Chapter Twenty-Seven
Penelope was pacing the drawing room when Ana returned. Her cheeks were flushed, like she’d hurried down the street. “Where have you been?”
“What is amiss?” Ana went to the door and glanced both ways down the corridor in fear of a servant or, heaven forbid, Lady Malvern overhearing before shutting the door.
“I received word that Lieutenant Smithfield has come home,” Penelope said.
Ana blinked in surprise. “Pardon?”
“You know the letters he writes take many weeks, even months to reach me.”
“So?” Ana knew the post took time to arrive from members of the military out of the country. Spain wasn’t as far as Africa, but mail was slow and had to be received by the Regimental Office in London before being distributed to family members.
“A courier delivered this to me while you were out. Thankfully, I opened the door when it arrived.” Penelope removed a parchment from her skirt pocket.
“What does it say?”
“His request for a leave was granted, and he has returned home to fully recover from his injury.” Penelope’s face flushed with excitement. “He’s home, Ana!”
“Let me see.” Ana accepted the letter and scanned the contents. He’d been treated on the field by an army surgeon, then requested leave. It was not during a campaign, and his request was granted. He was currently at his residence on St. James Street and under a family physician’s care.
Ana looked up. “The mail he’d sent from abroad must have been delayed by weeks if he had recently written this letter.”
Penelope wrung her hands. “It’s true. He must have been wounded a while ago. And to think I had no idea he was suffering all this time.”
Ana handed the letter back to her. “No sense feeling guilty about it. You know now.”
Penelope clutched the letter to her chest and collapsed in a nearby chair. “I still cannot believe he’s back in London.”
“It’s a good sign he is able to travel, darling. He must be on the mend.”
“You’re right. It’s almost as if I can feel his presence close by.”
Ana’s disbelief must have been evident in her expression because Penelope leaned forward on her chair, her blue eyes imploring. “I have to see him.”
Ana shook her head. “Do not even think it. You cannot visit a bachelor’s home by yourself.”
Pain crossed Penelope’s face. “I know you’re right. Will you accompany me? Please, Ana.”
Ana opened her mouth then closed it. She shook her head once more. “I would be the world’s worst chaperone.”
“You are not just a chaperone. You are my friend.”
“Then as your friend, I still discourage it. Your mother would—”
Penelope lifted her chin. “My mother will never know. And if you do not accompany me, then I shall go my own.”
No matter how foolish, Ana recognized stubbornness when she saw it. The girl was in love, and youthful infatuation could be more reckless, more dangerous, than a loaded canon.
And the truth was, how could Ana chastise the girl when not long ago she’d slipped into a scarlet gown and spent the night with a stranger in a notorious brothel?
“Please, Ana.” Penelope lowered her voice, her eyes pleading.
The girl must have sensed the warring conflict within Ana. The soft afternoon sunlight from the open curtains highlighted Penelope’s blonde hair and fair complexion. She looked incredibly young and naive, and Ana’s chest tightened. She also knew Penelope would go with or without her. They’d come this far together. How could she refuse her now?
“You must promise to follow my instruction. Go fetch your reticule.”
…
After leaving the Duke of Warwick, Oliver took the steps to his grandmother’s home two at a time and lifted the brass knocker. Her butler opened the door before he could rap a third time.
“Good day, Greaves. Is my grandmother awake?”
The butler took Oliver’s hat and greatcoat. “She is anxious to see you upon your return from the country.”
Something about the butler’s tone took him off guard. “Is she well?”
“Better. Right this way, my lord. She has been expecting you.”
Greaves led Oliver into his grandmother’s private sitting room. He helped himself to a glass of sherry from the sideboard and looked outside the window at the street below. Sipping the sherry, he glanced at the door and counted the minutes until her arrival.
The dowager sailed into the room. She was well turned out in a walking dress of green satin trimmed with gold braid and tight sleeves. Her hair was swept up high in a stylish fashion, and she wore a pearl necklace with matching pearl earbobs. She looked robust and healthy, clearly recovered from her cold. “Tell me you made progress with Lady Penelope.”
Oliver was careful to school his expression. His worry over her health was for naught. As for her question, he’d anticipated something of an inquisition and was prepared. “It was brief. The lady was ill for part of the visit.”
“Ill?”
“She stayed in her chamber for two full days. Otherwise, I do believe the Malverns enjoyed Rosedown.”
Her lips pursed in an obvious show of displeasure. “I should have attended, cold or not.”
“I assure you, it would not have changed anything.”
“You do not like the girl?”
He finished the sherry in one swallow. How much to reveal? “That’s not what I meant.”
She walked forward and took the empty tumbler from his hand and set it on an end table. “Don’t be daft. I can tell when you are smitten.”
He shot her an amused look. “Smitten? When have I ever been smitten?”
Her eyebrows drew downward. “I was convinced you felt something for the girl before your departure to the country.”
“Based on what?”
“You acted differently. Lighthearted. I’m accustomed to seeing you with a solemn expression while you sit behind that godforsaken desk in your study for hours on end.”
He stiffened. His grandmother knew him better than anyone, almost better than the Duke of Warwick.
Had he acted differently?
If he had, it’d been because he was consumed with spending time with Ana. How to explain his behavior to his grandmother without revealing the full truth? “I suppose you are right.”
“Good. I’ve invited the Malverns to the theater tonight in your private box.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Pardon?”
She raised a hand. “I know. I shouldn’t have, but the marchioness paid me a visit upon her return to town. She said her daughter enjoys the theater, and my offer on your behalf just slipped out.”
He let out a long, exasperated sigh. “First, you invited the family to Rosedown. Now, to the theater. You must stop interfering.”
Escorting the Malverns to the theater was the last thing he desired, not when Ana would be in his bed that night. He was tempted to refuse, except he knew Ana would most likely accompany Penelope as her chaperone.
“In my defense, you are my only remaining grandson, but I shall try. Meanwhile, will you take them?”
“Only if you cease meddling.”
“You have my word.”
“And if things do not progress with Lady Penelope, I hope you will not be distressed.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “You must know that I want more for you than what your parents had shared.”
A cold, loveless marriage. She did not need to say it outright. His childhood home had been empty of love and affection. He’d been shipped off to Eton as soon as he’d been of age.
His grandmother sat back and sighed. “Perhaps I was a bit too hasty in inviting the Malvern family to the theater. After all, you only recently arrived home from the country.”
His grandmother was stubborn, and he understood how hard it was for her to make that admission. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll escort them.”
Rather than be happy to hear this news as he’d expected, she watched him carefully. “Whatever your intentions, my boy, I’ll accept them. But decide soon. I want to see the earldom settled before I die.”