Lady Hutton was nothing like Beckett imagined she would be. She was scintillating, entertaining, clever.

And if Beckett was going to be forced to stay in the godforsaken house with its stuffy inhabitants, he decided he might as well find what little joy he could. And if there was anything that he enjoyed, even in the slightest, it was provoking Lady Hutton until her quick wit got stuck in her throat.

She did not hesitate to unleash her tongue, but Beckett was rather fond of watching what happened when he unleashed his own back. She wasn't prepared for that. She seemed to be ready for everything except for that.

Beckett thrived off the unexpected. While he hadn't liked this unexpected mission, he'd learned that most adventures couldn't ever be planned or predicted.

Lady Hutton did not seem to have the same philosophy. This house party was planned expertly. Every little bit of the day was scheduled, precise and organized. Down to the very last crumpet and cup of tea.

Beckett did not operate that way. But fortunately, it allowed for him to make quick work of determining where his assignment was located at every moment. Which is how he ended up standing on the back lawn, watching as a game of lawn bowling got underway. Women flounced about, gathering the necessary tools for it on the far side. But Penelope looked on, standing along the edges of the garden. Waiting and watching.

Today she wore a frilly sage green frock with a floral overlay that made her appear as summer incarnate. Beckett frowned. She had not worn a single color that might indicate mourning. How long had it been since her husband passed?

"There you are, my lady," he sighed, striding up behind her.

She popped into the air. And as she twirled to face him, those big blue eyes collided with his gaze. Nearly knocking him off my feet.

"What the heavens are you doing here, Colonel?" she said, resting her hand upon her bosom like she was suffering heart palpitations. Beckett tried not to allow his gaze to linger upon just how deeply she was breathing and just how little her summery gown allowed for such breathing.

"What do you mean, my lady?"

He wondered when she would get it into her smart little head that he would be going everywhere she went.

Beckett did not imagine that Adelaide had honestly expected him to tail the woman as if she were a suspect in a crime. But he was rather bored, and Penelope was rather entertaining. Not to mention that he could see precisely what Lord and Lady Farrington had alluded to regarding her precocious and inquisitive nature.

It was only a matter of time before this woman got herself into trouble.

"I believe my question was quite clear," she retorted.

Beckett smiled. "I am here because you are here, Lady Hutton."

She frowned, flashing him a reprimand in the form of a glare. "Penelope."

As soon as she said it, her eyes shifted to the side. As if to ascertain that no one had heard her order him to use her given name. And Beckett realized she did have some sense of decorum after all.

Beckett followed her lead, lowering his voice. "Penelope."

She shifted on her feet before sighing.

"Do you intend to play, then?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

He shook his head. "Heavens, no. I do not dabble in games of this sort."

That seemed to pique Lady Hutton's curiosity. Although Beckett guessed that it would not take much to do that with this woman.

"And what sort of games do you dabble in, Colonel?"

Beckett rubbed his jaw, wondering how to answer that question without offending the lady. "Games played in pubs and public houses, accompanied by drink and more drink. Games played beneath the decks of ships and in the tents of soldiers. Nothing that would be of interest to you, I am certain."

She was affronted by that. Somehow he'd still managed to offend her, simply not in the way that he'd thought. "Do not be certain," she said, drawing her brows together. "I am a worldly lady, Colonel."

Beckett tried very hard to withhold an amused smile. "Are you now?"

She faltered. He could see the gears in her head back peddling.

"Well, perhaps not as worldly as you," Lady Hutton admitted, but she said it like a question. As if she were wondering precisely how worldly Beckett was.

Beckett, on the other hand, was wondering what her definition of that word was. He imagined the context in which he was putting it into was not the same as what she was conjuring in her mind.

He cleared his voice. "And what do you know of the world, Penelope?"

The lady sniffed and fidgeted with the bonnet on her head, which covered the pile of auburn ringlets. "I know of the world as it is written in books. And therefore, my reach is infinite."

Beckett could appreciate a well-read woman. However, he found it hard to believe there was much truth in the fanciful words Penelope likely read.

"To live in the world and to read of it are greatly varying things," he said.

Penelope nodded at that, showing Beckett that perhaps she was reasonable at times. "That may be. But I reckon I have more experience than you realize."

His eyes flicked over her as she leaned on her mallet, and he tried not to betray that he was, indeed, very curious to hear of what experience she was referring to. It was challenging to imagine that a lady of the ton had much to speak of beyond dallying with needlework and plucking at the pianoforte.

"Perhaps," he allowed.

There was a rustling of skirts behind Lady Hutton, drawing his attention. Women flocked toward them like geese taking flight, and Beckett tried to control his expression. Especially as Lady Bucklebee, whom he'd met at the breakfast table, buckled down as she practically dove in his direction.

Lady Hutton seemed to notice, too. She glanced behind her and stiffened slightly. Then she released a sigh, turning to Beckett once more.

"We are beginning now. I shall see you at dinner, I am certain."

Beckett rose a brow. "I am not leaving, my lady."

Her mouth opened and closed once. And then, when it opened once more, incredulity laced her words. "You are simply going to stand there watching me?"

"Naturally." He shrugged. "That is my job, is it not?"

She gave the most unladylike roll of her eyes. "I feel as though you are simply mocking me by being here, Colonel."

Pretending to be affronted, Beckett placed a hand over his chest. "I would never dare mock a lady."

She narrowed her eyes. And then, after a peek behind her told Penelope that the flock of geese was rapidly approaching, she lowered her voice. "You honestly believe me to be in danger on the back lawn, Colonel?"

"There are many dangers involved in lawn bowling." He pointed to the mallet in her hand. "These are quite the weapons, Lady Hutton."

"Penelope," she corrected.

He tipped his head. "Penelope."

She assessed him with a bright gaze, clearly trying to decide her next move. An advance, perhaps? Or a forfeit?

"I am walking away now," she finally said.

A forfeit, it is.

"I shall watch," he replied.

And watch, he did. Beckett watched as she plastered a smile on her face and sauntered to meet the other women, thankfully cutting off Lady Bucklebee in the process. He watched her sashay her hips and lean on her mallet and do a whole number of things that shouldn't get Beckett's brain going in the wrong direction.

But they did.

He watched as the other ladies leaned into her, peeking at him as they spoke beneath their breath. Penelope attempted to wave Beckett over, but he called back that he was perfectly content watching from the shade.

Far away from Lady Bucklebee, that is. He'd learned at the breakfast table that she had wandering hands. And eyes.

And then, finally, Beckett watched as Lady Hutton whacked her ball through an overgrown thicket that bordered the Hutton property. A loud plop sounded, undoubtedly indicating that the ball had struck water.

Beckett leaned forward, curious as to what Penelope would do. And he couldn't say he was surprised to see her lifting her skirts and trampling through the trees, much to the horror of the other ladies.

Beckett strode down the lawn with a shake of his head before following her path through the bushes. After all, he did not wish to miss the entertainment that was Lady Hutton.

And entertainment, it most certainly was. Because as soon as he pushed through the patch of weeds and brush, Beckett spotted her, posed on the edge of a pond. Lily pads covered the surface, the flowers atop them blooming. And Penelope was angled over all of it in a way that most certainly guaranteed—

She fell in. Of course, she fell in.

Beckett could not withhold a chuckle. But then his laugh died as he realized just how far she'd sank into the water.

And also that she was not coming back up.