Page 77 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
“No. Nor should I have!” She stalked into the room. “Get out,” she ordered him. “I need to decide what to do.”
The door closed at once. Penelope drew herself up. “That is easily solved. You will let me out of here immediately and return Tensford’s fossil to him straightaway.”
“Oh, will I?” the woman scoffed. “Very easy for you to say! You are not in my situation, are you?”
“Honestly, Lady Lowell, I have no idea what situation we are in.” She gestured at the room around them.
The baronet’s wife began to walk in circles, her heavy skirts swishing behind her. Clearly, she had just left the masquerade. Her gown was of deepest black with shimmering silver trim—and a curling tail.
“What to do?” the other woman said, digging her hands into her carefully coiffed hair. “What willhedo?”
This was not the proud, brash, almost offensive woman that Penelope had grown to know over the last couple of years. She seemed almost . . . afraid.
“Lady Lowell, what is it? What is going on? What is this place?”
The woman stopped. Stared hard at her. “If I tell you . . .”
“Tell me,” she urged.
“I don’t know if I can.” The baronet’s wife covered her mouth with her hand. “It’s all supposed to be a secret.” Looking around, she cringed. “I don’t know what he’s going to do.”
“Who? Lord Lowell?”
She nodded.
Penelope’s resolve grew. No woman should be afraid of her husband.
“I don’t know how to explain!” Lady Lowell burst out.
“Start at the beginning,” Penelope told her firmly. “I will help you, if I can. But you must tell me what is happening here.”
“It’s my fault,” the other woman said, agonized. “I brought it all on myself.” She sank back against the door. “So many men wanted me—but they all wanted my dowry. Forty thousand pounds brought them all out of the woodwork and at my feet. But he—he has an incredible fortune of his own.”
“Lord Lowell?”
“Yes. He liked me. He said so. He thought we were the same. And the terrible thing is—he’s right! He is a bully, and so have I been.” Tears started to flow down her face.
She wiped them away. “I thought he was old, and I’d have a few years of catering to him—and then I would be free, and wealthy. But he fooled me! He’s not quiet and content. He’s a . . . schemer!”
“Schemer?”
“Yes. That’s what all of this is.” She gestured impatiently. “When he came to his title, he was given a trunk of family mementos. Trophies, that’s what they were. Prizes obtained by winning, cheating or prying them from an enemy’s hand. He was so delighted by the idea that he made it hisraison d’être—his whole way of life! Any rivalry, any slight, and he would plot and plan and slink about behind the scenes, manipulating until his ‘enemy’ was vanquished.” She shook her head. “Some were outright battles, but from what I can tell, a few of them had no idea they were even at war. And he would always take a trophy, symbolizing his victory. They quickly outgrew the trunk, and he created this place.”
“And has he engaged in such a battle with Tensford?”
She turned away. “No.”
Penelope had a sudden notion—and a sick feeling in her gut.
“He brought me in here, after we were married. He wanted me to join his wargames. He thought it would be the light of his declining years, the two of us, plotting together against our various rivals. He insisted it was the least I could do, considering the riches I would come into. He considered it my main duty, besides giving him another child.”
“But he has an heir. A grown man, if I recall.”
“Yes, but Lowell thinks him reckless and doesn’t trust him to see to the furthering of the line. He wants a spare—and he wants him trained up in this . . . this.” She waved a hand. “He insists I am to prove myself worthy to pass on his tradition. He insisted I should name a nemesis. I couldn’t, though! I know who I am, Miss Munroe. I am not a woman who makes friends, as you are. But neither am I someone to collect enemies. But my husband only grew more adamant.”
She dropped her head. “When Lowell insists, I have learned to acquiesce. And in my turmoil, it kept running through my mind that if only Tensford had cooperated . . . if only he had agreed to a marriage of convenience, then I would not be in this mess.”
“You named him your enemy,” Penelope said flatly.
