Page 38 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
He fell silent as the congestion freed a little and they began to make better progress. “As we near the park, keep an eye out for a livery,” he asked her.
She barely registered the request. She was still trying to puzzle him out. She stared at the passing buildings for a bit, then frowned at his profile.
“What is it?”
“You love your work and you are even more driven to succeed at it than I suspected. I’m wondering why, then, you are willing to put it all aside for this search for Tensford’s fossil? I know you feel responsible, but I’ve also heard Tensford deny it.”
His expression darkened. “I am one of the few who truly understand what a disappointment this loss was to Tensford. And while I may be reconciled to being counted a failure in my father’s eyes, I will never rest, knowing that I failed my friend.Never.”
* * *
He’d said too much.Or perhaps, not enough. Sterne sighed. Either way, he’d never be able to make her understand. How to explain that his friends had become more important, more necessary, than his family? Tensford and Keswick, Whiddon and Chester—even they might not realize all that they meant to him. How they’d saved him.
Those four had provided his safest haven. With them he could relax. He could talk freely without fear of censure or disappointment or cold, biting silence. They had taught him to trust—both in their group and in himself. Had he ever had a bit of real confidence before they’d formed their bond? Perhaps, but the moments had been few and far between. It was his friends who had given him the support he needed and the strength to grow into his own, to deny his father and pursue his own interests.
And that was why he could not allow the taint of disappointment to continue. Tensford insisted he didn’t blame him, but Sterne blamed himself. His friend had asked something simple of him and he’d failed spectacularly. He couldn’t risk letting the stench of failure pollute their friendship. He needed it to stay strong, unspoiled and ever-present.
She couldn’t understand, so he held his silence, maneuvering them through the traffic. He spotted a livery on a corner near to Green Park and just down the street from Lady Tresham’s address. He struck a bargain for a few hours’ shelter for the rig and bag of grain for the horses—and they were ready for their next bit of investigation.
Offering Miss Munroe—Penelope—his arm, he escorted her down the busy street. She watched, wide-eyed, as the late afternoon commute began around them. The pavement was as crowded as the street, so he held her close until they made the turn and took the short alley that opened onto Sneade Court.
“Which one?” she asked, facing the row of houses on three sides.
“That one.” He motioned toward the partially loaded wagon that sat outside the corner house. As they moved toward it, the door opened, and a servant came out with a crate.
When it was loaded, Sterne stepped up. “Has Lady Tresham arrived home yet?” he asked.
The servant gave a respectful nod. “No, sir. Nor do we expect her before this evening.”
He gave the man a sympathetic look. “I believe her plans have changed. I would expect her at any moment, were I you. We were to meet her here.” He glanced back at Penelope. “It would seem we’ve arrived before she could get home, my dear.”
The servant looked alarmed. “She left orders to have everything loaded and ready to go when she returned, save for what her dresser kept back for her.”
“Don’t let us delay you, man. Just show us to a parlor and we’ll wait, out of the way. I doubt she’ll be long.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He escorted them inside and into a room just off the entryway. “Here you are. I do apologize about the covers and the state of things.
Most of the furniture had been removed and white sheets covered what remained. “No worries. We’ll be fine while we wait. You go and do what you must. We don’t want to be responsible for stirring up the lady’s ire.”
“Nor do I, sir!” The man bowed and left in a hurry, shutting the door as he went.
“Well! You handled that smoothly.” Miss Munroe—Penelope—moved to the wall to examine the art. “Don’t worry, though. She’ll likely be along soon. I’ll wager anything that she is right now convincing her betrothed that she cannot wait a moment longer to marry.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet. Mr. Simon indicated the man was more than wealthy enough to afford a special license. I think you are right. She’ll send him off to Doctor’s Commons and she’ll come back to see to the last of her things. They’ll likely be out of the city by dawn.”
She was bent over the stacks of paintings leaning against the wall. Lady Tresham had a varied collection, if he could judge by the small noises of approval, dismissal and the occasionaltskof disgust that she was making.
“Are you an art lover, Miss Munroe?” he asked.
“Penelope,” she corrected.
He nodded. “Penelope.”
“Well, I enjoy art. Who does not?” Her mouth twisted a little as she looked back at him. “As the child of a woman known for her botanical drawings, I might have a jaundiced eye. But I love portraits the best.” She reached for a large, covered painting at the back of the stack. “Don’t try to tell me that you don’t enjoy artistic endeavors, sir,” she said.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” But not nearly as much as he was enjoying the sight of her backside thrust in his direction.
“I wouldn’t have believed you, had you denied it,” she said absently. “I’ve seen the art in your drawing room.”
