Chapter Thirteen
Valentine’s Day
Needham House
St. James’s Place
Penny closed the lid on the last trunk of personal possessions—this one having to do with objects d’art and various bric-a-brac Weymouth had gifted her over the years—with a sigh.
Most everything that belonged to her had finally been packed away, with the exception of her clothing and all the fripperies she would still require until her brother-in-law arrived in London.
Though the man was due by the end of the month, it was her plan to move into her brother’s townhouse until other arrangements could be made.
Her husband might have been many things, but he’d left her a decent settlement, and that, combined with selling a few of the many parures he’d given her over the years, could buy her a modest townhouse.
Perhaps not in a popular section of Mayfair, but then, all she wanted was a quiet neighborhood where she could silently step out of society and hopefully be forgotten.
Only then could she begin to puzzle out how to achieve some of the dreams she’d carried in her head for far too long.
When she left the downstairs parlor, she went up to the second level, for she’d accidentally left her shawl in the drawing room.
Along the way, she met the housekeeper, Mrs. Potter.
Her black bombazine skirting swished with her every movement and the lace on her mobcap served as a pretty decoration for her round, red cheeks and her bright, cheerful brown eyes.
She’d been with Penny throughout the entirety of her marriage to Weymouth, and during that time, she’d served as a second mother.
“Good afternoon, my lady. Would you enjoy an early tea?”
“Oh, not just yet. I’ve been busy packing up the last of my things.”
The housekeeper nodded. “I’ll have Mr. Wilston put the trunks with the rest of them. Can I assume you will remove to your brother’s home soon?”
“I believe so. It’s not what I wish to do, but I find I can’t linger here.
Something about it doesn’t feel right, as if this isn’t my home.
It was merely where I stayed when Weymouth was in Town.
” That was the best way she could explain it.
To her way of thinking, a home was somewhere filled with love and happiness, a sense of belonging, a space where she felt safe and secure with the ones she liked most beneath the same roof.
“I’m anxious to make a home for myself sometime soon. ”
“I will miss you, of course, but I understand. The staff are ready to welcome the new marquess whenever he arrives.”
Penny’s chin wobbled. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Potter. You have been a lovely friend to me over the years, especially when I was so very lonely and lost.” She moved into the drawing room, for there was a decided chill in the air, and it was snowing outside.
“You remind me, at times, of my own daughters back in Hertfordshire. They have both been married for some years and have families of their own, but there are times when they still need advice from their mother.” The housekeeper followed her into the room.
“Oh dear, the fire needs tending to.” When she reached for the bellpull, Penny shook her head.
“Don’t worry about it.” She slipped the shawl onto her shoulders. “Soon enough I’ll begin the process of bathing and then dressing for the rout tonight, so I won’t be in this room.”
Mrs. Potter nodded. “Would you like the fire in your rooms lit, then?”
“Yes, please. I detest having a bath in a cold room. Even if I’ll take it in a couple of hours, I’ll probably curl up in my bed and read for a bit.
It helps to relax me before having to be out in society.
” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as the housekeeper waited on a maid to response to the summons.
Once the maid arrived and received the orders regarding the fire and left, Penny pressed her lips together.
“Might I have a private word with you, Mrs. Potter?”
“Of course, my lady.” Concern filled the older woman’s eyes. “Is all well?”
“I think so. My mother is taking tea with a friend this afternoon, and my brother has a meeting with his solicitor, so I have a bit of free time.” She blew out a breath, for she didn’t know how to begin, but ever since the major had come back into her life, everything had been topsy turvy.
“How long have you been married to Mr. Potter?”
“Nearly twenty-five years. That’s a bit over half my life.”
“That is quite impressive.” Penny fiddled with the fringe of her ivory shawl. “How did you know you were in love when you decided to marry your husband?”
“Oh, my dear, you just know deep down in your soul.” The housekeeper’s eyes sparkled as she regarded Penny. “He’s so respectful and courteous, doesn’t demand things from me, is a good provider and protector.”
“How lovely.”
Mrs. Potter nodded. “People said we were wrong for each other, but we didn’t care. When you are in love, nothing else matters except that other person.”
Slowly, Penny nodded. “And you feel as though you might burst if you’re not with them all the time?”
“Oh, yes, dear.” The housekeeper smiled. “You want to know everything about them, help them with their struggles as they’ll do with yours. You yearn to understand why they think as they do.”
“That’s exactly it.” Is that what she felt for Cornelius?
Mrs. Potter eyed her with interest. “But bear in mind, marriage is more than just the good times, the easy times. It’s truly the sickness and sadness, the angry words and misunderstandings that bring a foundation to a union, and the overcoming of such to start again in a better, stronger place.”
“I never had that in my marriage with Weymouth. He refused to discuss most things with me, thought that if he brought me gifts, all was well.”
“Perhaps he was fatigued from his first union, or perhaps he just wasn’t a man for marriage.”
“True, but he should have made an effort, regardless.” Penny nodded. “I’m sure your union is lovely. I’m glad for you both.”
For the space of a few heartbeats, Mrs. Potter looked at her with a slight smile. “My dear, do you have feelings for a certain major?”
Penny gasped. “How could you know anything about Major Montgomery?” He’d only driven her home once, and at that time, he hadn’t come in.
The housekeeper shrugged. “His name has come up in conversation.” One of her eyebrows went up. “Is he special to you?”
“Is it that obvious?” Was he special, though? She enjoyed being in his company, and she liked talking with him. Of course, in this new lover capacity, it was thrilling, but was there anything else between them beyond that?
“Not to many people, but I’ve known you for all the years you were married to the marquess. You light up when the major is near, and I’ve seen the looks exchanged between you two.” She winked. “That means something.”
“I don’t know about that.” Yet the hope in her heart expanded.
“My brother has already forbidden a match between us, and I rather doubt the major is the marrying kind.” Was she content with what they shared right now?
Would she always be thusly? And what would happen if those two couplings resulted in a babe?
For a few seconds, her spirit was buoyed with the possibility of being a mother after all this time.
However, she didn’t want him to offer for her out of obligation alone.
That was no way to start a life together.
“Don’t be so quick to discount love, my lady. It has a way of making a path where there once was none. And if there are noses out of joint, they will heal.”
That was encouraging. “Oh, but I don’t love the major. He is just… there.”
Mrs. Potter chuckled. “Dearie, at some point, you’ll need to be honest with yourself. There is no shame in who you love.”
Before Penny could respond, the butler came to the door.
“Major Montgomery is here to see you, my lady.”
“What?” Her heart leapt.
He nodded. “I’ve put him into the downstairs parlor.”
“Thank you, Wilton. I’ll go down directly.” Heat slapped at her cheeks.
Once the butler left, Mrs. Potter smiled. “Not in love with him, hmm?”
With a smile, Penny shrugged. “I don’t know, but I am enjoying what we have just now. There is time enough to work everything out later.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Ring when you want your bath.”
“I will. Thank you.” Then she left the drawing room and tried not to run down the stairs. As she came into the parlor, her heartbeat accelerated the second she saw Cornelius. Was there any more handsome a man? “Major, what are you doing here?”
When he turned about from studying the contents of a curio cabinet full of items Weymouth owned before he’d married her, her gaze fell onto the large bouquet of hothouse flowers he held.
Wrapped in delicate pink tissue paper, the pale color set off the glory of the roses and lilies nestled within, all in glorious shades of red, pink, and white.
The grin he flashed sent frissons of need down her spine. “I wanted to bring you these.” When he gave her the bouquet, their fingers brushed. Trembles tumbled through her insides.
“They are lovely, of course, and I adore hothouse flowers, but why did you bring them?” Then she brought the blooms to her nose. Immediately, the floral scent enveloped her.
“No doubt you’ll receive many gifts from men tonight as they vie for your notice, but I wanted to give you mine first, because I know the flowers you like.”
She peered into the bouquet, and at the heart of the flowers was a spray of lilies of the valley. Long ago, she’d told him they were her favorite flower. Her heart squeezed. “You remembered about the lilies.”
“I did, and it was the devil’s own task in finding a florist who had them, but I persevered.” Then he drew a small, flat, square box from a pocket of his greatcoat. “There is also this.” Gently, he took the flowers from her and gave her the box.