'Twas the Night Before Mischief by Nina Rowan Page B

would be granted a royal warrant…”
    â€œYou’d best unpack and get things in order,” Esther told her gently. “Oh, and your portmanteau arrived two nights ago. Sent from a Mr. Harvey in a place called Wick. I had it put in your room.”
    Penelope thanked her and went to her bedchamber. She took a hot bath to wash away the grime of travel and changed into a clean dress and petticoats. Her portmanteau contained several trinkets that she’d procured on the road to Scotland, and she was more than happy to hand them over to her brothers.
    She spent the next day reacquainting herself with her life as it was before. She returned to needlework, took a walk in the park, joined her stepmother for tea. The following day, she accompanied her father to the shop and spent some time asking him about how the shop was run and the process of making all the confections. Her father seemed pleased by her interest, and though Penelope was glad of their tentative reconciliation, she continued to silently hope that Darius would walk through the shop door. When he hadn’t come in by the end of the day, Penelope asked her father if he had seen Darius since their return.
    â€œHe left yesterday evening,” Henry replied, arranging peppermint drops on a tray. “We settled our finances shortly beforehand.”
    Penelope’s heart chilled. “Your…your finances?”
    â€œWe owed him a debt of gratitude, but also a monetary debt for his hire.”
    â€œAnd…and he took it?” She couldn’t quite believe it. Though her father would have insisted upon paying Darius for expenses incurred, she hadn’t imagined that Darius would take payment for being hired to follow her.
    Henry glanced at her. “Should he not have?”
    Penelope shook her head. Tightness filled her throat.
    â€œHe…had a word with me,” Henry said.
    Penelope didn’t have to wonder what Darius had said. What he had confessed. She stared at the peppermint drops.
    â€œWhat do you think of him?” she asked carefully.
    â€œHe had always been a good man. A good friend.”
    It was what Penelope had always known. She just hadn’t known that one didn’t need to run away in order to find freedom and exhilaration. Sometimes those things found you.
    After telling her father she had errands to run, she hurried out to Oxford Street and the cab stand. She instructed the driver to take her to the Albion Hotel, and forced her steps to slow as she approached the front desk.
    â€œMr. Darius Hall?” The clerk looked at his ledger and shook his head. “I’m afraid he checked out yesterday, miss.”
    â€œHe checked out?” She tried to pull in a breath. “Did he say where he was going?”
    â€œNo, miss. Left no messages either.” Appearing to realize this was not what Penelope wanted to hear, the clerk gave her a weak smile. “You might leave word yourself, should Mr. Hall return.”
    â€œNo.” Penelope turned to the door. “No word.”

Chapter Nine
    T he aromas of roasted goose, nutmeg-laced wassail, and spiced apples drifted amid the chatter of the festive crowd. Henry and Esther Darlington circled the room with smiles of welcome, as their guests congratulated their host on the royal warrant and praised the exceptional quality of his chocolate. The tree and holly sparkled with color, and even the fire in the hearth seemed to burn with crackling good cheer.
    Penelope slid easily back into the role she had always played so well. She was polite, welcoming, gracious. The reckless young woman who had run away to the borders of northern Scotland, picked herself up after being cast aside by a rogue, and then had the best time of her life with a serious, intellectual man whose laughter seemed meant for her alone, who had inexplicably proven that there truly was exhilaration in the world…that Penelope was gone.
    No. Not gone . But packed away