He pursed his lips. “Weston’s will have something suitable for you.”
Pen was inclined to argue. Then she thought otherwise. Alworth was right. She needed a new outfit if she was to quit drawing attention to herself for her shabby appearance. So she obediently trotted after him as he took her to Weston’s in Bond Street.
They left the shop with an entire suit for her, including evening breeches, waistcoat, shirt, and a fine coat, which had cost a fortune, but Pen paid without blinking.
“I will send you my carriage in the evening. Where do I send it to?” Alworth looked at her expectantly.
Pen hesitated. “It really is unnecessary. I will simply meet you at Cavendish Square.”
“I insist.”
“So do I.”
He came to a full stop. “Pen. I can’t have you walk alone at night to my place. It won’t do.”
“Nothing will happen. I have a pistol now, and I know how to shoot.” She pulled out the pistol and waved it about.
“You shoot as well as a blindfolded monkey. You’ll get plucked and eaten if you traverse the streets at night on your own.”
“Bah. I hit the target three times today.” She’d barely brushed it, but Pen considered it to be a feat. “I’m not afraid. Stop behaving like a mother hen, my lord. I never asked you to accompany me. This is my problem to solve, not yours.”
He certainly was right. That did not make things any better.
“Very well, Kumari. Have it your way,” Alworth said coolly. “We will meet at seven at the opera.”
He strode away and left Pen standing on her own in the street, staring after him and feeling oddly forlorn.
