“Shall we go?” she asked Jane, who laughed again.
“Indeed. I shall try and direct us, but do not blame me if we end up in Yorkshire. I am no navigator!”
“So, you see, Penhaligon, we must be certain of your character before we can consider selling such a dear property to you. The Opera House is the apple of my dear wife's eye and very precious to us both.”
“I quite understand,” Jeremy replied to the Earl of Sutton.
The men stood facing each other across the billiards table, each holding a cue. Alfred Winchester, the Earl of Sutton, was taking careful aim as he spoke, before releasing his shot and sending a ball careering into a pocket. He chuckled to himself, looking around the table for the next shot.
Jeremy smiled as he gripped his own cue with white knuckles. The smile concealed gritted teeth. He glanced across the room at Simon Winchester, who sat across a table from his mother, a tea set between them.
“Young Simon's concerns are, we have decided, to be taken seriously,” Lady Margaret said, sipping delicately.
The young Simon concerned, was lounging in his chair as though at home. He grinned at Jeremy, who retained a fixed smile lest he scowl.
He conspires against me. And who has aided him in that? He did not do this alone. Not unless he has been camped out, spying on me.
“The allegation—which it isnotedthat you strenuously deny—that you have been romantically involved with a divorcee and aFrenchdivorcee at that,” Lady Margaret chirped with her chin raised high, “it is an indication of character, and a man of low moral fiber cannot be a suitable owner for a palace of the arts.”
“Though I should emphasize,” Sutton lined up for his next shot, before potting another ball, “wedobelieve you.
“But the fact that such allegations can be made must be taken as a judgment of character. After all, the Archbishop of Canterbury would never be linked to a French divorcee, would he?” the Earl chuckled. “Pass the chalk, would you, old chap?”
Jeremy did so, all the while thinking of the time he had seen the Archbishop at Medmenham Abbey, the last time he had attended a meeting of the Hellfire Club. If only the sanctimonious pair knew.
“I understand,” Jeremy gritted, staring at the table. He was losing at that gameandthe one that really mattered.
He kept his eyes away from Simon, doubting his ability to control his temper if Simon smirked at him again.
Is it Harriet? She has met Eloise by her own admission. We have clashed since we met. I did put her in an invidious position and then essentially blackmailed her with the knowledge that she should not have been at the Chelmsford Ball. Is this her revenge? Or has she been offered something in return?
The idea that she was his betrayer cut at him, leaving a yawning void within him. Such a rare beauty she was. So keen to experience and so savoring of those experiences. Her innocence, combined with her wanton passion, was a heady brew. Being in her company was like a stiff swallow of potent, vintage brandy. She made his head buzz with reckless abandon.
By God, but I was intimate with her in a changing room in an Oxford Street draper's with her brother a few yards away. That was reckless even for me.
The Winchesters had appeared at Penhaligon after writing to him three days prior. That letter had expressed the desire for a meeting to address concerns that had arisen about his proposed purchase of the Opera House. He had thought about nothing else in the meantime. And after enduring a late breakfast with them, in which the conversation remained steadfastly mundane until they retired to the billiard room, Lady Margaret had accompanied the men, unusually, and that had told Jeremy all he needed to know about the nature of the conversation that would be had.
Simon had convinced his parents to think twice. Had his appearance at Hyde Park been an attempt to separate him from Harriet, presenting Eloise to Harriet, and perhaps forcing her toreject Jeremy out of jealousy? Jeremy's head spun. He needed time to regroup and think.
“But all is not lost, old man,” Sutton said as he potted his third ball in a row.
“Prove to us your character, and the deal is done, to use a current vulgarity,” Lady Margaret added. “Your lovely fiancée is an excellent start, but many rogues have been engaged to upstanding young women. Alone, it is not enough.”
“I shall endeavor to show you that you are dealing with a Penhaligon worthy of the title,” Jeremy said earnestly and with a broad smile that he hoped looked genuine. Inside, his stomach churned.
How do I dispel a reputation for being a rake that has been thoroughly well-earned?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jane proved an effective navigator, steering Harriet towards Penhaligon Manor with only a couple of wrong turns. Harriet reveled in the feel of the wind in her hair and the liberty to take them wherever she chose. A turning could be taken or ignored, and their destination would be changed. Driving the trap gave her the thrill of freedom that she was craving.
As they drew within sight of the dark, brooding shape of Penhaligon Manor, Harriet felt a tightness in her chest, an anxiety that she had not felt earlier.
“Lovely place,” Jane commented with a grimace.
“I think it wears its history on its walls,” Harriet protested, “an old house will always have a lot of dark stories to tell.”
“Well defended, Harriet,” her friend added with a wry smile, “I must remember that you are firmly in the Penhaligon court next time I make a blithe comment.”
