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

Chapter Seven

Penelope hadn’t gone more than fifty feet from her front door before she saw Lord Greer strolling in her direction. The man certainly was prompt and diligent, which was a greater compliment than she could give most of his ilk, faint praise as it was.

In just a few moments they greeted each other politely, as though their meeting were completely coincidental.

She could see the curiosity in his eyes as he asked, “May I offer to escort you wherever you are going, Lady Penelope?”

“Oh, it’s just a little fresh air taken with my maid, but I would be delighted for you to escort me, Lord Greer.”

He held his arm out and she laced hers through it. As they turned to walk together her maid was discreet enough to trail them a few feet behind. Lord Greer didn’t seem inclined to press her for why she’d summoned him, so she spoke again after a few moments. Softly, so as not to be overheard by her maid. “I’ve thought of many reasons not to proceed with our plan, Lord Greer, but none of them have turned me from the fact that you need my help.”

His step hitched for a moment, but then he tipped his head toward her and spoke softly. “Although it is kind of you to be concerned, if there are reasons not to proceed, then we should not.”

No one could possibly be as agreeable as Lord Greer seemed to be. She wasn’t sure she’d had a moment in her life when she was as agreeable as he seemed. It was possible her next statement would be a test of that agreeableness. “I can’t even say for certain if Lord Sharpe’s visit was reason to decide for or against it.”

Lord Greer stopped suddenly and turned toward her. The only other sign of a reaction was a tightening of his jaw. “When did Lord Sharpe visit?”

His voice had risen with the question and Penelope glanced over at her maid. The sudden stop had the girl closer than she’d been before, but the poor thing was looking at the ground as though she’d not heard a thing in the world. Doubtful. Penelope almost sighed, wondering when her mother would ask about the rumor that Lord Sharpe had come to visit when he’d not been seen at receiving hours.

Penelope slid her arm in Lord Greer’s again and veritably towed him forward to get some distance from her maid. “Last night,” she hissed. “He threw rocks at my window until I opened it. Well, pebbles, really. The window wasn’t in any danger of breaking, I shouldn’t think.” She took a breath and glanced over at her companion. His expression was remote. “He’s very protective of you, which is a boon in a friend, I suppose. I’ve never had a close friend, not really, so perhaps I’ve no real way to judge. But the very idea that I would hurt you, that is ridiculous. I might have told him as much once I recovered from my shock, but he’d already slunk off like a stray cat by then. As a duke’s son he clearly doesn’t feel the normal strictures of society. In ways I envy that, but last night I found it difficult to admire.”

Lord Greer still hadn’t reacted in any way, and they’d nearly looped back to her parent’s townhouse. She plowed on with what she intended to say. “With that aside, my only other concern is that we accidentally jump into the Parson’s trap together. You, I trust quite implicitly, but we both know how Society can be, with the well-meaning caught in terrible tides that change their fortunes. In any case, we can only do what we think is best, so though there are reasons against it, I think it best to proceed. I recommend a curricle ride, two days hence. It would be a week since we’d been seen in the park, and a pattern would give the gossips such delight.”

They’d reached her front walk and Lord Greer bowed very properly over her hand. “Until we meet again, Lady Penelope.”

It wasn’t until he walked away that she realized he’d not committed to taking her in his curricle. He’d not said anything, really, other than that they shouldn’t proceed. Well, drat. She’d been so full of what she needed to say that she’d not ascertained his state of mind at all. That would not do. She didn’t plan to marry the man, but she should at least endeavor to make sure she knew what he wanted, and she wasn’t sure that she did at all.

She went upstairs to write a letter. Certainly a woman with a tendre was expected to write a letter to her beloved.

***

HENNY POUNDED ON THE door and waited a good two minutes, giving him more time to contemplate his conversation with Lady Penelope. He’d almost stumbled in surprise at her words. He’d anticipated, no, expected to have his plan declined. It had been a hasty, ill-formed idea. Some part of him regretted her confirmation that they would continue. Would this compromise her honor? Further, what help could she really offer? His mind had spun for a bit and he’d allowed her to guide him. Honestly, he would have stumbled at the smallest obstacle if she’d not been mindful of their path, as it had taken time to pull apart what he’d heard. He missed Kit keenly, damn it all. He could use the man’s advice now more than ever.

The door finally opened.

“Lord Greer,” the man said, bowing slightly.

“Is he here, Garrett?”

Garrett blinked with the hesitation of a servant unsure of how best to satisfy his master. “Yes, but-”

Henny pushed past the man, not listening to the rest. He suspected the hesitance was because of a woman in residence, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. He stalked to the study first, fully expecting to run upstairs to the sleeping chambers next. Instead, he’d run his quarry to ground already.

War lounged on a low Chesterfield, reading. He looked up with surprise to see Henny at the door and a variety of expressions that Hen couldn’t interpret chased across his face. Hen hoped that at least one of them was regret.

“Hadn’t expected to see you today,” War said, setting aside the book and rising.

Hen didn’t bother answering, just took two steps forward and walloped his friend in the face.

War staggered back and dropped on the Chesterfield again. He held his jaw, fury in his eyes when he looked up. That was an expression that Hen read well enough.

“Bloody hell, Hen, you could have broken my jaw.”

“We agree on that,” Henny retorted mildly. The truth was that he could have hit War harder. They both knew it.

“What are you sore about?” War asked, still rubbing his chin.

There was absolutely no question of Lady Penelope making up such a story, so Hen didn’t dignify War’s attempt at innocence with a response. Simply stood over him and considered hitting him again if the blasted man didn’t admit to his perfidy.

War rubbed his jaw a bit longer, clearly waiting for accusation or an explanation. He finally sighed and leaned back. “I’ll assume you’ve spoken to Lady Penelope today.”

Hen crossed his arms and kept staring.

“You’ve admired her for a long time, Hen, and she’s an odd one. I don’t trust that she’s all but ignored you before now and suddenly she’s shown interest. I set up that meeting at the park so that we might know what she’s about, but now neither of you will speak of it. You are usually far too forthcoming, so I can only assume she convinced you not to share anything, and that feels nefarious.”

War had given him too much to think on and Hen sat down. He chose a chair, some distance from his friend. “You think I’ve admired her?”

War had the audacity to chuckle. “For years. Whenever you’ve spoken to her you’ve mentioned it days later, as though the conversation won’t leave your mind. You still quote her when you say, ‘a dog’s loyalty is the purest love’.”

“She said that?”

“At the Lovell ball the year she came out. You admired how outspoken she was about animal rights.”

Hen took a moment to reflect. He’d forgotten how outspoken and charming she’d been at the beginning of that season. That had been, what? Five years past? Perhaps six. She’d simply been Miss Barshaw then, years before her father ascended to her grandfather’s title. As time passed, she’d grown quieter. Quiet enough that he’d forgotten that the vivaciousness that he only saw briefly in private conversations with her now had been quite typical of her in the beginning.

He spent so much time with so many young ladies of the ton that he’d not thought much about it, about her. It was true that he’d always enjoyed what sparse conversations they’d had over the years, but it never occurred to him that he dwelt on them enough that it was noticeable. He’d always thought her very pretty, as well, but in many ways that had been of even less interest to him. Being attracted to a marriageable lady was tantamount to wanting to be married, and that was a condition he’d meant to avoid for now.

He knew that his mind was different from many others. War and Kit always saw things he didn’t, understood things he didn’t. Did that include War being more aware of any feelings that Hen himself might have for Lady Penelope?

War, used to Henny’s deep thinking, eventually rose, patted him on the arm, and ambled off to some other part of the house. Most people would find War’s townhouse to be quite strange. He’d purchased it furnished, but left the coverings on the furniture in all the rooms save the study and his bedroom. The only other rooms of function were the kitchen, cellar, and Hen presumed Garrett had a room tucked somewhere in the house.

A good while later War returned with late afternoon tea. The rough cut of the bread testified that War did it himself. He spread out the hearty repast on the low table between them and lowered himself on the Chesterfield again.

Hen sat forward to gather bread and cheese on a plate. He paused to say, “Sorry for the-” he waved a hand at his own jaw to indicate.

“If it will set your tongue loose,” War said with one of his overly dramatic sighs, “I will suffer it bravely.”

Hen nodded. “Then I suppose I should explain. There is nothing whatsoever nefarious about Lady Penelope. She overheard some young ladies planning how to marry me for my money. She warned me about it. Last week we discussed whether fostering the rumor that we are interested in one another would warn off other ladies and were set to discuss it again in two days time. Then my friend hatched the poor idea of pestering the lady at her home.”

War smiled. “I didn’t intend to frighten her. Much.”

“You didn’t frighten her,” Hen said, frowning. “She thought you and your accusation were ridiculous.”

“Well, the lady is made of stern stuff indeed.” War grinned. “I’m not sure that I would tolerate a man with my demeanor climbing up to my window at night.”

Hen surged to his feet, dropping his plate to the floor. “You climbed up to her window?”

War, the damn man, simply chuckled and took a bite of cheese. “Didn’t tell you that part, did she? Interesting. It is very amusing that you are just like Kit, insisting you have no interest in the gel and then puffing up with indignation if I go anywhere near her.”

“She’s far too much of a lady for this treatment. Anyone would defend her as such.”

War raised his brow. “And Sarah was not?”

Hen opened his mouth, and then remembered how blasé he’d been about War kissing Sarah while Kit fussed. That made him think of the possibility of War kissing Lady Penelope. A hot rage that clawed at him. Undoubtedly it showed as a flush to his face. “You’re saying that Kit and I are only protective of women we are interested in, but I’ve never had those thoughts of Lady Penelope.”

“Methinks he doth protest too much,” War murmured, picking over the tray, seeming completely unbothered by his friend’s ire.

As Hen’s anger cooled, he realized that War’s amusement over the topic was reminiscent of the intelligent, funny boy he’d first met. Hen always assumed that War’s cynicism was part of growing older, but this conversation clicked two important pieces together for him. When War became bitter. When Ana Baxter married. “By this logic, you are very much in love with Ana Baxter.”

War looked up with a scowl. “That’s not in the least amusing,” he growled acerbically.

Hen picked up the plate he dropped, checked for cracks, and set it on the low table. “To the contrary, I believe it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard.”

War’s scowl turned to a glare, and Hen was rewarded with a piece of cheese bouncing off his forehead.