Selina must have been waiting outside the door because she answered at once. She gave Penelope a thorough examination, and whatever she saw must have satisfied her doubts. She smiled, and then smiled at Mortimer, too.
“Well now,” she said, “I have orange cake or seed cake, which is it to be?”
“Both!” they shouted and then fell about laughing as if they were children again.
*
Selina was smilingas she went to fetch the cake. She was so glad that Mortimer had apologized, and Penelope had her brother back again. It would make it much easier for her to take up Angus’s offer and leave with him.
She stopped. Was she really considering abandoning her friend? How could she walk away after all this time? They had so many memories between them, good and bad. Could she really be so selfish as to put her own pleasure first?
And yet Selina reminded herself that this might be her last chance to find the sort of happiness that was denied her when her fiancé was killed. And it wasn’t like she was clutching at Angus because she saw him as her last chance. She loved him. He was big and strong and forceful, but he was also gentle when it mattered. She had no fear of lying down with him in their marriage bed, and if there were to be children... probably not. She didn’t expect there to be, but she rather thought that having Angus at her side would be enough.
She could see no regrets in throwing in her lot with him.
Apart from leaving Penelope.
She would have to tell her, and soon. Not right now perhaps, but once the ball was over tomorrow night and Callum MacKenzie had begun the process of choosing his wife.
Why hadn’t Penelope been brave enough to marry Callum? Selina knew he wanted her to, and had probably been about to propose when Penelope made up her story about a new client and everything being rosy. Which was why she had been sobbing.
Surely it was worth Penelope taking a chance. But all she could see were the thunderclouds ahead, and none of the sunshine.
Selina arranged the slices of cake to her satisfaction and was about to carry the plate through to the sitting room when the door knocker sounded.
She clicked her tongue, and leaving the food, hurried back down the stairs. Perhaps it was Angus, she thought, her spirits brightening. But it was not Angus. It was a servant holding a message.
“Is this the residence of Miss Armstrong?” he asked in the sort of voice Selina always thought put on.
“It is. What do you want?”
He looked taken aback at her plain speaking and held out a thick, cream envelope. “My mistress wishes her to have this.”
By the time Selina looked up from the sender’s address—Lady Agatha Hamlyn—the servant was gone. She carried the envelope and the cake into the sitting room.
“This came for you,” she said, handing the impressive looking object over to Penelope.
It didn’t take her long to read, and when she was finished, she looked up at Mortimer and Serina, her eyes blank. She swallowed. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or angry,” she said. “Shall I read it to you both?”
She didn’t wait for an answer.
Dear Miss Armstrong,
My son is in need of the services of someone who can teach him proper behavior for a young man entering Society. He was brought up in the depths of the country and has no idea how to comport himself. I have asked my acquaintances for the name of an appropriate person, and they speak of you as the only one they believeup to the task. I am fully aware of your unfortunate reputation, and the idea of contact between you and my son is repugnant to me. And yet I feel I have no option if my son is to flourish in the world he was born to. Please visit me at your nearest convenience so that we can discuss the matter.
Lady Agatha Hamlyn
“Well!” Selina said, wanting to snatch the nasty letter back and throw it in the fire—although Penelope’s economizing meant that was nothing more than a faint flicker.
She was glad to see that hearing Lady Hamlyn’s letter had turned Mortimer’s cheeks pink with righteous anger on his sister’s behalf.
“How dare she!” he declared. “Tell her no. On second thoughts, throw it away and don’t answer. She doesn’t deserve your civility.”
Penelope gave a little laugh that was more like a hiccup. “And what then?” she asked wearily. “I need her. I need the money she will pay me when I have remodeled her son into the perfect gentleman and ladies are flocking to him. That is what she wants and I can do it.”
“But Pen . . .” he gasped.
“What is the alternative?” she interrupted.
