Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (7 page)

Just at that moment, Simmons entered.
He gasped
as he spied Howe carrying Penelope. Oh hell, just when things were getting absolutely enchanting. With a sigh, he laid Penelope on
a dainty iron settee
.

"Simmons, bring a cold compress. Her ladyship twisted her ankle, and I am helping her."

"Yes, at once." The old butler scurried away.

As he left,
Lady Annand
burst into giggles. "Oh dear. I am sorry. I forgot that Simmons often cleans
attends to the greenhouse
at this time of day.
He gathers some of the flowers for arrangements in the house.
"

"It's no matter," he replied. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course. Disappointed, but all right. And you?"

"It may take me longer
to calm myself
," he admitted ruefully. "But I hope to be in such a de
lightful predicament again some
time soon. Do you think I will be?"

She lowered her eyelids to coquettish half-mast. "I suppose you could be."

Chapter Seven

The Barclay Employment Agency
was a dashed
difficult place to find. A
ll
Pierce's
conn
ections and contacts
were brought
to bear on the situation
. And even then,
only by assuming a false identity and by playing faro with
a shady baronet who ran in a wild circle of society was he able to even track down the agency's address.

He flicked a glance outside the carriage window. The agency was located in a posh area of town, no doubt. Who would have guessed that he would find the place in Mayfair, just blocks from his own flat? This wasn't really an area conducive to business transactions. The circumstances surrounding the agency grew more intriguing by the moment.

His carriage drew to a halt outside of a
pristine, unassuming
townhome.
A listless winter wind stirred the ivy clinging to its red brick walls.
He glanced down at the scrap of foolscap the baronet had pressed into his hand. Yes, this was the right address. He alit, scanning the area carefull
y for signs of danger. T
he wind
kicked
up a few scattered leaves, sending them scudding across the pavement with the sound of bones cracking. His hackles raised anyway. You could never be too careful.

Pierce let himself in through the garden gate and mounted the steps two at a time. He paused before the door, which was painted a glossy shade of black. "Knock thrice—
and whistle
God Save the King
," the baronet
had
slurred in his ear. So he tried precisely that, rapping his
gloved
knuckles on the heavy wood.

The door opened, and a regal-looking older woman smiled up at him. "Yes?"

Pierce cleared his throat. "I am looking for the Barclay Agency. I need a new…maid."

"Of course." Her smile widened. "Won't you come in?"

As she closed the door behind him, she asked, "And whom may we thank for your referral?"

"Lord Tristan Blake," he replied, removing his coat and hat.

She took both articles from him with a satisfied nod of her head. "Lord Blake has sent us many clients."

"Yes, he's quite the gentleman.
I'm Lord Banks, a…
good friend of Blake's.
" Pierce permitted himself a short bark of laughter.

The older woman led him down a hallway interspersed with floor to ceiling gold-framed mirrors. "Right this way, sir," she responded. "We'll take your interview in here. I am Mrs. Ealy, by the by. I shall help you find the perfect maid for your needs."

The hallway opened onto a large, airy room that was empty save for a Louis XIV desk in gaudy tones of cream and gold and two chairs upholstered in black and white toile. A large, circular stage rose four inches from the floor, dominating the empty space. Pierce cut his eyes to the left and then to the right. What the devil was this place, anyway?

She motioned him to one of the chairs and sat behind the desk. She flipped open a black, leather-bound ledger book. "Now, what kind of maid do you seek? Do you prefer a blonde or a brunette, or something more exotic?"

According to
Lady Annand
's description, Cicely had black hair. "Something in a brunette, preferably with brown eyes," he responded, leaning back against the chair.

Mrs. Ealy flipped through a few pages in her ledger. "Hmmm. I have an idea or two. Do you prefer younger women or older?"

Lady Annand
had said Cicely was about twenty. "I prefer ladies with a bit more experience, but not too much."

Mrs. Ealy smiled a cat's-got-the-cream grin. "How I love to hear that."

He chuckled politely. If only she would get on with it. This situation was deuced uncomfortable.

"I have two girls in mind." She snapped her ledger shut. "If you will wait here, I will bring them out to you."

She exited through a side door, and he was left alone in the nearly-vacant room. Somewhere, a clock struck the hour. It tolled on his nerves like a loudly played passage from Chopin. He leapt from his chair and prowled around the desk, careful to disturb nothing. The ledger was closed—if only he could take a look. But they could be back at any moment, and if she knew he was only there to prowl around, Mrs. Ealy would throw him out on his ear. And there would go his only chance at admittance to the Barclay Employment Agency.

The door opened again, admitting Mrs. Ealy and two brunette young women. They were clad in nothing but chemises, and their hair was completely unbound. Each one also wore a half-mask, obscuring most of her facial features. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This was worse than he expected.

"Now sir, each lady will stand on the pedestal and you can look at her from all angles. They can remove their chemises if you wish. Once you decide which you prefer, let me know. Of course, you can also have both." She gave an appreciative chuckle that made his gut turn.

"Never mind the chemises," he muttered. "They leave very little to the imagination. What of the masks? I should like to see each girl's face."

"Didn't Lord Blake tell you? The girls must leave their masks on. It is our way of keeping things…under wraps."

It would be hard to tell if either girl were Cicely if her face was covered. If he could find a way to get either girl out of the house, and away from Mrs. Ealy, they could remove their masks and he could take them to see Lady
Annand
. She would be able to identify her own maid. He sighed. Time to press the matter further. "How do I know these girls don't have the pox? Or are horribly disfigured under those masks?"

"I can assure you, all of our girls are of the highest quality. Not a pockmark on them. Remove their chemises, and see for yourself how perfect they are." Mrs. Ealy folded her arms across her chest.

He shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. "That won't be necessary."

The girls mounted the pedestal, standing frozen. They had done this before, they must have. Otherwise, how would they know the routine so well? He circled the pedestal, feigning interest.
Lady Annand
had said that Cicely had a birthmark on her left arm. He peered closely at each girl's arm, but they were smooth and unblemished, save for some goose flesh. His heart lurched with pity.

He'd have to take both girls and question them, away from the agency. And he'd find a way to let Lady
Annand
see them as well. Even if neither was Cicely, her ladyship might be able to identify one or both of them.

"I'll take them both," he announced, rubbing his hands together.

"Excellent!" She opened the ledger again and scribbled down a few notes in the book. "When would you like them?"

"Well,
I should like to take them home now, of course
." His brows furrowed.

"Sir, you really are hasty," Mrs. Ealy replied with a giggle that set his teeth on edge. "Lord Blake must not have explained the process to you. These young women will be at your disposal tonight, or any night of your choosing, at the Gilded Lily. I will
arrange
a private room for your pleasure."

"
Very well, if I cannot take them home, the Lily will do well enough. But
why are they not available now?" He used his most aggrieved customer tone of voice.

"Sir, the Lily has been under scrutiny by the Runners for many days now. We must use caution and discretion, else we may be caught. Darkness provides a good cover, and of course, we must ready the ladies themselves." By gad, she was cajoling him—just as she might a lad who wasn't getting a piece of candy. What kind of men frequented this agency? Men like
Blake--that
was for sure.

"Very well," he replied with a sigh. "But may I ask what makes these girls different from any other
whore I might take at the Lily? After all, I am paying quite a bit for this service. How can I make sure I get my moneys worth?"

"Well, really, sir." She was beginning to sound put out. "We cater to men of all tastes and persuasions at the Barclay. You don't have to take your chances with any run-of-the-mill light
skirt. You get to pick exactly
the type of gel
you want, no matter what
type
you want
, or what you wish to do with her
. And our ladies are trained to satisfy our customers in ever
y way
demand
ed of them
. These two, for example—"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I understand. You need not go on."

"
As you wish."
She made a few more notes in the ledger. "These two together will come to a price of one thousand
pounds
. I will have them ready for you in the Red Room at half-past ten. Doe
s that suit you well enough, Lord Banks
?"

Damn, this was going to be an expensive investigation. He counted out the money with a flourish. "Suits me well enough. Until then."

As he exited the townhouse, he clapped his hat on his head and tugged on his coat. He had to find a way to
sneak
Lady Annand
into the Gilded Lily—and into the Red Room—without being seen. 'Twould be the only way he could have her try to identify the two girls.
If she could not see them, she could not tell if they were in any way connected to Cicely.

The prospect was intriguing, truth be told.
After all, he would much, much rather get
Lady Annand
into that Red Room than all the expensive prostitutes in London. Their tete-a-tete a few days ago had proved most intriguing. Now, if only they could finis
h that particular investigation
together—and in private.

***

Penelope spun around the ballroom once more on
her random partner's
arm again. She could never remember the name of the men who vied for her attentions and favors. Once the music stopped and she had made her curtsy, she could consult her dance card once again, and get the gentleman's name. Until then,
boredom laid claim to her being. Penelope amused
herself by
glancing
at the whirling faces of the crowd as she waltzed by.
'Twas
almost like looking into a kaleidoscope, her favorite childhood toy.

It was only a matter of minutes until she could leave. Pierce promised to collect her from the ball at fifteen after the hour. His note had been terse and to the point. "I shall call for you outside of Lady Winthorpe's home at 10:15. Be waiting." Of course, it was
mighty
scandalous to leave a
Christmas
ball in full
swing
and much more so to leave it only to creep into a thief-taker's carriage. But t
hen, she didn't care a fig for s
ociety and its rules. That was the beauty of being entirely free.

The waltz ended, and Penelope snuck a rapid glance at her card as she curtsied. "Thank you, Lord Dalworth," she purred as he escorted her off the floor. The orchestra began to disassemble as the crowd surged toward the supper-room. Excellent. It must be just after ten, which meant she had plenty of time to find her wrap and hasten outside for Pierce's arrival.

She dashed up the stairs and entered the dressing-room that had been set aside as a cloakroom for the ladies.

"You're in a mad rush," a voice chirped from the dressing-table. Ah, Elizabeth. She walked over and embraced her friend.

"
Elizabeth
, darling."
Penelope
kissed the
top
of
her auburn
head. "I must hurry. Pierce is waiting." She found her wrap on the fainting couch and wrapped it around herself.

"Well, then. I shan't keep you. How positively delicious that you are sneaking off to see him." Elizabeth giggled. "Much more delightful than an interminable supper with those bores."

Penelope paused in the doorway. "He has something to tell me about the case. I can feel it in my bones."

Elizabeth waved a languid hand. "Whatever you say, my dear. I heard from Jane that you were starting your affair in earnest. And I applaud you heartily."

Bother
. She should have known that Jane would tell. After all, the three women had been friends for years. Rather like the Three Musketeers, these Liberated Ladies. She merely rolled her eyes and sprinted down the hallway. If she took the back staircase, only the servants would see her. And they would assume—like Elizabeth—that she was off to an assignation. In a way, it was true.

Her dancing slippers made nary a sound as she dashed down the stairs. She hadn't been able to clear her mind of the moments she and Pierce had shared in the g
reenhouse
just a few days before. What would have happened if Simmons hadn't walked in on them? Would she have completely given in? Yes, of course she would. She was nobody's fool, and Pierce had nearly carried her away on the tide of passion.