“That is disappointing.” Lucy took a sip of the brandy Penelope had brought her. “I’ve always wondered what a gentlemen’s club looks like, and I don’t know why. I suppose because women aren’t allowed.”
“Eventually we will be.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely. A woman’s money spends the same as a man’s.”
“Mine never seems to. Always spends too quick.”
“I wish you would let me help you invest some of it.” She suspected people would be incredibly surprised to discover how much of the public works were funded by women investors.
“Investing is too much like gambling. It doesn’t always pay off. M’dad liked to gamble, but he never had any luck at it. I could be the same. Just giving my hard-earned coins away, really.”
They’d had the discussion a couple of times. Investing was one of the few avenues open to women that allowed them an opportunity to be financially independent. Lucy was skeptical even about the steadfast investments in which widows would place their inheritance to guarantee themselves a steady yearly income. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I can help ensure you’re not just giving it away.”
“Did the duke compliment your hair?”
Taking a sip of her own brandy, Penelope felt the heat suffuse her cheeks as they shifted the conversation to the topics Lucy preferred to discuss. “He doesn’t notice things like that.” Although it had surprised, but pleased, her that he’d commented on her gown. When she was younger, she’d drawn the attention of men, had experienced lascivious gazes and, on a couple of occasions, even wandering hands. She’d learned it was best not to dress provocatively or in any manner that might distract a man from focusing on her words or professionalism. That attitude had served her well as the duke’s secretary.
“Harry certainly liked the look of you,” Lucy said, and Penelope thought she detected a measure of jealousy in her friend’s voice.
“He was being polite. I wouldn’t read too much into his comment.”
“I think he’s rather handsome. Got lovely calves.”
All footmen did. It was a requirement of service. “Are you keen on him?”
Lucy shrugged. “What do you think of the new footman, Gerard?”
She thought what she did with each new employee: Will this be the one to bring me trouble, the one to recognize me, to reveal my past? When she had sought a way to provide for her family years ago, she hadn’t considered how far her choice would extend or that she would never know exactly whom it had reached. It had seemed innocent enough at the time, until she’d discovered she had absolutely no control over the influence of her actions. “Mr. Keating said he came highly recommended.”
Lucy laughed. “I’m not asking your opinion on him as a worker, Penn. Do you fancy him as a man at all?”
“In my position, I don’t think it’s wise to get involved with staff.”
“But would you want to?”
“That’s beside the point.” And if she was to get involved with anyone, she’d rather he be the duke, although she suspected his moral fiber wouldn’t allow him to have any sort of personal relationship with someone in his employ. “And I have Sir Purrcival for company.”
The cat spent much of his time wandering through the kitchen to ensure it remained free of mice, but he was always on hand for a snuggle when she needed it.
“Don’t you ever dream of a gent sweeping you off your feet?”
She gave her friend an indulgent grin. “I’m too practical for such whimsy. I think a love that develops over time would be more reliable.” She’d seen Kingsland when he was out of sorts, when he grew impatient with someone who had not delivered what was promised. He didn’t gloat when successful, didn’t sulk when an investment didn’t go his way. While he might not like them, he saw each failure as an opportunity to learn, so he didn’t repeat the mistake. She was familiar with every aspect of his character, and so it was unlikely he’d managed to fool her into believing he was someone other than who he was. The same couldn’t be said of all the people who had traipsed through her life, which was the reason she never sought out anyone who had known her before she became Penelope Pettypeace.
“I suspect you’re right.” Lucy set her glass aside, drew her legs up, and hugged them tightly to her chest. “But still, that first blush of awareness should steal your breath.”
That had certainly happened the first time Penelope’s gaze had fallen on Kingsland. She’d known little about him before she’d walked into his office, had expected she was answering an advert for an ancient duke, not a young, virile one with goals and ambitions he’d needed help keeping organized. She’d been working for a grocer in the East End, helping him keep track of his inventory in between seeing to customers, but she’d noted he’d begun studying her a little too intently. Then her landlord had taken a sudden interest in where she’d lived before letting a room in his boardinghouse, and she’d known it was best to move on. “How many times have you had your breath stolen, Lucy?”
“Too many to count, and it was lovely every time.” She yawned. “I should probably turn in. Morning comes early.”
As Penelope slid off the bed, Sir Purrcival agilely leapt to the floor. “I should retire as well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When she returned to her room, she settled beneath the covers, stuffed her pillow behind her back, and began reading A Tale of Two Cities. But the pages might as well have been blank for their inability to hold her attention. Her mind kept drifting to her dinner at the club and everything she hadn’t shared with Lucy.
For the tiniest speck of time, when Kingsland’s hand had rested on hers, when he had looked at her as though truly seeing her for the first time, hope had flared within her breast, only to be extinguished when he’d deposited her like a wayward child in the coach so he could enjoy the rest of his evening without her presence intruding upon it. She didn’t delude herself into thinking he was going anywhere other than into the arms of a disreputable woman.
He’d had a restlessness about him, the same edginess that had bombarded her as the carriage had rattled through the streets. Her skin had felt too tight, her lungs too small to draw in all the air she needed. Her body had yearned to be stroked, touched, caressed. The secret spot between her legs had fairly screamed for attention. There, within the confines of that vehicle, after drawing the curtains at the windows, she’d seen to her needs. It hadn’t been easy with the volume of silk the seamstress had used for her skirt, but Penelope had never been one to shy away from a challenge.
Now it was impossible to concentrate because she kept seeing Kingsland pleasuring a woman. No, not a woman. Just as she’d fantasized in the carriage to bring about her quick release, she saw him pleasuring her. Envisioned his mouth trailing along her throat as he emitted little growls of satisfaction. He would loosen her fastenings and kiss the skin that was being slowly, methodically, exposed. He would taste what no man had ever tasted, would—
With a groan, she threw back the covers. “This is ridiculous, Sir Purrcival.” Curled at the foot of the bed, the cat barely opened his eyes. “I shan’t be long.” She snatched up her wrapper and drew it tightly around her. What she needed was Jane Austen. She’d gone too many nights without reading a romantic tale.