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Chapter Nine

“The Penwyck Scandal”

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"I HAVE NEVER FELT SO frustrated!" Tessa fumed.

She and Miss Deirdre Montgomery were seated beside one another on the plush velvet squabs of the Montgomerys' tilbury, a single horse clip-clopping in front them as they tooled down a shady lane on their way to Hatchards Book Shop. Tessa had rejoiced that morning when the note arrived from Miss Montgomery inviting her on the excursion.

As expected, Lord Penwyck had balked, but Lady Penwyck had maintained there'd be no harm in it.

"I am certain the girls will be properly chaperoned," she said. "To be sure, Gracie rarely let's Deirdre out of her sight these days." Lady Penwyck lowered her voice. "The identity of the girl's suitor is still unbeknownst to anyone, you know." She flung a quick glance across the breakfast table at Tessa, the look saying she highly suspected Tessa might know something and, instead of telling, was choosing to protect her friend.

Although Tessa was gazing directly at her hostess, she was far too fearful that permission to accompany Deirdre would be denied to care what suspicious thoughts were running through Lady Penwyck's mind.

When at last it was agreed nothing untoward could possibly result from the outing, Tessa was so elated she literally bounded up the steps to her room to change her clothes and await the Montgomery carriage.

Now, on their way toward Piccadilly, where the famous bookseller and print shop was located, Tessa was unable to refrain from telling her friend all that had transpired at Lord and Lady Chalmers's dinner party a few nights earlier.

"Lord Penwyck insisted I marry poor Lord Dickerson! He said my reputation would be ruined otherwise!" she cried.

Deirdre's soft brown curls shook sadly. "I am quite certain you were innocent of any wrongdoing, Tessa. Yet it does not surprise me that Lord Penwyck would be so adamant. He is quite staunch now in his desire to avoid farther scandal."

"Further scandal?" Tessa's smooth brow puckered.

Deirdre glanced at her friend, then looked quickly away.

"Deirdre," Tessa began softly, "I dislike gossip as much as you do, but if something untoward has happened, perhaps I might better understand Lord Penwyck's behaviour if I knew what the trouble was." She paused. "I came to England to escape my stepfather's fierce grip on me, and now I find Lord Penwyck every bit as tenacious. I have very nearly reached the end of my tether. The truth is I do not wish to marry anyone. I wish only to be allowed to pursue my own course, to conduct my affairs as I see fit. Instead, I find at every turn I am confronted by others who insist I live my life to their liking." When her lower lip began to tremble, Tessa bit down hard on it. "My only wish is to be free!"

"Perhaps you should have stayed in America," Deirdre replied dryly, "where there are fewer rules to abide by."

"There may be fewer rules, but it is no different where men are concerned," Tessa cried. "We are still at their mercy."

Deirdre inhaled sharply. "Well, that is not the case where Jeffrey is concerned. He does not try to force his ideas or opinions on me. He allows me to be myself and he loves me, even when our thoughts are decidedly dissimilar." She smiled impishly. "We fall into quite heated debates at times."

"And he does not . . . punish you, or berate you . . . or declare you a silly female?" Tessa asked incredulously.

"No. Jeffrey listens to me. On occasion, he even changes his views to coincide with mine."

Tessa sighed wistfully. "Well, that does give one hope."

Deirdre cast a sympathetic look at her friend. "Perhaps I should tell you about Lord Penwyck's troubles."

"I shan't breathe a word of it to anyone!"

Deirdre laughed. "There is no need for such a promise now. Everyone in London already knows!" She settled back, absently arranging the long pink ribbons of her reticule in her lap. "Has Lady Penwyck ever mentioned her middle son, Joel, to you?"

Tessa thought back, then shook her bonneted head. "No. She has told me about Stephen, the youngest, that he recently wed and that his wife is . . . increasing."

Deirdre nodded, but before beginning again to speak, she flung a glance over one shoulder as if to ascertain that they were indeed alone. As the small open tilbury was occupied by only the two girls; that anyone would overhear their conversation was not a likely prospect. A pair of liveried footmen clung to the rear of the vehicle, but with the wind whistling in their ears, the young ladies had little to fear from that quarter.

Presently, Deirdre began. "Joel Belmour was a scoundrel of the first order." She scooted so close to her companion the brims of their bonnets actually touched. "Rumour has it he sired enough by-blows to fill his own orphanage."

Tessa drew back, her pink lips parted with shock.

"He gambled recklessly. A cousin of mine told me that Joel Belmour's name appears on virtually every page of the betting book at White's, often two or three times in the same day! It was said he lost or squandered away the entire Penwyck fortune. And it was quite vast. The gentleman was a walking scandal."

"Oh, my," Tessa murmured. "I had no idea." Suddenly, she felt quite guilty for imposing herself upon her unfortunate host and hostess if their circumstances were as dire as Deirdre suggested.

"But," Deirdre added, her tone rising with respect, "in only one year, Lord Penwyck has single-handedly turned things around."

A relieved sigh escaped Tessa. "I am glad to hear that. But how did he manage? And where has his brother got to?"

"Joel was killed in a duel. The circumstances surrounding his death were somewhat mysterious. Some say he died a hero, but I have my doubts." She paused, a speaking look on her face. "I rather suspect Lord Penwyck twisted the facts in order to protect his mother. As to the other, I haven't the least notion how he recovered the family fortune. He and my father made a number of investments together, but beyond that . . ." She turned palms upward. "I know Father advised him on the managing of one of their north country holdings. Stephen and his wife, Caroline, now live on the estate." She paused. "Lord Penwyck is quite brilliant, and he is greatly admired and respected."

Tessa exhaled a long breath. Knowing the dreadful truth did help her better understand the man, but did not lessen the immense vexation she felt with his vigilant watch over her. She had no intention of embarrassing the family or causing any sort of scandal whilst in Town. So why did he refuse to trust her?

Tessa tried to put the gnawing irritation from mind when, some minutes later, she and Deirdre alighted from the tilbury and entered Hatchard's Book Shop.

The establishment was far more spacious than Tessa expected. It looked to contain upward of a thousand books and a vast assortment of caricatures and prints. It surprised her to note a goodly number of ladies and gentlemen milling about, many talking and laughing quite loudly with one another.

"It’s a bit noisy in here," Tessa remarked as she and Deirdre approached a floor-to-ceiling wall of books.

"A good many people frequent Hatchard's, and not because they wish to purchase a book."

Tessa had already drawn down a volume from the shelf and was leafing through it. "I noticed another book shop nearby," she offered. "Ridgeway's, I believe it was called. Perhaps we might go there instead."

Deirdre pulled a face. "Ridgeway's would be no less congested. Lord Byron shops there."

Tessa hadn't the least notion what that had to say to anything. She'd heard a goodly number of on-dits regarding the wicked poet. Perhaps scandal plagued that unfortunate man as surely as it had Joel Belmour.

"In any case," Deirdre whispered, "we shan't stay here long." She cast a wary glance about.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Tessa asked, a quizzical look on her face.

Deirdre grinned sheepishly. "I feel wonderful. Forgive me; I should have told you the truth straight out."

Tessa's curious gaze deepened.

"I often come here to meet Jeffrey. I thought he would be here today, but . . ." She glanced down at the book she held.

Tessa couldn't make out the title, but apparently it didn't signify. What was tucked inside the book seemed far more interesting.

Deirdre held up a small square of paper. "Jeffrey left this note for me. He wishes me to come to his office." She clapped the small volume shut and hastily returned it to the shelf. "Have you found a book you'd like? I should purchase something . . . perhaps a print or a Minerva novel . . . to assure Mother that we were indeed here."

Deirdre's agitated tone and the fact she was even now headed for the circular counter in the center of the shop told Tessa their excursion was fast drawing to a close. With some dismay, she reshelved the book she'd been perusing and hurried after her friend.

Tessa thoroughly enjoyed the half-hour ride to yet another part of London. As the tidy carriage twisted and turned up and down numerous cobbled lanes, it occurred to Tessa they were now tooling through what appeared to be the business sector of Town. The faint odour of salt in the air and the fact it suddenly felt a good bit cooler told her they were not far from the waterfront and the busy quay where she'd got her first glimpse of London.

"Many land agents office here," Deirdre told Tessa as the tilbury drew up before a row of austere-looking sandstone buildings.

Tessa gazed about with interest. Although the cobbled street had become quite narrow, there were a good many coaches and carriages lining the curb. Most bore the coat-of-arms of titled families. Many fashionably dressed gentlemen strode purposefully along the flagway, but Tessa noted not a single female amongst them.

"Perhaps it would be best if I go in alone," Deirdre said, somewhat apologetically. "If we should happen to be seen, I shouldn't wish to cause you any trouble. I can always say I am delivering important papers from my father."

"Of course." Tessa nodded absently. "I don't mind waiting in the carriage. I am quite enjoying the outing."

The split second the Montgomery tilbury drew to a standstill and the steps were let down, Deirdre scampered to the ground.

"I shan't be gone overlong!" she called cheerfully, then disappeared from sight.

Tessa settled back to wait. It was a lovely afternoon. Despite the aborted trip to Hatchards, she was vastly enjoying her freedom. The lazy call of a gull circling overhead claimed her attention, and she glanced up and over one shoulder for a long, lingering look. At that moment, a high-sprung carriage parked alongside the opposite curb jerked into motion and afforded Tessa a clear view of the sign on the plate glass window in the front of the building across the way.

In plain block letters, the sign read, The Political Register.

Tessa gasped. The Political Register! As if possessed, she sprang to her feet and, in her haste to depart, fairly stumbled down the steps before she bolted across the busy cobblestone street.

Her eyes round, Tessa stepped into the cool, dank interior of the somewhat ramshackle office building and gazed about with wide-eyed wonder.

She spotted two gentlemen, both busy at work: one a fresh-faced young clerk bent over a large oaken desk littered with papers; the other an older, white-haired gentleman dressed in a rather shabby dust-coloured coat, grimy breeches, and blue garters. The faint odour of sweet-smelling tobacco from the older gentleman's pipe filled the room.

In moments he glanced up, his alert black eyes seeming to pierce clean through to Tessa's soul. When he nodded pleasantly, the butterflies in Tessa's stomach ceased fluttering at once.

She gulped. "I-is it you?"

A smile on his lips, the older man stood. "William Cobbett at your service, ma'am. May I help you with something?"

"Oh, sir. I cannot say how very pleased I am to finally meet you!" Tessa enthused. "I am Miss Tessa Darby, come from America. I do hope I am not intruding, but when I spotted your sign in the window, I simply had to come in."

Mr. Cobbett's smile was friendly. "I am pleased you did, Miss Darby. Might I offer you a . . . " He glanced about, then shrugged. "Well, it appears I have nothing to offer you. Miss Darby, since I don't drink . . . "

"Tea," Tessa murmured. "I know. I no longer drink it either, sir."

The older gentleman laughed aloud. "Is that so? Well, in any event, you are welcome to come in and chat a bit, Miss Darby. From America, you say?"

Feeling as if she'd been invited inside the Heavenly Gates, Tessa moved with reverential awe into the paper-littered room. She'd never been so happy in her life.

* * * * *

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"I STILL MAINTAIN LANDOWNERS are doubly guilty when they fail to educate themselves to good managerial practices and to appoint qualified agents," remarked one of three well-dressed gentlemen on horseback riding alongside Lord Penwyck that afternoon.

The four men had lately been appointed to a new Parliamentary Committee for the purpose of investigating fraudulent land agency practices in London. As chairman of the committee, Lord Penwyck had drawn up a list of land agents he and three of his committee members meant to interview that afternoon.

"Employing a good manager does not mean a landowner can divest himself of all responsibility for his estate," Penwyck stated now. "I admit when I inherited, I knew little to nothing in regard to managing my father's property. I daresay the same holds true for many young men today. If during the course of one's life one has not had the opportunity to live a great many years in the country, one cannot be expected to know all that is required in order to properly manage either the land or tenants."

The other gentlemen solemnly nodded assent.

"Without a keen knowledge of one's property and the worth of the soil to be farmed," Lord Penwyck went on, his voice strong with authority, "it is next to impossible to determine what to charge in the way of rents or what expenditures to allow in the way of improvements."

"I have it heard it said," one of his companions, Lord Combe, added, "that many tenants actually prefer to farm the estates of nonresident owners, since the property is more likely to be mismanaged."

"Nonetheless," put in Sir Glower, "when rents continue to fall and gross irregularities are easily spotted in the accounts, it cannot all be laid at the feet of a negligent landowner."

"You are quite right," Penwyck replied with conviction. "There have been far too many complaints from far too many gentlemen of late for there not to be some havey-cavey business afoot, which is why we will not stop until we have investigated every last land agent in Town."

The four men had ridden a good distance beyond Lincoln's Inn Fields, where they had questioned two of the wealthier land agents on Penwyck's list. They were now closer to London's dockside, where the bulk of London's resident land agents officed.

"We shall split up here," Lord Penwyck instructed his companions. "I am personally acquainted with Mr. Jeffrey Randall. Whilst I suspect nothing amiss in his business practices, I mean to question him about others on the list with whom I am not so well acquainted. You and Glower may interview Mr. Hughes and Mr. Ewart," he said to Lord Combe. "I drew up a list of other agents for you to visit with, did I not, Villiers?" he asked the fourth gentleman riding with them.

Lord Villiers nodded assent.

"Very well then, gentlemen, we shall reconvene on the morrow to discuss our findings."

Lord Penwyck directed his high-spirited chestnut onto a narrow cobbled lane and cantered toward the sandstone office building that housed Jeffrey Randall's Land Agency Office.

His mind fully occupied with the business at hand, he did not notice the small tilbury waiting at the curb when he slipped from the saddle and absently tethered his horse to the railing in front.

Stepping into the building, however, Penwyck was at once jarred to awareness by the remarkable sight of a fashionably dressed young lady animatedly engrossed in conversation with Mr. Jeffrey Randall; so engrossed, in fact, neither one noticed another person had entered the building.

"Ahem." Penwyck cleared his throat.

When the young lady spun about, a dark scowl marred Penwyck's handsome features when he recognized Miss Deirdre Montgomery.

Penwyck glared at the young lady. "It was my understanding you and Miss Darby were to spend the afternoon at Hatchards."

"We left there a scant second ago," Deirdre replied hesitantly. "F-father wished me to . . . to deliver a message to Mr. Randall. Mr. Randall is my father's land agent. You recall meeting him when you and Fath . . . "

"Indeed." Penwyck nodded perfunctorily in Mr. Randall's direction, then aimed a long gaze through the plate glass window in front. This time, he took keen note of the Montgomerys' neat tilbury, the sleepy-eyed footmen lounging on the curb, and the driver on the bench, the ribbons listlessly dangling from one hand. The carriage, however, was quite remarkable in that it was quite empty. "And precisely where is Miss Darby now?" he demanded of Deirdre.

Deirdre's soft brown eyes were large and round. "She is waiting for me in the carriage, sir. Did you not see her when you came . . . "

His business with the land agent momentarily forgot, Penwyck had already turned and was now striding purposefully back through the door to the street.

Gazing anxiously after him, Deirdre watched as both footmen sprang to life and, when questioned by the tall, elegantly dressed gentleman, gestured toward the ill-kept building opposite.

Deirdre's eyes rolled skyward. "Oh, no. Tessa has gone to see Mr. Cobbett!" she exclaimed, even as Lord Penwyck angrily charged across the street.