Page 42 of A Lord Apart (The Way to a Lord's Heart 2)

Penelope hadn’t been sure if the girl had noticed this. “Foyle has always been irascible.”

“I ’spect that means grumpy as a bear with a thorn in its paw. But there’s no thorn to take out, is there?”

Quite a clever summation, Penelope thought, and far from stupid. “Not that I’ve ever discovered.”

“Mebbe Mrs. Hart’ll find one. He’s not sorasciblewith her.”

Meeting the maid’s twinkling eyes, Penelope saw that she hadn’t imagined Foyle’s interest in their cook. She’d have to discover Mrs. Hart’s views on this subject.

Kitty went into the kitchen. Penelope lit the kindling in the parlor fireplace and settled down in the armchair as the fire caught. Her thoughts drifted back to Whitfield, and a good bit of time passed in pleasant reverie.

Kitty came in. “Mrs. Hart left a beef stew, miss.”

Something had made the girl more anxious than usual, Penelope thought. And Kitty tended to worry. “How was your day? Did you see your friend Betty as you hoped?”

The girl shook her head. “It was her half day, but she went out with Ned. He’s a footman up at Frithgerd, miss. They’re courting and mean to marry and go up to London and get fine new positions.”

Penelope heard envy and resignation in her voice. Kitty’s position was a bit like her own, with fewer options. Penelope had a sudden vision of the two of them fifty years from now, old ladies moving about the place with much greater difficulty. There were such households. She shook her head. Her life would be more than that. Kitty’s, too. She’d see to it. She sat straighter. “The stew smells wonderful.” Indeed, the luscious aroma permeated the small house.

“Shall I make up your tray?”

“Yes, please, Kitty. And don’t worry.”

Blinking in surprise, the girl went out. She returned so quickly that Penelope knew she must have had the tray waiting. As the only inhabitants of a small house, they might have eaten together, but Kitty wasn’t comfortable with the idea. She’d practically squirmed when Penelope suggested it. For her part, Penelope didn’t like sitting at the large table in the other room alone. A tray before the hearth was their compromise. Kitty set it across the arms of the chair.

A scrabbling noise came from the kitchen. “Did you let the dogs in?”

“No, miss, I wouldn’t.”

A muffled woof and the tick of paws on floorboards contradicted her.

The girl was lonely, Penelope realized. And who could blame her? So was she. She’d have to see what she could do about that as well. For now, she could pretend she hadn’t heard the noises and not give her usual order to put the dogs out.

Kitty scuttled from the room as if eager to evade those very words.

* * *

Daniel had just finished numbering the trunks in the blue parlor with a bit of chalk from the billiard room when Macklin came to find him. “I’ve received some answers to my letters of inquiry,” he said.

“Ah.”

“Shall we sit in the estate office?”

“Let’s go upstairs.” The estate office washerspot. “You look grave,” Daniel added as he led the way to the drawing room.

“I’m bemused,” his guest replied as they sat down. “Miss Pendleton’s brother seems to have gone out of his way to insult people. He actually printed up copies of Byron’s Luddite poem and sent it around to everyone in the government.”

“Poem?” Daniel frowned. “Don Juan?The Corsair? The ministers of the crown were offended by bombast?”

Macklin smiled. “Not those. Byron’s ‘Ode to the Framers of the Frame Bill.’ Came out in theMorning Chronicleseveral years ago. You may not remember it. Rather a masterpiece of sarcasm, dripping with contempt for Liverpool and the rest of the government. It was one of the reasons Byron fled the country.”

“I thought that was down to debauchery.”

“That, too.” Macklin’s smile faded. “The point is, reviving that piece was a foolish thing to do. Philip Pendleton sent it around with a signed letter condemning current policies.”

“Which put people’s backs up.”

“An understatement. It was unnecessarily incendiary. And in their anger, his targets paid less attention to his arguments.”

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