A Wedding In Springtime(16)

Six





Penelope Rose followed the duchess to her new bedroom, wondering if her decision to act as the elderly woman’s companion was entirely sound. She had not anticipated being engaged with company quite so soon, and there definitely appeared to be something amiss in the Marchford household.

“Here is your room,” said the dowager, sweeping into a bright room of sky blue and cream. The mahogany poster bed was draped with light blue curtains, which matched the drapes on the window. There was a delicate blue and cream flowered paper on the walls and a dressing table of the same rich mahogany wood. The drapes were pulled back to reveal large windows with a fine view of the garden in the back of the house. It was an elegant room, better than any room Pen had ever had. And it was all hers, not to be shared with one or two of her sisters.

“It is beautiful.” In her excitement over the room, Pen moved her hands around the side of the bandbox, forgetting she had to hold it just so or it would… “Oh!” exclaimed Pen as the bottom ripped out of the box and the contents spilled onto the floor.

“Your box seems to have ripped,” commented the dowager.

Frantically, Pen sank to her knees to snatch her belongings off the floor and pile them next to her on the writing table. Her diary, a stack of letters tied in ribbon, a parcel of her sketches and watercolors even she had to admit were poor, her needlepoint workbag, but where was her book?

Debrett’s Peerage of England had slid across the floor near the dowager. Pen made a quick grab for it, picking it up by the spine. She placed it on the table with the rest of her belongings, but multiple sheets of thin paper fell from the volume to the floor.

“What is this?” The dowager picked up one of the sheets and began to read.

Pen scrambled to grab the other pages and regained her feet, her brain racing to find some rational explanation. “It is nothing. Nothing of importance.”

“Why, it has the name of Mr. Grant with an entry just like out of the peerage, his date of birth, holdings, family, connects, estimated annual income. That is not part of Debrett’s. What is this?” For an elderly lady, she certainly had no difficulty reading the tiny script on the page.

“Please, Your Grace, it is nothing, just a bit of schoolgirl silliness,” said Penelope in an octave a bit higher than her own. She had promised her sisters the precious volumes of Debrett’s guide would not fall into enemy hands. Much to her horror the dowager walked to the table and picked up the copy of the Peerage.

“Why some of these entries have a good deal of writing in the margins.” The dowager flipped through the pages and Pen resisted the urge to grab the book from the dowager’s hands. “You have listed every man… no, every bachelor between here and Hadrian’s Wall.”

“Not every bachelor, just the ones we have met or learned about since coming to London.” Pen winced at her own words. She was not helping her situation. It was unbearably hot in the room.

The duchess gave her a cold look. “I do not know what you are playing at, but we are a respectable household,” said the dowager with a voice like thin ice.

“Oh no, Your Grace, it is nothing like that.”

The duchess’s clear suspicion compelled Penelope to explain herself further lest she be accused of keeping a book of men to arrange a less conventional sort of arrangement. “When we first came to London, my two elder sisters and I entered society first. It was hoped we could find suitable husbands. My eldest sister became quite popular. Within a month, my uncle had received ten offers for her hand. Within two months, men were coming to speak to him almost daily.”

“Yes, I recall your eldest sister was the diamond of the season,” said the dowager.

“My sister was flattered of course, but it all became very confusing. We needed to sort through her suitors and find the ones who were the most eligible.”

“So, you naturally investigated their bank accounts and chose the one with the most blunt to spend,” drawled the duchess.

“The wealthiest suitor was forty years her senior with cold hands and wet eyes. No, ma’am, we did not choose the wealthiest,” said Pen.

“You chose a love match?”

Penelope paused. “My sister came to fancy a very charming man, handsome of face and well established in society. However, further inquiries into his habits revealed that he was also charming to several other ladies… married ladies. Perhaps this is customary in some circles, but it would have made my sister quite unhappy.”