To Kiss A Spy by Jane Feather Page A

knew her to be passionate to the point of obsession. But he would not have guessed her capable of girlish mischief. Her sister Pippa, yes. But Pen had more gravity. She had suffered too much, he would have thought, to evince an impish appreciation of catching him on the hop.
    “I would prefer to come prepared, madam,” he demurred, flexing his fingers automatically. “I haven’t played in some weeks and my fingers have lacked the exercise.”
    “With a harp, perhaps, Chevalier, but not with a rapier,” Pen observed. “For which I, for one, am very grateful.”
    “Perhaps you will play for us one afternoon, Chevalier,” Mary said. “With sufficient notice, of course.”
    Owen bowed. “It will be my pleasure, madam.”
    A stir at the far end of the parlor drew their attention. The Earl and Countess of Kendal entered the chamber and Pen smiled at the sight of them. Affection as always mixed with pride. They were such a handsome couple, so much more striking than anyone else in the room. “You are not acquainted with my parents, I believe, Chevalier.”
    “I await the honor,” he returned, noting her pleasure at the prospect of her parents’ company. He wondered how closely involved they were in their daughter’s life. They didn’t support her passionate obsession about her lost child, but it was such a strange tale that their disbelief could be rooted in concern for Pen.
    “Pen, my dear, should you be up and about today?” Lady Kendal said, coming over to them.
    “I am perfectly recovered from my foolishness, Mama,” Pen replied, choosing her words carefully in the knowledge that she had not yet been fully forgiven for her recklessness. “May I present the Chevalier d’Arcy? I owe him thanks for my deliverance.”
    Guinevere heard the ironic note and chose to ignore it. She turned to her husband, who said calmly, “Yes, indeed, we all owe the chevalier our thanks.”
    Hugh smiled at his stepdaughter. “I give you good day, Pen. You are certainly in best looks this morning. One would not think you had undergone such an ordeal.”
    Pen’s cheeks pinkened as she offered her stepfather a curtsy. He nodded benignly but turned to Owen d’Arcy.
    “I was hoping for the opportunity to thank you in person, sir. As was Pen’s mother.”
    Owen met the steady appraising eyes of the Earl and Countess of Kendal. His question had been answered. It was as clear as day that the Kendals were very concerned about their daughter and kept a close watch on her doings. How much influence they had remained to be seen.
    He bowed, his expression pleasantly bland, his returning scrutiny calm. “Lady Kendal . . . my lord.”
    “We cannot thank you enough, Chevalier,” Guinevere said. “Pen has taken no lasting hurt, thank God.”
    “The chevalier’s timing was faultless,” Pen said with more than a touch of acidity. She was growing tired of the criticism of her implicit in the thanks heaped upon Owen. “I will stand forever in his debt.”
    Hugh caught Guinevere’s eye. It was time to drop the subject. Pen had had all the lessons she needed. “I think that expresses everyone’s feelings,” he said. “Tell me, Chevalier, are you long in London?”
    “I arrived a few days ago, my lord. I have some business to attend to and I thought to enjoy the Christmas season in London. It’s been many years since I spent that time in England. Not since I was a boy.” His smile was open and confiding.
    “Then may we be among the first to welcome you, sir,” Guinevere said warmly. “I hope you’ll honor us with a visit at our house in Holborn during the Christmas festivities.”
    “I should be most honored, Lady Kendal.” Owen glanced at Pen, and there was a glow of amusement in his eyes. He could feel her impatience with these pleasantries. “May I have your permission to walk a little this morning with your daughter?”
    “A question best addressed to Pen, I believe,” Hugh observed.
    “Yes, indeed, Chevalier,”