Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance

Lady Penelope's Christmas Charad
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Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade

By Lilia Birney

Copyright © 2012 by Lilia Birney

Cover Design © 2012 by Lily Smith

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

Night Shift Publishing

www.nightshiftpublishing.com

Penelope, Viscountess Annand's
London Townhome

Grosvenor Square

December
1808

Chapter One

The
swirling
snow
enshrouded
Viscountess
Annand
's house
completely, save for the brightly-lacquered scarlet door that glowed like a ruby through the
quickening blizzard
. Pierce Howe
squinted at
the address scribbled on the piece of foolscap in his coat pocket. Yes, this was the place. Blast if all these London townhomes didn't look precisely the same.

The driver halted, and
Pierce stepped out
before the coachman could open the door. Better to be over and done with this interview quickly. There were real crimes
occuring
in the city,
and
people who needed protection. How ridiculous that he was going to interview her ladyship about a misplaced maid.

He strode up the steps in two quick strides and knocked sharply on the door.
Someone opened the door. Ah yes, an elderly butler. Why where they always elderly? The old fellow was
peering out into the
snow
as though he couldn't see Pierce standing right before him.

"Pierce Howe.
Lady Annand
sent for me. I am a thief-taker." He flashed his card before the butler's faded gaze.

"Yes. Of course. Won't you come in, Mr. Howe?" The butler divested Howe of his greatcoat and hat, and led the way down the hall. Howe took in the lush surroundings. Her ladyship had excellent taste in decorating. Of course, she probably had little else to do, other than gossip and purchase new gowns.

The smirk was still on Howe's face as he was ushered into the library. The grin slid away as he beheld
Lady Annand
. She was younger than he anticipated—maybe in her early twenties?—with a glorious mass of golden hair piled high in ringlets. She wore a filmy gown cut too low for mere lounging about the house. Perhaps she was on her way to a ball tonight. She glanced up from the ornate ormolu desk, searing him with a bright green gaze, and motioned to a chair in front. "Mr. Howe, thank you for coming so quickly. I am quite at my wit's end, I can assure you."

He sat abruptly. "Quite."

If she was taken aback by his brevity, she didn’t show it. "My maid, Cicely, has been missing since this morning. She's a very conscientious soul, and would never leave without telling me. She has been with me for years. It's most unlike her to simply disappear like this. Which is why I contacted you without delay."

"Of course." He leaned back in his chair, surveying her closely. "But if you'll forgive me, ma'am, servants go missing all the time. Especially young women. Isn't it possible that she ran away with a stable lad?"

She narrowed her green eyes and pursed her lips. "No. Not Cicely."

"Or perhaps she sought employment elsewhere?"

"Why would she do that? Cicely has been with me nearly five years." She sighed, an exasperated look crossing her patrician features.

"How can that be? You don't look older than one and twenty, yourself." Blast—why did he let that slip? Best to keep things professional and practical.

"I am twenty-three, not that it's any of your business, sir. I was married when I was eighteen, and hired Cicely when I set up housekeeping with my husband." She sat back from her desk and regarded him with a wary expression.

"Where is your husband? Perhaps it would be better to speak to the man of the house." Yes, it would definitely be better to talk to a man.
Lady Annand
was too distracting by half.

"I am a widow. My husband ha
s been dead for two years now, s
ir. You'll have to make do with talking to me. Perhaps if you use small words and short sentences, I can understand your meaning better." She bit the last phrase out through clenched teeth.

He shrugged in defeat. A beautiful, rich, young widow was an entrancing prospect, but she was also wasting his time. "
Lady Annand
, you must understand my position
. Young women go missing in this city every day. Some of them run off with stable lads. Others find an employer who pays better. Others run away back home to care for sick family members. Likely your servant left for one of those reasons. Why not hire another?"

Lady Annand
rose, giving him the distinct impression their interview had come to a conclusion. "Had I wanted someone to pass off unadulterated pap as detective theory, I could have just as easily read a horrible novel." She motioned toward the door. "If you really have no intention of helping me find Cicely, then I bid you adieu. On the other hand, I will pay you handsomely if you choose to take me seriously."

He rose. While it was true that the lady's maid had probably left of her own free will, there was no need to keep laughing the matter off, not when
Lady Annand
was so determined to make a mountain out of a molehill. To be paid well and to work closely with such an entrancing creature—well, that prospect would certainly brighten his harsh and work-weary days.

"Very well." He straightened his cravat and held out his hand. "We have a deal. I will help you find your maid. But if it turns out that I am right, and she left of her own free will, then you have no need to pay me. I'll only work for the money if there is real danger involved—which I doubt."

Lady Annand
refused to shake hands. "Well, really, sir. Why are you so certain of yourself? Surely there is room for doubt. Much as I want Cicely to be all right, I know her too well to know that she simply fled into the night."

He shook his head, the old familiar rueful grin hovering around his lips. "I've been working as a thief-taker for many years,
Lady Annand
. Cast it up to experience."

"How can you have been a thief-taker for so long? You don't look any older than...five and forty." She smiled for the first time during their meeting, a light dancing in her green eyes.

He bowed. "I am wounded that my profession has aged me before my time, your ladyship. I am three and thirty."  He extended his hand once more. "Do we have a deal?"

She took his hand. Her delicate grasp was cold. She really was quite nervous, then? He smiled reassuringly. "We will find Cicely,
Lady Annand
. Have no fear."

She nodded, withdrawing from his grasp. "How do we begin?"

He shrugged one shoulder as she reached for the bell-pull. "I'll make some enquiries. It could take a while, your ladyship. Don't worry about matters. I shall contact you when I have a lead."

The elderly butler scratched on the door and entered with Pierce's greatcoat and hat in his hands.

"Thank you,
Simmon
s."
Lady Annand
turned to Pierce. "I thought perhaps I could help you. I know all of Cicely's ways, her likes and dislikes. Surely that could make matters go faster."

"Oh, I doubt that, your ladyship. There's a pattern to this, you know. I'll follow my usual methods and get back with you in a week or so." He pulled on his greatcoat, and took his hat from the butler. "Good night, ma'am."

***

Penelope's face burned with embarrassment.
Well, really. Mr. Howe was most infuriating.
He was just downright smug
. Such a high-handed attitude could only come from years of wealth and privilege. And as handsome as he was, with his dark blue eyes and blonde wavy hair, the excellent cut of his coat outlining his broad shoulders
to perfection, he probably had women swooning at his feet. Not that she cared. And not that she found him attractive. It was just so reflective of a state of mind
--
that was all—a state of wealth and power that left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Like so many men in London, he knew exactly what had happened and what needed to be done to rectify any given situation.
Mr. Howe
reminded her of every single suitor she'd had, and rejected, until Peter
Annand
came into her life. She stopped pacing the lush Aubusson carpet and nibbled at her thumbnail. Perhaps, rather than rely on any man, she should look for Cicely on her own.

The doorbell rang and a cacophony of feminine voices sounded in the hall. Jane and Elizabeth
, her dearest friends,
must be here.
Just in time to be fashionably late for the theater.
She shook out the folds of her diaphanous lace gown and smoothed her hair. Luckily, none of her curls had come loose, even with all of her stomping back and forth across the carpet.

"Penelope, d
arling!" Elizabeth ran into the room, arms outstretched. "Come, let's go to the theater, and
dine together afterwards
. My God,
before I endure
six weeks in the country, I
shall have my fill of
London nightlife!"

Penelope laughed, embracing Elizabeth. "What a lovely frock, my dear. That color green just suits your Titian hair."

"Titian? Ha. You've been stu
dying your art books again, Penelope
." Jane entered the room much less dramatically than Elizabeth, keen intelligence darting from her gaze.

"I have.
After all, I must keep my mind occupied. I don't want to become like those wealthy dowagers who do nothing but gossip and buy gowns." She clasped her cold hands together to still their shaking.  "You must know what a state I am in.
I shan't be able to go to the theater tonight. Cicely's disappeared."

Elizabeth dropped onto the settee, her mouth agape. "Was she abducted?"

"I don't know." Penelope crossed her arms over her chest. "
She left no word. Simply vanished into thin air.
I spoke to a thief-taker
this evening. And he
simply insists she ran away."

"Not Cicely." Jane cast her shawl and muff onto the hearth. "She's not flighty like some servant girls."

"Exactly!" Penelope spun on her heel and snapped her fingers. "I kept telling him that, and he simply wouldn't listen.
He refused to help me until I issued an ultimatum, and offered him quite a bit of blunt in the bargain.
Bull-headed, stubborn
mule
of a man!"

Jane cocked her head to one side. "Usually you simply crush those types of men with a withering glance. Yet this one seems to really have gotten on your nerves. What did he do that made you so peevish?"

"He was just—just—" She spluttered. Why was he so dashed difficult? And why did she care? 'Twas impossible to tell exactly why.
"I don't know. He was just infuriating. So condescending."

"I know." Elizabeth nodded her head sagely, triumph glinting in her almond-shaped eyes. "He was handsome, wasn't he?"

Penelope shrugged. "I suppose to some women, he might be." If blond hair that waved back precisely so and keen blue eyes were
her
type. And if
she
liked square jaws, and nice broad shoulders—she shut off her thoughts with a snap.

"Well, it does not signify what he looks like or what he did to infuriate me. The point is, he is not taking Cicely's disappearance seriously, and I refuse to think that such a smart, steady girl simply ran off without saying a word of goodbye." She sat next to Elizabeth. "Surely I can find her, if I only try hard enough."

Jane nodded. "That's the spirit. You know, I would be happy to help you."

"As would I." Elizabeth leaned over and patted Penelope's hand, her many rings sparkling in the firelight.

"Surely there must be some blessing in widowhood," Penelope murmured. "After all, I have my husband's wealth at my disposal, and no one to
tell me what to do
. If I can use Peter's money for good, and help find Cicely, why not do so? Life should be more than just soirees and card parties."

"There is more to life than s
ociety," Jane averred. "You may laugh at my novel-writing, but it has made me an independent woman. I don't have to marry now, unless I choose to do so. And I agree—I would like to do more with my wealth than buy new gowns and attend social functions."

"There's nothing wrong with lovely gowns and card-parties." Elizabeth eyed them both uncomfortably, color rising in her cheeks. "
And before I assume the reins of Papa's estate
, I can assure you I am most ready for a little fun and frivolity.
Surely I can have the best of both worlds, can't I?
"

"Of course
you may
, Elizabeth, dear. I'm not denying the luxury we live in. I just wonder—well—" Penelope looked around the room, trying to make sense of her jumbled emotions. "The three of us occupy extraord
inary positions in s
ociety. We are all independently wealthy. Jane, you have made your own fortune from writing. Elizabeth, your father willed you the estate after your brother nearly gambled everything away. And Peter left me all his money when he died."