Chapter 21
Who knew a properly outfitted lady needed so many things?
Petticoats, reticules, shawls, shoes, stockings, bonnets, gloves, morning dresses, afternoon dresses, dresses for riding, carriage dresses, pelisses, spencers, ball gowns (three), umbrellas, nightgowns and more.
Pen’s head whirled.
She’d let Charlotte and the dressmaker decide on fabric and colour. She’d only put down her foot once when she refused to have her ballroom gown made in cotton candy pink with pink roses and insisted on a simple cream dress. Charlotte tilted her head to the side and agreed that the simple cream would suit Pen’s complexion admirably.
Pen couldn’t get Alworth out of her mind. What would he think now that Pen had completely disappeared? Had he left a message? Ought she to leave him a message? Did it even matter? Maybe he was quite relieved to finally be rid of her. Yet, she had not said goodbye to him. She felt a pang. What to do?
She’d tried to convince Charlotte to stop at the Dancing Willow to ask whether messages had been left for her. But Charlotte would have none of it.
“Out of the question. The last time you were there, they knew you as a man. You cannot return as a woman. Even though they would, likely, not recognise you.”
“But what if I have missives waiting there for me?” Pen thought, in particular, of messages from Alworth.
“We can send a footman to collect them.” Charlotte straightened Pen’s fichu, which had slipped out of her décolleté. Pen detested that garment because it itched, and it always wound up crooked.
Pen grumbled but agreed Charlotte had a point and sending a footman was the more sensible notion.
Her heart thudded against her ribcage when the footman, indeed, returned with a missive, which he handed to her on a silver platter. It was from Alworth.
She broke the seal and opened it with shaking hands.
Pen.
Where the deuce are you?
I await you at the club tonight at eight.
A.
She folded the missive again, thoughtfully.
“We do not have any plans tonight, do we?” Pen asked Charlotte.
“Oh yes. Tonight, we are to dine at the Hadlows. It will be an excellent opportunity for you to practise your social skills. And tomorrow, we have breakfast at Lady Sheringham’s. The day after, there is a ball at the Whittlesboroughs, which we must attend, of course. It is a very important event. Say, Penelope. Are you listening?”
“Hm? Yes. Of course. Breakfast at Whittlesboroughs and a ball at Lady Sheringham’s.”
“Wrong. The other way around. You seem rather preoccupied with something?”
Pen could hardly tell her she was trying to figure out how to sneak out of the house in her boy’s clothes so she could meet Alworth at White’s at eight.
“At what time is this dinner tonight?”
“At eight.”
Her heart sank. “And how long will it last?”
“Who knows?” Charlotte said brightly. “If they decide to have a musical interlude, which is likely, or even some dancing, it could be until midnight.”
Pen’s shoulders sagged. It looked unlikely that she’d be able to meet Alworth tonight.
Dinnerat the Hadlows was a terrifying affair. She knew absolutely no one. A room full of strange faces looked at her with polite curiosity. Charlotte took her by the arm and introduced her to everyone, and Pen had a hard time remembering all the names and faces. She was unconscious that she drew attention with her dark beauty that contrasted to the simplicity of her evening gown. She looked lithe and elegant, and her absent-mindedness came across as aloofness. Many a male guests compared her to an orchid.
“Reid, you said her name is?” Lady Billingstone fixed her lorgnette at Pen.
