Love Forever After Page 4

  Since her new husband had ignored her all day and made it clear that this was a marriage in name only, Penelope felt confident that he had not changed his routine on her account. She knocked on his chamber door, but only John, his manservant appeared.

  “I have brought Graham his supper. Is he not feeling well?” she asked solicitously. She knew the household spoke of her husband as an invalid, but other than his handicap, she had seen little evidence of ill health.

  “His lordship has taken to his bed for the evening, my lady.” The portly servant gazed upon her with a look much like sympathy. “The traveling has caused him much pain. He always takes to his bed after a journey.”

  Penelope’s eyes widened, and she had second thoughts about the pepper-laden meal. “Perhaps I should fetch some liniment and compresses. I know how to nurse the sick.”

  John remained adamant. “His lordship would not want it. He will be fine by morning. I will take the tray and place it by his bed in case he wakes during the night.”

  She had no choice but to hand over the meal and return downstairs. Sometimes she was too hasty in her judgments. Graham’s irascibility might mean that he felt unwell. She would have to be more careful in the future.

  Despite these charitable thoughts, the picture of his reaction to the sabotaged meal made her smile. He deserved that.

  In the empty bedchamber John helped himself to the supper his lordship seldom ate. Within minutes his eyes began to water. His throat and tongue turned to fire, and even an entire glass of wine did not quench the flames. Wondering if he had been poisoned, he sniffed the food and instantly sneezed half of it off the plate.

  Alternately sneezing and gulping wine, the tormented man had reverted to a limp rag with a red nose slumped in his chair by the time the viscount crept back into the chamber. Graham took one look at his miserable manservant and lifted the cold remains of his supper to his nose. He sneezed and heaved the dish into the hearth, but a smile twisted his lips as he realized the deviousness of his bride’s revenge.

  At the sight of John’s miserable look he chuckled, and at the man’s malevolent glare, Graham roared with laughter.

  Chapter 4

  The next day Penelope decided Graham’s revenge was more fiendish than she could possibly have imagined. Shortly after breakfast she was inundated by a parade of tradesmen, milliners, glove-makers, jewelers, seamstresses, cobblers, and modistes he had ordered to attend to her wardrobe.

  She had nary a minute’s quiet for the remainder of the day. Not only must she try everything on and be measured and pinned and stuck and turned about like a cloth doll, but she had to endure the audience of half the staff at one time or another as they besieged her with questions about menus and linens and minor household emergencies. Whether Graham intended revenge or generosity, she did not care by mid-afternoon. If he had put in an appearance, she would have scarred the other half of his face.

  Instead Alexandra materialized like a magic fairy. Perched on a dresser out of the chaos, she bedecked herself with stray feathers, over-large kid gloves, and a scrap of pink satin that had been thrown aside.

  Penelope reluctantly ordered muslin gowns for day, a pair of gloves, and a hat and pelisse. The modiste protested that wardrobe was barely suitable for a servant, that a viscountess must have much, much more.

  “I cannot possibly need more! Perhaps a gown for dinner, that gold crepe is very fine, but I cannot justify more. Lord Trevelyan does not entertain, there is no need. . .”

  Over her protests a basted gown of lilac silk was pinned in place. The mirror revealed a fashionable lady with a neckline scooped low over her breasts, but Penelope could no more imagine herself appearing in public like that than she could imagine doing somersaults before the Regent.

  “I can’t wear it,” she insisted, picking at the pins in an attempt to free herself.

  “Oh, no, my lady, it is perfect for you!” the modiste exclaimed, gesturing for a jeweler waiting nearby.

  The clerk rushed forward with a display of his wares and the modiste chose a splendid display of amethysts and diamonds, placing it around Penelope’s throat to demonstrate the effect. “See? A gown like this is made for royalty. His lordship will be proud of you.”

  “His lordship will think me a very expensive investment should I indulge myself so,” Penelope scoffed. “I would have to have his permission before I could possibly agree.”

  Figuring that would sabotage the saleswoman’s plans, Penelope waved away the necklace. The chances of these people daring to face her husband seemed small. She had already learned enough from the staff to know Trevelyan seldom ventured from the house, that he used his secretary and footmen to carry out his business by letter. Should he walk in here now, in all likelihood these tradespeople would flee in terror.

  She had not reckoned on Alexandra. From her corner the child piped, “Papa is downstairs in the study. Why don’t you ask him? If he gives me a pony, he ought to give you something pretty. Can I have a frock just like that when I grow up?”

  The modiste stepped back triumphantly as Penelope struggled to answer the child’s question. “Of course you may have nice frocks when you grow up, but we need to find you a riding habit right now. I don’t think we should disturb Papa.”

  “Oh, he won’t mind,” Alexandra announced cheerfully. “He sent me up here to see how you were doing. I’ll fetch him if you like.”

  Penelope contemplated the satisfaction of allowing the child to do just that, but it would be unfair to Graham to expose him to these people. There was nothing for it. She would have to ask him just what he intended for her to buy.

  With a sigh of resignation she lifted the lilac skirt, and in stocking feet traipsed off to Graham’s study.

  He rose slowly to his feet when she entered, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “I see Madame has had time to whip something up for you already. She is a clever lady. Come closer and turn around. Let me see.”

  Penelope hadn’t expected this sort of interest in her wardrobe from a man who seldom kept his coat on and who wore only the plainest of cravats and waistcoats. She advanced at his command, spinning around to show the elegant frills in the back, then curtsying wryly.

  “I think it a trifle indecent even for a genie, my lord, but I promised I would ask your opinion. I did not mean to disturb you on so trivial a matter, but your daughter seemed to think you had some interest.”

  As she realized Graham’s gaze lingered overlong on her daring décolletage, she hastily retreated toward the shadows. She cursed herself for not thinking to bring a shawl.

  “I most definitely have an interest. I like to see where my money goes. It seems well spent in this case. It’s a decided improvement over those drab high-necked muslins of yours. Have Madame make up as many as she likes. It might behoove me to come down to dinner occasionally to see what Madame creates, if not just to keep an eye on the seasonings.”

  Penelope had the grace to blush, but before she could reply, a knock on the door interrupted. A footman waited, card tray in hand. Graham glanced at him with impatience.

  “What is it?” His growl was so curt, the servant literally shook in his boots, but his reply caused an even greater roar. “Guy Hamilton? That’s impossible! Have him in. No, wait,” he glanced toward Penelope in her scanty gown and stocking feet. “Tell him to—” But it was already too late.

  A tall, slender gentleman in his early thirties swept through the door, his dark blue eyes seeking and finding Graham. Penelope noted his blond hair did not have the latest fashion of dishevelment, but gleamed smooth above a high brow, intelligent eyes, and well-formed features. His blue superfine fit perfectly, revealing wide shoulders and narrow hips concealed in tight, buff pantaloons. He seemed the epitome of all a London gentleman should be, and he greeted Graham without pity or condescension. She liked him at once.

  “Gray, you damned devil,” the stranger hooted, “I had been told you were all but on your death bed, and look at you! I knew it h
ad to be lies. Now tell me—”

  Graham cut him off, gesturing toward Penelope in the shadows. “Penelope, I would like you to meet an ancient friend of mine, Sir Percival Hamilton.”

  Hamilton’s gaze swiveled to Penelope as Graham concluded, “Guy, I would like you to meet my wife.”

  “Sir Percival, so pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand as steadily as she could. She was unaccustomed to greeting strangers in evening gown and stocking feet.

  “Lady Trevelyan, this is a delight.” He bowed deeply over her hand. “If you had warned me this would be a formal affair, I would have dressed accordingly.”

  “We were discussing fashion, Hamilton. My wife is something of a prude and objects to my taste in gowns. I need not ask your opinion of it.” This last had a wry note as Graham settled back into his desk chair.

  “If you do not mind my saying so, the color compliments your lovely eyes, my lady. For what occasion is it to be worn? I must be certain to obtain an invitation to see the full effect on the male populace of London.”

  Penelope hesitated, glancing to Graham for aid. She had no occasion for such a dress, but surely this man ought to know that? Graham came to her rescue, but not in the manner expected.

  “Penelope has never had a proper coming out. I thought perhaps I ought to invite a few friends over so she might be introduced.” There was a wariness to his voice as he watched Hamilton.

  “A few friends will not suit for a gown like that. You will need to have a crush of some sort to do it justice. No one even knows you’ve married. You could make it a formal announcement party.”

  “You have been away too long, Guy, and the battlefields have obviously addled your brains,” Graham responded, unruffled. “I have no intention of setting myself up as an object of curiosity for half of London. The gown can be saved for another occasion.”

  “I do not need the gown at all, Graham.” Penelope stepped closer to her husband, touching his hand. “It is thoughtful of you to consider it, but I am quite content here. I do not need a come out or fancy gowns. Let me return upstairs and tell them no.”

  “By Jupiter, if you think I will selfishly keep you from your proper society as your father did, you think wrong, my lady. You will have that gown and every other and there will be no further debate!” Graham roared.

  Hamilton stepped in to intervene, apparently fearful such a roar would send a delicate female flying from the room in tears.

  Penelope simply withdrew her hand from her husband’s and inquired, “That is your wish, my lord?”

  To Hamilton’s obvious amazement, Graham’s ravaged face hinted at a smile. “Consider it your command.”

  Penelope wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. “So be it. You shall be bankrupt by the morning.”

  She sailed out of the room, head held high, stockinged feet gliding across the polished floors. Both men watched with admiration until the door closed behind her. Then Guy put an end to his friend’s chuckles by throwing himself into a nearby chair and demanding, “What the hell is going on here?”

  Graham met his gaze coldly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Guy leaned forward, studying his friend’s scarred and damaged face. “I still do not believe it. When I joined that bloody war, I thought you were as good as dead. The physicians said you didn’t have a chance.”

  “And so you went to war so you could die too?” Graham asked irascibly.

  His friend waved away the question. “When I got back a few days ago and made inquiries, everyone agreed you still lingered at the gates to hell. No one has seen you. You haven’t been anywhere. They gave up visiting when you turned them all away. Then I heard about Exbury, and Deauville, and Rochester, and a few others, and I knew, by God, it had to be you. Now tell me you don’t know what I mean.”

  Graham grabbed his stick and rose painfully from the chair, dragging his lame leg to the grate. Balancing the stick in his gloved hand, he reached for a piece of kindling with the other. The effort almost unbalanced him, but he regained his composure and stirred the fire. Soft applause brought a scowl to the mobile part of his face.

  “I heard about one or two of our old club mates. What of the others?” Graham asked, turning around with all trace of the scowl smoothed away.

  “They’re dead or gone, you sapskull, and don’t tell me you don’t know it! Exbury, that weak little snot-nosed bantam joined the cavalry and went off to war and never returned. Deauville discovered a plantation in the Caribbean none even knew he owned and hasn’t been heard of since. Rochester had his throat cut in a rather unsavory gambling hell. Smyth dueled with a phantom and lost. Why in hell am I telling you all this when I know good and well you have savored every detail of their demises?”

  “Hamilton, you always had more imagination than sense. If it eases your mind to believe I am what I once was, I will spare your delusions. Just do not mention them to Penelope. She knows nothing of my past, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

  “Damn it all, Trev, it does not ease my mind! I should have been there with you. It was just as much my fight as yours—”

  Graham held up his hand to his old friend. “No more of it!”

  Hamilton glared rebelliously, but without Graham’s cooperation, no more could be said. In resignation Guy threw himself into a chair and regarded his friend’s patched eye with interest.

  “I remember the time you played Bluebeard at that theater in—where was it? Salisbury? Damn good performance, Trev. If you had not been born with buckets to spend, you would have made a damned fine actor. Pity you grew so much bigger than the rest of us. Hard to disguise someone head and shoulders taller than the rest of the populace,” he mused.

  “Hard to disguise a face as handsome as this one, too,” Graham snorted, unconcerned by his friend’s insinuations. “At least you’ve kept yourself in one piece. What do you intend to do now that Boney has hied himself off to his deserted island?”

  “Settle down. Get married, I fancy.” Guy stretched out his long legs and contemplated the polished toes of his boots with boredom. “’Tis the season, is it not? Think there’s any more out there like your Penelope? I’ve never had a lady greet me before in bare toes and then stick out her tongue at me. Where can I find another such rare gem?”

  Graham made an impolite noise. “Take a fancy to someone else’s wife this time, Hamilton. Make it easier for both of us.”

  Guy lifted his taut face to meet Graham’s harsh gaze. “I can never tell you how sorry I am. I should not even be here, but I could not stay away. Even Boney couldn’t kill me, although, I daresay I walked in front of enough of his bullets. That must mean I have some other purpose in this world than to send up Spanish flowers, don’t you agree?”

  The harshness fled his face and a note of regret tinged Graham’s reply. “You’re a damned fool, I agree, but you are not the only one. Brandy?” He reached for his decanter.

  Later that evening, Graham startled Penelope by appearing in her doorway while she stared in dismay at the profusion of drawings and fabrics the modiste had left behind. She had never seen such extravagance in her life, and Graham’s appearance provided distraction, if not relief.

  “This is sinful. I cannot possibly wear all these, Graham. What does one do with these things?” She picked up a useless frill of a hat that balanced precariously between her chignon and her forehead, a sweeping feather sprouting from its brim to tickle her eye.

  Graham limped into the room to inspect the object of her disdain. “I think you are supposed to wear some of those silly curls along here.” He drew a line along her temple. “Then do something horrible like chopping all that lovely hair so you can wear it like so.” He moved the hat back to perch more precariously at the back of her head. He surveyed the result. “But I recommend throwing it away altogether.”

  Penelope flung the offending article across the room. “Thank you. Now if we could equally dispose of the remainder of this extravagance, I’m certain there is some po
or soul out there who could better use the money than your Madame Whatever-her-name-is.”

  Graham leaned against the bed and regarded his wife with amusement. “Madame is so well-known that she need only be called Madame for anyone to know of whom you speak. Other women would give their firstborn sons in exchange for just one of those gowns you so casually scorn. Do not let your opinion get about or you shall be condemned as the same sort of freak as I.”

  “They shall do that in any case. You saw Mr. Hamilton’s reaction to my provincial ways. I trust you did not have your heart set on a wife who set the standards for the haut ton.” Penelope swept aside a mountain of delicate lingerie and curled up on the brocade chair much as Alexandra had done the day before.

  “For Alexandra’s sake, you must have some acquaintance with society, and it wasn’t your provincial ways that attracted Guy’s notice. You have made your first conquest, my dear, although I recommend you do not take it too seriously. He tends to fall in love with any woman who bears his company for more than two minutes.” He watched for her reaction.

  “He did not strike me as being quite that foolish.” Penelope returned her husband’s gaze with equanimity, wondering where this conversation led. She had already learned her husband was not given to idle talk.

  “Then, you will not object if he acts as host in my place for the dinner I intend to give in your honor? Admittedly it is an awkward situation, but I cannot think of a better way. If my sister would ever come to town, that would be more appropriate, but she seems content where she is.”

  Penelope fought her dismay. “You would have me attend my first social occasion on the arm of a man I barely know? Oh, surely Graham, if I must be launched, it could be in the company of just a few of your close friends. I would be much more comfortable with you at my side.”

  His brow went up in genuine surprise. “Would you? What an odd sort of person you are, Lady Trevelyan. I should terrify the company and leave them with no stomach for their dinners. No, it will be better my way. If we have the dinner here, I will not be far away. There should be no trouble over it. Hamilton is a good man. He can be trusted.”