Page 66 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
“Well, I’m here now,”Lavinia murmured, as the lodge at the end of the drive came in sight.
The house was modeled on Sarum Lacy itself. Built of the same stone, and with a mock tower—a folly of sorts—attached to its side. It stood to the right of a pair of large, wrought iron gates, which were closed at the moment, and guarded on either side by two stone lions on the top of granite pedestals, their unflinching gazes staring out along the road leading off through the trees.
A stony-faced welcome,Lavinia thought to herself, as she approached the door of the lodge.
It was opened by a nervous looking maid, who informed Lavinia her master was not at home, but that her mistress, Miss Havers, was in the drawing room. Lavinia presented her calling card and was ushered into a small, dark hallway, crammed with oversized pieces of furniture and a large, ticking grandfather clock.
Lavinia was left alone, while the maid went to speak to her mistress, and she looked around her with interest. On the wall above the mantelpiece was a painting of a pretty woman, whom Lavinia assumed to be Penelope. She looked terribly forlorn, staring out of the portrait with the look of one bearing a terrible weight.
How sad to end up like that. Perhaps…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of the maid, who bid Lavinia to follow her.
“Miss Havers will see you, Miss Stuart,” she said, and Lavinia was led along a short corridor to a door at the far end and announced into a small drawing room, equally as crammed with furniture as the hallway.
Sitting in the window, dressed all in black, was Penelope. Her face was pale, withdrawn, and etched with sorrow. It seemed she had been crying, for she clutched a handkerchief in her hand, and as Lavinia entered the room, she rose, looking at her almost fearfully.
“Miss Havers, it’s so good of you to see me,” Lavinia said, stepping forward and holding out her hand.
She realized she did not actually have a reason for being there. The dowager had asked her to visit as a matter of commiseration over the failure of Penelope’s betrothal, but it would hardly do for a complete stranger to introduce herself in such terms.
“You’ve come because of Gwendolene, haven’t you?” Penelope said, and Lavinia blushed, not knowing quite what to say in response, even as Penelope was speaking the truth.
“Well… in a manner of speaking, yes. It was the dowager who suggested I call on you. My mother and I are staying at Sarum lacy House, and…” Lavinia began, but Penelope interrupted her.
“I know who you are. It’s a small place, and news travels fast. My father was the land agent for the previous baron. I grew up here, with Gwendolene and Archie,” she replied.
Lavinia was yet to be offered a seat, but not being one for social convention, she took the seat opposite Penelope in the window, curious to know the nature of her mourning. Was she dressed in black for her sadness at the loss of Gwendolene, or for her sadness at the loss of Michael…
“Yes, I know. You must’ve been terribly upset over Gwendolene’s death,” Lavinia said.
It had occurred to her to play innocent. She would pretend to have only a vague knowledge of the circumstances, and allow Penelope to speak to them, rather than put her on guard over any possible question as to her own involvement in Gwendolene’s death.
“I was… yes, you can see I still am,” Penelope replied, and Lavinia looked at her curiously.
“You… weren’t at the funeral, though,” she said, trying not to make her words sound accusatory, even as she was longing to know why.
But to her surprise, Penelope now burst into tears.
“Oh… Gwendolene… I was such a fool. I don’t know why I did it,” she exclaimed, and Lavinia’s heart skipped a beat.
“Did what?” she asked, and Penelope wiped a tear from her eye.
“Stayed away… and all for that man… a man who never really loved me. I thought he did, but he didn’t, and now… Michael,” he exclaimed, and she burst into such a fit of sobs as to make Lavinia feel quite concerned for her.
“It’s all right, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Lavinia said, reaching out and placing her hand on Penelope’s.
Penelope looked up at her and shook her head.
“You haven’t… I’ve done it to myself. It happens every day. Oh, the guilt I feel. But I really thought he loved me—Lord Bath. But it was Gwendolene he loved, and it broke my heart… oh, I thought she’d get better. I thought we’d put our differences aside. But… I should’ve gone to her. I should’ve beenthere for her,” Penelope wailed, and again she descended into uncontrollable sobs.
Lavinia was beginning to understand something of what had occurred, even as it seemed quite remarkable to hear it.
Why is everyone in love with that man? I suppose he’s in love with himself, too,Lavinia thought to herself, despairing at the thought of Lord Bath’s charms over women.
“But… did she love Lord Bath?” Lavinia asked, and Penelope nodded.
“She did. She adored him, and he adored her. Oh, it was my own jealousy… and now I don’t think I’ll ever love again. Forgive me for burdening you with this. I’m sure the dowager meant well in sending you. At another time, I’m sure we might’ve been the best of friends, just as I was with Gwendolene.
