A Wedding In Springtime(43)

“No, of course not. I am asking you to return the envelope to its rightful owner. It is in the study, behind a picture. There is a box for which you will need a key, the key Marchford keeps with him at all times. Do not take anything of value. You must only bring me the envelope.”

“But, Mr. Neville, I would not feel comfortable…”

“I understand, I do. Think no more on the subject. I shall try to find another who may help me.” Mr. Neville stood and gave her a bow to take his leave.

“I am sorry I could not be of more help,” said Penelope, also rising from her seat.

“I would ask that you hold this conversation in strictest confidence, Miss Rose.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And if you know anyone who may be able to help, please let me know. The Foreign Office would be quite grateful and, naturally, a reward would be provided.”

“A reward?”

“It is standard procedure, did I not tell you? For items such as this, the reward would be substantial, about ten thousand pounds.”

“Ten thousand?” It was a shocking amount of money.

“It would be enough to change a person’s life forever,” said Neville. “Think on it, Miss Talbot. You would get ten thousand pounds in addition to knowing you acted in the service of your King.”

Penelope could only stare at the man in response. “Think on it,” repeated Mr. Neville with a bow and was gone.

Ten thousand pounds. Ten thousand pounds! It was a fortune. All her life, Penelope had been compared to her sisters and watched as they made brilliant matches while she played a supporting role. She could not fault them for being beautiful, but she had wondered why her Creator had seen fit to make her the only plain girl in a flock of beauties. Their looks had propelled them into advantageous marriages. Without the face or the fortune, Penelope watched as her sisters began lives with their husbands, started families, and glided beyond the place where Penelope would no doubt spend the rest of her life. Unmarried. A spinster. In all the world, there could not be a more useless person than the gently bred spinster.

Unmarried, Penelope had no place in society. But ten thousand pounds could change everything. First of all, she could set up her own household. With wise investments in the nine percents, she could net nine hundred pounds per annum, more than enough to live quite comfortably.

Perhaps she could, after a few years, move to Bath and invent a deceased husband to present herself as a widow. A comfortably stationed widow was the best positioned in society. She may move freely in society, without the burden of a husband governing her movements, or the censure of never having wed. A wealthy widow—yes, that would be something quite grand. She might even take a lover.

Lover? A flood of emotions rushed through her, making her oddly hot and sweaty in unmentionable places. What madness was this? She stood up and walked out of the room. She needed fresh air. She needed to leave these odd thoughts behind.

“Mr. Neville, are you still here?” Marchford’s calm voice rang through the great hall like a restorative. “I thought you had left.”

“I must have taken a wrong turn and accidently took myself on a tour of the house.” Neville walked down the stairs to the foyer.

“Is that so?” asked Marchford.

No, it was not so. It was a lie. Beware men who want you to keep secrets. Advice from her grandmother rang in her head.

“Mr. Neville, wait a moment, sir.” Penelope walked down the stairs to where the men stood in the foyer.

“Miss Rose, are you acquainted with Mr. Neville?” Marchford raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea.”

“He introduced himself to me just now.”

“Part of your tour of the house?” asked Marchford with a sardonic drawl.

“Mr. Neville, I have no need to think on your offer. I cannot accept it,” said Penelope before she could change her mind.

“Mr. Neville, have you been propositioning my grandmother’s companion?” Marchford raised an eyebrow. “How enterprising of you.”

“He offered a reward of ten thousand pounds for the return of a certain envelope you keep in a locked box beneath a picture frame.”

Everything went silent. Marchford’s features hardened into stone; his eyes drilled on Mr. Neville, who gave a small cough and shot Penelope a dark look. Instinctively, she stepped back.

“Well done, Miss Rose,” said Mr. Neville, his expression turning into an approximation of a smile. “Well done indeed. I hope you will forgive my crude methods, but I needed to discover if you were susceptible to bribery.”