Page 15 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
Her mother had flatly refused. She didn’t want her work disrupted by having to see to the daily drudgeries involved in her own vast correspondence. Nor did she wish to see to the household duties that Penelope had begun to master over the years. But Penelope convinced her that she was going to have to hire a secretary eventually, anyway, and that now might be a good time to try one on. And in the course of the discussion, she might have mentioned that familiarity with Town and a few members of thetonmight actually shorten the grand Season her father planned for her next spring. When she casually wondered if she might even find a suitable mate before they went to all the trouble and expense of an extended stay next year, her mother quickly capitulated.
Preparations had gone quickly, and travel had so far gone smoothly. Penelope had spent the day riding with Hope in the earl’s travelling carriage, alternately talking, reading and gazing outside at the grand sight of Sterne astride his chestnut mount.
In buff breeches, a subdued green waistcoat and a long, beige, riding coat, perhaps he should have been part of the scenery. A standard Englishman. Someone your eye passed over on its way to drink in the view.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
She could scarcely look away, anytime he rode into her line of sight. Solid, upright, at home in the saddle and easy in his manner, it mattered not whether he was discussing the roads with the earl or greeting an ostler when they stopped to change horses. He exuded a vitality that was at once exciting and comforting. It called to her.
He spoke to everyone. He talked easily and asked questions and at times made notes in a small book he pulled from an inner pocket. He projected knowledge and curiosity, masculine strength and grace. She wanted, very badly, to step close enough to be engulfed in that aura.
And now, here was her chance. They’d just been seated for dinner in a charming inn. He sat across from her, giving her a heady view of enticing cheekbones, that incredible nose and a fine, strong chin—and he was ruining everything.
“I just cannot fathom it,” he replied. “I know Lady Tresham. Lady Tensford has known her for years. I know she’s not as old as my mother, but she cannot be too far off.”
“She won’t thank you for noting it,” Hope muttered.
“She is a lady of noble family and fine upbringing. Her husband was a noted politician. Didn’t he champion the abolitionist cause?”
“And now she is a widow. Perhaps her means are too limited to meet her tastes,” Penelope speculated.
“She did try to charge me a finder’s fee for the ammonite she found on our day of fossil hunting,” Tensford admitted.
Hope looked shocked. “You did not tell me! What was your response?”
“I told her she was welcome to keep it for her own, as I had at least a dozen.”
Sterne winced. “That is unfortunate, but it is a large leap to go from there to organizing such a daring theft.”
“We know she was one of the guests who pestered Stillwater about where to search for fossil specimens and how much money they could bring,” Penelope reminded him.
“And she did latch firmly onto Mr. Simon, from the British Museum,” Hope reminisced. The man had attended the ball to formalize the museum’s purchase of the piece. He’d gone away disappointed, of course.
“Yes, but she’s alady,” Sterne said stubbornly.
They paused as the landlord wheeled in a cart and began to set out dishes of roasted chicken, sausages, mashed turnips, bread and cheese.
“There’s a pudding for after,” he said cheerfully. “And if the ladies would like a bath, just tell the girl who brings it and we’ll start the preparations.”
Penelope tucked in, but even the delicious chicken could not distract her from their argument. “I should think that of all people, you would realize that females of any species are capable of deception,” she told Sterne. Waving her fork at the carcass, she said, “In the Americas there is a bird, the killdeer, that feigns injury if a predator comes near her nest. She drags her wing and cries and acts as if she cannot fly, all to lure the danger away.”
“That is a protective instinct, not a betrayal. It is a maternal instinct to protect her young. Lady Tresham does not have children.”
“What of the several species of spiders and insects in which the female eats her partner after mating?” Penelope demanded. “That sounds like a betrayal.”
Hope’s eyes widened. “I suppose it would depend on the mate.”
“You see what comes of traveling with natural scientists,” Tensford said, laughing.
Penelope flushed at the compliment of being included in such a statement. And didn’t that prove her point?
“As interesting as your examples are, they are not human and cannot be applied,” Sterne said as he spread soft cheese over bread.
She found herself watching the movement of his hands and the expression on his face and cursed silently. Honestly, a man should not look so . . .handsome, all while arguing a wrong point.
“Fine. What of the poor, hungry and miserable women of Paris, during the revolutions? It was a group of women renegades who stole arms and led the march on Versailles.” She held up a hand. “And before you demure because they were Frenchwomen, I’ll take leave to remind you of the poor women in St. Giles who sell their babies for gin, and of the bawds of London who enslave others of their sex for money and power.”
“Goodness, I’ve quite forgot what we were trying to prove,” Hope breathed.
