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

Chapter Eight

Penelope wrote what she thought was an excellent first letter. Well, arguably the previous letter had been the first letter, but couldn’t that rather be called a missive? A note? In either case, this was her first letter of substance to Lord Greer and she anxiously awaited his response. Would he write back to her? Would he simply appear with his curricle, as she’d suggested when last she saw him, and then ‘agreed to’ in her letter for fear he might have forgotten her proposal?

A letter arrived for her the next day. She was both relieved and frightened, which was completely ridiculous because she wasn’t even sure it was his. She’d immediately gone to her room, and now she sat at her escritoire, staring at the crisply folded paper. She could not ascertain who sent it from the handwriting, as she’d only ever seen him sign his name in her dance card before. She resisted the urge to fetch her last dance card and compare the handwriting. She wasn’t even entirely sure why she’d kept the dance card. She had set it aside that night to deal with later. She’d never hesitated to toss them in the fire before. Pen had only kept two dance cards in her life, her very first one, which upon reflection also held Lord Greer’s signature, and this most recent one, which only held Lord Greer’s signature.

She admonished herself for her missishness and broke the seal on the heavy paper of the letter.

Dear Lady Penelope,

I received your letter with great delight and look forward to squiring you tomorrow. You are correct that those such as us need to know about one another’s pets. I hope to meet your hounds Augustus and Ioannes soon, as well as kitten Lady Julia.

It is perhaps difficult to say which of the hounds here are mine, and which belong to my parents, as we’ve ever had them about. I consider only Euclid to be mine alone, having been there when he was whelped, named him, and he sleeps in my bed at night. He’s a large brown lanky beast with a penchant for chasing butterflies, and a terrible habit of doing it in his sleep while using me as his running ground.

We have enough cats in the barn and around the grounds that I won’t bore you by listing out all of their names, but my two favorites are Petal and Prince Eugene. Petal is as gentle a cat as one could meet, all soft white fur and charming chirps. She stands on the stall doors to greet me in the morning and insists on her due of petting. Prince Eugene, however, has assigned himself as my quartermaster, and accompanies me on walks around the barn. If I linger too long with a horse that he’s decided isn’t my mount for the day, he will bat at my boots to move along.

Horses have been my passion for as long as I can remember. They are, to me, math made into poetry. Their movement and speed are sublime, somehow beyond the sum of their parts. My dream has been to find a superior racehorse and breed a herd of winners. As yet I’ve been unsuccessful. My favorites of our racing colts are Hawthorne, purchased just last year, and Knox, who has raced for me two years now. If you have any interest in attending a racing event it would be my honor to escort you.

Your humble servant,

Hen Greer

Penelope read the letter twice and realized she was humming to herself. Gus and Ion lay at her feet.

“I think he finds it easier to write than speak about what he’s thinking,” she told them.

Gus raised one of his brows at her and huffed out a breath. Ion, sensing her attention, flipped over so that his tummy was up for scratching. Ion was her little comedian, while Gus almost rolled his eyes at the smaller dog’s antics. Lady Julia was above it all, literally and figuratively, sprawled on Pen’s coverlet.

“I think you would like Lord Greer,” Pen told Ion after giving him a good scratch. The dog sprang to his feet and looked up at her attentively, head cocked to the side. His white coat with black splotches was reminiscent of a harlequin, which was far too appropriate. “He’s not silly, at least I don’t think he is, but he’s quite warm in his way. I think he would be patient with your silliness.”

Ion gave a sharp bark in response and spun in a circle.

“Yes,” Pen said, “exactly that kind of silliness.”

Gus groaned and rolled over.

Pen chuckled. “Oh yes, you like to pretend that Ion is the only silly one, but help us if a squirrel should catch your attention.”

Gus’s ear flicked at the word squirrel. He was always eager to chase his greatest enemy. The two things Gus loved most in the world were chasing squirrels and eating blueberries. It was at times like this that she most fervently wished she were able to take her dowry and move to a cottage in the country. She could grow her own summer blueberries and there would be endless squirrels for Gus to chase up trees. Ion would be able to cavort over acres of land. Lady Julia would watch the hounds do all of that while curled up in Pen’s lap.

Penelope sighed. Were that such a future was easily in her grasp, but so far it was not. Tomorrow’s curricle ride was all the freedom she could claim.

***

HEN WAS PLEASED THAT Lady Penelope came out promptly to greet him, smiling and gracious. As he lifted her to the curricle seat he had an unexpected moment of attraction. Something beyond the quite appropriate admiration he’d always had of her. It flared at the feel of her slender waist under his gloved hand and made him want to smooth that hand down over her hip. He took a deep breath and pulled back from touching her any further. When he took his seat next to her, she still seemed as ebullient as when she greeted him, so he was comforted that his desire had not been evident.

She chattered happily and he very much wished that he could pay better attention. However, his unexpected physical desire for her dominated his thoughts. Prior to this, she’d resided firmly in the category of lady, and one must never treat a lady with the same desires one would a lover. The exception, of course, being one’s lady wife. However, he had no wish to marry at present and clearly, neither did she. Physical attraction was an unwelcome distraction.

Was this what came of War accusing him of having an interest in her? Had War’s suggestion made him think of things he shouldn’t? Because at present he was wondering what she might look like nude, and trying very hard not to stare at her while imagining it. That line of thought was only serving to make his breeches too tight and make him an even more terrible conversationalist than typical.

She placed her hand on his arm and said, “Lord Henry?”

Her tone told him that he’d not been responding properly to her questions, but the warmth of her gloved hand on his forearm was yet another distraction. He pulled his carriage horses to a halt before the overwhelm of too many things happening at once could consume him. He tied the reins short to ensure the horses wouldn’t wander if he diverted his attention.

He couldn’t turn to her because looking into someone else’s eyes was always difficult once he’d started what he called his ‘unraveling’. He’d described it as such ever since he saw his grandmother make a knitting mistake and pull out yards of knitted yarn, only to start over. The pile of discarded, kinked yarn on the floor that was slowly knitted back into the shape of a scarf was precisely how he felt at such times. He took a deep breath and forced himself to say, “My apologies, Lady Penelope, but I need a moment.”

She removed her hand from his arm, and he closed his eyes. He summoned the most complicated formula he could think of, as maths could always sooth him. The logic and precision appealed to his sense of order. Contemplating an as-yet unsolved formula, trying to remember all of the salient digits and operators, cleared his mind.

After a few moments he opened his eyes again. It was difficult to make himself look at Lady Penelope, but he owed her at least that. When he met her gaze, she didn’t look angry.

“Are you all right?” she asked gently.

“My apologies, Lady Penelope. Sometimes I have... episodes.”

“Headaches?”

“Not precisely. It is difficult to explain.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “Was I talking too much?”

“No. Please don’t think that. When this happens, it is always caused by more than one thing, and I promise that I find you charming.” He truly didn’t want her to feel that his weakness was a result of anything on her part.

“Do you need to go home?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

She assessed him carefully. “It would be all right if you did, I would not take it poorly. I’m neither a vain nor needy woman. I prefer honesty in discussion, and it is usually something I find in short supply among our class. Pretty manners should not be a barrier to honesty with me.”

It was rare for another’s words to calm him, but the forthrightness he’d always appreciated in her was particularly charming at this moment. “I’m usually quite tired after such an event, in all honesty.”

“That settles it, then,” she said briskly. “Can you drive me home, or shall I walk? Oh, or should I drive?”

He gathered the reins and chuckled. “If I can drive home after better than half a bottle of whiskey, then I can certainly drive you home this afternoon.”

“If that was last night, then I can understand why you feel ill today.”

He laughed. “It was five years ago, but still may account for why I feel ill today.”