He would finally set up his nursery. Any girls would be left to his wife to raise, and he would send his son off to Eton, just as he had been.
Would his daughters turn out as insipid as their mother? He hoped not. For some reason, he hoped to have intelligent daughters. Perhaps he would have to guide his daughters’ educations, as well as his sons.
If Penelope Crone ever had daughters, he suspected she would direct them to be better educated than even she had been. What a novel idea that was! Educate his daughters so that they did not become mere pawns of society.
But then, as the Baron of Riverton was, would he be saddled with them for life?
Poor fellow. Except… Penelope was no financial burden to her father.
And, Hugh considered, she had most likely deepened his own pockets as well.
The thought lightened his steps considerably. Perhaps he’d play a bit of cards tonight.
Chapter 8
Roughly ten weeks had passed since the little marquess had been born to the Duke and Duchess of Cortland.
Penelope and Rose had arrived in London, much to the delight of the Baroness Riverton, after missing only a few weeks of the season. Her mother had been so pleased that she’d insisted on taking Penelope to her favoritemodistein order to bolster her only daughter’s wardrobe. She’d told Penelope that it would be extra important to look her best this season, since next year there would be no hope.
For when the season rolled around next year, Penelope would be only one year shy of the ancient age of thirty.
Rose was delighted, as well, with the prospect of Penelope acquiring several new gowns. For she knew that Penelope would only be able to wear then for a short while, and they would then be available for her own exclusive use.
Standing on the pedestal as the seamstresses fussed and measured her, Penelope could only wonder at the fact that her midsection was already expanding. Her bosom had increased in size as well. She winced as a tape measure wrapped around that tender part of her anatomy. Rose was right. She had to find Hugh and extract a commitment for marriage from him before she became any more bloated than she already was.
She was going to wear more vibrant colors this year. It had been decided that since she was no longer a young miss, she could wear some deep blues, olives, and perhaps even something red. Her mother had insisted that she order multiple gowns, made up of the finest muslin, and even satin and silk. It was to be the most striking wardrobe Penelope had ever owned.
Catching sight of herself in the large looking glass on the wall, Penelope examined her person. One could not really see any differences in her appearance yet. She looked the same as she always had.
Except perhaps for the fact that her face looked softer. Her normally prominent cheekbones were somewhat less defined, and her hair looked… duller.
Frumpish and boring.
“Mama,” Penelope said to her mother, who was perusing some fashion plates on the other side of the fitting room, “I think I’d like to do something different with my hair this year.”
The Baroness Riverton nearly went into raptures. It was the most wonderful thing her daughter had ever said.
* * *
“Not… so… tight… Rose!” Penelope nearly swooned as her damnable maid pulled the laces tight on her corset. Good Lord, when was the last time she’d worn the ridiculous garment? And why did she continue to expand even though she could hardly keep down any food in the mornings?
“It’s gapping at least an inch more than it ever has before.”
“I don’t care,” Penelope said, holding tight to the bedpost. “I won’t be able to speak to the man if I cannot breathe. And surely, it cannot be good for the baby. Loosen it, Rose.” Penelope leaned her forehead against the round wooden post. She would hopefully run into Danbury tonight. She knew he was in Town. Her father had mentioned in passing that he’d shared a drink with him at White’s earlier that week.
“Ahhh… much better.” Penelope inhaled deeply as her lungs were able to expand normally once again. Some of her new gowns had been delivered earlier in the day, and she and Rose had decided on a low-cut gown of emerald silk with blue embroidery accents. And Penelope had gotten her hair cut into soft layers the day before. Instead of pulling it into the austere knot she’d worn for over a decade, Rose had curled it softly and then pinned several loops around the crown of her head. Swirly tendrils fell softly around her face and neck.
Penelope barely recognized herself.
“Do you think he’ll be in attendance tonight?” Rose asked.
“Dash it all but I hope so. If not, I’ll have to figure some other way to track him down. It’s not as though I can simply arrive upon his doorstep.” Doing so in Manchester had been one thing. Such a breach of etiquette in London would be beyond the pale.
“It wouldn’t do to arrive at his residence,” Rose agreed. “Perhaps you could send him a missive.”
“Yes, I’ve thought of that. Hopefully, it won’t be necessary, though.” Penelope located her slippers and then allowed Rose to drape a silvery-green gossamer-like wrap upon her shoulders. Penelope reached up and touched one of the silk flowers in her hair. Rose had made certain her mistress was dressed to the nines tonight. It was in both of their best interests that Penelope not become a fallen woman and thus be ostracized from all of society. Rose would suffer as well if that were to become the case.
Sitting across from her parents in the carriage as they waited in the long line of vehicles to pull up to the entrance at the Helmer’s ball, Penelope’s nerves became even more tightly strung. The debutantes she could see already milling around looked fresh from the schoolroom. They wore pastels and whites and looked fresh and innocent.
