Free Petticoat Rebellion by Joan Smith Page A

time.”
    “Excellent!”Penfel said, in the accents of an old friend.
    The door closed, and Abbie stood, wondering what she ought to do. Very likely O’Leary was a Captain Sharp along with the rest. He had spoken of Penfel winning back the blunt, so clearly Penfel had already lost money to the rogue. When the conversation behind the door settled down to a friendly, conversational hum that suggested it might go on for some time, Abbie went up to her room. She would return a little later, after O’Leary had left, and caution Lord Penfel to be on his guard.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    After stowing away her painting equipment, Abbie glanced from her window and saw Mr. O’Leary striding toward the fairgrounds. His broad shoulders and swaggering gait suggested he was the lord of the manor. Lord John, Singleton, and the young ladies, their tour of the estate having ended up at the circus, were strolling toward him in the sunlit meadow. O’Leary stopped to chat with them. Abbie watched as he lifted his hat and bowed all around. After a moment, the two young couples continued their walk. Lady Susan remained behind, talking to O’Leary.
    Of course it was impossible to know what words were exchanged, but O’Leary’s gestures suggested flirtation. He cocked his head aside playfully, he inclined his upper body toward Lady Susan’s in the posture of romance. At one point, he reached out his hand and touched her arm. And Susan seemed less stiff than usual, too. It was unlike her to waste time on a commoner, but she stayed with O’Leary for two or three minutes. Abbie was just beginning to worry when O’Leary bowed, and Lady Susan hurried on to catch up to the others.
    Selling a forged painting was bad enough, but setting up a flirtation with the Duke of Wycliffe’s daughter could lead to something a good deal more serious. Lady Susan had a good notion of her own worth, but she was only sixteen years old. She would never have met anyone like O’Leary before. Such a practiced flirt might manage to turn her head, to compromise her in some manner. Abbie, who was considerably older than Susan, had fallen under his spell for a few minutes in the gallery. She must warn Lady Susan—and she must have that word with Penfel at once.
    She immediately went belowstairs, where she found him in his oak-lined study, poring over a stack of journals at a handsome desk the size of a dining-room table. In this impressive setting and at this unexceptionable pastime, with a frown pleating his brow, Penfel seemed a more serious gentleman than she had been imagining. For the first time since she had met him, he appeared to be engaged in work. He looked as the lord of such a fine estate as Penfel Hall should look.
    He glanced up when she entered, and the little frown eased to a smile. His eyes brightened perceptibly.
    “Miss Fairchild,”he said, rising and making a modest bow. “I need not ask to what I owe the honor of this visit,”he said playfully. “It is not eagerness to see my poor self, but the Leonardos that has brought you knocking on my door. Come in, come in—as the spider said to the fly.”
    She was a little vexed that his seriousness had dissipated at the first sign of a female. “I am eager to see the cartoons, but in fact, I have come on another matter. A more serious matter altogether.”
    He waved a graceful hand toward the chair by his desk. She perched on its edge and leaned toward him as he resumed his seat. “I have come about Mr. O’Leary,”she said.
    His eyes opened wider. Again that frown grew between his eyebrows, “He hasn’t been harassing you?” he asked sharply.
    “In a manner of speaking, he has.”
    “‘What happened?”
    “I was in the long gallery, copying the Chardin. O’Leary stopped for a chat.”
    Penfel’s jaw tightened. He gave a tsk of annoyance and said, “Next time, you must have a footman with you. The gallery is not within shouting distance of the butler.”
    “You misunderstand, milord. He