Chapter 19
Pen felt she owed Alworth an apology. The knowledge that she’d incurred his wrath weighed heavily upon her. Had she jeopardised their friendship for good?
She went to Cavendish Square, and to her surprise, the butler said he was in.
“He is having supper and begs you to join him.” He showed her the way to the dining room.
Alworth was eating beef stew and potatoes and merely raised an eyebrow when Pen entered.
She cleared her throat awkwardly. “May I join?” She felt like a school child asking for permission to sit.
He lifted a hand. “By all means.”
Pen sat down at the edge of the chair and stole a look at him.
A heavy silence settled between them.
Alworth washed his beef down with a sip of the claret, then set down the cutlery. Finally, he said, “Congratulations on the win. London is talking of nothing else.”
Pen cleared her throat. “I owe you an apology. I said some dreadful things the other day. I didn't really mean them. I hope you are not offended.”
“Offended? Me? My dear, it is, as you like to remind me, none of my business what you are up to. It’s none of my business to know that you are a veritable prodigy in the gaming room. Have been trained to be one, possibly. Since your leading strings. Am I correct?” His grey eyes bore into hers like steel.
She swallowed hard, trying to manage a feeble answer. “Of sorts.” Her shoulders sacked.
“Then I see no reason whatsoever why on earth you should feel beholden to tell me about every detail of your life, as well as your plans. Neither do I have to tell you about every detail about my life, and my plans, do I?”
“No. Of course not.” Pen muttered. She stared at the intricate table decoration of fruits and flowers on the table without really seeing them.
He was different somehow. The usual amiable smile was on his face, but there was a distance between them, an aloofness that hadn’t been there before. She stirred uneasily in her chair.
“Well. Then we are in agreement.” Alworth’s long, slim fingers drummed on the tablecloth.
Pen had a sudden urge to tell him everything. About her disguise. But then, he knew that already, didn’t he? About Fariq, then. That it had all been his idea. How she’d been practicing her card skills. Sometimes until late into the night. About how she worried that this would be her life, because she was good for nothing else. But silence stretched, and the cold chasm between them grew.
“Well then, Pen. You had best retire and get some rest.”
He was dismissing her.
Pen swallowed the clump in her throat. “Will I see you on the morrow?” She licked her dry lips. “We could go for a ride in Hyde Park. Or Vauxhall again. Or—maybe we could buy some more boots….” Her mind was a hot mess of confusion, and she needed the calm, soothing analysis of a friend.
“I am afraid I have a previous appointment. I am to take Miss Mountroy out for a ride.” He pushed back his chair.
Pen ignored the quick stab of jealousy. “Miss Mountroy. How is the courtship going?”
“It is going well.” His face was unreadable.
Pen stumbled up. “Well then. I’d better be going. I suppose I will see you at some point.”
Walking swiftly along the streets, Pen felt she had to cool her mind and sort her thoughts, for she felt something had shifted in her relationship with Alworth.
But what? And why?
She hadn’t even told him that Fariq had found Marcus.
Why did she still feel the stab in her heart when she thought of him riding out with Miss Mountroy?
Confound her and her blonde baby curls.
