Lady at last

by Annabelle Anders

  Something in her voice caught his attention and he stopped suddenly. Both of them breathed heavily from their exertions but neither moved. Instead, Hugh gazed down at her with a funny expression.

  “You really have the prettiest eyes, Pen.”

  Penelope swallowed.

  Hugh just kept looking at her and then added, “I never did understand you. So set against marriage, determined to emasculate every man you’ve ever met. Don’t you ever wish you didn’t have to be so… different?”

  As his words penetrated the temporary insanity that had overcome her, she used all of her strength to form a mighty shove, which resulted in Hugh sprawled on the floor.

  “You… You… bacon brained, nitwitted, beastly maggot!”

  How dare he criticize her independence! Why did everyone in society think that all women needed to be the same? Why was it that there was this notion that an ideal woman was one who dressed prettily and kept her opinion to herself? Why was it that a woman was only considered useful in that she could provide her husband with children?

  Women had brains, too!

  Well, she did anyhow!

  He’d told her the very last thing she ever wanted to hear from a man, from anyone.

  He’d told her he thought she should change.

  Penelope primly arranged herself on the sofa once again, and retrieved the knitting. She had been just about ready to turn her findings over to Hugh, before he’d insulted her.

  He hadn’t insulted her hair or her dress or her face. No. He’d insulted the very essence of who she was. It took all of her concentration to keep tears from falling.

  Hugh sat on the floor and simply looked at her, dumbfounded. “It was just a question!”

  Penelope blinked hard so that she could see what her needles were doing. There really wasn’t enough light in here to knit properly. “I am who I am,” she replied.

  She did not look up but sensed Hugh’s continued contemplation of her.

  “You think I am insulting who you are?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss this.” Penelope was already far too emotional these days.

  Hugh pushed himself up and returned to sit beside her. She scooted away from him, deliberately avoiding his touch.

  But he would not let this go. “I did not insult who you are, Pen. I was merely wondering if it was necessary to be so different in order to be you.” Now his voice was cajoling, sympathetic. Dash it all, her eyes burned again.

  She’d always been different.

  For if she was the same… she would lose… herself.

  “It’s the way of our world, Hugh,” she said, realizing she’d just created a bungled knot of yarn rather than a proper stitch.

  “So, you truly believe that if you ever dressed up a little, flirted a little, married and had children, you could not live by the values you believe in?”

  The question threw her into even more turmoil. For when she’d made that blasted decision to have a child, she’d compromised her own position on women and the potential of womanhood in general.

  “What of you, Hugh? Would you wish to marry a woman who was of her own mind? Would you marry a woman who disagreed with you and was not afraid to say so? Would you marry a woman who didn’t laugh at all your jokes? Or look at you adoringly in wide eyed innocence? What if she were smarter than you? Could you marry a woman like that?”

  “We aren’t talking about me,” Hugh said stubbornly.

  “But we are, Hugh, for you represent the typical London Gentleman Bachelor. You are titled, you own land, you are of a good family, and will eventually have to set up a nursery. Tell me, Hugh, what kind of woman do you foresee as your wife?”

  This was crazy. Why was she goading him so? Soon, very soon, she was going to take away all of his options. How was she going to feel when she knew he wanted somebody who was completely opposite from her?

  Even if he truly needed a strong woman by his side—a strong, smart woman.

  Hugh was considering her question, however. “Honestly, Penelope, I’m not looking for a certain ‘type’ of woman.” He’d leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and was staring at his hands. He sounded pensive, almost melancholy. “Against common practice, against the advice of my mother and my sister and pretty much all of the ton, I foresee marrying a woman I can love. As besotted as Cortland is, I want what he has finally found. I want a woman who is a friend to me, who is a lover to me. I want to marry for love. Did you think I had avoided marriage all of these years because I wished to shirk my responsibilities to my title and my family?”

  Penelope was stunned. Oh no, no, no! What had she done? Hugh and she had discussed numerous subjects over the years they’d known each other. They’d discussed politics, society, fashion, and gossiped about common friends even. But they had not ever discussed the desires of their hearts. And now here he was, declaring that he had simply been waiting all this time to marry because he hadn’t yet found the right woman.

  He’d not yet found the woman he wished to marry.

  But here she was. Ready for him to marry her, desperate for him to marry her, in fact.

  And she was not the right woman.

  Oh, hell.

  Hugh let out a long sigh and leaned into the cushioned back of the sofa. Why was he having this conversation with Penelope Crone, of all people?

  And what was he blathering on about the “right woman” to her for? He’d not really even admitted such to himself. But as he sat next to this termagant, he concluded to himself that it was exactly why he’d not given into his mother’s matchmaking. He’d not ever felt… interested enough in one woman to the point that he could consider spending the rest of his life with her. In fact, the mere idea of pledging himself to any of them was enough to send him as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. The debutantes he’d met were almost always only slightly more entertaining to him than… a new pair of boots. He frowned. Some, not even that, for a pair of good or bad fitting Hessians could make or break a gentleman’s day.

  Indeed, he’d learned quickly not to dally with a debutante unless he wished to be netted.

  Chorus girls and dancers could not net themselves a gentleman. Upon which thought, Talia came to mind. He’d been her protector for nearly two years, the longest attachment he’d ever allowed himself. But Talia had received an offer from a French gentleman and actually left him. She’d given him an ultimatum, the impertinent chit, said if he’d see fit to marry her, she would turn the Frenchman down.

  Hugh had sent her one last gift along with a letter wishing her well in France.

  He’d been slightly regretful but had quickly replaced her with less permanent arrangements.

  But he’d never fallen in love.

  He’d found it easy enough to live without a permanently attached female.

  Upon this thought, he turned his attention back to Penelope. “Why are you here, Penelope?” Was she trying to ‘net’ him? The thought was preposterous, but so were her actions.

  Penelope reached for her knitting and began moving the needles furiously. “Can you not simply accept that I am here to help you, Hugh? Must there be some ulterior motive you’ve concocted in your mind?”

  These were not the sentiments of a woman on the hunt for a husband. She did not simper, nor hang on his every word. She was not flirtatious in any way. Except…

  She had fluttered her eyelashes at him a few minutes ago. He’d thought it was because she’d discovered something but… Wait a minute.

  “Did you find the contents of the safe?”

  Penelope looked up at him then and bit her lip. “No, I was just teasing you.”

  So, she had been flirting with him! She was here to net a husband! Hugh jumped to his feet as if he’d suddenly found himself sitting beside a snake.

  She’d turned her feminine wiles on him and he’d quite nearly succumbed.

  To Penelope Crone!

  Good God, in jest, he’d lain atop her—pressed his body down upon her
s.

  And enjoyed it.

  He’d even thought for a moment that he might kiss her. Yes, by God, he’d been staring into her eyes and for an instant—a mere second, really—had wanted to know her in a different way.

  But then she’d gotten offended by his question and shoved him onto the floor. Thank God for that!

  He was in grave danger of losing his bachelor status. The Baron Riverton, Penelope’s father, must never discover that she was here with him alone.

  If she was not going to depart, then he would have to. He would most likely be much safer in London, with his mother’s friend’s niece. At least in London, he knew how to play the game.

  Sitting here with Penelope, he didn’t even know what game they were playing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Penelope covered her face with both hands after Hugh left the library. This wasn’t going at all as she’d planned. He was suspicious of her motives. She could see it in his eyes when he’d made some vague excuses and left her alone. She was handling this entire situation poorly. She never should have acted so quickly on her sudden compulsion to enter motherhood. Her actions had been entirely out of character. She was normally a very rational girl, logical—reasonable! How could she have done something so utterly stupid?

  But no.

  She mustn’t think this way.

  She dropped her hands back into her lap and took a few deep steady breaths.

  In, out.

  In, out.

  Slowly in.

  Slowly out.

  Much better. Her heart no longer raced, and the desire to burst into tears subsided. She opened her eyes and glanced around the room.

  Hugh needed a housekeeper. She would discuss that with him tomorrow, after having a good night’s sleep.

  As if Penelope’s thoughts had beckoned her, Rose knocked on the door and peeked inside.

  “What did you say to him? Did you tell him? Ye Gods, Pen, this place is a pigsty.” Rose was wearing one of Penelope’s day dresses and had done her dark hair into a neat chignon.

  “I didn’t tell him, Rose. He’s in an awful predicament with this estate, though. That horrible Mr. Periwinkle has been robbing him blind and letting this beautiful manor fall to pieces. Are there any manservants about that we could send into the village to announce available positions?” Without waiting for an answer, Penelope walked over to the desk and started writing out a list. “We’ll need a butler and a new housekeeper. I don’t care if there is one in residence already; if there is, she’ll need to compete for the job with any new applicants. And once we’ve located people to fill those two positions, we will be looking for maids, footmen, a cook, scullery staff, houseboys, and stable lads.”

  Rose took the list as Penelope handed it over and scrunched up her nose. “There is an old man in the kitchen and a dirty little urchin making it look as though he’s cutting wood out back.”

  Penelope held her finger to her chin. “Send the urchin. The old man will see his position as threatened and most likely toss my advertisement into the trash. Tell the urchin to spread the word that applicants are to appear on the morrow promptly at one in the afternoon.” Slipping her hand into the large pocket hidden in her skirts, she pulled out a shilling. “Give this to the boy and tell him he will receive another tomorrow if any of the applicants are suitable.”

  But Rose didn’t rush off right away. “And what of the other, Pen? The real reason we’ve traveled all the way up here to the middle of nowhere?”

  There were times when Penelope wished she had a normal lady’s maid, one who didn’t question her at every turn. Rose was most definitely not a normal maid.

  “I must tell him at the right time. It’s going to change his entire life. I cannot simply blurt it out. Besides, he’s already dealing with the quagmire of this estate. I plan to ease his burden a bit before hitting him with the other.”

  Rose’s eyebrows rose doubtfully. “Very well, Pen, but don’t wait too long.” She glanced meaningfully at Penelope’s midsection, “You’re already looking bloated. I imagine Danbury will be happier with the idea of marrying you if you don’t look like a whale.”

  “Go,” Penelope said through clenched teeth. She did not enjoy the criticism of her waistline.

  After Rose disappeared, Penelope gathered up the knitting basket and went upstairs in search of the chamber Rose would have laid siege to for the two of them. She found it easily, as the doorway was open, and a cool breeze drifted into the corridor. Her trunks were piled at the end of the bed.

  Stepping inside, Penelope understood immediately why the room was being aired out. It smelled as though it hadn’t been cleaned or used in over a century. Most likely, she would not find any acceptable linens about, what with the current slovenly state of the rest of the house. Luckily, Penelope was something of a fussy sleeper and never traveled without her own bedding.

  She placed the knitting basket beside the bed and went in search of the outriders she always traveled with, Mokey and Peter. If she was going to sleep in here, it would take more than herself to make the room inhabitable.

  Well into the evening, Penelope assisted Mokey and Peter as they beat the rugs and heavy drapes outside, scrubbed the floors, and polished every surface inside of her chamber. By the time the sun had set, Rose had finally returned to make up the bed and unpack her clothing.

  Peter lit a fire in the grate, and Mokey located a tub for her bath. The old man in the kitchen had grudgingly sent up stale bread and cheese, along with some ale, for an informal dinner. By the time she was done eating, it took every ounce of Penelope’s energy to bathe and then climb onto the large canopied bed.

  Ah, but the cleaning had been worth it.

  As she inhaled the scent of her own pillow, Penelope let out a deep sigh of relief. She hadn’t seen Hugh since he’d hightailed it out of the library. A twinge of concern pierced her drowsiness, but she was too tired to give it consideration.

  She would speak with him tomorrow. They would set Augusta Heights to rights and then she’d sit him down and tell him her situation. As that daunting thought flitted through her mind, she drifted into a troubled sleep.

  “Penny! Penny! You have to wake up!”

  Penelope moaned and turned away from Rose’s voice.

  “You have to wake up, Penelope! The viscount is gone!”

  “What viscount?” Penelope mumbled as she attempted to snuggle deeper into the soft bedding.

  “Danbury! Penelope, Danbury has left Augusta Heights!” Rose’s voice was annoyingly shrill this morning.

  And then the meaning of what was being said penetrated. Penelope rolled over and opened her eyes. “What do you mean he’s left?”

  Rose held an opened missive in her hands, “He left you a note.” And then she read it aloud. “‘Miss Crone,’ he says. ‘Upon consideration of the strict standards set by polite society, and in order to preserve your pristine reputation, I must vacate the premises immediately and allow you to enjoy your holiday here at Augusta Heights for as long as you please. As a gentleman, I felt this was the best course of action. I could not turn you away when you so obviously are in need of a retreat, but I do not wish to bring a rain of judgment down upon you if it were ever discovered that you and I were in residence, alone, without proper chaperonage. Please make yourself at home. Stay as long as you wish. I shall be in London for the season and will perhaps run into you there. Felicitations, Hugh Chesterton, Viscount Danbury.’”

  Rose threw the missive on the bed and began pacing. “I told you so, Penelope. Didn’t I tell you? You should have given him the news right away!” And then she dropped into a nearby chair and slumped dejectedly. “This journey has all been for naught! We’ll be on the road again for another week now!”

  But Penelope had rolled onto her side and propped her head up on one hand. “No, we won’t be leaving right away.” She was a lady. She had Hugh’s permission to make herself at home. She would go about righting the estate on her own and then she and Rose
would travel to London to see Hugh. On a rueful note, she figured that at least she would make her parents happy. It seemed as though she would participate in yet another season after all, well, part of one anyhow. And her parents would be even happier when she finally got herself married.

  “You plan on staying in this rundown estate longer than absolutely necessary?” Rose asked. But upon seeing the gleam of challenge in her mistress’ eyes, she moaned. “Not more cleaning!”

  “We won’t be doing the cleaning, Rose. We’re going to staff this place properly. And they shall do the cleaning. But first,” she paused, “we need to get rid of Periwinkle.”

  “Danbury, as I live and breathe! I thought you were up in Manchester overhauling Augusta Heights! I’m all astonishment that you have been able to accomplish so much from such a distance. Excellent to see you, my good fellow.”

  Hugh glanced up from the broadsheet he was reading, slightly irritated that his business was such common knowledge to all and sunder. Gerald Cokeburn, Earl of Pinkerton, had never been one of his favorite people and his comments today made him even less so. And what did he mean by ‘accomplish so much from a distance?’ Reluctantly, Hugh set his paper aside and rose to his feet. Taking the older man’s outstretched hand, Hugh forced himself to be sociable.

  “Pinkerton, what a special treat it is to run into you. And yes, one can accomplish a great deal what with the mail and a few good solicitors.” He was deliberately vague. It wouldn’t be the thing to ask after his own business. What had Penelope done up there?

  “Don’t play the innocent with me, young man.” The older man gained a few extra chins as he held his head in mock consternation. “Stealing away one of England’s best land stewards. I don’t know how you did it. Michaelson’s father and grandfather before him were both more than happy to look after my northern estates for me. You must have offered him a fortune!”