Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The next morning dawned cold and sunny. Penelope, who’d nearly forgotten such vibrant blue skies were hiding under London’s sooty gloom donned her frayed coat and gloves and ventured out into Lord Archer’s garden.
What a fine thing it must be, to have one’s own garden!
There were no flowers at this time of year, but Penelope didn’t mind.
She pulled a long, deep breath of icy air into her lungs and made her way down the gravel path, pausing here and there to admire a few rosebuds leftover from the summer bloom.
They’d never opened, and were now frozen closed forever, but despite the hopelessness of their situation, they were still clinging stubbornly to their canes.
Brave, hearty little things. There was a lesson for her there—something about tenacity in the face of blasted hopes—but Penelope didn’t want a lesson this morning. On such a day as this, she should fling her arms wide and let the frosty air chase the cobwebs from her mind.
She’d woken early this morning after a restless night, determined to make the most of her brief time at Cliff’s Edge, but as she strolled through the garden her worries and doubts chased after her, like a pack of wild dogs snapping at her heels.
Lord Snedley’s Christmas party had been an utter disaster.
She’d come to Essex with high hopes she’d leave five pounds richer than she’d arrived, but those hopes had been dashed before she’d spent a single night under Lord Snedley’s roof.
As it turned out, Lord Snedley hadn’t been interested in having a Christmas theatrical at his house party at all. No, he’d been looking for another sort of entertainment altogether. Penelope had expected some ogling and pinching—it was Lord Snedley—but he’d had far more ambitious plans for her.
Dinah had delicately hinted Penelope was a fool to refuse his offer of protection, beggars not being choosers, and all that. But the vicar’s daughter that slumbered inside her had recoiled at the thought of becoming Lord Snedley’s mistress.
Or anyone’s mistress, come to that.
So, she’d refused him. Offended, he’d tossed them out the door without a backward glance, and without the twenty pounds they’d been promised.
As it that weren’t bad enough, they’d been forced to spend what little coin they had to hire a post-chaise to take them to the nearest staging inn.
They’d been travelling in the direction of Chelmsford when they’d encountered Lord Archer.
Lord Archer. Good heavens.
She’d known him at once, the moment her gaze found his.
No one but Lord Archer had such deep, startlingly blue eyes.
Her first confused thought was it was a pity a gentleman with such lovely eyes had turned highwayman.
Once she’d gathered her wits enough to understand they’d been accosted by the Tainted Angels, she’d been stunned speechless.
Yet here she was, wandering around Lord Archer’s garden, the sun bright over her head. That she and Dinah should have stumbled upon the Tainted Angels here was almost too fantastical to credit.
Thank goodness they hadn’t shot him. That he was still alive and unharmed was the one piece of luck they’d had this entire miserable journey. Still, things were dire enough without Lord Archer’s blood on their hands.
Penelope pulled a dead leaf from a branch and crushed it between her fingers as she wandered down the gravel paths.
She made one turn after another until she reached an elaborate fountain with three naked cherubs holding what looked like a giant seashell.
A row of stone benches surrounded it, and she plopped down onto one of them.
She sat there for some time—long enough so the cold crept through her thin coat and froze her bottom numb.
If things had turned out differently, she might have had her own garden. Oh, not one as grand as this, of course—no fancy cherubs or rows upon rows of elegant roses for her—but something small. A modest cottage garden, perhaps. It would have been enough.
More than enough.
She rested her chin on her hand and indulged in a quiet sigh.
A clear blue sky, a winter garden, breathtaking in its frozen beauty, sprigs of fresh mistletoe and a Christmas fire…
it wasn’t so long ago these things had been a part of her life.
She did what she could to hold onto her past, but her memories grew hazier as the weeks went by, until she could hardly recall who she’d been back then—
“My dear Lord Archer, what a lovely garden this is!”
Penelope sprang to her feet, startled by the voice and the tinkling feminine laughter that followed it.
“Why, I’ve never seen such a clever design in my life, my lord!”
Oh, no. The last person Penelope wanted to meet was Lord Archer. He’d have her bundled into a carriage and on her way back to London before the sun rose another inch above the horizon.
“Thank you, Lady Lavinia. That’s kind of you to say.”
The voices were drawing closer. Penelope’s frantic gaze darted from one tall hedge to the next, searching for an escape. Perhaps she could hide behind the fountain, or—
“What a cunning rose arbor that is, my lord. I’ve never seen one to equal it!”
“Yes, well, I can’t take credit for the…oh. Miss Hervey. You’re up early.”
Oh, blast. Caught, Penelope turned reluctantly to find Lord Archer emerging from a pathway behind her.
He was leading a fair-haired lady in an extravagant pink hat adorned with a white ostrich plume.
“Good morning, Lord Archer.” Penelope pasted a smile on her lips and waved a cheerful hand at the sky.
“I did venture out early this morning. I couldn’t resist the sunshine. ”
His magnetic blue gaze swept Penelope from head to foot. He looked even less pleased to see her now than he had last night, if such a thing was possible. “Lady Lavinia, may I present Miss Hervey?”
Lady Lavinia took in Penelope’s worn cloak and cheap gloves in one shrewd glance, and the corners of her mouth turned down with disdain. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Hervey.”
Her voice dripped with sweetness, but Penelope wasn’t fooled.
“How do you do, my lady?” She let her gaze roam over Lady Lavinia, conducting her own subtle inspection.
Her ladyship was a dainty little thing, with blue eyes, fair skin, and every blonde hair coiffed to perfection.
She was dressed in the height of fashion in a pink and green striped silk pelisse finished with white swansdown trimming at the collar and cuffs.
She looked snug, warm, and ill-tempered in spite of it.
“I thought I’d met all your guests, my lord.” Lady Lavinia hung on Lord Archer’s arm, her fingers curled into his coat sleeve. “How is it I’ve managed to overlook you until now, Miss Hervey?”
“Miss Hervey and her friend only arrived last night,” Lord Archer said.
Lady Lavinia gasped and raised a gloved hand to her throat. “You mean to say you traveled at night? My goodness, I’ve never heard of such a thing. I wonder you aren’t more concerned for your safety, Miss Hervey.”
Penelope shrugged. She couldn’t tell whether her ladyship’s shock was real or feigned, and she didn’t much care. “Yet here I am in one piece, just the same.”
“Miss Hervey knows very well how to take care of herself,” Lord Archer said dryly. “The highwayman are in far more danger from her than she from them.”
“Indeed.” Lady Lavinia’s voice was cold. “How…extraordinary. But I believe I’ve taken a chill, standing still so long. Shall we continue on our walk, my lord?” She gave Penelope a bright, false smile, then dragged Lord Archer down one of the pathways leading back toward the house.
Once they’d gone, Penelope settled back down on her bench. Heavens, what an unpleasant woman. But then Lord Archer seemed to prefer that sort. Florentina was about as pleasant as a festering toothache.
Still, he hadn’t looked as if he was overjoyed with Lady Lavinia’s company. He’d looked…not miserable, precisely, but uncomfortable. Not at all like the cheerful, carefree gentleman she recalled from the Pandemonium.
Oh, how she’d stared at him then! How she’d admired his mesmerizing blue eyes, and the ready smile on his perfect lips. She’d spent more than one torturous moment on the stage admiring those alluring high cheekbones, his full, sensuous mouth.
There hadn’t been much to admire about his mouth this morning, with his lips pulled into that hard, thin line.
Penelope rose from the bench with a sigh.
Lord Archer’s lips weren’t her concern. She had plenty of her own troubles without borrowing any of his, and he was still as handsome as ever, even without the smile.
She started down the path toward the house, the ten pounds she owed Silas once again uppermost in her mind.
She darted around a hedge, intending to go in search of Dinah, but before she could take another step, she slammed into something solid.
“Oh!” She cried, raising her hands instinctively to steady herself.
They landed on something hard, warm, and wrapped in a thick layer of fine, soft wool.
It was so fine and soft Penelope instinctively curled her chilled fingers around it, stroking it with her fingertips.
She raised her gaze, blinking in the bright sun. Lord Archer was staring down at her, a faint smile curving his lips. His fine blue coat was the exact shade of his eyes, and the bright winter sun was toying with the strands of gold in his chestnut hair.
“What’s your hurry, Miss Hervey? You’re not running away from me, I hope?”
Penelope felt the vibration of his deep voice against her palms, and snatched her hands back.
Dear God, I’m stroking Lord Archer’s chest.
Her cheeks exploded with heat. For pity’s sake, what did he mean, jumping out at her from the shrubbery like that? If Dinah were here, she’d probably would have shot him. “I…no. No, of course not, my lord. Why should I run away?”