Page 15 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
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Elliot silently studied his client in the faint light from the lantern alongside Mrs. Pennyworth. The soft light cast her features into a golden glow, emphasizing her plump lips, rounded chin, and high cheekbones. She truly was a lovely woman, and given his history with the fairer sex, someone to stay as far away from as possible.
To distract himself from this unwanted attraction, he went over the evening, thinking of the various men he’d met, and those who had interacted with Mrs. Pennyworth. They all seemed to be regular, pleasant fellows, but he’d memorized the names of each man so he could explore their backgrounds further.
The light scent from his client’s presence surrounded him, pulling him away from his thoughts. He closed his eyes and attempted to concentrate.
Not soon enough, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Mrs. Pennyworth’s house. He opened his eyes just as the light hit the neckline of her gown in a perfectly wonderful way, and he got a delightful view of the tops of two creamy breasts, looking as though they were eager to escape their bindings.
He broke into a sweat, and hurriedly jumped from the carriage, then turned to assist her. The sooner he got Mrs. Pennyworth into her house, with the door closed between the two of them, the better for his sanity. Else, he would grab her and devour that enticing mouth, and then discover if light kisses on her jaw, down her neck, and under her ear would produce the lovely little sounds women were apt to make.
God, he was in a bad way. Perhaps he needed pay a call to Mrs. Byrd, a widow who supplemented her meager income by entertaining men. It had been a while since he’d been there, and his growing reactions to Mrs. Pennyworth tonight suggested it was time for a visit.
He checked their surroundings as they mounted the steps. “When is the next event that you plan to attend?” Taking deep breaths and concentrating on the business part of their relationship should help calm his body. Although, therewasno other relationship with his client that existed.
And it was best to remember that.
“Lord Danforth and Lady Danforth are hosting a card party on Monday afternoon. Do you play?”
“Yes, I do. I have a few items to move around on my calendar, but I will be prepared to escort you. What time shall I call?”
“The invitation is for two o’clock, with tea at five. Perhaps about fifteen before the hour? It is not a long ride to their house.”
He studied her wan expression, and pale face. “Are you unwell, Mrs. Pennyworth?”
“I do have the beginnings of a headache.”
“Please get sufficient rest tonight. I am afraid this is going to be a lengthy process to ferret out the man annoying you.”
She nodded. “Yes, I had forgotten how wearing a social life can be.” She smiled and the door was opened by the man he’d seen earlier. He did not want to trouble her now, but he needed to speak with all the men she employed. “Well, good night then. I will see you Monday afternoon.”
* * *
Charlotte trudged up the steps,feeling tired to the bone. Perhaps she had, in fact, returned to a social life too soon. Not that she felt as though she still needed to mourn Gabriel, but the stress of wondering if every man who approached her was the one leaving those disgusting objects was taking its toll.
Truth be told, Mr. Baker was also weighing on her mind. After the glowing recommendation she’d received about his services from the inspector at Scotland Yard, she had no doubt if anyone could uncover the man responsible, it would be him. But, on the other hand, her attraction to him disturbed her.
The man was too handsome for her own good. And he had a way of looking at her that made parts of her body tingle and hum a snappy tune. Aside from the fact that he was her employee, she had no desire to foster a relationship with a man. Any man.
A husband was certainly not on her list of desired acquisitions, and becoming a mistress was not to her liking, either. Many widows in her social circle, as well as among the nobility, found widowhood an escape from the confines of marriage. With a thoughtful lover, who took the necessary precautions, widowhood could be a very enjoyable time of life.
She had no faith in men, and no reason to trust them. Depending on herself sat very well. Thank heaven—and Gabriel—for leaving her in a position where she did not need to marry again to keep a roof over her head, and food on her table.
All these thoughts raced through her mind as she stripped off her clothes, adding tension to her already pounding headache. She placed her clothes neatly on the chair next to the wardrobe and took out her nightgown.
Once the velvety cotton hit her bare skin, she immediately relaxed. Cook’s special tea would go well, but she had no desire to venture to the kitchen to prepare it. Taking a huge yawn, she climbed between the covers, and before long was fast asleep.
The next morning, she felt immensely better, and lay there deciding what she would wear for her Friday visit to St Jerome’s. No outfit easily spoiled by sticky little hands. It occurred to her that when Mr. Baker had asked her about her next social event, she’d forgotten her promise to elderly Mrs. Fenster that she would stop in after St. Jerome’s to share tea.
That would hardly count as a social event he needed to be aware of, however, since the poor older woman was certainly not harboring a man who was leaving things on her front steps.
Refreshed, and anxious to start her day, she climbed from the bed and rang for Beatrice. A long, leisurely soak was just what she needed.
“Good morning, mum.” Beatrice burst into the room, all smiles and sunshine. She and her sister Bridget were both sweet girls, hard workers, and as far as she knew, both sent the bulk of their wages to their parents in Ireland, where the family lived with their other eleven children.
Charlotte shook her head at the thought of so many children in one family. Their poor mother must be worn out. That, of course, led her to thoughts of the children at St. Jerome’s. Life for them was so much worse with no family members who cared enough to work hard so they could eat a proper diet and have warm clothes.
Once dressed for her visit, she ate a light breakfast of toast, jam, and tea. She allowed herself time to peruse the newspaper while she ate, a luxury she enjoyed almost more than any other in her life. As a child growing up, there had never been money for newspapers, and the brief time she’d been married to Gabriel, the newspaper had belonged to him.
