The gates of Branscombe Hall loomed ahead. In short order, the carriage rocked to a halt; Charles descended and handed her down.
Lady Trescowthick, waiting to greet them inside her front hall, all but cooed at the sight of them—not, Penny reminded herself, because her ladyship thought there was anything between them, but purely because she’d succeeded in getting them both, as individuals, to her event.
Parting from her ladyship, they walked to the archway leading into the ballroom; Penny glanced sidelong at Charles.
He saw, raised a brow.
Lips twitching, she looked ahead. “Just as well most of the unmarried young ladies are in London, or you’d be in serious trouble.”
“Ah, but I’m entering the arena well armed.”
“Oh?”
His hand covered hers on his sleeve. “With you.”
She nearly choked on a laugh. “That’s a dreadful pun.”
“But apt.” Pausing on the threshold, he scanned the room, then glanced down at her. “It would be helpful if you could resist temptation and remain by my side. If I have to guard my own back against feminine attack, I won’t be able to concentrate on Nicholas.”
She threw him a look designed to depress pretension, not that she expected it to succeed, then swept forward to greet Lady Carmody. Yet as she and he commenced a slow circle of the room, she bore his words in mind; he hadn’t been joking. In this situation, staying by his side undoubtedly qualified as doing all she could to further his investigation.
Ladies had always chased him; at twenty, he’d been a magnet for feminine attention, far more than his brothers had ever been. And he hadn’t been the earl then, not even next in line for the title.
She’d been one of the few who had never pursued him—there’d never been any need. She’d simply let him chase her.
And look where that had landed them.
Ruthlessly, she quashed the thought. Thinking of such things while he was anywhere near wasn’t wise. Let alone when he was standing beside her.
True to form, he glanced sharply at her.
She pretended not to notice and gave her attention to Lady Harbottle. “I had no idea Melissa was feeling so low.”
“Oh, it’s just a passing thing. I daresay now she’s been a week in Bath she’ll be right as rain again and back any day.” Lady Harbottle smiled delightedly at Charles. “I know she’ll want to hold a party as soon as she gets back—to renew old acq
uaintances, if nothing else.”
Charles smiled, and pretended he couldn’t see the speculation running through her ladyship’s head. The instant an opening offered, he steered Penny away. “Refresh my memory—didn’t Melissa Harbottle marry?”
“Yes. She’s now Melissa Barrett. She married a mill owner much older than she. He died over a year ago.”
“Ah.” After a moment, he asked, “Am I to infer that her trip to Bath wasn’t to try the waters?”
“Melissa?” Penny’s incredulous tone was answer enough.
“So she might now be described as a widow with aspirations?”
“Quite definite aspirations. She’s now wealthy enough to look rather higher than a mill owner.”
“If by any chance she asks you, do be sure to tell her to look somewhere other than the Abbey.”
She chuckled. “I will if she asks, but I doubt she will. Ask me, that is.”
He swore beneath his breath and steered her to the next group of guests.
It was a relaxed affair. Most of the local gentry who’d resisted the lure of the capital were present; it was indeed a useful venue to renew acquaintances and realign his memory. Whenever any lady with a daughter yet unwed eyed him too intently, he glibly steered the conversation in Penny’s direction—most took the hint. Some, indeed, suspected rather more.
Their speculation didn’t bother him, but he took care to avoid jogging Penny’s awareness to life. Juggling her while dealing with a serious investigation was difficult enough without fashioning rods for his own back.