Penelope Elmsly reread the brief note her maid had brought her, the writing in the familiar, swirling style of her best friend, Charlotte Holloway.
My Dearest Penelope,
I know that I am such a horrible friend for not having kept you better informed, but there had been such a turn of events, I feel as if I am in a thrilling French novel.
The horrid Richard Howard came to Scotland in order to take me back to England, I was nearly poisoned by a mad maid, and then Richard managed to kidnap me and almost had me forced into marriage before Conner came to the rescue. Father and Abigail were in attendance and have seen Richard’s true form. The tale is too long and convoluted to put into writing, so I will regale you with the full story the moment I see you! But I am pleased to say that I am now to be officially married in the eyes of God, home in England.
Pray, do not be angry with me, for I have taken your advice to heart. I’ve found a husband who adores me and supports my dreams out of love! I’d like to say it was all thanks to you, but my unladylike ways have been quite the hit here. I’ll call on you as soon as I am home so that you can help me plan my wedding.
All my love,
Charlotte
Folding the letter and slipping it into one of her writing desk’s many small drawers, Penelope sighed. Charlotte had fled from England in the dead of night to escape a forced marriage a few months before. She had gone off with a Scottish chieftain named Conner MacLeod, and now they were returning to London to have a grand wedding. While Penelope was more than pleased that her friend had found happiness and love, she couldn’t help but feel a faint pang of disappointment at her own losses in romance.
She had gone through two London seasons without hearing wedding bells in the springs that followed. Men had flocked to take her on carriage rides and sent her flowers, but her parents had never thought any man was good enough for their youngest child and only daughter. So, the seasons came and went while Penelope crept toward spinsterhood, dreaming of a marriage and children that seemed so far away.
Penelope stood, wrapping her fur-lined robe tighter around her middle and went to the window. The last snows of winter were melting, meaning the spring season of weddings was officially upon them. As soon as the orange blossoms bloomed, florists would be flocking to the countryside in order to supply all of London with wedding flowers. She was starting to hate the mere scent of the dainty blooms.
A dozen new gowns had been ordered for her to wear to all the weddings she was to attend. In the pews of the churches she would feel the eyes of society upon her. “Such a pretty girl. Shame,” they would whisper. “I wonder why she isn’t married?” They would titter behind open fans at the grand receptions. “Perhaps she’s used goods!” They would gasp as she left in a carriage alone. The women would all be speculating about why the beautiful heiress Penelope Elmsly could never find herself a husband.
“Dash it all.” She drew her shades shut and rang the bell to summon a maid to help her dress.
She wasn’t sure when Charlotte and Conner would return from Scotland, but she wanted to be sure to get them a spectacular wedding present. Just because she had been unlucky in love didn’t mean she would begrudge her dearest friend a happy life with her husband. To be honest, she was truly happy for Charlotte in all of her good fortune.
Once she was dressed in a forest green velvet gown trimmed in sable fur, she had her hair quickly pinned up and a new hat placed upon her white-gold curls. She admired the velvet and black-feathered confection, which she believed made her cornflower eyes look brighter against her fair skin and rosy cheeks.
She took her purse and called for a carriage to be made ready for her excursion. Her father came down the stairs just at that moment, already dressed to go to work.
“Good morning, darling.” Baron Edmund Elmsly kissed his daughter’s cheek. “And where are you off to today?”
“I’ve had word from Charlotte that she’s returning to England to have her wedding. I was going to go to the shops for a gift.”
The baron pursed his thin lips. “Does her father know of this?”
“Yes, Papa, I’ve already told you. He is in Scotland with her now, and is in full acceptance of their match. Apparently her previous betrothed wasn’t the gem her father thought him to be. I do believe he should be quite pleased as she is marrying into their form of royalty.”
“Very well.” He didn’t make a secret of the fact that he wasn’t altogether thrilled that his daughter was the known associate of a girl who had caused such a commotion. But he had known Charlotte since she was very small and he knew the girls were as close as sisters. Still, he had hoped that Charlotte running off with a Scotsman wouldn’t ruin her chances of finding a good husband and firmly told Penelope so, many times.
“Are you off to work, then?”
“Yes. Shall I call for a carriage?”
Penelope adjusted her hat. “Already done.”
They exited the house together, on their way to the same destination. Edmund Elmsly owned England’s first shopping arcade, The Piccadilly Emporium. It was a large building that sold many of the high society necessities—ribbons, ready-made silk dresses, art, hats, furniture, silver, jewelry, and all other manner of fine merchandise. While business had been slow the past two years, as more and more people imported their goods from France, Edmund had still been able to give his children a top education and prepare a handsome dowry for his beloved daughter.
Penelope watched out the window as the horse drawn carriage made its way down the chilly boulevards toward Piccadilly Road. Happy couples walked arm in arm against the cold and ducked into teashops, their chaperones shadowing them at a safe distance. She turned back to her father, who watched her from his seat before her.
“Darling, are you all right?” Edmund asked.
“I’m all right,” she lied. “I’m just a bit tired.”
“Shall I call for some tea while you shop? You could take it in my office.”
“No, thank you, I won’t be very long.”
He nodded, hands on his walking cane. Penelope had never seen her father without it. Her parents were older when she was born, the surprise child that no one expected but adored nonetheless. Edmund’s cane was made of fine wood, topped by the head of a wolf cast in silver. Years of use had begun to wear the metal smooth. It was oddly comforting to have this ever-present cane in sight. But it was also a sign of her father’s advanced age. Even now, she could see deep lines marring his once relatively smooth face. The same could be said of her mother, Cecily, although Penelope was wiser than to say it out loud.
Cecily, now a grandmother eight times over, was very pleased upon giving birth to a girl after four rowdy boys. She had invested all of her time in molding Penelope into the perfect society lady. As a result, Penelope was poised, well-spoken, educated, and could plan a lovely party to which all of the ton would hope to receive an invitation. However, Cecily, although she did not voice this thought, took it as a reflection on her parenting that her daughter had not yet been married.
What neither parent would admit to was the fact that they could never agree on which suitor could be allowed to marry Penelope. At least that’s what Penelope suspected when each man was sent away. The young heir to a banking fortune cared about his horses too much, so he obviously couldn’t appreciate the jewel that was Penelope. Victor Harmsworth, the son of a decorated general, collected weaponry, so of course he would be a violent husband. Christoph, the owner of London’s newest railway system was already balding, so his genes were most likely contaminated and all of his children would be born ugly and dumb. Penelope was quite sure her parents subconsciously invented these flaws in order to keep her home as long as possible.
When the carriage pulled to a stop before The Piccadilly Emporium, Edmund exited first, helping Penelope safely to the ground. “Will you be all right on your own?”
“Yes, Papa. I shouldn’t be long at all.”
He turned to the carriage driver. “Wait here for my daughter to finish her errands.”
“Yes sir.” The driver tipped his hat.
Edmund led the way into the shop, nodding at his employees as they passed. “Just put your gifts on the account, as usual,” he instructed Penelope.
“Thank you. I’ll see you at home.” She placed a kiss on his weathered cheek and wandered over to the silver selection, poking through the tea sets and fine picture frames.
She perused furnishings, glassware, small portraits, and baby-related goods. Tucked away in the corner was a lovely little table clock that sported two gilded bulls supporting the clock’s delicate face. Penelope remembered how Charlotte had said the bull was featured on the MacLeod family crest and promptly called a shop girl over.
“Pardon me, but I’d like to have that clock wrapped as a wedding gift,” Penelope said to the young girl.
“Yes, Miss Elmsly.” The shop girl bobbed a small curtsey and hurried away with Penelope’s purchase.
Penelope meandered over to the registers where a cashier had already brought out the Elmsly purchase book, which recorded everything the family bought from the arcade. She swiftly signed her name, pleased to see that the elegant clock was very reasonably priced.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Elmsly?” the shop girl asked as she presented Penelope with a box wrapped carefully in pale blue paper.
“Yes.” She frowned at the plain box, thinking it rather bare. “Please fetch me some hat bobbles for the box. I’m thinking some of those silk orange blossoms and a white ribbon to dress it up a little.”
The girl returned promptly with the requested items, as well as a pair of ivory-handled scissors. Penelope arranged the simulated flowers around the newly ribbon-tied box, pleased with how festive her gift looked. She thanked the shop girl for her help and left the arcade, nodding in thanks to her carriage driver as he helped her up to her seat.
She rode with the gift held firmly on her lap, watching the people strolling along the walking paths and other carriages as they passed. Some had crests on their doors and Penelope was familiar with each. Holly leaves encircled a lion for the Beaucannons, three crescent moons below a pair of swords belonged to the Drake family, a rather disgruntled looking bull—
“Stop the carriage!” she called out, a wide grin breaking out on her lips.
“Change of plans, miss?” the driver asked from his perch as he heaved in the reins.
“Take me to the MacLeod house. Do you know it?”
“Yes, Miss.” He urged the horses forward.
***
The Elmsly carriage pulled up right behind the MacLeod carriage, and Penelope hopped out without even waiting for assistance. She could see Conner helping Charlotte climb out in a flurry of plaid and ruffles.
“Charlotte!” Penelope exclaimed, her present for them tucked in her arms.
Charlotte turned at the sound of her name and smiled widely as she saw her oldest friend hurrying to meet her. “Oh, Penelope, I’m so happy to see you!”
Penelope pulled her into a one-armed hug. “I can’t believe you’re here! I’ve only just received your letter.”
“Oh, yes, we’re quite on our own in the Highlands, so it takes ever so long for our mail to reach its destination.” Charlotte pulled back. “I have so much to tell you!”
“All good things, I hope.” Penelope turned to Conner, who was looking splendid in his traditional kilted garb. “Conner, you are well?”
“Aye, married life suits me verra fine.” He grinned, shooting a pointed look at Charlotte, who instantly pinked.
Penelope frowned. “Married life? But your note said you were to be married here?”
“It’s such a long story.” Charlotte sighed. “But a very good one. Come in from the cold and I’ll call for tea. I’m positively famished.”
“Aye, go on,” Conner said. “I’m goin’ to wait here for the wagons with our things.”
Charlotte and Penelope entered the MacLeod townhome together, greeted by a pair of maids who instantly began fussing over their cloaks and promising tea and sandwiches. Another maid led them to a cozy sitting room where Penelope and Charlotte both took seats upon a beautifully upholstered settee.
“So strange, I’ve only been in this room in passing and now it seems it is my sitting room,” Charlotte mused, looking around.
“That must feel odd.”
“Yes, I feel much more at home in the castle.”
“Oh, but of course,” Penelope said, her voice edged with good-natured sarcasm. It was very much like Charlotte to sound so blasé about living in a castle like a princess in a fairytale.
Charlotte giggled. “Do stop teasing. You know I just like the country more. Always have.”
“Before I forget, this is for you.” She held out the gift. “I was actually on my way home when I saw your carriage. It’s a wedding present.”
“It’s so pretty, I almost don’t want to open it!” Charlotte said as she carefully removed the silk blossoms and ribbon. When the clock was finally revealed, she gasped. “Penelope, it’s gorgeous. I love it.”
“Now that we’ve gotten this out of the way, I’m dying to hear what’s going on! A marriage? Why wasn’t I invited? And what’s become of Richard Howard? He never came back to London and my father hasn’t heard anything of him in quite some time.”
“That’s because he is never coming back,” she said firmly, her fingers tracing one bull’s legs.
“You mean he is to stay on in Scotland?”
Charlotte placed the clock carefully on the mantle above the fireplace and sat beside Penelope, pausing before beginning her tale. “I believe I need to tell you the whole story in order to answer that, but I hardly know where to start. Well, I’ve found out that Conner has no illegitimate children.”
“That’s always good to know.”
“He merely helped his sister’s friend find a home for her son and the gossipers ran with it. After that was revealed, we really got to know each other and fell in love. Then vile Richard Howard came to try and bring me back to England with a band of hired men.”
“Yes, so your note said, but please tell me more!” Penelope’s heart fluttered at the thrilling tale. It had been so long since she had any excitement outside of new hats or a particularly tasty crumpet.
“Yes. But Conner sent him away and we thought we heard the last of it. After that is when Conner asked for my permission to officially court me. Once we entered into that stage of our relationship, one of the kitchen maids got extremely jealous. She poisoned my tea for days before Conner found out that someone was trying to kill me.”
“Goodness, what a turn of events. I hope she was punished severely!”
Charlotte grimaced. “I’m getting to that. Well, I felt rather sorry for the maid—Nettie was her name—and I helped her leave the castle.”
“Why in the world would you do such a silly thing, letting a murderess roam the countryside like that?”
“I thought she was not all there, in the head, I mean. And I made her promise to not come back.”
Penelope raised an elegant eyebrow. “Certainly you’re joking?”
She averted her eyes and picked at something upon her spotless skirt. “It was a very grave mistake. She joined forces with Richard to kidnap me so he could have me as his bride and she could win Conner. Not that it would have worked, of course.”
“Of course,” Penelope agreed with a firm nod.
“Well, Nettie showed Richard a secret tunnel that allowed him to steal me from the castle and spirit me away to a church where a cruel priest was gong to marry me against my will. My father and Abigail were there.”
Heat rose up her cheeks and along her neck as she thought of the duke going along with such an evil scheme. “And they were privy to this terrible plan?”
“No! Neither had any idea. In fact, Abigail helped me escape England in the first place, so she certainly wasn’t going to knowingly go along with Richard.”
“Did she?” Penelope was confused. Abigail had never struck her as someone who would help a young lady run away in the dead of night. Let alone her own stepdaughter.
Charlotte nodded. “Yes. She gave me some money and bid me a safe journey.”
“What a little minx.”
“But, as I was saying, Richard had tricked my father and once he saw what a brute Richard was, he tried to help, but he had hired violent men. Thankfully, Conner arrived and saved me.”
“Good old Conner!” Penelope liked him even more now, if that were possible. “But what happened to Richard Howard?”
“Conner killed him,” Charlotte answered in a quiet tone. “He was buried outside the church grounds. I don’t know what happened afterward, as Conner didn’t want me to feel any guilt.”
“Is he truly dead? There was talk that something had to have happened to him during his travels, but no one knew for certain.”
“It was the only way he would have ever let us be. Looking back, I think he would have killed me before letting Conner have me, if it came to that.”
Penelope nodded slowly, the idea of murder, no matter how virtuous, still making her stomach turn. “Then I suppose Conner did the right the right thing.”
Charlotte grimaced. “Perhaps. I’m just glad it’s over now. And on a brighter note, my father begged my forgiveness and now Conner and I are to be properly married.”
“He said you were already married.”
“It’s complicated.” Charlotte paused as a maid entered carrying a silver tray with tea and snacks and left it for the women to serve themselves. She immediately piled her plate high with cakes as Penelope selected a cucumber sandwich for herself. “You see, Scotland has a tradition called hand fasting, in which a man and woman can live together as a married couple for a year and a day. They must be married when that time comes to a close, or go their separate ways.”
“How very queer,” Penelope said as she took a sip of tea. “So are you married, or no?”
“Technically, yes. We said our vows before witnesses, but we must be married in a church for it to be lasting.”
“Ah, I see. What a jolly custom!”
“It’s rather nice to be married to Conner. He’s a good husband.”
“In more ways than one, I presume?” Penelope shot her a mischievous grin.
Charlotte blushed. “Goodness, Penelope, you’re terrible!”
She laughed, happy to finally be able to jest with a dear friend. “Oh, tell me something I don’t know!”
“Now, tell me what’s new with you,” Charlotte pleaded through a mouthful of cake.
“Nothing on the same page as your happenings. No one’s tried to murder me and I haven’t been kidnapped. All in all, it’s been rather dull.”
“True, but you must have been up to some kind of trouble while I’ve been away?”
Penelope poked at her sandwich. “Hardly. It’s been quite boring without you. I’ve had to go to all the rest of the season’s balls and talk to the likes of Greta Hallstone all evening instead of having a good gossip with you over punch.”
“No special man?”
Penelope took off her new hat. The pins were poking into her scalp. “Nothing on the horizon either. I thought that Thomas Land might be a good match but my father and his father don’t get along for some reason. So, that was out of the question.”
“I would have thought your parents would have arranged a marriage by now.”
“No, their marriage was a love match, so they want the same for me. But they never think anyone is up for the task. By the time someone does come along, I’ll be positively geriatric.”
“What’s the plan, then?”
“Besides dying old and alone with a posse of ill-behaved poodles to leave my fortune to? Well, my parents are putting together a ball for my birthday, after wedding season is over. They hope that by then all the eligible men who haven’t been snapped up will be a little more willing to propose.”
“How romantic,” Charlotte teased.
“Perhaps I’ll find my own Scottish king to run off with. It seems to have worked out rather well for you.”
“Well, what do you want?”
“I honestly don’t know anymore. I used to think that I’d be swept off my feet by a lovely duke who adored me, owned homes in both the country and city, and would have a few children by now. But, I’m two seasons out without a husband in sight.”
“You’re only twenty.”
“Yes, but soon I’ll be twenty-one. My parents are pushing for marriage, but chase off any serious suitors. I’ve almost lost hope that I’ll ever be allowed to marry. At this point, I suppose I’d accept anyone decent who came my way.”
“I’m sure you’ll find someone this year.” Charlotte placed a hand upon Penelope’s. “And he’ll be tall, dashing, a wonderful dancer, and offer you everything you’ve ever dreamed.”
“I do hope so, Charlotte. But enough about my dreaded spinsterhood, let’s talk floral arrangements and tablecloths for your grand affair!”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Let’s not.”
“You can’t deny me the pleasure of planning your wedding, can you?” She pouted dramatically. “Who else do you know who can plan a gala event in a week’s time?”
“No one.”
“Then do stop moping and cheer up. We have a wedding to discuss!”