A Lady's Dilemma Or The Dandy and Lady Penelope Read online

  “I hate to see Lady Penelope tied to that boor,” the Dowager Duchess whispered softly, leaning in toward Max. Then her eyes twinkled. “Where did you find that color pink?”

  Dinner was a tedious affair. From where Max sat between two silly debutantes, he saw Penelope seated across from him being monopolized by Bynes during most of the meal. The few times their eyes met, it saddened him that she would quickly turn away, almost as if she feared . . . . What? That Bynes might catch her looking at him?

  Whatever she feared, he planned to find out before the evening was over.

  ~~~~~

  Penelope was more than happy to leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars and retire with the other ladies to the drawing room. As much as she’d been looking forward to the evening, she now dreaded another encounter with Lord Aldwyn. She couldn’t believe how her heart fluttered when he smiled at her. She was engaged to Victor, but never did her heart swell when he smiled at her--not even when he kissed her. She wondered if she was doomed to a marriage of convenience.

  As the ladies drank tea and chatted, Penelope decided to take a closer look at the paintings that adorned the drawing room’s walls. Viewing the landscapes and hunting scenes brought to mind the attention Victor had shown her throughout the dinner. He’d been thoughtful of her needs and entertained her with stories of his youth spent at Newton Hall in Suffolk, climbing orchard trees, swimming in ponds, and racing horses through the countryside. When she’d glanced across the table at Aldwyn, Victor had reclaimed her attention almost as if he’d been jealous.

  “Much of your country is not so different than France,” Claudine Arnaud said from behind Penelope.

  Penelope turned and noted how the Frenchwoman’s colorless lips pressed tightly together emphasized her sharp features, a narrow nose and pointed chin. She was thin with pale almost pasty skin and taller than Penelope.

  “Do you miss your country?” Penelope asked.

  The quick shake of her head did not dislodge a single strand of the mousy hair pulled back in a tight bun. “Mais non, for Napoleon has taken everything from us. That is why Monsieur Arnaud is never home. He must repair our losses. You, mademoiselle, are fortunate,” Claudine said with a smug smile compressing her lips. “You have nothing to worry about, betrothed to a man who will one day become a viscount.”

  Considering what this woman must have endured at the hands of her own countrymen, Penelope said softly, “Yes, I am sure you are right.” She saw the Dowager Duchess of Blackmoor signal to her and excused herself to join Aldwyn’s grandmother on a red velvet settee.

  “Your mother tells me Maxwell took you out for a spin in the Park,” the Dowager Duchess said and then chuckled. “Delightful young man, though his Grand Tour has quite changed him.”

  “Indeed,” Penelope said, “I enjoyed the new curricle and gray team.”

  “He came by for tea in that outlandish outfit. Not yellow, he corrected me, but saffron. Did you like it?” The Dowager’s smile conveyed her interest in Penelope’s answer was more than mere curiosity.

  “I thought he looked quite dashing,” Penelope replied and watched the Dowager’s smile broaden.

  “How fortunate, my dear, as Maxwell is not one to disappoint anyone.” She patted Penelope’s arm and rose to join Lady Donagail, leaving Penelope to wonder what Aldwyn’s grandmother meant by that cryptic remark.

  ~~~~~

  It wasn’t until the men joined the ladies after dinner that Max found an opportunity to speak with Penelope. While Bynes was busy flirting with one of the debutantes, Max took a chair beside hers and brushed a minuscule piece of lint from his arm. “What do you think of my jacket?”

  “Are you angling for a compliment, my lord?” Penelope’s light laugh sent tingles up his spine. “Actually, I fear several ladies are avidly eyeing it.”

  “Yes, but it’s your opinion, not theirs, that I’m most interested in.”

  Her crystal blue eyes lit up as she leaned closer toward him. “I do like it, though pink is not my best color.”

  “Never say so, for you, my dear, could wear any color. And your eyes--” Max stopped, suddenly realizing he’d like nothing better than to stare into her eyes all night.

  “Yes?” she prompted, just as Max spotted the Arnauds bidding the Marquess good night. He needed to latch onto Arnaud tonight to further indebt himself to the Frenchman. Jumping up, he said, “Pray, pardon me, Lady Pen, but Monsieur Arnaud’s leaving, and I’ve yet to speak with him tonight.” He bowed over her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow?” She looked confused.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Max watched Arnaud and his wife heading for the drawing room’s door. “Vauxhall Gardens.”

  “Oh, yes,” Penelope replied as Max dropped her hand and quickly made his adieux to his hosts.

  Forgetting Fenton’s admonition to never rush, Max grabbed his hat and gloves from the butler, scurried out the front door, and down the steps. Pierre Arnaud was just getting into a coach when Max called out to him. “Monsieur Arnaud, are you headed for Mrs. Doodles later?”

  Arnaud glanced inside the carriage, then stepped back toward Max. “I hadn’t thought to, but it could be arranged. Do you plan to go?”

  “I’d like to have a chance to recoup some of my losses,” Max said meaningfully.

  “Very well, I’ll come around later.”

  As Arnaud turned to get into the carriage, Max said, “May I offer you a lift now?” In the weak light offered by the flambeaux by the front door, Max watched Arnaud as he considered the offer.

  Finally, nodding his head, Arnaud spoke first to his wife, then to the driver of the hired coach before closing the coach’s door and joining Max on the walkway to await his crested carriage.

  Chapter 5

  Three hours later, sitting in a private room at Mrs. Doodles Gentleman’s Club, Max looked around for the umpteenth time that evening at the expensive and lavish furnishings. Dark wood wainscoting covered the lower half of the red and white striped papered walls. Red leather covered the chairs and, of course, thick red velvet drapes trimmed with long black fringe adorned the windows.

  Stifling a yawn behind his hand, Max gazed the dwindling pile of chips at his elbow. He figured he’d lost close to a thousand pounds, most of it to Pierre Arnaud. And he’d had to work deuce hard to do it, for it seemed Lady Luck had been favoring him tonight.

  “Another hand?” Arnaud asked, drawing in the cards to shuffle them.

  Max shook his head. “It doesn’t look like my luck will change. I’ve lost enough for one night.” He pushed away from the table and stood up. “Care for a lift home, Arnaud?”

  The Frenchman gathered his chips and vouchers and stuffed them in a pocket. “Since I came with you, I’ll go with you. Gentlemen,” he said, nodding his head to the other players at their table.

  Leading the way out of the small, expensively but ostentatiously furnished room, Max opened the door to raucous laughter. Mixed with body and cigar odors, a dense smoky haze hung in the air.

  Max wrinkled his nose with disgust. “What is that odor?” He pulled out a white linen handkerchief, which he’d had Fenton heavily scent with perfume and covered his nose with it.

  “What are you about?” Arnaud asked, pulling away from Max.

  “Can’t you smell it?” Max asked, waving the heavily scented linen around. “What odiferous bodies! I must have something pleasant to inhale to defuse the odor.”

  Arnaud sneezed. “Put that thing away, you fool!” He sneezed again. “I’m allergic to perfumes. Put it away!”

  Max snorted. “If you insist,” he said, waving the hanky about his face and sniffing the air before stuffing it inside his coat. “But I’ll have to bathe the moment I get home. I won’t be able to sleep with these odors clinging to me.”

  Retrieving their hats and coats, Max was soon seated in his coach across from Arnaud. The Frenchman was still sneezing but, in between sneezes, managed to question Max.


  “You’ve signed a number of vowels lately.”

  Max gave a disgruntled laugh.

  “You are aware of what you owe me?” Arnaud asked in a soft yet menacing voice.

  Max let the silence stretch for a good minute before he said, “Not a clue.”

  “After tonight’s losses, three thousand pounds,” Arnaud answered.

  “Hmmm, I hadn’t realized it was that much.”

  Silence loomed again until Arnaud broke it. “How do you plan to make good on you debts, my lord?”

  Max let out a labored sigh. “At the moment, that is a problem, for, you see, I don’t have the ready and won’t have until quarter day, and that’s not for another two months.”

  “But I thought you owned an estate?” Arnaud said with asperity.

  “In name only, as I don’t get it until my father dies,” Max replied, hoping that Arnaud had not done his homework. The truth was Sowerby Manor had already been deeded over to him, and while he’d been on the continent, the Duke had his bailiff oversee it.

  “I have immediate need for the money,” Arnaud said crossly.

  “You’ll have to give me time,” Max said defensively.

  “That is not good enough,” Arnaud reproached.

  Max listened to the clattering of the carriage wheels over the cobblestones for a full minute before replying in a placating tone. “I’ll ask the Duke to advance me funds.”

  “He’ll do so willingly?” asked Arnaud.

  Max grunted. “Hardly. He’ll carp on and on about duty, responsibility and the like.”

  In the confines of the dark coach, Arnaud leaned forward. “There is another way you could redeem your vowels.”

  Max sat up straighter. “I’m all ears, monsieur.”

  “There is a document . . . of a sensitive nature, you understand, that I need to get.” Arnaud had lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “It has become increasingly more dangerous for me to be seen associating with a particular gentleman. You, however, could get the document and then give it to me.”

  “Are you asking me to spy?” Max said, sounding astonished.

  “No, no, not spy,” Arnaud quickly said. “Only to pick up the document from a dropoff point.”

  “But you said this document was of a sensitive nature,” Max persisted.

  Moonlight streaming in through the window allowed Max to see Arnaud shrug his shoulders. “Not so much, and remember, there is the question of honoring your debts.”

  “If I retrieve this document for you, my debt’ll be paid, all of it,” Max demanded.

  “Oui.”

  “When would I do this and where?” Max asked cautiously.

  “Tomorrow night at Vauxhall Gardens.”

  ~~~~~

  Disgustedly, the Duke of Blackmoor shook his head. “How can this happen when I’ve had no report of any missing papers?”

  “More to the point,” Max said, “how can we make a switch?”

  “It’s easy enough to make up a pouch with false papers,” Blackmoor answered.

  Max nodded. “I’ll wear something that will allow me to hide them unobtrusively.”

  “Dash it all, Maxwell,” Blackmoor said under his breath, “just what have you about, anyway?”

  Striking a pose, then extending one leg clad in black and white striped pantaloons, Max chuckled. “Doing just as you ordered.”

  “You look like a damn bumblebee.” Blackmoor shook his head in disgust. “You’re a disgrace to the family name. Half my friends are laughing at you, while the other half gives me pitying looks.”

  “Then my ruse has been convincing,” Max said, brushing the front of his canary yellow jacket with a hand covered in rings.

  Blackmoor frowned and leveled his eyes on Max. “Perhaps you could be a little less so? Your brother will be here by the end of the week, and I doubt he’ll find any of this amusing.”

  “Julian’s leaving Meghan at Harrowden?”

  “He’ll only be here a few days,” Blackmoor said. “Meghan isn’t due to deliver for several weeks yet.”

  “Well, it’ll be good to see him.” Max fastidiously shot his ruffled lace cuffs. “No doubt, he’ll have plenty to say about my new look?”

  Blackmoor shook his head. “Where did you learn such nonsense?”

  Max straightened and pulled back his shoulders. “From Wellington. He’s a duce fine dresser that many officers call him The Beau.” Max grinned. “Of course, he’s much more subdued about his style.”

  Blackmoor frowned. “Exactly what did you do for the Iron Duke?”

  “Vous ne savez pas?” Max asked in perfect French.

  “No, I don’t know,” Blackmoor retorted.

  “I befriended French aristocrats who could get me into Napoleon’s court. Then, I’d relay to Wellington what I heard and send back drawings of what and who I saw.”

  “Your mother insisted I get you that drawing master. Guess it paid off,” Blackmoor said, more to himself. He gestured to Max’s attire. “But this, this is too much. And that pink coat last night--”

  “Leave the boy alone, Blackmoor,” the Dowager Duchess said as she sailed into the study. Taking a seat on the settee, she patted the cushion next to her as she looked at Max. “You never told me where you got that lovely pink velvet material, Maxwell. I’ve already seen my modiste and told her what I want.” She chuckled mischievously. “All my friends will be agog when they see me in it.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” Blackmoor growled.

  “Why ever not? The boy has an obvious talent, an eye for color. But that’s not why I want to talk to you,” the Dowager Duchess said, turning to Max. “Have you given any thought to dear Lady Penelope’s plight?”

  “Her plight?” Max asked cautiously. He had an uncomfortable inkling that his Grandmère planned to play matchmaker.

  “You know I detest that boorish Victor Bynes,” she replied. “He most decidedly is not for someone as sweet as Lady Penelope,” she said, raising one delicately arched, gray eyebrow.

  If his grandmother was hoping he’d take the hint, she was way off the mark, thought Max. “She’s engaged to the blighter, Grandmère.”

  The Dowager sighed. “Yes, and what a shame.” Then she brightened. “Will she be at Vauxhall tonight?”

  Max nodded. “Lord and Lady Lenwood are also attending.”

  “Do give them my regards,” she said. “At my age, I cannot go out and about every night.”

  Max took her hand and kissed her cheek. “I will miss you,” he said, ignoring her tsk-tsk.

  “Your numbers will be off now,” Blackmoor said, as Max was taking his leave. “It might work better if I’m not about. Maybe Arnaud or his accomplice will slip up. I’ll send a note to Lenwood and tell him to keep a sharp eye out for anything suspicious.”

  ~~~~~

  For his guests, Max had reserved one of the large supper boxes that lined the Grand Walk of Vauxhall Gardens. Since his bachelor quarters offered little room for him to entertain, he was solicitous that his guests to be well tended. Thus, he and Edric Kingston arrived just before seven, and soon after the Marquess and Lady Stanburke, their daughter Anne and Lydia Heaton arrived. While conversing with the Stanburkes and Lydia, Max watched as his friend bestowed a kiss on Lady Anne’s hand. But instead of releasing it, Edric tucked it in the crook of his arm, drawing her closer to him as he guided the young woman to the table and placed her next to his seat.

  When the Earl of Lenwood’s party arrived with Victor Bynes escorting Penelope, Max forced a smile as he observed Bynes’s feigned protective behavior toward Penelope. She looked particularly fetching in a celestial blue silk gown hemmed with three tiers of lace flounces. The scooped neckline dipped demurely, exposing a tantalizing view of her creamy skin. As if she felt his scrutiny, she slanted her eyes toward him and drew the cream Grecian scarf more closely around her shoulders. She gave him a small, endearing smile that seemed to pierce his heart before Bynes required her attention--again.

  How
he’d like to plant that blighter a facer!

  But Max knew the best he could hope for was to get a moment alone with Lady Pen a little later. Maybe after supper, when couples strolled down the serpentine tree-lined lanes.

  His attention was drawn to his last guests. Pierre Arnaud appeared eager to speak with Max while his wife, Claudine, followed several steps behind him.

  “Ah, my lord,” Arnaud greeted him, “what a pleasure it is to join you here.” He looked around surreptitiously before continuing sotto voce. “You are prepared for tonight, oui?”

  Max nodded. “Just tell me where,” he said with a note of resignation.

  Arnaud patted Max’s shoulder. “Soon, soon,” he said, and then turned to Lord Stanburke.

  The orchestra struck up a lively dance, and Max watched Edric escort Lady Anne out of the supper box to take their places in a set forming in front of the large orchestra that occupied the second story of the orchestra building. He decided to ask Penelope, but as his eyes roamed over his guests, he saw Lydia Heaton looking expectantly at him. Heaving an inward sigh as he returned her smile, he made his way over to request a dance--and have her talk his ear off.

  Dinner was served at nine when night fell and the gardens’ walkways were lit with thousands of glass lamps hung in the trees. With much laughter and gaiety, Max’s guests sat down and consumed Vauxhall’s ham, sliced as thin as paper, salad, cheeses, cold meats, tarts, puddings, and plenty of arrack punch, made from an Indian liqueur and rum.

  When everyone had finished eating, several of Max’s guests rose to stroll about the gardens, to see and to be seen. When Victor Bynes exited the supper box with Lydia Heaton on his arm, Max invited Penelope and Lady Anne to stroll the Grand Walk, the wide avenue lined with tall elms.

  “I am so pleased that you will be attending my ball?” Lady Anne said to Max.

  “Nothing could keep me away,” he said. “Might I know the color of your gown?”

  Lady Anne giggled. “Why, my lord, do you wish to give me advice on the trimmings?”

  Max studied the pretty young woman for a moment. “Would you heed my advice?”