The Unexpected Bride (5 page)

‘Had enough, George? Maybe we should try our luck with the rest of the world?’

‘Not on my account, Peter. I can afford losing to you!’ answered George cheerfully, hoping he would be able to check his friend.

‘My dear George, may I recommend that you go to the devil?’ asked Peter in amusement. ‘Do you imagine I am so drunk I can’t see through your appallingly clumsy efforts to keep me out of mischief. Believe me, I have no intention of adding to my problems by dissipating my fortune! Only myself!’ He had been drinking steadily, but his speech was in no way impaired. Only the odd glitter in his eye betrayed the state of his temper. To any not intimately acquainted with him he appeared amiability itself.

George, having tried to hold him in as tactfully as possible, bowed to the inevitable and grinned at his friend’s recommendation, merely saying, ‘You’ll have
the devil of a head in the morning! I’m going back to the ballroom. You never know. I might meet the girl of my dreams on the dance floor!’

‘More likely meet a sticky end!’ said his lordship sardonically, raising his glass in salute.

He watched George depart and then turned back to the room in search of amusement. Someone tapped his shoulder. ‘Hello, Manders,’ he said, recognising a comrade from Peninsular days. ‘Rubber of piquet?’

His friend demurred without hesitation. ‘Not with you, Darleston! Even when you’re foxed, you play out of my league. Wouldn’t even be entertaining for you! But I don’t mind taking you on at dice.’

‘Whatever you please, old boy, but first I think I’ll find some more brandy!’ said his lordship agreeably. He caught at a passing footman. ‘Do you think you could find me a bottle of brandy? You could? Splendid!’

He turned back to his companion. ‘There we are! What more could we ask for?’

Manders grinned. ‘Well, a couple more people to liven up our game, do you think? Here’s your cousin Frobisher with a friend. Shall we ask them?’

In point of fact the last person in the world that Darleston would have chosen to dice with was his cousin Jack Frobisher, but he responded politely.

‘Dear boy, whatever you wish.’ He beckoned to Frobisher, saying, ‘Good evening, Cousin. Manders and I are going to have a little game of dice. Do you and your friend care to join us?’ He looked closely at the young man accompanying Frobisher. The youth was vaguely familiar, lank sandy hair, a chin which the charitable might have described as weak but was
in reality non-existent. Darleston searched his memory. Young Ffolliot, that was it.

Unable to detect any hint that the young man was in mourning, he asked curiously, ‘Heard you’d lost your father a while back, Ffolliot, but I suppose it’s only a rumour?’

‘Oh, Lord, no. It’s true enough. Couldn’t see much point in going into all that business of mourning when the whole world knows we didn’t get on!’ was the unconcerned answer.

Darleston was taken aback. Such casual disregard for a parent’s death was nothing less than shocking. He cast his mind back. He had been only slightly acquainted with John Ffolliot, but his memory was of a kindly man with a well-developed sense of humour. Hardly the man to engender dislike in his offspring! In fact he recalled that the last time he’d seen the elder Mr Ffolliot he had been driving his daughter in Hyde Park.

That was right! It all came back now! He’d danced with the chit at Almack’s and then spoken to her in the park. Met her at a concert too. Red hair, well, auburn anyway, and dreamy grey eyes. That was the girl! It occurred to him that there had appeared to be no lack of affection between father and daughter.

In a tone that was little less than a rebuke he said, ‘Then perhaps you would be so good as to convey my condolences to your sister, Mr Ffolliot? I am sure from what I have seen of her that she held her father in considerable affection
and
respect. Now, shall we play dice? I have my own set here.’

Ffolliot turned red with anger, but a nudge from Frobisher recalled him to his senses, so he sat down at the table with the other three. Darleston raised his
eyebrows slightly, but held his tongue. He produced his dice and the game began.

At first the luck all went Frobisher’s way. A pile of guineas grew steadily in front of him, to the annoyance of his friend Ffolliot, who grumbled continuously. Eventually, tired of the incessant whining, Darleston said lazily, ‘Mr Ffolliot would appear to resent your luck, Cousin. Surely not the part of a good friend!’

‘Perhaps not,’ was the unconcerned reply. ‘However, the game does begin to lose savour. Might I be excused, gentlemen?’ Frobisher rose to his feet, bowed gracefully and departed with his winnings.

As the game continued between the three remaining players Lady Luck chose to turn her face to Mr Ffolliot. Emboldened by this, and the amount of champagne he had consumed, he recklessly raised the stakes.

‘Double each throw, gentlemen?’ he challenged.

Darleston nodded imperturbably, but Manders said bluntly, ‘Too high, Ffolliot. Don’t be a fool! Luck won’t stay with you all night. Especially if you can’t afford it! I’m out!’ He rose to his feet. ‘Excuse me, Darleston, I’ll see you later.’

Darleston smiled up at him, saying amiably, ‘Thanks for the game, Manders. You must dine with me soon. I feel sure our tastes have much in common!’

He tossed back his glass of brandy, refilled it, and said to Mr Ffolliot, ‘Fifty a throw, wasn’t it?’ The game proceeded, but Lady Luck, possibly affronted by Mr Ffolliot’s behaviour, began to favour Darleston. That pile of guineas slowly made its way across the table. Finally they were all in front of Darleston.

‘Do you wish to continue, Mr Ffolliot?’ he asked politely.

‘Yes! Damn you! Double the stakes!’ slurred Ffolliot. The luck had to change! He glared at his opponent defiantly.

Darleston looked at him carefully. It was not in his nature to refuse a challenge, but it went against the grain to win money from a drunken youth who most certainly could not afford it. Wryly he admitted to himself that he had certainly provoked Ffolliot earlier. His code of honour dictated that it was time to call a halt.

The words were on the tip of his tongue when Ffolliot said loudly, ‘I don’t like your dice, Darleston!’ A dead silence came over the room. People turned to stare in disbelief. To accuse Darleston of cheating was unthinkable! His courage, honour and pride were a matter of public record. George Carstares, who had just come back into the room with Lord Carrington, stopped dead in his tracks, fully expecting Darleston to call Ffolliot out.

Darleston, however, managed to hold his temper in check. His eyes blazed, but he leaned back in his chair and asked softly, ‘Do you not, indeed, Mr Ffolliot? And what would you like to do about it? We can of course break the dice. But then of course you will owe me a new set.’ Almost as an afterthought he added, ‘And…er…satisfaction as well. Your choice, Mr Ffolliot! Or perhaps you have a set of dice we can use, and break at the end of the game, of course!’

Ffolliot’s eyes fell. ‘I…don’t have a set with me…I…I must have been mistaken!’ he stammered.

‘Then shall we continue?’ asked Darleston sweetly. The other occupants of the room lost interest, but George Carstares, watching closely with Lord Carrington, breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had no
fears for Darleston’s safety in a duel with Ffolliot, however, the law was strict about these little affairs.

‘Damn it, George,’ muttered Carrington. ‘Can’t this be stopped somehow? Ffolliot can’t afford to lose. He’s a blasted little squirt, I agree, but his sisters and stepmother have enough problems without Peter ruining him and calling him out!’

George shook his head. ‘He’d tell us to go to the devil! Already done that once this evening! At least he accepted the boy’s apology. No one can do anything with Peter in this mood!’

The game continued and Ffolliot’s losses mounted steadily. His face became sickly as his vowels grew in number. From time to time he made a little headway, but this was always short-lived. Darleston threw a ten, those mocking eyes daring his opponent to call a halt to the game. Ffolliot’s hand trembled so that his throw was clumsy and the dice fell to the floor. He bent to retrieve them, fumbling a little. Slightly flushed, he straightened up. ‘I beg your pardon, Lord Darleston!’

Darleston nodded for him to throw again. He threw a twelve and shot a triumphant glare at the Earl.

Carstares and Carrington exchanged startled glances. ‘Did you see what…?’ began George.

‘Let’s wait and be sure,’ murmured Carrington, placing a restraining hand on his companion’s arm. They continued to watch the game carefully.

Now the game began to run in Ffolliot’s direction. Lady Luck, it would seem, had relented towards Mr Ffolliot. Carstares and Lord Carrington drifted over to the table. Laying his hand on Ffolliot’s arm, the latter said coldly, ‘Mr Ffolliot, did I not hear you inform
Lord Darleston that you had no dice with you when he offered to let you change the dice?’

‘That’s right,’ said Ffolliot, shrugging off the hand. ‘What of it Carrington? I’m happy enough with the dice now! All a misunderstanding, eh, Darleston?’

Darleston looked in annoyance at George and Carrington, but what he saw in their faces made him hold his tongue. Again the whole room was focused on that small table.

Carrington was speaking again, ‘I have little doubt that you are only too happy with these dice, since they came out of your pocket! Strange how the luck turned so quickly after you retrieved the dice from the floor, wouldn’t you say? Carstares and I saw you make the exchange! Shall we break them for you?’

Ffolliot grabbed the dice. He was shaking, but tried to bluster. ‘How…how dare you? I…I don’t care for your tone, Carrington. Darleston has made no complaint!’

An expectant silence had pervaded the whole room. The assembled company looked with scorn at Ffolliot and with great interest at Darleston for his reaction.

His blazing eyes seemed to burn holes in Ffolliot’s face, but his voice was as urbane as ever. ‘I think this concludes our little game, Mr Ffolliot. You will hear from me in the next day or so to arrange the terms of payment for your debt.’

The host, Lord Bellingham, came forward to say icily, ‘I am afraid I must ask you to leave, Mr Ffolliot, unless you are prepared to have those dice broken!’ He waited a moment, but Ffolliot did not respond. Still clutching his dice, he stood up unsteadily and walked to the door. Men turned aside from him, disgusted.
Bellingham gestured to a footman. ‘See that he leaves!’

Darleston rose to his feet, saying calmly, ‘How very unpleasant. Ah, Bellingham! I do beg your pardon for this little contretemps! I shall also take my leave. Please accept my apologies.’

‘Nonsense, Darleston, no need for you to leave!’ said Bellingham. ‘I’m sure Carstares or Carrington will join us for a game of cards! Why leave just because of that infernal little mountebank?’

Darleston resumed his seat, saying obligingly, ‘Of course, Bellingham.’

When Darleston reached Grosvenor Square again it was four in the morning. He let himself into the house and found a candle burning on a small table. He picked it up and went upstairs to his bed-chamber where he proceeded to undress himself. Despite the acid comments of Fordham on the subject, Darleston insisted that he was perfectly capable of putting himself to bed at night.

The evening’s events had done little to alleviate his temper, and the comment dropped by Carrington on the way home, that he very much doubted Ffolliot’s ability to meet the debt he had contracted, had infuriated him. If it hadn’t been for the loaded dice Darleston would have quietly cancelled the debt. Unfortunately the public exposure of Ffolliot’s dishonesty made that impossible.

Ffolliot’s suggestion that he himself had been using loaded dice also continued to rankle. Well, if Ffolliot couldn’t pay the debt in one way, he should pay it in another! At this point the problem of Lady Caroline drifted back into his brandy-fogged mind. ‘Blast
Caroline!’ he said aloud. ‘The only way to be safe from her is to marry someone else. But who?’

He pulled the nightshirt laid out for him over his head. What had George said? Marry the first eligible girl who can hold a rational conversation! Well, that was Ffolliot’s sister! Damn! what was her name? Might have been Phoebe, but he couldn’t really remember. It occurred to him that she would be made devilishly uncomfortable over the night’s doings. That bothered him, he had been oddly attracted to her. Usually young girls bored him, but she had a spark of humour that appealed to him. Not on the occasion he’d danced with her at Almack’s, to be sure, but in the park and at the concert she’d seemed a different creature entirely. And she had that unusual dog.

He was about to get into bed when the idea struck him. To his somewhat tipsy logic it seemed perfectly reasonable, although an irritatingly sober voice warned him not to do anything rash. Impatiently he thrust the warning voice aside to consider his idea. Then he pulled on a dressing gown, sat down at the writing desk in the corner and penned a brief letter. He read it through owlishly, nodded, and sealed it. That would take the trick! he thought triumphantly. Must get it off immediately!

A little unsteady on his feet now, he went back downstairs to leave the letter on the hall table for the post.

A glow of satisfaction pervaded his being as he returned to bed, convinced he had solved all his problems in the most sensible way imaginable. The idea seemed so neat and logical that he could not for the life of him think of a single objection to it: a circum
stance which must be ascribed in great part to the quantity of brandy he had consumed.

Never, even when sober, prone to worry about a decision once it was made, Lord Darleston drifted off to sleep. His only concern was the devilish head with which he was bound to be afflicted when he awoke.

C
lad in sober grey muslin, Miss Ffolliot and Miss Phoebe Ffolliot stepped off the terrace and moved through the shrubbery towards the rose garden accompanied by a large Irish wolfhound. A basket hanging from Miss Ffolliot’s arm suggested that the pair were engaged upon an expedition to gather flowers. The scent of roses hung heavily in the early-morning air and the cloudless sky gave promise of a lovely day.

Miss Phoebe took a deep breath, remarking, ‘This is the best part of the day. No one else about, just us and the sun.’

Miss Ffolliot looked amused as she answered, ‘Surely Mr Winton would improve the morning? You’d scarcely notice if the sun disappeared, let alone Gelert and I!’

Phoebe blushed, but said with spirit, ‘You know perfectly well what I mean, Penny. Gathering the flowers for Mama with you gives us a chance to be private, and talk.’

‘About Mr Winton?’ asked Penelope, with a faint smile.

‘Oh, Penny, he’s so wonderful!’ said Phoebe, giving
up all attempt at dignity. ‘I wonder why he is coming to see Mama…do you think he might possibly make an offer?’

‘Not being in Richard’s confidence, I can’t say,’ answered Penelope. ‘But it does seem likely. Even Mama seems to think so, and certainly the fact that he went to town for the season last year, danced with you everywhere, took you driving, sent you flowers and came home when we did because of…of…Papa, and has danced attendance on you ever since, suggests that he takes an interest in you!’ She gave her twin an affectionate hug.

This reference to the death of Mr Ffolliot put an end to conversation for several moments, and the twins gathered roses in silence. Phoebe selected the best blooms, cutting them carefully to place in her sister’s basket. Penelope broke the silence, saying, ‘I’m sure he would have spoken sooner but thought it would be in bad taste. As it is you will have to wait until we are out of mourning to be married. But that’s only a month now.’

‘Geoffrey doesn’t let that stop him from enjoying life!’ said Phoebe in disgust.

‘Just because Geoffrey chooses to behave badly and gamble in every hell in town is all the more reason to act with some propriety,’ said Penelope. ‘Mama is very worried. She has no control over Geoffrey, even Papa didn’t have much, and now he is without any restraint.’

‘I wish he would come home,’ said Phoebe. ‘I mean, I don’t, because he is always perfectly horrid, but we should at least know what he was up to.’

Penelope didn’t answer immediately, but presently, after several more roses had been placed in the basket,
she said reluctantly, ‘Geoffrey is home. He arrived about four o’clock this morning.’

Phoebe stared at her sister. ‘Are you sure? Does Mama know?’

‘I’m quite sure,’ said Penelope dryly. ‘He made such a devilish noise coming up to bed that I woke up and heard the hall clock chime. He was not entirely sober and his language was most edifying. I’m surprised that you didn’t wake up. As for Mama, Tinson knows that Geoffrey is home, and by now I am sure he will have informed Mama of the delightful treat in store for her.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Phoebe. ‘Poor Mama! Is it very dreadful, do you think, that we should be so uncaring about our half-brother?’

‘No,’ replied Penelope decisively. ‘Geoffrey is an odious little beast, and considering the way he treats our mother it would be wonderful if we
did
like him!’

Phoebe was obliged to acknowledge the justice of this comment. Not only was Geoffrey appallingly rude to his stepmother, but he made it abundantly clear that he resented the existence of his three half-sisters, particularly Penelope, who frequently told him exactly what she thought of him with scant regard for her mother’s remonstrances or Geoffrey’s blustering threats. Phoebe glanced sadly at Penelope. It was hard to believe that the girl who moved so confidently beside her, one hand resting lightly on the dog’s collar, was practically blind.

A serious accident four years earlier had left Penelope unable to do more than distinguish light and dark very faintly and perceive movement. Though perfectly confident in familiar surroundings, she had refused utterly to enter into last Season’s festivities, de
claring that she preferred to hear about them from Phoebe rather than have the strain of dealing with strangers and strange places. She had accompanied her parents and Phoebe to London but had remained mostly at home, so that few people even realised that Phoebe had a twin. From time to time she had attended concerts with a maid, but always veiled to avoid recognition.

By the time the roses were gathered it was nearly breakfast-time, so the young ladies turned their steps towards the house. They were met at the side-door by Tinson, the elderly butler. ‘Shall I take the basket, Miss Penny?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please, Tinson, we’ll arrange them after breakfast. Is Mama down?’ asked Penelope.

‘Mrs Ffolliot is in the breakfast parlour with Miss Sarah. She was wondering where you were, but I informed her that I thought you were in the rose garden and would be in shortly.’

‘Thank you, Tinson. We will join them at once. I assume Mr Geoffrey is still abed?’ said Penelope.

The butler’s voice was impassive as he answered, ‘Mr Geoffrey has not stirred since he went to bed and he did not express a desire to be wakened for breakfast.’

‘Good!’ said the twins in unison. They burst out laughing at their impropriety and Phoebe pulled Penelope’s hand through her arm as they moved towards the breakfast parlour.

Mrs Ffolliot looked up, smiling, as her elder daughters entered the room. She deeply regretted that Penelope had refused point-blank to make her debut or even meet many people. Phoebe had been very successful, and Mrs Ffolliot knew that Penelope’s lively
personality would have been more than sufficient to overcome any disadvantage caused by her blindness. There was nothing to choose between the girls in terms of looks. Indeed, until Penelope’s accident she herself had often not been able to tell them apart. They had the same curling dark red hair and grey eyes, were of identical height and figure and possessed the same charming countenance. But now, despite her usual gaiety, there was occasionally a withdrawn, shut-in look to Penelope’s face, and if that had not been enough to distinguish the pair she was accompanied everywhere by the huge hound, Gelert, who acted as a self-appointed guide for his young mistress.

‘Good morning, Mama; good morning, Sarah,’ said the twins.

‘Good morning, dears. Were there plenty of roses? We must have a good display in the drawing room for our guest, don’t you think, Phoebe?’ asked Mrs Ffolliot with a faint smile.

Phoebe blushed and Penelope chuckled. ‘That’s too bad of you, Mama. I’ve already made her blush and now you’re doing it.’

Phoebe laughed at her twin as she sat down. ‘Penny, how do you always know?’

‘I told you, I can feel it. The room temperature just rose several degrees!’ answered Penelope as Gelert guided her to an empty chair beside thirteen-year-old Sarah. ‘Is there anything left, or did Sarah eat the lot?’

Sarah giggled at this reference to her notorious appetite and said, ‘There’s plenty. Shall I butter a scone for you?’

‘Yes, please, love. I’m nearly as hungry as you!’

‘Two scones for now, then, Sarah,’ teased Phoebe. ‘And I’ll ring for Tinson to fetch another dozen!’

Breakfast passed merrily, without mention of Geoffrey or any other unpleasantness. The twins were perfectly aware that Mrs Ffolliot did not wish to discuss the situation in front of Sarah. They lingered over the teacups until it was time for Sarah to depart to the drawing room to practise the pianoforte.

When she had left Mrs Ffolliot sighed and said, ‘Your brother is home again, Tinson informs me. I believe he arrived late last night, or rather early this morning. There is bound to be some unpleasantness, but he may not stay long and at least he does not have anyone with him this time.’

On his previous visit Geoffrey’s friend Mr Frobisher had accompanied him. Mrs Ffolliot had considered that the young man’s conversation was most unsuitable for the chaste ears of her daughters. She was also aware that he led her stepson into every low gambling hell in London.

Penelope had never revealed to anyone that he had attempted to take unwelcome liberties with her person, and had received a slap in the face in addition to being well bitten by Gelert. The incident was one she preferred to forget.

‘It is a pity that he should come just now, but I dare say he will sleep until past noon, and anyway, Richard Winton is so well-acquainted with us that he will not be overly concerned. Phoebe, dear, a note came over this morning to tell me why he is visiting us today. He has made an offer for you, and begs my permission to pay his addresses to you. He is most generous and offers to house Sarah, Penny and myself if, as he puts it, our present situation should become untenable. You have only to consider your answer, my dearest.’

Phoebe stared at her as if unable to believe what
she heard. Her grey eyes filled with tears and she hugged her mother in joy.

Penelope contemplated her sister’s future with real delight. Richard Winton was a close friend of the family, well-born and possessed of an easy fortune coupled with a good estate ten miles distant. He was passably good-looking, kindly, and he had been, in Penelope’s opinion at least, in love with Phoebe for the last two years. He was one of the few people who had never had the slightest difficulty in telling the twins apart. For this reason alone Penelope had been disposed to favour his suit. As she had said once in a moment of candour to her mother, ‘The idea of marrying a man who thinks you are your sister is not to be borne!’ Absently she stroked Gelert’s rough head, then rose to hug her sister. ‘Oh, Phoebe, you’ll be so happy together, and it’s quite close so we shall see lots of both of you!’

‘They might like to be alone!’ laughed Mrs Ffolliot.

Phoebe protested indignantly, ‘Of course we’ll want you, Mama. Why, his letter says so!’

‘Nevertheless, my love, I think we will give you time to become used to being Mrs Winton before we descend upon you for good. Now go and dry your face. You must arrange the flowers before he arrives,’ answered Mrs Ffolliot.

Phoebe departed singing, but Penelope remained behind. ‘Mama, do you have any idea why Geoffrey is home?’ she asked.

‘No, my dear. Why do you ask? I take it that you heard the noise? Tinson merely informed me that he was home. I gathered, from what Tinson
didn’t
say, that Geoffrey was not at all sober when he arrived, but that is not unusual,’ answered her mother.

Penelope was silent for a moment, and then said, ‘I did wake up. Phoebe and Sarah didn’t, so I…I…I went out into the corridor when I heard his door shut. Mama, something is really wrong. He was raving about Lord Darleston and…and some debt. He said, “He’ll take the lot, damn his eyes!” Mama, do you suppose he has lost a terrible amount of money?’

Mrs Ffolliot went white, but managed to say calmly, ‘We must suppose he has lost some money. Perhaps a great deal. You have not said anything to Phoebe?’ Penelope shook her head. ‘Good. Let us not spoil this day for her. Richard will be here in an hour or two, so we must put this out of our minds for now.’

‘Yes, Mama, but what do you know of Lord Darleston? I met him once with Papa when we were driving, you know. He seemed…well, not the man to be found in the sort of hells we know Geoffrey frequents. Not at all like his odious cousin,’ said Penelope, repressing a shudder with difficulty.

‘When did you meet Lord Darleston?’ asked her mother. ‘Your father never mentioned it,’

‘Oh, Lord Darleston thought I was Phoebe, and Papa didn’t correct him because I kicked him under the driving rug. I think he had stood up with Phoebe at Almack’s. Yes that’s right, because I asked Phoebe about him and she said he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. That was before she fell in love with Richard, of course.’ This observation was delivered with an absolutely straight face.

‘Penny!’ exclaimed Mrs Ffolliot, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.

‘Anyway, I thought his lordship was charming, and he admired Gelert! I suppose Papa didn’t tell you because he knew you’d be cross with us for deceiving
an Earl, so I warned Phoebe and that was that! Except that I met him again at a concert,’ finished Penelope.

Despite herself, Mrs Ffolliot smiled. Genuine admiration of Gelert was a sure road to Penelope’s liking. ‘His lordship is very charming, and I would have been extremely cross with the pair of you for imposing on him like that!’ said Mrs Ffolliot. ‘I know very little of him except what the world knows, which is that he is a hero of Waterloo, that his first wife ran off with another man and that he has avoided marriageable women ever since. I remember his standing up with Phoebe; it was most unlike him. Someone told me later that he is considering remarriage because of the succession. And considering that his heir is that odious Jack Frobisher, one cannot wonder at his decision!’

Penelope laughed. ‘Why, Mama, you are a positive fund of information. I must go and confer with Sarah on a suitable gift for the bride. Come along, Gelert.’

The pair left the room together, leaving Mrs Ffolliot alone to worry about the shortcomings and possible—or probable, as she admitted to herself—gambling debts of her stepson. She thought on reflection that it was entirely likely that Geoffrey had lost a great deal of money, and she wondered how, if that were the case, it was to be paid.

They were not wealthy. Phoebe’s season had been paid for with money left by the twins’ godmother specifically for that purpose. Penelope had insisted that her share be put aside for Sarah. Mrs Ffolliot and her husband had acquiesced because, despite her raillery and outward laughter, it was evident that the thought of braving a critical world she could not see frightened Penelope.

Mrs Ffolliot sighed, wondering if they had been
right in allowing Penelope to shut herself away. It would appear from what the child had said that she had met and liked at least one total stranger. This was encouraging, even if the pleasure had in part stemmed from a deplorable sense of mischief on the part of her daughter and, she had to admit, on the part of her husband. John Ffolliot would have enjoyed the joke as much as his eldest daughter. He would have been most unlikely to tell his wife of the meeting. Not from any fear of censure, but to spare her embarrassment when next she met Lord Darleston.