Chapter Four
Rather than being displeased that Penelope danced with Lord Greer, her mother was quite pleased. Pleased enough that there was no mention made of how the dance came about. Pleased enough that no mention was made of Penelope having a small confrontation with other ladies of the ton. Oh, it was known about Town, but her mother ignored the information as she did any number of things she didn’t care to know.
Instead, her mother was devoted to hinting at a growing tendre between her daughter and Lord Henry Greer. She mentioned it obliquely at Lady Fairburn’s receiving hours. She casually hinted at a supper party that week. The pressure was mounting such that Penelope was even more loathe than usual to attend a ball.
However, she knew that she needed to apologize to Lord Greer. It had not been her intention to enact the very thing she hoped to warn him about! That was the only thing on her mind as she entered the Baker’s ballroom. She hardly noted the look of veiled disgust from Miss Norris as she passed. The young women of the ton were always of an opinion, and it was never worth trying to divine their vagaries. Nor was she distracted by the whispers barely concealed behind fans when she passed another bevy of unmarried ladies.
Having reached the edge of the dance floor she let her gaze rove over the attendees. Alas, Lord Greer was not apparent. She could hardly find him by lingering in her typical station along the walls, but she also didn’t know if he planned to attend. Lud! The strictures of her class were cloying. If she had something to tell a gentleman, why was it forbidden for her to seek him out? Why could she not simply call upon him in his home? Or write to him and ask him to call upon her, without such simple acts being perceived as too forward or indicative of a far deeper attachment?
“Looking for someone?” The deep voice at her shoulder almost startled her. Glancing to the side she could just see Lord Sharpe standing close enough to be heard but not so close that they could be assumed to be conversing.
As much as her mother was inclined to a tendre with Lord Greer, it was certain she wanted no part of her daughter’s name associated with Lord Sharpe. The man was known as a rake and a gadabout. Desperate to make amends, however, Penelope gave a brief nod in acknowledgement.
“He won’t be here this evening.” The man’s voice held amusement and Penelope wasn’t sure if it was because of her or Lord Greer. “But I have it on good authority that he will be riding in the park tomorrow at the fashionable hour.”
When Penelope risked glancing over again, he was gone. Now she simply had to figure out how to convince her mother to allow her to ride in the park tomorrow at the fashionable hour.
***
HENNY PULLED AT HIS sleeve again. “You know that I don’t like to ride at the fashionable hour, War. What is the point of wearing uncomfortable clothes while on horseback?”
His friend merely chuckled. War had been intractable on the point of riding out today, and as that was not typical of the man, it had been difficult to argue. But while War merely found frivolous outings annoying, Henny found them nerve-wracking. He knew the rules of a supper party, and the rules of formal ball, but less structured social gatherings always left him flat-footed. Further, he truly did prefer to ride at home where he could dress comfortably and focus on the horse, rather than jawing with any number of his peers who might want to hold nonsensical and mundane conversations.
War finally spoke. “Ah, there is our quarry.”
Henny frowned. “What are you talking about?”
His friend was sitting forward in the saddle, looking like nothing so much as a well-trained pointer hound. “Lady Penelope has entered the field astride, rather than in a carriage. How daring of her.”
“I’ve heard she’s a good horsewoman,” Henny murmured, curious to see what War was about. He pulled abreast of his friend to see Lady Penelope and her companion riding into the park. “Isn’t that her cousin?”
“Indeed,” War agreed. “Lady Vale, married just last year as I recall. Clever of Lady Penelope to use such a connection.”
Henny frowned. “Clever?”
War smiled over his shoulder. “I told her you would be here, as she was clearly searching for you last eve. Come along.” He spurred his stallion forward, leaving Henny to follow a bit more slowly. Although he generally trusted War, his friend was himself far too clever. From time to time, that led the man into a tangle that Henny would naturally avoid.
War doffed his hat to the ladies and said all the proper things. Henny tipped his hat as well, but let the three of them carry the conversation. It was the usual nonsense about the health of relatives, unknowable prognostication about the weather, and the schedule of some upcoming entertainments. Useless prattle. Henny saw Lady Penelope cast her gaze at him a few times, but she did not speak to him directly, so he did not participate in the conversation.
It was primarily War and Lady Vale conversing, and the two of them turned their horses to ride side by side as though it were a natural progression of their conversation, leaving Henny and Lady Penelope to follow. He observed that she had a very natural seat and guided her mount easily.
Once their horses were aligned, Lady Penelope spoke. “I am so very sorry that my forward behavior at the dance has set tongues to wagging.”
Henny was reminded again how much he appreciated Lady Penelope’s directness. “I’m not bothered. Although if you are, my lady, it probably isn’t for the best that we are seen riding together.” Even though he was at sea with so many of the conversations that happened in his circles, rules such as where to be seen with whom were firmly fixed in his mind.
“I... oh.” She frowned. “If it doesn’t bother you, then I am also unbothered. People can think and say what they like. It’s not as if they won’t make up stories no matter what a body does.”
Henny nodded. “On that we can agree. Was an apology your only goal today, Lady Penelope?”
She made a little humming sound he couldn’t hope to interpret. “My primary goal, yes.”
“I would forgive you, Lady Penelope, were it necessary,” he said, unsure what she wanted to hear, “but there is nothing to forgive.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you for your largesse, Lord Greer.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to call him Henny, but that would indeed be far too forward. Especially if they didn’t want the ton to spread even more gossip about them than they were already doing. In his awkward silence, she continued.
“I also hoped to find out, if I may be so bold as to ask, if there were any young ladies you did fancy, so that I might advise you as to their temperaments.”
He was nonplussed. “Advise me?”
“Yes. So many young ladies show an entirely different face to the men they hope to marry, and I would prefer you not be surprised by anyone you might choose.”
“Surprised?” He was once again reminded of that unfortunate debacle with Lady Smythe last season. He’d rather liked the girl, but Kit’s amour insisted the woman meant Henny harm. War, true to his nickname, had threatened her. As the younger son of a duke, War had both the confidence and blunt to warn off anyone he wished.
The good lady kept talking. “A good number of them think that you are gullible, and that your fortune is theirs for the taking. Such an attitude is outrageous, of course, but a good number of ladies with demur reputations are far more outrageous than you might imagine.”
Lady Penelope subsided, and Henny was silent for a long while, considering her words. “I don’t fancy any of the ladies at present, and mostly wish that they would leave me quite alone.”
She laughed, appearing quite entertained by his wish. “You were always far too handsome to be left alone for long, Lord Greer, and with your recent inheritance you are more tempting to them than a string dangled in front of a kitten.”
Henny might have been pleased with being called handsome, but she said it so matter-of-factly that it seemed less a compliment than an observation she’d heard from others. “But you wish to warn me that the kittens have claws?”
“And further, that some of them aren’t kittens at all, but rather rats or snakes or whatever other animal you find repugnant.”
He found her vexed description of her peers entertaining. “Are you a kitten, Lady Penelope?”
She laughed. “Clearly not! A puppy perhaps, or a colt. Some silly animal that is not yet sure where its legs go.”
Although she bore it with good humor, Hen was concerned that Lady Penelope should consider herself so clumsy in a social circle that put such great store by being graceful. It was a feeling that he could understand far too well, and an opinion that he avoided for himself assiduously.