A Man without a Mistress (The Penningtons Book 2) Read online

  “Surely you’re not taking her part in this, Theo,” Sibilla exclaimed, following her brother as he strode toward the hearth. “Theo? Theo!”

  Heedless of her cries, Theo tossed the offending paper onto the fire. With a deliberate turn of his wrist, he tipped out the remaining liquor from his glass.

  “The devil, Theo! Do you truly mean to take her side?” she cried as the sheet crumpled to ashes.

  Sibilla blinked back the tears smarting her eyes. The Theo she had grown up with would never have acted so. But this new, debauched brother? A brother who reeked of smoke and unclean linen? A brother with the sour smell of liquor hanging on his breath?

  He must have seen the disgust on her face, for all she tried to hide it. With a mumbled curse, he strode to the window and braced his forehead against its frame.

  “I asked Mrs. Allyne to watch out for you, to make sure you find a suitable husband. She agreed to leave her own home to look after you, to guide you through your first full year in society. But only if I promised not to interfere.”

  “Not to interfere? But you are my guardian, Theo.”

  “A less-than-suitable one, at least to Aunt Allyne’s way of thinking.” A wry grimace slashed across his face as he raised his glass. “Doesn’t believe my conduct of late sets much of an example of genteel behavior, does our aunt.”

  She took a cautious step toward him. “Is that why you’re living here, Theo, and not at Pennington House?”

  Theo shrugged. “Our aunt fears I’d only encourage you in your hoydenish ways.”

  Are you not, little hoyden? The words of the infuriating man in the mews echoed, the memory of his eyes—no, his words—bringing a flush of color to her face. Was she destined to be labeled a roistering romp at every turn?

  “A hoyden, you say? Do you know, I’ve heard the word in reference to myself once already today. Shall I tell you of my adventure?”

  “Ladies aren’t supposed to have adventures, Billie,” Theo said. “Proper ladies, in any case. You promised you’d behave if we brought you to London. Stop walking out without a chaperone. Stop scandalizing the neighbors by speaking ill of the government. Stop writing to Papa’s cronies, plaguing them for political tidings on my behalf.”

  Sibilla’s cheeks burned, almost as if she had been slapped. Was this what Theo truly thought of her? A scandal, a plague?

  “Is it not proper for a lady to ride of a morning?” she asked, her voice stiff and sharp with pain. “It was the gentleman’s behavior that was not all the thing, if in fact he was a gentleman, which I now begin to doubt.”

  “What, out riding, were you? And some poor fellow gave you chaff? Showed him the sharp side of your tongue, I’ll warrant.”

  Sibilla’s lips tightened. Coming from her father, such words would have been intended as a compliment. But from Theo? “Chaff? Do you call it merely chaff when a man accosts and almost abducts a woman? Cannot Parliament do something about the vagrants and rogues who plague honest people whenever they leave their lodgings?”

  “Accosted and abducted, you say?” Theo turned abruptly, the suddenness of his movement throwing him slightly off balance. But when he saw her standing there, obviously unharmed, he steadied, his eyes narrowing. “Mrs. Allyne allowed such a thing?”

  “Noooo . . .” she grudgingly acknowledged.

  “Your maid? Or your groom? I’ll release them if they’ve not taken proper care.”

  Lord, was Farley right that Theo might turn him off, all because of her heedless behavior?

  “Left them behind again, didn’t you?” Theo walked back toward the table, stopping to scoop up the half-empty decanter. “Serves you right, then. Foolish chit.”

  “Foolish? Is it any more foolish than a peer living in lodgings instead of taking up residence at his own rightful home?” she cried, shame and anger overcoming sense. “Shirking his duty by not taking up his seat in Parliament? Leaving his sister to the ministrations of the silliest woman in Christendom, all so he might . . . might frolic with his mistress instead of seeing to her well-being?”

  Damn that vile stranger and his insinuations! Before he’d put the idea of mistresses into her head, she’d never once thought to consider whether Theo might be indulging his baser urges with the opposite sex. Truly, she had never even imagined he might be subject to such urges. And now here she was, not only thinking but speaking of such matters as no well-bred girl should ever admit to understanding.

  At least her outburst should show Theo how provoking his behavior had been, leaving her to Aunt Allyne for three entire days. And of course he’d deny her outrageous charge.

  Wouldn’t he?

  “Heard a rumor, did you, and thought to see a courtesan’s house for yourself?” Theo said after a pause as long as a sermon. “Or was it the lady you wished to view? What would you have done, pray, if I had not been here to intercept you? Made your curtsy to Mademoiselle Crèbillon and taken tea? Inquired when it might be convenient for our aunt to pay a call?”

  “A courtesan? You keep a mistress, Theo?” Her voice sounded odd, so short and jagged. No wonder he was less than pleased to see her—she had come not to his lodgings, but to those of his kept woman.

  And this was the brother she’d once idolized? The man she’d been so eager to help take up their father’s political mantle? How dare Papa set her such an impossible task!

  No, how dare Theo make it so impossible. And how dare he cause her to think ill of her father, even for an instant . . .

  “What, now that our father is dead, you feel free to indulge in every debauchery known to mankind?” she heard herself say, as if her words came not from her, but from some other, darker being. “Well, Papa never did think you would ever amount to much, but I dare say even he’d be surprised to find his heir using Saybrook rents to fund a whorehouse.”

  “Damn you, Sibilla.” He grabbed her arms, his eyes flashing with sudden alertness. “A mistress is not the same as a whore.”

  “No, one is paid per act, the other per annum, I believe,” she said, recalling strangely titillating conversations between her father and his friends, whispered without knowledge of her hidden presence. “But what a man does with each varies little, I understand.”

  The reckless words continued to fall from her lips, unbidden. “Or perhaps I am mistaken? A genteel girl is taught so little about such things . . .”

  Theo’s fingers tightened, as if he might shake her for allowing such shocking words to escape her mouth. No, she would not take it back, not a single word, no matter how her stomach roiled.

  “Lord, to see you now, who would ever imagine what a cheerful, biddable little thing you used to be before Papa’s illness?” Theo said, his arms falling to his sides.

  Biddable? Lord, had this brother she’d idolized ever even known her at all?

  Theo turned away from her, his hand carving a path of frustration through his already disheveled hair. “Devil take it, Sibilla, I’d be tempted to turn you over my knee right now, if only I thought it would have the least chance of teaching you to curb this wild, impetuous behavior.”

  “Turn me over your knee? Papa would never have done such a thing,” she flung out in the most cutting tone she could summon.

  “No. But Papa was a far better man than I,” her brother answered, his head bowed. “And Papa is dead, Billie. He’s gone.”

  Sibilla and Theo stood silent, as if neither had been quite convinced of the truth of the words until he had spoken them aloud.

  Could sharing their grief mend this awful rift between them? Sibilla reached out a tentative hand and set it against her brother’s back.

  But Theo only jerked away.

  “I am the head of this family now, no matter how ill suited you may find me for the role,” he said, his voice hardening as he stared out the window with blank eyes. “And I have brought you to London to present you to society, and to begin the search for a suitable husband. Not to become embroiled in politics, or to allow you to embroil me in them,
either.”

  “But I promised Papa—”

  “And so you will conduct yourself in a proper manner, Sibilla,” Theo continued, as if she hadn’t even spoken. “You will not leave Pennington House without escort. You will heed our aunt, and you will entertain any suitor she deems worthy. Especially the gentleman to whom I wish to introduce you at Lord Milne’s later this week. And I beg you will play your role with all the decorum due the Pennington name.”

  “As do you?” Sibilla taunted.

  “If my example gives you justification for your own reckless behavior, then Mrs. Allyne was wise, I think, to bid me stay away,” he replied, refusing to rise to her bait. “I’ll squire you about, and act as host for any events held at Pennington House. But until you’re safely married, I think it best for me to leave Berkeley Square to her, and to you.”

  Sibilla clutched at a chair back with both hands, afraid she might fly apart if she did not hold tight to something other than herself. Papa had left her, but he’d had no choice. Would Theo abandon her, too?

  “So once I am married you’ll deign to visit me, brother? Coward,” she whispered. “Coward!”

  Without thinking, she snatched the decanter from the table and flung it. Only at the sound of glass shattering, shards of crystal cascading off the chimneypiece in all directions, did she realize what she’d done.

  But it was too late.

  The liquor trailed down the highly polished steel fender like runnels of rain down a windowpane.

  Sibilla ran from the room before her tears did the same.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Miss Pennington, I understand from your aunt that this is the first invitation you have accepted since your return to town. How pleased I am you’ve granted Milne House the honor of your presence.” Lady Milne, her hostess, smiled at Sibilla with a kindly if distracted air.

  Sibilla had been looking forward to this evening’s dinner party. The lively discussions one would surely find at the home of a politically active peer such as the earl would provide a welcome distraction from the embarrassment and pain of her last meeting with Theo. But during dinner, she had heard little beyond the difficulties of carriage travel, the trouble one had in hiring attentive servants, and the joys of Bond Street shopping. The appearance of the motherly, but rather vapid, Lady Milne by her side in the drawing room, a cup of tea in hand, suggested that after-dinner discussions would continue in a domestic, rather than political, vein.

  “You are too kind,” Sibilla said, her eyes darting to the door. When would the men leave off their port?

  “Oh, my dear girl. I understand how difficult it can be to reenter society after such a loss,” the countess said, patting her hand. “I, too, lost my own dear father, not three years ago, and well recall how my mind would fly to him when I first set off my half mourning. But we must not allow grief to distract us from our social responsibilities, must we?”

  Why did Lady Milne not speak of her father’s work, rather than his death? Sibilla shut her eyes, just for the barest moment. But the countess must have recognized her distress, for she quickly turned the subject. “Tell me, my dear, how did you find your partners at table? Lord James is ever the gentleman, but my son is all too wont to talk nonsense, the sad scamp. Please reassure me Dulcie said nothing untoward.”

  Lord James Dunster, son of the Marquess of Tisbury, had been all that was polite. Although the way he had turned the topic each time she asked him about his work in the House of Commons suggested he believed political discussions beyond the abilities of a mere female. Lady Milne’s son, Viscount Dulcie, had proven far more agreeable, but just as unlikely to debate the Irish question or the need for parliamentary reform as was Lord James. More from lack of interest, though, than from a belief in the inherent stupidity of the other sex, if Sibilla had judged him correctly. Yes, all that was polite, each of them, and Dulcie quite attractive with his guinea-gold curls and impish smile. But both disappointing, all the same.

  “Oh no, my lady. No need to call either to account, I assure you. Both Lord James and your son were all that is proper.”

  “Ah, you are kind to reassure me, Miss Pennington,” Lady Milne said. “Your own father had not the pleasure of knowing Dulcie, but the current Lord Saybrook is well aware of his sterling qualities. It would please me no end were you and my son to become better acquainted during the coming Season.”

  With one last pat, and another vague smile, the countess rose. “Ah, Lady Agatha, do allow me to freshen your cup.”

  Theo had intended to present her with a potential suitor tonight, had he not? He must still be upset with her if he left the task to Lady Milne. Because of their argument two days ago? Or because of the one they’d had nearly a year ago, as their father lay dying?

  Or perhaps it was simply that Theo found himself too incapacitated by drink. Even from the other end of the table, she had seen the footman refill his wineglass more than once . . .

  Aunt Allyne dropped into the seat abandoned by the countess with a sigh. “How kind of Lady Milne to speak with you. When you are married, you would do well to take such a genteel lady as your pattern for proper behavior. Such a comfort to the earl!”

  Sibilla hid her impatience behind a china cup. Which would prove more tepid, her aunt’s conversation or her rapidly cooling tea?

  “Have you heard Lady Davenport’s news?” Aunt Allyne asked after settling her skirts to her satisfaction. “The short-waisted dress is no longer the thing! And all your new gowns were made in that style. Do you think Madame Charbon can rework one before Lady Butterbank’s ball? And when you are married, of course, you will want a completely new set of clothing. I feel almost faint at the thought! Oh, whatever have I done with my vinaigrette?”

  Sibilla sighed, setting down her cup to take up the search for her aunt’s reticule. But neither it nor the vinaigrette that it purportedly contained were anywhere to be found.

  “I must have left it in the dining room,” her aunt cried, her hands fluttering like little birds trapped in a cage. “Such an addlepate I am. What will Lady Milne think?”

  “I am sure a footman can retrieve it for you, Aunt,” Sibilla reassured, rising to find a likely servant. But all the footmen in the drawing room were engaged.

  Fetching the reticule herself would be quicker. And it had the consequent benefit of removing her from the matrimonially inclined conversation of Lady Milne and Aunt Allyne. Perhaps she might even have the luck to overhear something that would help her persuade Theo how important it was that he take his seat in Parliament.

  Her steps quiet on the softly carpeted hallway, Sibilla paused at the door to the dining room. She could spy no footman here, either, only the gentlemen, smoking and sipping at the other end of the room, far from where her aunt had been seated. It would be easy to dart in and retrieve the reticule without calling any attention to herself.

  But was it worth the risk of being caught intruding on the gentlemen’s conversation?

  Yes. Ducking down, she edged carefully across the carpet.

  “Can I have heard you aright?” Lord James Dunster exclaimed in a tone of disbelief. “Is Dashwick truly going to propose an act to legalize bawdy houses? I find such a proposal more than reprehensible. Could he be in his right mind?”

  Lord Milne raised his glass with a laugh. “Trolling Covent Garden in the wee hours of the night has certainly not dampened Dashwick’s reputation for eccentricity. At one time he bruited about the idea of reviving the sumptuary laws, to require lightskirts to wear a distinguishing mark. How this was meant to curb the practice, he never could explain.”

  Viscount Dulcie gave a loud snort. “And soon all the fashionable ladies would be imitating the mark! Never be able to sort the doxies from the mere hoydens then, would we? Hmm, perhaps that would not be so bad after all,” he concluded, eliciting laughter from the younger bucks who surrounded him.

  “Would men who keep a mistress have to be licensed as well?” asked another man. “Imagine you, Sayb
rook, taking yourself down to court to procure a paper for Mademoiselle Crébillon! Or, no, even better—imagine watching sobersides Kit, who always swore he had better things to do with his time than to chase after women, trotting out to procure a license now that he’s set up his own fancy piece! What a joke!”

  Sibilla clapped a hand over her mouth. Her youngest brother had a mistress, as well as Theo? Ducking down behind a chair, she winced, praying her reflexes had been quick enough to avoid her brother’s gaze. Aunt Allyne would surely admonish that eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, but Sibilla hadn’t expected to hear ill of her brother. Devil take it! Bad enough for Theo’s amatory relations to be bandied about in such a manner, but to have Kit’s morals questioned, too?

  Lord Milne must have sent a quelling look in the direction of her brother and his tormenter, for no set-down came in response to the man’s ill-bred jibe. Instead, it was the earl who spoke next. “Surely, allowing the watch greater authority over such practices will curb streetwalking more than the licensure of bawdy houses or the marking of prostitutes. Will you be supporting the changes in the Vagrancy Bill that Dunster has proposed, Saybrook?”

  Sibilla edged around the bottom of the table, closer to where her aunt had been sitting. Her hand groped under the chair, searching in vain for the missing reticule.

  “Mmmm,” her brother replied, the slightest slur marking his speech. “Find some of the stranger positions men have taken regarding the suppression of prostitution highly amusing, though. Ever come across Reverend Madan’s volumes? Says England ought to become a polygamous society! Legalizing multiple marriage, the only viable remedy for men’s incorrigible need for sexual variety, so he writes.”

  Her brother’s remark raised another laugh from the young bucks, but drew only a snort from her. Had Reverend Madan considered what would happen if a man developed an “incorrigible need” for his neighbor’s second wife? Or his third?