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He’d forgotten his noble guest. He kept doing that. The lovely Miss Pendleton drove everything else from his mind.
“I must go.” She sounded determined, or resigned. He couldn’t tell which.
“A little longer.”
“No, I really must.” She hurried out, leaving him alone with his muddled heaps of history.
Nine
Penelope did get wet driving home. Though Whitfield provided an oilcloth to spread over her skirts, and the servants raised the gig’s folding top, the rain drove in under it. The horse seemed aggrieved; his hooves threw up clods of mud, some of which whizzed past her ears. Kitty would raise a fuss when Penelope got home, but she had needed to get away from her beguiling neighbor before she flung herself into his arms again. She wanted to do that as much as she’d ever wanted to do anything in her life. The thought of their brief kiss kept her warm in the rain. But that wouldn’t do, would it? He wanted to observe the proprieties, because he was a gentleman. And that wasnota melancholy thing to be. How could she think so?
Reaching Rose Cottage, she drove around to the barn and left the horse with Foyle. She ran through the rain to the back door and up to her bedchamber, shutting the door on Kitty’s hand-wringing. Solitude, quiet, space. As she changed out of her wet gown, she noticed that none of these seemed to help. Her thoughts—her heart?—remained at Frithgerd.
There was a knock at the door, and Kitty looked in. “I’ll hang your wet things by the kitchen fire, miss.”
“Thank you, Kitty.” Penelope handed over her discarded clothing.
“Are you all right, miss? You look a bit peaked. I hope you haven’t caught another chill.”
“I’m fine.”
“If that cough should come back, where would we be then? You shouldn’t ought to drive out in the rain.”
“I’m fine,” Penelope repeated. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Kitty took the damp garments and departed with a lingering backward glance. Penelope turned to the window and watched the rain fall from the gray sky. The garden and countryside looked less green in this weather, but Penelope felt more alive than she had in months and months. More than she ever had, perhaps. Shewanted. She wanted to go where she liked and do as she pleased and work and learn. She wanted, especially, to kiss Lord Whitfield again. Her fingers curled at the memory of his touch.
She’d promised—what had she promised? To ignore what had happened between them. Not to forget it. Which was fortunate because she would never forget. She’d had to go off to another room and wrestle with the tides of yearning that rushed through her in his presence. Forgetting was impossible.
And she hadn’t promised never to do it again.
An almost feral smile lit Penelope’s features. Whitfield thought he had to observe the proprieties. But must she? With no family and no standing in the community, she wasn’t hemmed in by the social restrictions that had ruled her youth. No society matrons would be monitoring her behavior at assemblies and evening parties. The local social round wouldn’t include her, so she couldn’t lose her place in its ranks.
Hard-faced government men, with their endless questions, had taken that position from her. They’d given her a lesson in vulnerability she would never forget. But she’d endured; she’d made it through, fought them off with the truth. And here, on the other side, she became aware of a fierce determination to grasp what she wanted with both hands. She would not be cowed. She would not see her life as wrecked. She’d pay them all back by enjoying herself while she had the chance.
Penelope blinked, not seeing the rainy landscape any longer. Lord Whitfield would bring home a bride from the next London season, or the one after that. Nothing was more likely. That was what viscounts did. It was the path she’d expected to take herself before things came crashing down around her. She might have met him at a ball or evening party and made his acquaintance—in quite a different way of course. And who could say it was a better one? She wouldn’t know him as well from a few dances and rides in the park. She wouldn’t have spent time alone with him or shown him her organizational skills. He wouldn’t have beenamazed at her abilities. She wrapped her arms around her chest as if to hug his admiration close. They had this time together. She would savor it. And if she wanted more, she would dashed well have it.
Another knock heralded Kitty’s reappearance. “Are you all right, miss?” the girl asked, looking around the doorframe. “Only I thought you might’ve fainted dead away. I’m thinking I’ll ask Mrs. Hart about poultices tomorrow. I expect she knows.”
“Poultices?”
“A mustard plaster for your chest.” Kitty seemed to relish the idea. “That’d be the thing. Draw out the flan.”
“The what?”
“That stuff you cough up.”
“Ah. I haven’t any phlegm.” Penelope moved toward her. “See, I’m coming downstairs with you. Perfectly well.”
Kitty eyed her as if she might burst into a paroxysm of coughing at any moment.
Penelope led her down the steps. “If you’d like to learn about poultices from Mrs. Hart, you’re welcome to do so, but none will be tested on me.”
Kitty looked resigned. “Do they use them on dogs?” she asked.
“I don’t know. They’re put on horses’ legs sometimes. Or is that a fomentation? Foyle would know.”
“Eh. Don’t reckon he’d tell me. He thinks I’m stupid.”
