Penny's Yuletide Wish: A Regency Romance Novella (Branches of Love Book 7) Page 2

  “Then I suggested the ball as a wonderful place to find you a few friends,” Aunt Elizabeth added. “Within moments of arriving here, I was informed that everyone who is anyone goes to the ball.”

  Penny was not anyone. Not at all. Her parents had held a respectable place in Annesbury, but they had leased the estate where they lived and did not have an enormous fortune to leave their children upon their sudden, unexpected deaths.

  The way her aunt’s eyes narrowed and took on an especially troubling gleam told Penny there was the possibility of matchmaking at this ball as well. It took a great deal of willpower to not comment upon her aunt’s intentions. Aunt Elizabeth only wanted to see Penny happy, of course, and so had not yet admitted defeat. But at twenty-four years old, Penny had quite given up on making an advantageous match. She would rather find happiness and love than convenience, and she could support herself in the interim.

  But she put those concerns away for the moment, thinking instead of the ball. Hopefully, Robert would ask her to dance.

  Chapter 3

  Christmas morning, Robert arrived at his brother’s home on horseback. He’d ridden rather than attempt to make his way by carriage. He’d had his finer clothes for the evening sent over the day previous to the Earl of Annesbury’s home, so luggage was of no concern. The ride had been easy and fairly pleasant as he rode in naught more but a light drizzle, a drizzle his overcoat and hat protected him from well enough. Yet he remained agitated.

  It seemed that his brother had noticed. Samuel, seated before the parlor’s great fire with a pipe in one hand and a book in the other, looked over the cover at Robert. “Something troubling you, Rob?”

  “No,” Robert answered hastily, straightening his waistcoat. “What makes you ask such a thing?”

  Their youngest brother, home for a holiday from Harrow, piped up from his chair and desk where he was sharpening a pen in a questionable manner. “You keep going to the window, looking out, and sighing as though there are weighty matters on your mind.”

  Robert stepped away from the window. “I apologize. I did not realize I was behaving so distractedly.”

  The book in Samuel’s hand snapped when he closed it abruptly. “Now he apologizes for acting strangely yet resists explaining matters to us. You can see, there, by the set of his shoulders that he has no intention of sharing his woes.”

  “Ah, I do see.” Peter nodded in a manner more fitting to an aged, wise man than a seventeen-year-old schoolboy. “We ought to torture it out of him, obviously.”

  Though the matter on his mind weighed no less heavily, Robert laughed and folded his arms across his chest. “I should like to see you try, pup.” Quick as a wink, Samuel’s book was gone and he’d launched himself at Robert, wresting his arms behind his back. “The pup has a guard dog, brother.”

  Robert laughed more than he struggled. It had been ages since the three of them had engaged in any kind of tussle. It had felt wrong, since their father’s death, to have moments of lightness between them.

  Peter came forward with his feathered pen and waved it beneath Robert’s nose. “Now we shall torture you in truth, Robert.” He let the tip of the feather brush Robert’s chin. “What has you so out of sorts this fine Christmas morning? The service was short.” He tickled Robert’s nose, making it itch. Robert stood firm, refusing to fight his way free. Withstanding the feather would not be difficult.

  “I am not out of sorts.”

  “Another denial,” Samuel said jovially. “Give him what for, Peter.”

  Robert’s nose was subjected to a fierce attack of feather thrusts, causing it to itch, wrinkle, and then—

  His sneeze shook the clock on the mantel, he was certain of it. Peter had wisely removed himself from the trajectory of the blast, and Samuel laughed harder. “Still susceptible, I see. After all these years.” He released Robert’s arms in time for Robert to emit a second sneeze, as loud and large as the first.

  “That will teach him to withhold information from us.” Peter’s words were well-colored by smug amusement. “Now you must tell. Those are the rules.”

  Those blasted childhood rules. The boys had invented them when Peter had barely come out of leading strings. There was always a forfeit to be paid if one of them succumbed to the childhood tortures they devised, whether it was arm-wrestling, a coin toss, or the feather torture. The rules held.

  Robert pulled his waistcoat and then the sleeves of his coat back into place. “You are both terribly wanting in propriety and maturity. I want that made clear.” When Peter and Samuel only stared at him, wearing nearly identical smirks, Robert released an aggravated groan. “Very well. If you must know, I met with an old friend yesterday. By chance. It has left me distracted.”

  “An old friend?” Samuel asked. “Pray tell, what is this old friend’s name?”

  For an instant, Robert considered refusing to tell, but Peter still twirled the offensive feather in his fingers. He answered with resignation. “Penelope Clark.”

  Peter’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, but Samuel rocked backward on his heels. “Ah. Frederick’s sister.” Frederick was the second son of the Clark family, and the one who had been of an age with Samuel when their family lived at the neighboring estate.

  “I still do not understand,” Peter complained, lowering his hands to his side. “A girl?”

  “A woman by now, I should suspect,” Samuel said, sounding as though he had grown thoughtful. “In bygone days, Miss Clark and Robert were thick as thieves. You must remember her, though it was seven years ago her family left.”

  The boy apparently considered this a moment. “Was she that girl Robert always ran about with during the summer? Penelope—we called her Penny. Yes.” Recognition dawned on his face, as did a big grin. “I remember now.”

  Robert made his way back to the safety of his armchair and dropped in it heavily. “Her aunt has a friend in the neighborhood. Penny—Miss Clark, I should say, is visiting the Brodys with her aunt.”

  “And a visiting friend has you staring at the window like you are contemplating the finer points of philosophy,” Peter said, sounding disgusted.

  Samuel laughed, shortly. “I imagine it’s more the poets Rob is considering at the moment.”

  “I haven’t any idea what you mean.” Robert let his head fall back against the chair, directing his gaze to the ceiling rather than to his brothers. “I was merely thinking upon all that she must have gone through since the loss of her parents.” Perhaps that comment would sober his brothers’ wit.

  “Interesting.” Samuel walked back to his corner of the couch and took up his pipe before taking his seat. “I would not think such a morose thought would cause you agitation. Tell us more about your meeting with Miss Clark, Robert. How is she, after all these years? Did she look well?”

  “She appeared to be in excellent health,” Robert answered right off, though the memory of her brightened eyes and pink-lipped smile made heat rise into his ears. “And she seemed happy.” Radiant, actually. She had seemed radiant.

  Samuel puffed on his pipe another moment, and Robert could see Samuel’s speculative look from the corner of his eye. “Happy. I suppose that is good news. Did you speak to her long or only in passing?”

  “In passing.” Robert sat up in his chair and picked up a book on the nearby table, not even paying attention to the title before opening it to a page somewhere near the middle. “We hardly spoke at all, in fact.”

  “But you spoke enough to determine she is yet unmarried?” Samuel asked.

  Despite his attempt to remain calm, Robert’s gaze flew from the page. “She is—” But he had not asked. She had not revealed anything about her marital state. Would she not have corrected his use of her Christian name if she were married? She would not go about the countryside making extended visits with her aunt if she had a husband of her own to look after. At least, he did not think she would.

  “You do not know,” Peter breathed, sounding somewhat awed. “Oh. I
begin to understand the situation.”

  Then Peter understood more than Robert. “There is no situation.” Robert made a show of turning the page, though he had not read a single word of the first.

  “You like her,” Peter said. “He does, doesn’t he?” The boy looked to their eldest brother for confirmation.

  Robert said “no” at the same moment Samuel said, “It seems so.”

  Hurriedly, Robert amended his statement. “Of course, I like her in terms of friendship. We had always been friends until she left to live with her relatives.”

  Peter and Samuel exchanged a knowing glance. Samuel spoke slowly. “How long will she be in the area?”

  “A fortnight.” Robert turned another page and tried to indicate by his posture alone that the subject had closed.

  “Ah. Then we must pay Miss Clark and her esteemed aunt a call. Or perhaps they will be at the ball this evening.”

  Though he had to bite his tongue to keep from answering, Robert remained silent on the matter. He tried to read something from the book in his hands and realized he had somehow found a slim volume of poetry, almost confirming Samuel’s earlier words about his preoccupation with the poets. Robert gritted his teeth together.

  The memory of Penny’s gold-flecked eyes, wide with surprise, surfaced once more. If she had married, he could not think of her with the affection stirring in his breast, and he ought not think of her at all until he knew. Not that it mattered. Even if Penny had never married, even were she free to flirt, court, and wed a man, he could not count himself worthy of her.

  Had he a career in the law, property of his own, there would be a chance. A land steward had no right to wed a woman such as she, someone who deserved all the comforts and securities of a large income and a husband who did not have to work for another to provide a living to her.

  It did not matter that his heart leaped upon recognizing her. At least she did not know how deep his feelings ran, that the last time he saw her before returning to school, before she lost her family, he had made up his mind to one day wed her.

  A boy’s love was not the same as a man’s. He had to put it behind him. They were, and could only ever be, friends.

  Chapter 4

  In her favorite red silk dress, with a sprig of holly tucked artfully in her hair and white pearls taking the place of mistletoe, Penny stared at her reflection with narrowed eyes. The last time she wore her gown to a ball, she had walked with confidence and never thought her looks wanting. Some gowns made her feel pretty, but this one made her believe that someday there might be someone who found her beautiful.

  For the first time, she found herself eager to see the reaction of a gentleman when he spied her in the red dress. Robert’s opinion on her appearance had started to matter the year she turned fifteen. She had changed the way she wore her hair, took more care in choosing the design of her clothing, all with an eye for trying to please her dearest friend. Of course, he had been oblivious, as most boys of that age would be.

  But they were not children anymore.

  “Penny?” her aunt called from the corridor. “Are you ready, my dear? The carriage is at the door.”

  Penny worried her bottom lip between her teeth, causing it to darken. She swept up her black cloak and fan, then hurried out of the room. “I am coming, Aunt.” She sailed down the staircase, her stomach twisting and turning with more than excitement.

  Her aunt and uncle stood at the bottom of the stairs, Mr. and Mrs. Brody with them, and the Brody’s eldest daughter, Miss Alice Brody, already wrapped in her royal purple cloak.

  “Oh, Miss Clark,” the Brody’s daughter exclaimed, her blue eyes sweeping over Penny’s gown. “You are absolutely stunning. I wish I were permitted to wear red.”

  Penny hesitated on the last step. Many considered red a bold color, not meant for young, unmarried women. It was not innocent, maidenly, or modest to draw attention in such a way. Yet she was not a girl at her coming-out ball. At her age, Penny could wear what she wished. The red suited her. She made up her mind. “I thank you, Miss Brody. I confess, this gown’s color gives me great confidence in my enjoyment of the evening.”

  “A seventeen-year-old girl ought to content herself with a white gown and gold sash,” Mrs. Brody said to her daughter with a raised eyebrow. Then she turned to Penny, and her gentle smile returned. “You look lovely, my dear.”

  “I agree. The holly was a perfect touch.” Aunt Elizabeth studied the gown another moment, then took Penny’s cloak to help wrap it around her shoulders. “We must go, else we will be late.”

  The butler opened the front door, and the six of them flitted down the steps. Straw had been scattered from the last step of the house to the carriage and all the way down the drive to help them make it to the road without getting stuck in the mud. It had been a near thing in order to attend services that afternoon. The local vicar held morning and afternoon services on Christmas Day, with most choosing to attend one or the other. The Brodys had preferred the afternoon. Apparently, Mr. Robert Ellsworth and his brothers had preferred the morning.

  Not that Penny had spent a great deal of time looking for them. The Brodys sat near the front of the throng, and to look for Robert would have meant stretching her neck about like a goose to look over her shoulder.

  The sky hung heavily above them, black with night and clouds, but the coach had its lanterns and a servant rode ahead with a lamp. They were safe enough, even in the darkness. The earl’s estate was not far.

  “I was too young to attend any of the balls when we left Annesbury,” Penny remarked, not to anyone in particular. “I have heard they are magical.”

  “Indeed, they are. And there is always something that happens to surprise us. One year, it was the earl himself announcing my brother’s engagement to his wife,” Mrs. Brody said, following the remark with a laugh.

  Mr. Brody laughed, obviously at the memory of that evening. “Betrothals do tend to be announced at these events. Last year it was Mr. Horace Devon to the vicar’s daughter, Margaret Ames. Miss Clark, were you at all acquainted with Miss Ames? I believe you two are of an age.”

  “She was a few years younger than me,” Penny admitted. “And the vicarage was on the other side of the village from where I lived.” Which was one of the reasons why she was not overly familiar with the Devon family. She hoped the younger Devon proved a kinder employer than his father. It would pain her to learn Robert worked for a less than amiable man.

  “It would be so romantic to be present for a wedding announcement,” Miss Brody murmured, her sigh slipping through the darkness to underscore the words.

  A long time ago, Penny had thought the same. But her parents died in November the year she turned seventeen, the year she would have attended the ball for the first time, and there were no grand gatherings for her for a year afterward. By the time she went to her first ball, it was in her uncle’s village, and she had been too shy to attract the attention of gentlemen wishing to dance.

  After she grew out of her shyness, Penny typically did not see the romance of such an evening. It was all well and good to dress in one’s finest clothes and spend hours speaking to friends, enjoying refreshments and the company of one’s neighbors, but the gentleman had never quite appealed to her. Possibly only because she did not quite appeal to them. No connections. No fortune. Not enough beauty to attract attention through looks alone.

  Yet that night, knowing she would be among the people of Annesbury, and that she would see Robert in particular, that practicality had abandoned her and left excitement in its place.

  When their carriage pulled up to the wide, stone steps leading to the main doors of the earl’s grand house, Penny’s heart thrummed rapidly against her chest. Would Robert have arrived already? There were dozens of carriages along the walk, pulled to the side, their drivers chatting and caring for horses. Robert might be present, inside, perhaps watching for her arrival. She entered the large house, and a servant took her cloak before ushering the lad
ies in their party to the retiring room where maids waited to assist with fixing hair arrangements and other women exchanged half-boots for dancing slippers. Penny paced from the door to where her aunt and Mrs. Brody sat, taking their time, conversing with another woman Penny did not immediately recognize.

  “Penelope, dear.” Her aunt took Penny’s hand. “Do you remember Mrs. Thomas Gilbert? She is Mrs. Brody’s sister-in-law.”

  “Oh.” Recognition broke upon her and Penny made a hasty curtsy. “Mrs. Gilbert, your family raises horses.”

  “Among other things,” Mrs. Gilbert said, her eyes dancing with good humor. “At the moment, I feel more as though I am raising a pack of wild animals.”

  Before Penny could voice her confusion, Mrs. Brody laughed. “Christine, you cannot call three sons a pack of wild animals. I have seven children, as wild as yours, but they are all angels, no matter what mischief they might stir up.”

  Mrs. Gilbert huffed, but her smile was genuine enough in the very next instant. “You say angels, I say wild creatures. I doubt Miss Clark wishes to hear this old argument.” She gave her attention back to Penny. “It is good to see you again, Miss Clark. Might I ask after your brothers?”

  Though Penny wanted nothing more than to escape the retiring room and have a look around for a certain gentleman, she answered Mrs. Gilbert’s pointed question, and then another, and another, until half a dozen of them had been posed to her and each answered as politely as she knew how. It seemed to take ages for Mrs. Gilbert to release her, and even then, she exchanged still more pleasantries with Mrs. Brody and Aunt Elizabeth. Penny’s dancing slippers nearly tapped impatiently of their own accord.

  At last her aunt stood and announced she was ready. Penny took her arm and the two of them followed Mrs. Brody. Uncle Matthew and Mr. Brody had waited to escort their wives up the stairs and to the receiving line. The earl and his countess greeted all their guests together, and a rather handsome young man stood at the countess’s side.