“Nor would I expect you to,” he offered with humor. “Is there a chance that there could be peace between us, Lady Penelope?”
She stepped back and frowned. “Why?”
That was a very good question for which he did not have an answer except that she was beautiful, spirited, intelligent and nicely designed with mahogany hair, green eyes that were more emerald than jade, and full, kissable lips. Yes, Lady Penelope Johansen was an enticing woman, even if she clung to independence as if her life would end if she let go. It was also clear by her words and her reaction to him each time they encountered the other that she did not care for him, which truly was a shame.
“It would be nice not to have you glaring at me each time we attend the same entertainment.”
“I do not glare,” she insisted.
“You do and once gave me the cut direct.”
She pursed her lips in a frown. “Did you really know nothing?” she asked quietly.
Henry put a hand over his heart. “I was oblivious. I was only there to chaperone and encourage Felding, and I would have been happier to be somewhere else, if you must know. I was forced to that party, that is all.”
Lady Penelope blew out a sigh. “I suppose I believe you.”
“Does that mean you will stop glaring?”
“Perhaps.”
With that, she turned and marched away from him and Henry watched the gentle sway of her backside.
Lady Penelope did what she wanted and became bolder each year. Not only that, but she was opinionated, determined and always watching. Soon she would be a spinster carefully skating the line between respectability and ruin.
It was truly a shame that she did not care for him because she was one of the few women in London who Henry would like to know better and if that included kissing those full, pink lips, all the better.
She was also the type of woman who would drive a man to madness in her independence and impudence so it was probably best that she wanted nothing to do with him. Henry would be wise to avoid her.
Chapter 1
London – May 1818 (one year later)
Henry Simpson, the Duke of Eldridge, had only stepped from the ballroom for a moment, but upon his return, and hearing the shriek from a woman yet to be identified, he knew the cause—Damaris! She was one of his five cousins—ages eighteen to six and twenty—who were now his responsibility.
To think, when they first arrived on his doorstep, Henry wasn’t certain what he was going to do with them. They’d spent their entire life in a small market town under the constant supervision of their stanch vicar father who saw sin everywhere, forced them into pious prayer, granted no freedom, and only considered courtships from the most devout men of God. Henry had assumed his cousins had come to him because he was named their guardian, even the eldest, and sought him for guidance.
That had not been the case. They wanted to experience London and deemed six months was all they needed to properly mourn their father.
Henry was happy to give them a Season and assumed that they would be no trouble at all. Not like ordinary misses who came to Town excited for the balls and entertainments with hopes of finding love or securing a title. He also had no intention of pushing them into a courtship because this was the first time any one of them had enjoyed a breath of freedom. Yet, he also expected that before the Season was complete they would be ready to settle into domestic bliss given this was not the world they were used to.
Those first few weeks had been pleasant. The five sisters stayed together on the far side of any room with all the other wallflowers quietly observing and taking it all in. They were shy, quiet, and mostly went unnoticed, which gave him peace. Therefore, Henry had no fear that they would get up to mischief or that he would have to rescue them from foolish decisions.
They were also quite agreeable. Bernice, the second born, had even assisted in pretending to be courted by Mr. Peter Storm so that Storm could win the woman he loved without the woman’s grandfather knowing what was truly happening.
However, as his cousins became more comfortable moving about in his home as well as in Society, Henry soon came to learn that Damaris, the middle daughter, tended to suffer far more mishaps than the average person. He wasn’t certain if it was because of a nervous condition or if accidents simply happened in her presence, such as the fan currently held by a countess, that now smoked after having caught fire before Damaris doused the flames with water from a vase she now held. Henry did not know if Damaris had any part in the fire, but she was responsible for the ruined flower arrangement now a discarded pile on the floor and the contents from the vase soaking not only the fan but the countess as well.
With a sigh he started toward them only to be joined by the Duke of Claybrook. “Miss Damaris again, I see.” He chuckled.
“You are a menace and should be returned to whatever village Eldridge plucked you from,” the countess yelled at Damaris who started to shrink into herself.
“I fear that people are going to start avoiding her out of fear,” Henry whispered as they drew to their side.
“I am so terribly sorry, but your fan was on fire,” Damaris explained.
“It would not have been if you had not fallen into me.”
“Again, I apologize.”
