Dancing With the Gull (Revenge of the Wallflowers, #14)

Chapter Six

Pen realized she was lost in thought again when she heard something clink against her bedroom window. She’d been brushing her hair and now she wasn’t quite sure how many strokes she’d brushed down the left side. She had to smile to herself. If only Lord Henry was here to count for her! Before she could start on the right side, she heard another clink and frowned. It was far too late in the year to have hail.

If her dog Ion were upstairs, he would be barking frantically at the sound, no doubt, but he and her other hound Augustus were with a footman, taking their last turn outside before bed.

A small shower of clinks rained against the glass. She set her brush down to stomp over and pull the drapes further aside. It wasn’t raining, much less hailing. Another clink, and this time she could quite clearly see a pebble falling back away in the night.

She pushed the window open and looked down at a face just barely visible in the scant moonlight.

“Lord Sharpe!” she hissed. “What on Earth are you doing?”

He smiled, a rakish grin, and dropped the pebbles still in his hand. “Our mutual friend still hasn’t told me what you talked about on our ride, so I thought you might be more forthcoming.”

Penelope had heard of some outrageous behavior in her time, but this was outside of outrageous. “Then your thinking is altogether wrong.” She reached to draw the window closed again.

The man brushed his hands together, as though to rid himself of any dirt remaining from the pebbles, then shocked Penelope by almost silently climbing the townhouse stone. Startled, she backpedaled away from him as he reached her window before she could drop the latch. He lifted it open again.

“Don’t go too far,” he admonished quietly. “I very much doubt you want me to come in to talk to you, and I would prefer our conversation remain discreet.” He winked at her.

She planted her feet, very much in agreement that she did not want him to come into her room. “What are you hoping to achieve, Lord Sharpe?” She sidled to her vanity and grasped her silver scissors.

“I will be clear, Lady Penelope. I am not here for a dalliance, you can set those down. My intention is to protect Lord Greer and I will do that to the best of my ability. I was hopeful that you were the best option, but if your intention is to mislead or hurt him then you will have me to deal with, and it will not be pleasant.”

“How dare you threaten me?” Her hand began to turn white at the knuckles as she gripped the scissors tightly and raised them.

He gave her a sardonic smile. “I don’t threaten ladies, but I do make promises. I promise that you would regret doing anything to hurt Henny.”

With that he dropped away from her window. She rushed forward to look down, but he was already gone. What an infuriating and quite honestly terrifying man! It took her a moment before she remembered to set down the scissors. She closed and locked her window, then pulled her drapes closed tight for good measure.

Did she really want to spend more time with Lord Greer if Lord Sharpe were part of it? Goodness! Did Lord Greer know that his friend was capable of such things? She realized she was pacing and sat at her vanity again.

Lord Sharpe’s actions only amounted to the same thing, ultimately, that the manipulative vixens’ behavior did. Everyone either thought they knew best what Lord Henry needed, or that they could manipulate him for their own ends. No one seemed to consider what he wanted, what he thought. She’d not expected to find so much in common with a man of the ton. She’d spent years feeling that her own thoughts and desires were irrelevant to those around her, and would not wish that disrespect on anyone.

This line of thinking led where her mind had consistently rested. No matter what she considered, nothing was more important to Penelope than Lord Greer not falling prey to the sort of mercenary plan that someone like Miss Coates would put into play. Even Lord Sharpe’s dark threats might not be enough to save Lord Greer from such machinations if he didn’t know which vixen was lying in wait for her opportunity to entrap him at a public event. Perceptions could be skewed, and societal rules incontrovertible, meaning that any unmarried young woman found in a compromising position with him would become his wife.

She and Lord Sharpe would just have to come to an accord. One where he kept his threats to himself.

Meanwhile, Miss Coates and her ilk would discover that it was best not to inspire the ire of a wallflower.

***

IT WAS TWO DAYS UNTIL the scheduled return to the horse trails, at the fashionable hours, and Henny’s concern over the pending date was preying on his mind. It made him more fastidious than usual. He found himself checking his waistcoat buttons over and over. Being more precise with his cravat folds than his valet. It was a habit that quite annoyed him, being so exacting when something was bothering him, but he’d always been that way. It was part and parcel of why he detested altering his routines.

The first month after Kit left to care for his father the Earl years ago was among the worst. He’d always relied on Kit to know what to do in social situations, ever since they’d been out in the world at nine years old. Even when Hen fumbled awkwardly with others, Kit had always been there to smooth the waters. Then one day, he was gone. For an inarguable reason, to care for his father, but Hen felt more abandoned than a fledgling pushed out of the nest. Although War was deucedly protective, he’d never quite understood how at sea Hen could feel just about anywhere other than with his two best friends. He knew he could be himself with War and Kit, but in Society he was like some sort of automaton. When something didn’t match the circumstance he was expecting, he had absolutely no idea what to do. Usually, the very best he could do was simply nothing. To smile as though everything was smashing, even if every fiber of his being compelled him to scream or climb the walls. He knew it gave him the reputation of being a simpleton, but he would rather be thought of as a simpleton than a mad man.

“A letter for you, Master Henry.”

Corden, his father’s butler, refused to see Henny as anything other than the young master of the household. As the servant was likely ninety years old, it was quite endearing.

Henny nodded and took the small envelope from the silver salver. He was quite surprised at the contents.

Dear Lord Henry Greer,

I shall be taking the air in a walk near our townhome with my maid this afternoon at three o’clock sharp. If I may be so forward as to say, it seems to Me that it would be unremarkable should we encounter one another and chat for a few moments.

Best regards,

Lady Penelope Barshaw

He felt both hope and fear surge through him. However, he had no time to dawdle if he hoped to meet with her as she planned. He adjusted his clothing one last time and checked his appearance to ensure all seemed in order. Would the delightful Lady Penelope prove to be the answer to his prayers?