Petticoat Rebellion by Joan Smith Page B

blandly, and picked up her brush.
    “Spoiled! Well, upon my word, that’s pretty rich! I have had to scramble to keep Penfel together after—”He came to a sudden halt. “But Mama has washed enough dirty linen in public already. My hardships are not likely to impress a young lady who has to work for her living in any case.”
    She looked at him with interest. “Is that why your mama has such a strong dislike for your late papa? Did he cripple the estate?”
    “He mortgaged anything that could be mortgaged. He was not a bad man, really. Not a womanizer or drinker or gambler, except upon ‘Change, where he invariably lost. When he wanted to sell this collection,”he said, waving his hand around the walls, “Mama threatened to take him to law, for it is entailed. They did not get along. He married her for her dowry; she married him because her papa made her. She was in love with some other fellow at the time. I think her anger is as much against her papa as her husband. Now that she has outlived them both, she is determined to enjoy her last years. And I encourage her to do so. She has earned it. It’s appalling to think of being shackled for life to someone one does not respect or even like, say nothing of love. I am all for love matches. And after five years, I am now in a position not to have to marry for anything else. My affairs are in order.”
    The playful Penfel sounded sincere, and while Abbie was not quite ready to acquit him of his amorous attack on herself, she found this sufficient excuse for his behavior with the dancer. He was assuaging his heartbreak in the time-honored manner. “I am sorry Lady Eleanor did not accept your offer,”she said.
    A conscious look seized his mobile features. “Oh, as to that, I shall get over it.”
    “As you mean to marry for love, then one assumes you were in love with her. But I commend your common sense in determining to get over it. You should not let your heartbreak lead you amok. I am referring to your acquaintance with O’Leary,”she added, lest he think she was harping on more personal peccadilloes.
    “I only let O’Leary use the meadow to give the locals a little entertainment.”
    “You have made a friend of him, I think? A gentleman is known by the company he keeps. Perhaps a cardsharp and possible thief is not the optimum companion for the Earl of Penfel and Baron Rutcliffe and quasi-Lord Worley.”
    “Or even for Algernon Hatfield. That is who I am when I am not busy being a plurality of grand lords. Titles are no guarantee of character. Always excepting Marlborough and Wellington and a few others, I can think of few noblemen who attained their honors on merit. A tumble in the royal bedchamber is where most of us got our handles, that or some chicanery at court. Both, in the case of the Penfel honors.”
    He pointed to a portrait of a lady in a tiara, rubies, and the farthingale style of the seventeenth century, and said, “That is the lady who achieved nobility for herself and her family by a brief fling with Charles II. She was an actress, and she isn’t even pretty, do you think?”
    “No, not very,”Abbie agreed. “The nose is somewhat pug, and the eyes too small for beauty.”
    “She was to Charles’s taste, apparently, though he did not confer a dukedom on her husband, as he did on several of his bastards. I have little enough respect for titles. I would prefer you call me Algernon. And you, I think, are Abigail? Do your friends call you Abbie?”
    “Certainly, when they have known me for a suitable length of time.”
    “What is a suitable length of time?”
    His flirtatious manner warned her it was time for caution. “Three months,”she said.
    “That is somewhat arbitrary, n’est-ce pas? Surely, there are extenuating circumstances? Three months of occasional teas and assemblies would amount to—say, three hours a week. That is less than forty hours of actual familiarity. We, on the other hand, have shared a roof for—”He drew