Chapter 1 #2
Penelope smiled, relieved, as Mama turned to face him. He was dressed in a high-collared shirt and brown knee-breeches—respectable eveningwear, though lacking his tailcoat.
“You are impossible! Both of you,” Mama said tiredly, though she was grinning at Thomas. “You left it in the parlour. Now, come on. We have to go down. Punctuality is important.”
Penelope sighed, relieved by the reprieve. She fell into step beside Thomas as they went down the hallway towards the stairs.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what? Losing my coat is easy enough.”
At the doorway to the ballroom, Penelope curtseyed and offered thanks to their hosts, then followed her mother down the stairs into the vast, candlelit space.
A wash of conversation met her, making her heart thump and sweat prickle at the back of her neck. Thomas nearly walked into her, and she stepped forward, crossing into the ballroom.
The room was crowded, and the chandeliers overhead blazed with bright light.
She blinked, the harsh glare and overwhelming noise making her heart race and her breath catch.
She glanced at Thomas. He stood at her side, his pale blond hair standing out even amid the sea of guests.
Instinctively, Penelope edged closer, feeling safer with him nearby.
“Penelope! Thomas! Oh! How delightful!” a female voice gushed from behind them. Penelope turned around, her surprise turning to joy as her widening gaze took in her best friend, The Honourable Miss Lucy Harwell.
“Lucy!” she exclaimed in delight. Lucy beamed, her long, angular face lighting up with the grin.
Her thick red hair was drawn back from her face, her brown eyes sparkling as she studied Penelope.
Her countenance was delicate and fine-boned, her eyes dark and wide.
She embraced Penelope, a faintly spicy perfume surrounding her as they hugged.
“Penelope. I am so pleased to see you. And Thomas.” Lucy dropped a slight curtsey, her gaze lifting to Thomas’s face as she rose. Thomas went a little pink under her keen gaze. Penelope frowned, a little flustered by the strange charge in the atmosphere as the two of them studied each other.
“Good evening, Miss Harwell,” Thomas murmured.
“I did not know you would attend this gathering,” Penelope said to Lucy in surprise. Lucy shook her head, grinning. A thick lock of hair fell from the broad burgundy ribbon that drew it back from her face, and she tucked it absently behind one ear.
“I was not certain if I should tell you, because I was not sure myself if I would attend. I came with my aunt, and I was not certain if she would feel well enough to attend the house party. And without my aunt, I would have no chaperone.” She looked down demurely.
“Yes, of course,” Penelope agreed at once. “I understand.”
“Well! Now I am here, and I am delighted to see you!” Lucy exclaimed again.
“Come on! There are refreshments over there. I am sure you are as parched as I am.” She gestured to a table, around which a small group had gathered.
Penelope hung back a little uncertainly, hesitant to join a large group. Thomas bowed.
“I would be happy to fetch refreshments for you,” he said, looking at Lucy more than at Penelope herself. “May I inquire what you would like...?”
“How gallant!” Lucy exclaimed. Thomas went red.
Penelope looked away, feeling a touch unsettled. Thomas and Lucy had known each other for nearly as long as she and Lucy had been friends. She couldn’t quite fathom the strange new current of tension between them, and the confusion it stirred within her.
Thomas was still waiting expectantly, and Penelope cleared her throat. “If you could fetch a lemonade, please, Thomas?” she asked softly.
“Of course, dear sister!” He beamed. “And for you, miss?” he asked Lucy.
“Lemonade too, please, Thomas. That is so dear of you.”
Thomas was both glowing and blushing as he crossed the room. Penelope turned to Lucy, intending to ask about this strange new development, but Lucy spoke first.
“Such a gathering! So many people from all sorts of London circles are here. Lord Thornewood must be a most interesting fellow.”
Penelope followed Lucy’s gaze. She noticed a woman perhaps ten years older than herself, perhaps a little more; tall and slim, with black hair, dressed in a striking red silk gown.
The woman’s face was a slender oval, her build slight, her posture graceful.
She carried herself with elegant poise, and Penelope could easily imagine her at the forefront of fashion.
Yet Lucy’s excitement seemed to stem from more than a simple interest in Lady Langley’s attire.
Lucy had an unfortunate tendency to read the scandal sheets—something Penelope would never do herself.
However, her friend was nowhere close to an empty-headed socialite, and her interest was almost as measured as Penelope’s would be when studying a botanical journal.
She seemed to be genuinely fascinated by society as a whole, the way Penelope was fascinated by distant lands and the plant life they supported.
Penelope saw the tall, elegant older woman approach a broad-shouldered man with greying hair, offering him a charming smile.
“That is Lord Harlington,” Lucy explained swiftly. “He...”
Before she could explain any further, Thomas appeared, carrying two glasses of lemonade. He grinned at them both, bowing low.
“Lemonade, ladies,” he declared.
“Thank you,” Penelope murmured. She looked over at Lord Harlington and Lady Langley, noticing that they were talking. Lady Langley seemed very tense, though she was laughing and joking in a way that was clearly meant to flatter the man she talked to.
“Good evening!” a loud voice interrupted her musing. She glanced up and was surprised to see two young men of around Thomas’s age standing beside him.
The one who addressed her was very tall, with auburn hair and a strong scent of spirits clinging to him. His companion, equally tall, had black hair and a more serious expression, though the same telltale scent lingered about him.
Penelope glanced at Thomas, who smiled faintly, his embarrassment plainly visible.
“I did not know that my friends, Mr Hawkfield and Mr Tremayne, would be here this evening,” he said uncomfortably. “They are visiting from a nearby estate.”
“My uncle’s estate,” the first man with the auburn hair interrupted his introduction, smiling at Penelope. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, miss.” He bowed low.
“Pleased to meet you,” Penelope murmured, dropping a brief curtsey. She straightened up to find Thomas looking rather apologetic.
“Fellows, perhaps we should continue our discussion elsewhere. I do not wish to bore my sister and her companion,” he said awkwardly to his friends.
“They are at the Royal College with me,” he explained to Penelope.
Penelope inclined her head, showing she understood.
Thomas was a medical student at the Royal College of Physicians, and these two young men were evidently attending the same college, though they seemed somewhat less serious than her brother.
“We would be pleased to talk about something else,” Mr Hawkfield, the red-haired young man, told Penelope with a grin. “Thomas, it is frightfully boring to talk about the best way to tie a tourniquet—we are here to enjoy ourselves.”
Penelope saw Thomas’s evidently upset look and she cleared her throat, ready to spring to his defence. She knew how hurtful it was to be considered tedious simply because other people did not share the same interests. Before she could say anything, Mr Hawkfield gestured to the door.
“Perhaps we could all go there?” he suggested. His arm swung wildly as he turned to face Thomas, and Penelope gasped as it collided rather sharply with her shoulder.
“Miss! I...” Mr Hawkfield began, whirling round, clearly upset at having hurt her. He was trying to apologise, but a low growl interrupted him from just behind them.
“You could look where you swing your arms, young man. You could have injured this young lady.”
The young man in question whipped round. He looked as though he would argue, but the stranger who had growled the accusation adjusted his posture slightly, and whatever Mr Hawkfield had intended to say was replaced with a mumbled apology.
“Sorry. Sorry, miss.”
Thomas was looking from his university classmate to the intruder with an expression of absolute shock on his face. Before he could say anything, the man who had spoken so harshly continued. He ignored Thomas and the two young men, addressing Penelope as though she were the only person present.
“Miss, I apologise for interrupting. I trust you are unharmed?”
His eyes met hers, and Penelope’s heart thumped.
His tone was gruff, almost abrupt, but the intensity of his gaze was not disinterested.
Her heart thudded fast. His sapphire-blue eyes seemed to stare right into her.
Heat flooded her body, and she looked hastily down, the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch.
“Yes, I am unharmed. Thank you,” she murmured, dropping a brief curtsey.
“Good. Good.”
The man was standing an arm’s length away; his brow creased with a frown.
He was, Penelope thought, at least eight years her senior, perhaps a decade.
He had thick black hair that had not been cropped short, as was fashionable, but which was long enough to have a slight wave to it, and it was going grey at the temples.
His face was slim and narrow, with high cheekbones and lines carved beside his eyes as though he had spent a great deal of time staring into the sunlight.
His form was tall and angular; slightly taller than Thomas and with broader shoulders.
He wore a sombre dark tailcoat in a plain style that struck her as unfashionable, but the plain attire did nothing to hide what a striking man he was.
He was muscled and lithe, his movements abrupt but graceful.
Penelope realised she was staring and looked down, cheeks flaring. When she looked up, the man was still looking at her. He glanced sideways as if he, too, had noticed that he was staring.
“Excuse me, miss,” he murmured softly. “Excuse me,” he added, inclining his head to Thomas and Lucy.
Mr Hawkfield and Mr Tremayne had taken advantage of the silence to slip away.
Penelope was not sure what to say, and before she could think, he had melted into the crowd again. She glanced after him, speechless. She turned back to Lucy and Thomas. Thomas was standing silently, his hazel eyes wide and a little strained.
“Well. Um, yes.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “What an interesting fellow.” He looked around the room. “Shall we take the air?” he suggested brightly, his attempt to change the subject and lighten the tension practically beaming forth from him like the gleam of a lighthouse.
“Yes. That would be pleasant,” Lucy murmured.
They all walked across the ballroom towards the back doors. Lucy turned to Penelope.
“That was, unless I truly am confused, Viscount Redfield.”
“Oh,” Penelope replied softly. She had no idea what that meant—she had never heard of the gentleman.
All she knew was that his disconcerting eyes—so intense, so blue—had left her feeling confused, uneasy, and delighted all at once.
The strange mix of emotions was so bewildering that, despite herself, she found she wished to cross paths with him again.