His Forbidden Debutante

Wilhelmina answered that comment with a little laugh. ‘I agree. I’m anxious to hear all about your progress at dinner this evening.’

With her sister gone, Livie scrambled to reassemble the box and boots, cramming the package under the chair near the washstand and arranging a quilt in unceremonious fashion across the top until she could hurry back to Lott’s and return the mistaken purchase. She never should have made the secret jaunt to the shoemaker’s in the first place and now she’d have to do the same to return the unwanted pair, despite having promised Wilhelmina the opposite. The store was situated in Paddington, on the outskirts of the city, and having travelled there this morning, it seemed foolish to ride past the same area without taking the shoes with her. But she’d never have time to accomplish her waltzing instruction, carry the package to the south side of London and return home before dinner. The errand was best left for another day.

Until then she’d need to make ready for her lesson. Monsieur did not appreciate it when she arrived late and no excuse seemed satisfactory in the dance master’s opinion.

Penwick advanced upon his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Jonathan Allington, and let loose a hearty chuckle as the assault was countered with razor-sharp accuracy, the clipped slice of his foil echoing in the empty hall, no point earned. They’d already been at it too long, tired and sweated through, but neither man would relinquish the challenge despite practising their fencing to hone skill, not resolve differences.

‘You should admit defeat and bow out gracefully. I won’t tell a soul your advanced age of thirty-two years has brought on an inconvenient fatigue, impairing your ability.’ Penwick flashed a devious smile, pleased by the proposition of sharing the jest.

‘You should mind your own business.’ Allington passed forward, his blade fast to counter the parry, the tip of his sword just missing the side of Penwick’s shoulder. ‘And you should invest in my father’s mines or, at the least, admit the opportunity intrigues you. Diamonds are lucrative, valuable and a gentleman’s wisest investment, especially in consideration of your new status.’ Again he lunged. ‘I will continue my attack on both fronts. Bear in mind it presents as an ideal way to join our two families.’

‘I assumed my marriage to your sister symbolised the perfect union.’ Penwick widened his eyes at Allington’s callous remark and lunged forward with a bold advance. ‘And I have few relations of whom to speak.’

‘Touché.’

The conversation continued in silence, the back-and-forth phrasing of their blades the only communication for several minutes.

‘You do love her, I assume.’ Allington whipped to the left, his offhand comment more a feint than his sudden manoeuvre.

‘And who is this unexpected responsible older brother? I’ve not made your acquaintance these past months.’ Penwick continued his riposte, a drop of perspiration trickling into his right brow with the swift movement. Still, the wood-panelled walls grew closer with each of his strikes. Another moment and Allington would have no retreat, his back to the wall, the match won.

‘I assure you I have many sides, as faceted as the gemstones my father offers to the wealthiest clientele throughout England and beyond. Do not play the fool and neglect opportunity. An earldom is an expensive undertaking.’

Allington sounded winded. Too much talk and not enough skill. Penwick’s stamina remained banked.

‘I appreciate your concern, though I’ve taken every precaution to secure my future with wise investment. I stand to lose more than profit, were I to accept the offer. Your sister would believe I courted her to gain favour with your father or, worse, possessed an ulterior interest in the family mines, valuing the property’s worth more than her beauty and poise.’

‘Beauty and poise age and fade away, unlike money, which grows more valuable and attractive the longer one keeps it. You did not answer my question.’

Allington’s boot heel hit the floor moulding. His brows narrowed, aware there was no retreat, and he assumed a combative stance, at once attempting an envelopment to seize Penwick’s blade and rotate their position, but his lack of control versus Penwick’s superior strength guaranteed failure.

‘Which question would that be?’ With an accelerating lunge, Penwick knocked the sword from his opponent’s grasp.

Allington leaned against the panelling, catching a breath before he slid down to sit hastily on the floorboards. ‘Hell, your skill is unmatched. I would do well not to cross you.’ He glanced upward, an expression on his face that reflected a mixture of acknowledgement and defeat. ‘At least not with a sword.’

‘You presented an excellent defence.’ Penwick extended his hand and hoisted his friend upward. ‘I’ve had more practice, ‘tis all.’

‘Perhaps.’

They walked to the side of the room where two glasses of water waited beside fresh towels.

‘I’m serious in regard to your investing in Father’s diamond mines. For clearer understanding, I’m not suggesting you travel beyond England. The mines are located in some godawful region of the world where even I wouldn’t venture a visit. There the stones are unearthed, cleaned and prepared before they ever reach our soil. Once in England, Father chooses the best gems, commissions the cut and sells them or designs the best into unique pieces. It’s all done quite easily. Money in, money out, except we’re profiting at such high margin, it would be against all honour not to urge you to partake of a share, most especially now that you’re betrothed to Claire. What profits you will provide for her lifestyle.’

‘Concerned I can’t support my wife?’ Penwick attempted to ease the mood with jocularity, though his mind spun with questions. Why did Allington press the subject? It never failed; whether drinking at the club or fencing in the ballroom, the subject of his investing in the Allington jewellery business always surfaced. ‘All jests aside, I’ll consider the notion.’ A change of subject was in order. ‘How is the mare you purchased from my stable faring? You haven’t mentioned her since the transaction.’ Horseflesh – a common enough topic for any gentleman and another on which he was considered an expert.

‘The animal needs a firm hand. I despair if all your livestock is as unmanageable.’ Allington followed the cut with a gruff chuckle and replaced his glass on the table.

‘The white Abaco Barb? It’s one of the calmest breeds imported to England and this mare in particular is my finest. I almost couldn’t sell her to you, wanting to keep the prize. She’s obedient, reliable and perceptive of her rider,’ Penwick responded with an austere shake of the head. No one could accuse the horse of unruly defiance. He’d named the mare Decorum because she combined dignity and regal presence whenever they rode.

‘Aha, now I have identified the truer problem, one bigger than the horse of which I complain. As a breeder you regard the horses as equals, when any fool is aware to command an animal’s respect one must prove to be the master.’ Allington clasped his hands together to punctuate his assertion.

The critical remark was stated with outright arrogance and an uncomfortable silence smothered their otherwise brotherly palaver. There wasn’t more to say after that and, once Allington took his leave, Penwick bathed and changed his clothes. His schedule presented a busy day ahead and he hadn’t slept well the night before. Some unresolved sentiment lurked below his consciousness to cause him unrest.

At least his appointments would end on a high note with his dance lesson at four o’clock. He’d already decided he would not choose Claire’s ring today. The subject of diamonds seemed overstated of late. He could always stop at the club on the way home, though. Two fingers of expensive brandy might be the exact prescription to assure a night of fitful rest.

Chapter Three (#ulink_2179d95c-e8ae-5ace-a3b8-55aa34aad310)

Isn’t it peculiar how our letters cross in the post only for us to discover, when they arrive, we’ve asked each other the same questions? Perhaps it indicates we are of like mind. In answer to your queries, I enjoy reading, although my sister’s love of poetry surpasses my interest in novels. I’d much rather attend a gathering than spend time within the pages of a book. I have a passion for flowers, yellow roses in particular, and favour candied orange peel above all sweets. The most embarrassing situation I’ve ever experienced occurred during my best friend Esme’s birthday celebration. We were chattering away until I developed a ridiculous case of the hiccups. Esme suggested I inhale ground pepper to restore my breathing pattern but the result produced a sneeze so large my spectacles landed in the ratafia bowl. To this day, whenever we recall the incident, we laugh until our sides ache. Thank heavens no one else noticed. I’ve never told another soul.

Penwick folded the letter with care and replaced it within his breast pocket. How foolish to continue to live in the past and yearn for a woman who had disappeared without a trace or reason. Didn’t she owe an explanation to their friendship?

Friendship.

What a farce. Over time, he’d developed feelings, a deep emotional connection that, were he to allow it into the light of day, would consume his soul. The emotion hadn’t mellowed as time passed, but fermented in potency and grown in strength so that it barely fitted within the portion of him where he crowded his most precious memories.

Preparing for his dance lesson had proven a weakness he now regretted. Filing through Lavinia’s letters to find this one, a favourite, where her voice spoke directly to his heart, and then, subsequently, choosing to carry it with him, had proved pure idiocy.

He’d need to do better. He was to be married in less than a fortnight to a woman who cared for him and would soon vow to produce his children and provide an amiable home life.

He crossed his hand over his chest, the letter beneath the thick wool of his coat, the words against his heart. What had happened to Lavinia? Why did she suddenly vanish? He had no answers. Worse, his world had upended soon after, the responsibilities of the earldom consuming all time and energy. When he had tried to find her and travelled to the address on the letters, he’d ended up leaving Shropshire with more questions than answers. Why had fate brought them together only to leave their relationship unfinished?

The carriage rocked to a stop and he was forced from his disquieting reverie. All the better as he was not brave enough to consider the condition of his heart at the moment.

The footman opened the door and extended the steps. Monarch Hall stood with stoic patience across the cobblestone street. People bustled along the walkway, brushing shoulders and exchanging conversation, their worlds filled with laughter. Businessmen and citizens went about their schedule with focus and determination. Day by day the world moved forward, as evidenced by the newsboy on the corner, a fresh daily waved high in the air.

Yet here he stood, one foot in the past and the other stalled in the present. He forced himself off the curb and towards the brick-faced two-storey building. Elongated windows stretched towards the sky, the weather clear, an unlikely occurrence as late afternoon yawned its surrender to night.

He’d commissioned Monsieur Bournon’s services as soon as he’d set his mind to marry. For all his fancy footwork while fencing, he’d never mastered the most popular waltzes, having been living in the country only a short time prior, unaware an earldom would command his attention post-haste. Still, the steps came easily and he soon realised the graceful agility needed for a successful raddoppio or passata-sotto while holding his blade could seamlessly transfer into a box-turn or glide while dancing.

Sunlight mingled with candlelight through the large panes as he strode towards the door, not wishing to be late and at the same time anxious to begin. He kept his attendance at these lessons secret, most of his personal life as concealed as possible. With exacting attention, he focused on learning everything an earl needed to know and more.

Twisting the knob, he came up short as he entered, a stranger waiting in the inner foyer where Monsieur Bournon usually greeted him. Penwick’s lessons were private and individual. He’d never seen this stout man before and would surely have remembered his distinguishing appearance. Dressed in casual clothing, loose-fitting pants and a plain linen shirt, it was the man’s outlandish moustache that caused a person to glance twice, the ends of it surpassing the corners of his mouth and turning upward as if begging one to smile.

‘Good afternoon, milord. I am Mr Moira. Monsieur Bournon has been called away on business and has asked me to conduct your lesson.’ The stranger stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting. ‘He apologises for any inconvenience, but I assure you I am adept at dance instruction and will continue your training with skill.’

‘I see.’ Taken aback by the change in circumstance, Penwick wondered how the instruction would be accomplished. Monsieur Bournon knew of his desire to keep his lessons confidential and therefore respected his wishes. The master supplied a different dance partner each session, so not only was Penwick guaranteed privacy, but the lady participant never grew to know him. It was a most convenient arrangement. ‘Has Monsieur informed you of the conditions?’

‘In entirety.’

Moira stepped aside so Penwick could enter further and shed his greatcoat. He hung the garment on the rack, hesitating with a backward glance at his pocket before they walked towards the ballroom area where each lesson was held. Outside the door, Moira paused once again.

‘In order to accommodate everyone’s lesson within this unexpected time of absence, we’ve arranged for your partner to be another of Monsieur’s students.’

Penwick jerked attention to the instructor. ‘Now see here, Moira. I pay Bournon an exorbitant sum each week for his professional instruction and now not only will I miss his expertise, but I’ll be partnered with someone who may not execute the correct steps.’ There was no reason for his outright annoyance concerning the unlikely change in circumstance and he shook his head to excuse the sharp reply, but with the wedding looming in the near future, every lesson seemed imperative.

He should never have reread that old letter. Somehow, the amusing words had conjured all kinds of inconvenient feelings and awakened the restlessness and disappointment he worked hard to keep buried; his uncooperative outburst the result.

‘Please understand, milord. Monsieur Bournon feels terribly about this inconvenience and had he not been summoned by the Prince Regent would never have left you with short notice of this change in plans. Nevertheless, the lady is an accomplished student who is here to polish her skills more than interpret the steps. She will be the perfect match for your ability. I have every confidence.’ Moira appeared worried by the conversation, his mouth held in a firm line, his brow furrowed, though he continued with assertive insistence. ‘You must at least begin the lesson. Then, if you are displeased, you may leave and I will notify Monsieur Bournon that I have failed in mollifying your request and managing his intentions, but do bear in mind that, when summoned by the Crown, one does not hesitate.’