A Wedding In Springtime(69)

“Forgive me, but I have been given very particular instructions to hand this to no one but Mrs. Roberts herself.”

Louisa and the good doctor exchanged a glance, but neither said a word.

“Then I wish you luck in finding her,” said the good doctor. “Might I suggest you send it through the post? Perhaps you would have better luck in routing it to the right person.” He bowed to the ladies and caught Louisa’s eye once more.

“Good day, Dr. Roberts,” said Louisa.

“Good day, Lady Louisa,” he said gravely and disappeared back up the stairs.

“Lady Louisa, how remarkable that we meet here,” commented Pen.

“It is not terribly remarkable. My mother is a patient of Dr. Roberts. I come regularly to pick up her medication and get advice from the doctor.”

“I see.” Penelope was not sure she did see, but she was determined to find out. “How fortunate for me that you were here. I took a hack here, so if you would not mind, I should love to ride back to Marchford house on your way home. It is on the way, yes?”

Louisa shot her a glance that conveyed she would rather have hot pokers stabbed in her eyes than share a coach with Penelope Rose. Penelope merely smiled. She was accustomed to having that effect on people.

“Yes, please do join me.” Lady Louisa’s jaw was so clenched Penelope wondered that she could speak at all.

Penelope climbed into the Bremerton town coach, which was, naturally, quite nice and more than a little pretentious. Penelope took a seat across from Louisa, who averted her gaze in a feeble attempt to pretend Penelope was not there.

“Have you known Dr. Roberts long?” asked Penelope politely.

“He is our family physician,” Lady Louisa said in quelling accents. My, but the aristocracy did know how to give a set-down to the commoners. Unfortunately for Louisa, Penelope was not about to take a polite hint.

“I do hope Lady Bremerton is not terribly ill.”

“Nervous complaint,” said Louisa, still focusing her gaze outside the carriage.

“Did the doctor come recommended?”

“Indeed, from your mistress, the Duchess of Marchford. He has even served as a consultant to the queen, so yes, Miss Rose, he does come highly recommended.”

“Is that how you met him? Through the duchess?”

Louisa turned toward her, a spark of anger in her eye. “I met him because he was the personal physician to the sixth Duke of Marchford. Dr. Roberts did everything he could, brought Frederick back from death’s door more times than I care to remember, and yet it was not the will of Providence for Frederick to survive. There now, Miss Rose, have you any more questions for me?”

Penelope sat quietly for a few minutes. She could be obtuse, but she tried not to be rude. Louisa turned to stare out the window. How difficult it must be for her, Penelope suddenly realized. To be engaged to be married, only to watch her fiancé slowly die and thus find oneself obligated to marry the brother. Even though the current Duke of Marchford was not a poor-looking specimen, he clearly held no particular regard for Louisa.

Penelope knew conversation was not welcomed, yet an opportunity to speak to Louisa without others overhearing may not come again soon. She had questions and she was convinced Louisa had the answers.

“It is very strange that I could not find Mrs. Roberts. I was given clear instructions to make sure this letter was delivered directly to her hands and none else.” Penelope drew the letter out of her reticule and Louisa’s gaze snapped to it.

“In your visits to Dr. Roberts, have you met a Mrs. Roberts?” asked Penelope, watching carefully to gauge Louisa’s reply.

“On occasion I believe I may have. Would you like me to give this to her?” She leaned forward, eyes still on the letter.

“I have been tasked with finding this Mrs. Roberts. Can you help me?”

“She is… reclusive, but I can get it to her. You can trust me.”

“Can I?” Penelope let the question hang and Louisa turned away. “Lady Louisa, did you write me a letter to be directed to Madam X?”

Lady Louisa said nothing.

“I can confirm the handwriting with Miss Talbot if I need to. Is that why you sent the letter to me instead of to the dowager? She no doubt would recognize your handwriting.”

“What do you want? Money? Do you wish me to buy your silence, Miss Rose?”

Penelope recoiled back into the squabs as if she had been doused in cold water. “Open your letter, Mrs. Roberts.” Penelope held out the letter, which Louisa took.