Chapter Twelve
Penelope didn’t really remember the rest of the evening. She was fairly certain that she said all of the appropriate things, and answered the questions she was asked. Part of her, however, was still in the garden, kissing Lord Henry.
She’d been kissed before, but only that first brush of his lips bore any resemblance to the previous kiss. Everything after that had been... different. Decadent. She’d felt the heat of his body, so close to hers. His lips on hers were delicious. Something pleasurable beyond anything she’d experienced before. When his tongue licked against her lips she’d wanted to open her mouth and suck on it like a ripe fruit. The mere thought of that was both naughty and thrilling. Even now, days later, she would get goosebumps thinking about it. She was sure a lady wasn’t supposed to think about sucking on a gentleman’s tongue, but it was all she could do to keep herself from thinking about it constantly.
Fortunately, her reverie was broken when she received a note in unfamiliar handwriting. Unsure what to think of it, she opened it in the privacy of her bedroom.
Lady Penelope,
We are not well acquainted, but as our circles draw closer together, I thought it might be pleasant to take tea. If you are amenable, I will be At Home this Wednesday to receive you at Baxter House.
Yours,
Ana Baxter
If Penelope had met Mrs. Baxton before, she didn’t recall it. She knew who Mrs. Baxter was, of course, because Mrs. Baxter had gone to some trouble to make herself known. A widow, the youngest daughter of a rich man who’d earned a knighthood, and subsequently married into another rich family. Her father-in-law died shortly after she’d married, and her husband died in a duel, of all things, over a year past. Mrs. Baxter was the sort of woman who flirted with the edge of scandal, and perhaps even enjoyed dipping a toe in it. Definitely the sort of woman that Penelope’s mother would have her avoid. Would perhaps even have a fit of the vapors if Penelope were to be seen with her.
Mrs. Baxter’s comment about their circles drawing together was intriguing, however, and Penelope found herself curious over why the woman would reach out to her in such a bold way.
If Penelope wished for her freedom, then perhaps she should stop wishing for it and just take it. She needn’t be under her mother’s thumb so much. She was a woman, full grown. If she’d taken a bit better on the Mart she would have been married for some years now, probably with children of her own. Being unmarried and without children, however, did not make her any less of an adult.
If her mother found out that she’d gone to Mrs. Baxter’s and had a fit of the vapors about it, well, then that was certainly her mother’s prerogative. Penelope had never had a fit of the vapors in her life and didn’t deem them necessary.
When Wednesday dawned, she fussed about wanting to visit the bookstore, a trip she knew her mother would have no interest in. Shortly before teatime she left the house with her most trusted maid, Minna, in tow. Her subterfuge required walking a good bit in the wrong direction, then looping back around to ensure her mother didn’t immediately suspect something, if she happened to be watching out the window. Minna followed her without complaint.
Before long, Penelope was presenting herself at the front door of Baxter House to a perfectly respectable butler. Minna was sent off to the kitchens as Penelope was escorted to the parlor. As she was announced quite properly by the butler, she was able to inspect the two ladies who already occupied the room. One was slender and dark haired. The other was softer and fairer. She believed Mrs. Baxter was the dark one, confirmed when the woman nodded at Penelope’s introduction.
“Lady Penelope,” Mrs. Baxter said, “come, join us. This is Lady Sarah Wilkins.”
Penelope nodded her greeting as she arranged her skirts on the low settee across from the two ladies. “It is delightful to meet you both.”
“Oh, have we not met?” Mrs. Baxter asked drolly. “How terribly ill-mannered of me.”
Penelope wasn’t sure if she was shocked by Mrs. Baxter’s clear boldness or inspired by it.
“Nevermind Ana,” the other lady said warmly. “She enjoys being daring and mysterious. You may call me Sarah.”
Although the ladies were quite different, Penelope could tell that the two of them were close. It was evident in how they were seated, in the wealth of commentary they directed to each other with a mere glance.
Rather than invite the intimacy of asking them to ignore her title, she said, “I was surprised to receive your invitation, Mrs. Baxter.”
The woman smiled. “As I thought you might be, but I’m not one to delay when expedience could be important. We are given to understand that you are linked to our Lord Sunny.”
Lady Wilkins tried to unsuccessfully smother a laugh and sounded like she was strangling.
“Lord Sunny?” Penelope hoped for more information.
Lady Wilkins was the first to speak. “It is a nickname that I gave to Lord Greer the night we met.” She looked at Mrs. Baxter accusingly. “A nickname he does not know about, and I wasn’t planning to tell him.”
Penelope could certainly understand the name. Lord Henry’s mien was always pleasant in public. “I might be persuaded to keep your confidence,” Pen said with a small smile. Had this Lady Wilkins been another eager suitor? She wasn’t sure yet if she was pleased or saddened for Lord Henry that the woman had chosen Lord Wilkins instead.
“Sugar? Milk?” Mrs. Baxter waited for Pen to decline them before offering the cup.
After selecting a biscuit from the collection on the low table Pen turned her attention back to the ladies. “And you say that he is your Lord Sunny?”
Mrs. Baxter waved a hand. “Those three are like a matched set. Since Sarah chose to marry one of them, we have inherited them all.”
Pen had vague memories of Lord Wilkins at various entertainments with Lords Greer and Sharpe, but it was years ago now. “I didn’t realize they were still close.”
“I would make the comparison of peas in a pod,” Mrs. Baxter said, “but those poor peas rattle about so much more loosely. This one is in Town,” she continued, indicating Lady Wilkins, “because Lord Sunny wrote a mildly concerning letter to Lord Parsnip.”
Lady Wilkins laughed. “Stop calling him that.”
“You named him that, my dear, don’t blame me for seeing the wisdom of it.”
“Concerning how?” Although Pen found their bonhomie entertaining, she wondered if Lord Greer had told his friend something she should be aware of. Had he never been in favor of this charade they were attempting?
“Asking about courtship,” Mrs. Baxter said, “as he didn’t believe Lord Darkly to be a trustworthy source on the issue.”
“Darkly,” Pen said. “Is that Lord Sharpe?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Baxter said brightly. “I see you are astute.”
“Lord Sharpe is quite protective of his friend,” Pen said, trying not to shiver in memory of his pestering her.
Mrs. Baxter and Lady Wilkins glanced at one another again, then looked at Pen with almost identical head tilts. Baxter was the one to speak again. “What do you mean?”