carriage ride home with the footman and a guard Mr. Parker insisted upon.”

Nicky looked torn. His brother had asked him to look after his wife, but nothing was said about dancing with budding wallflowers. “How about if we had one waltz together before I leave?”

Penny's new friend nodded her agreement.“Go on and dance, Lady Westfield. You should enjoy yourself, too.”

She would, when West came home.

 

Oh, how she would enjoy locking her bedroom door, after calling him every slimy name she could think of, in return for Lady Greenlea's morning call.

Penny was near her front door waiting for Lady Bainbridge when the widow arrived, so she could not deny West's former lover, who was dressed all in green, of course, with a green-painted carriage waiting outside. But the gall of the woman! The nerve! The emeralds at her throat!

Penny would
not
curtsy, despite being the younger woman. A lot younger, Penny thought with satisfaction, noting the other's careful application of cosmetics. A viscountess outranked a mere baronet's widow anyway. “I am on my way out,” she announced in cool tones.

“I seek a mere moment of your time, my dear, to avoid further awkwardness and gossip.”

Penny could not see how a visit could halt the inevitable talk, but she nodded and showed her unwelcome guest to a bench down the hall set aside for waiting servants or uninvited callers.

“And I wanted to warn you, before it is too late. Woman to woman, you know.”

“Warn me?” Penny's chill turned to ice.

“About West. You'll never hold him, you know. I do not wish to see your heart broken.”

“We are married. I do not need to worry over ‘hold ing' him.”

The other woman laughed. “You cannot be that innocent.”

Penny prayed for Lady Bainbridge to hurry, or Parker to return with her cape. “I will not discuss my marriage, madam.”

“That is too bad. West and I discussed it at length.”