Two
“Penelope, are you quite ready to go? The carriage has been waiting for fifteen minutes.”
“Coming, Aunt Laura. I’m just fetching a wrapper.” Penelope gritted her teeth. In all she had no desire to attend yet another dinner party in which Colton would be in attendance—no doubt with Miss Featherton surgically stitched to his arm—but her aunt and uncle would not hear of allowing her to stay in. Penelope knew why. Her father was hoping to marry her off before the start of the next season.
“Terribly expensive,” Papa had said before shipping her off to London after Christmas. “All of those gowns and shoes. See if you can’t snare a husband over the winter, eh?”
Drawing a shaky breath, Penelope gave herself one last perusal in the mirror. The length of her wavy auburn hair was piled loosely atop her head while a few wispy tendrils framed her head and brushed along her shoulders. Smooth emerald green silk molded over her torso and flared into a full skirt in a simple, but elegant style. The ensemble was a bit lower cut than she would have liked, but Aunt Laura assured her the feature was essential in attracting a husband. Penelope was also a little worried about the gown’s brilliant color, but once more her aunt insisted the hue offset Penelope’s green eyes and pale skin irresistibly. Penelope was quite certain that nothing about her was irresistible—not with all those freckles—but… perhaps Colton would notice.
Enough!
Penelope whirled from the looking glass, attempting to stem all thoughts of Colton. Best to put him from her mind and set her cap on someone else. There were a few eligible gentlemen left in London for the winter. Colonel Holbrook for one. A bit older than she, but a likeable fellow all the same. Very pleasant disposition. She reached for the gauzy wrapper waiting on her bed and stopped short.
There it was. That blasted, silly love potion. Penelope’s dark mood instantly blackened. The shimmering vial stared up at her. Mocked her. The soft lamplight in her bedroom tinged the clear liquid a pinkish hue. Pink—the color of love and other romantic notions.
Rolling her eyes, Penelope swiped the bottle from the vanity. It really would be best just to dump the Gypsy brew out. She could even lie and tell her cousins she’d used the concoction. Perhaps then the twins would leave fanciful notions of love spells behind.
Mind made up, Penelope marched to the chamber pot and popped the stopper from the small glass bottle. Curious she lifted the vial to her nose. Hmm… Not bad. She sniffed again. Sweet. With a hint of cinnamon?
“Penelope!” Aunt Laura’s irritable voice erupted from the hall directly outside her door. “Are you ill or do I have to drag you down to the carriage?”
“I’m sorry.” On impulse Penelope corked the vial and shoved it into her handbag. She threw the wrapper around her shoulders and rushed to the door. “I’m coming.”
* * *
“We’re a little late, but fashionably so,” Aunt Laura, Countess of Landon, declared, as she lead Penelope, Marie, and Kate into the assembly area of Mrs. Layton’s dinner party.
The house was filled with guests milling about sampling wine and refreshments. A gaggle of young women surrounded the pianoforte while one played a lovely aria. Kate quickly joined them. She was remarkably accomplished when it came to music; Penelope and Marie were not so fortunate.
Marie sidled close, linking her arm through Penelope’s. “Did you bring it?”
Penelope’s heart thumped heavily. She knew precisely what it her cousin referred to and it was all but burning a hole through her beaded reticule—at least Penelope feared as much. “Yes,” she confided softly. “I had thought to give it to Colonel Holbrook.”
