Page 64 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
Chapter 15
Penderbrook watched the Shaldon carriage roll away, and then looked up at the door of his lodgings.It had been quite the day.Every morning for the last several days he’d awoken awaiting the challenge, wondering who might loan him a pair of pistols.
And then she’d shown up on his doorstep.
Shame and elation were all mixed together in his head.Shaldon’s glove had been soft enough, but the Earl’s dressing down had been direct.Honorable men did not risk more than their means.Honorable men did not insult ladies, especially one’s mother who had sacrificed her own happiness for him.
The undercurrent was clear enough even for him—he could be a little thick at times when ladies were involved.Shaldon had saved him, and not because of Charley’s request to help him.The old man was courting Lady Jane.His mother.
He wanted to laugh.He could be stepson to the great Earl of Shaldon, a by-blow to the lady, true, but look how Shaldon had brought his own by-blow, Bink Gibson, into the fold.
Lady Jane had named his father as one Reginald Dempsey, a name he’d never heard before.
He glanced up and down the street.Lights still glowed in windows.It was early yet.Perhaps he could float the name Dempsey to someone discreetly at White’s and find out if anyone knew the family.He’d heard that Charley had returned to town.Perhaps he would be there, having a drink and catching up with the fellows.
Attiredin another of Madame’s sheer nightgowns, Jane sat at the dressing table plaiting her hair.
She’d sent Jenny off to bed.She should take herself to bed, but…
Until later, he’d said.What did he mean?Would later be tonight?Or tomorrow?
He’d roused something in her, the irritating, insufferable, inscrutable man, and then he’d run off without satisfaction.
She paced to the fireplace, back to the bed, and then to the window.Distant carriage lamps bobbed down the street, moving from Covent Garden to Mayfair, others traveling in the opposite direction.
In the past several months while living at Shaldon House, she’d been more a participant intonlife than ever before.If she left England, she’d leave all of this behind.She truly didn’t want to go.
If Shaldontrulywould share the profits from the sale of the painting, she might have enough to live well without pinching pennies and economizing.
Could he really mean it, or was it just a way of bending her to his will?
Could he really care for her?
The next Lady Shaldon would take on at least two grand homes that required running, an army of servants to manage, social and charitable duties, four stepchildren and assorted in-laws and grandchildren, and a lord who promised to importune her in the bedroom.
An irritating, insufferable, and inscrutable lord.Also, nosy, managing, and manipulative.
No, no, she must count on securing her own future with a high auction price.
Many of the best in London were mad for art.The Duke of Wellington was a passionate collector.Perhaps if the work was properly restored, he would outbid the Duque.Wellington was as much a creature of competition and vanity as the rest of his peers.For him, obtaining the painting might be another victory over an ally of Bonaparte.
Tomorrow, she would meet with Guignard and discuss the matter.Or…
She walked back to the window and looked out.It had not been more than thirty minutes since she’d stepped out of Shaldon’s carriage.London was still very much awake.At the modiste’s shop, Madame would be up working on her accounts or a last-minute, urgent order.Guignard had planned to spend the night there.
The little Frenchman had rested the whole day.She wanted to know where he’d stashed her painting.
She tore through the clothes press, pulled out a chemise, tossed aside her stays, and found her traveling gown—the one gown she could get into on her own.
If Ewan tried to stop her, she would simply draft him to come along as an escort.And then he could run off and tattle on her to his lordship.
Penderbrook slippedpast a table of whist players, took an empty chair near a stack of the day’s papers, and ordered a drink.The crowd tonight was thin, some of the members trickling off to their country estates as the coronation festivities wound down.
It had been Charley, a true friend, who’d got him accepted as a member here, yet he’d found other friends from his days at school, some of them as lowly as himself.
“Join us?”a fellow called from the whist table.
“Not tonight,” he said.“Has Everly been in?”
