Lady at last

by Annabelle Anders

  He most likely did not know when.

  She could not be angry with him. He’d doted on his mother for as long as she’d known him. Yes, he’d joked plenty about her incessant matchmaking but always with benevolence.

  And the viscountess had always been friendly and warm to Penelope. To think of the woman coughing up blood at death’s door was sobering, indeed. Without realizing it, she’d exhaled a rather loud sigh.

  “You seem melancholy, Pen,” Rome said. She was used to her male friends in the ton addressing her informally. She rather preferred it. This Miss Crone business felt rather awkward.

  “I just heard about Danbury’s mother. I had no idea she was ill.” She admitted her sadness without editing her thoughts.

  Rome reached up and patted her hand. “The end of an era, it would seem.”

  “So, you know the extent of it? There is no hope at all?”

  Rome grimaced. “Not from my understanding. Word at the club is that Danbury’s sister said she might pass any time. I hope, for his sake, he gets there on time. I believe he’s finally settled on a wife. He certainly trailed after Miss Radcliffe a great deal. His mother’s dying wish, I think would be to see him settled—or to know it was eminent anyhow.”

  Not that emptyheaded child! Rome was quite, quite wrong on that point.

  “What of you? Are you feeling pressure from your family to wed?”

  “I have three brothers, one who already can boast of a breeding wife. There is no urgency for me to set up a nursery.”

  “So, you became engaged because you wanted to.” The statement was rather unnerving. She’d known him for years. She’d thought she’d loved him even, but in truth, she hadn’t really known anything personal about him.

  She’d thought she knew Hugh as well.

  She’d thought matters would be so simple. Shame swept through her as the selfishness of her actions seemed glaring in that moment. Hugh deserved to choose his wife the same as she always insisted it was a woman’s right to select her own husband—if she wanted one, that was.

  Except she’d taken the choice away from him.

  “I thought I did,” Rome responded, both of them seemingly deep in thought, not really focused on each other at all. “But perhaps it’s all turned out for the best. I wouldn’t wish to be married to a lady who resented it. I had no idea her parents were pushing her so hard.”

  “They would, of course, have seen you as a most advantageous connection for the family.”

  “But not so necessary that they ought to be willing to sacrifice their daughter’s happiness.” The two stopped walking and stared across the river. “The whole messy business gave me some sympathy for what Natalie went through last year with the Duke of Cortland. At the time, I thought I would strangle her for jilting him but…”

  “She was right to do as she did,” Penelope finished for him. Natalie had made more than just herself happy when she’d broken off the betrothal her father had arranged for her with the Duke. She’d left the path clear for Lilly and Cortland. And then she and Lord Hawthorne had fallen in love.

  “I suppose, well, yes. She was.”

  “She was,” Penelope insisted.

  “That’s what I said, is it not?” She’d argued with Rome in the past. He seemed pensive today. “I am considering growing barley.”

  Ah, he’d learned of the plans she had initiated on Hugh’s estate. “You’ll need a brew master.” Penelope found herself on firm ground for the first time all day.

  Dearest Miss Crone,

  Forgive the brevity of this message but I must leave for Land’s End immediately. Mother had this cough when I was there last, but she assured me it was nothing. I should have not have listened to her dismissal of it… I never should have left her. Margaret says it’s consumption. I don’t know when I’ll return to London. I am not defaulting on our agreement, but it will be a matter of several weeks, at the least, before I am able to discuss the matter with your father. At this time, I am overwhelmed with the condition of my mother’s health and cannot address our situation.

  Yours sincerely,

  Hugh Chesterton, Danbury

  Post Script

  Please take care! No more fainting!

  Hugh had left for Land’s End, literally the very edge of the country, four days ago.

  And he did not plan upon returning for several weeks.

  Penelope did not have several weeks to wait!

  Two, perhaps three. Four at the very most! Her midsection had continued to thicken, and time was running out.

  Rose read through the letter herself, not quite believing the words Penelope had read out loud. “Such romantic prose as this I’ve never read. He expresses no affection. He doesn’t even beg you to wait for him. What kind of a gentlemen is he?”

  Penelope stared out her window onto the street below. It had rained again this evening, the temporary fair weather of the afternoon already a thing of the past. The lack of amorous declarations in the letter were of no concern. She’d waited too long to inform Hugh of her condition, and now, the realities of her situation were suddenly much harsher than they’d seemed before. With Hugh residing not even a mile away, she’d felt she had all the time in the world. But now, in this very moment, the only person in the world who could protect her child from a life of bastardy was riding hell bent for leather across the country. He was riding away from her and away from his child.

  And he was riding toward a mysterious and deadly disease.

  “I’ve no choice,” she said finally. “We must go to Land’s End.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Throughout most of his travel, Hugh found himself hoping this was just another scare, another miscommunication as it had been in February. His mother had not had scarlet fever; she’d meant to write dratted, or darned fever. Wasn’t that what she’d said?

  But deep within his heart, he knew there would be no mistake. Margaret was not one to exaggerate, not even a little. What frightened him was that she was more likely to gloss things over for him.

  Would his mother still be alive when he arrived?

  He chastised himself for not paying closer attention to her health when he’d been there. She’d been a little pale. And she’d had that cough.

  Damn me! He ought to have insisted upon bringing in a physician. She must have known even then! Consumption didn’t sneak up upon a person.

  The thought of his mother coughing up blood terrified him.

  She’d often harangued him; she’d thrown one debutante after another at him ever since his father’s death. But if she’d done so, it had always been for his own good. Losing a husband at such a young age would have given her reason to fear for the security of the Danbury title.

  She’d protected him. She’d not allowed the solicitors to appoint him a full-time tutor. His mother had thought it better for him to continue attending Eton, and then even Oxford, with his friends.

  She’d known how much it had hurt him to lose his father.

  His happiness had always mattered more to her than her own had.

  He’d been riding for five days. He’d wanted to remain on the road longer each day but there were not always replacement mounts, and it would not be fair to push a horse cruelly for his own convenience. And at last he was nearly there.

  As he rode through the iron gates guarding Augusta Heights, Hugh signaled to his mount to break into a run. He did not know what he was going to find but the uncertainty was about to drive him mad. When he arrived in front of the house, a familiar footman rushed out greet him and take over the horse’s care.

  He had to ask, “How is she, William?”

  The footman looked grim but before the man could answer, Margaret came rushing out of the large door. “Hugh!” She threw herself into his arms and proceeded to practically strangle him in her emotion.

  She was weeping, which caused his heart to plummet to somewhere near the vicinity of his riding boots. “Is she…?” He could not bring himself to speak the w
ord aloud.

  “This morning.” Margaret’s voice was muffled by his jacket. “I so hoped you could arrive before. She kept asking for you, but she was not in her right mind. When she asked if you’d married Louisa Radcliffe, I assured her that you had. I told her she was going to be a grandmother. She was happy in the end, Hugh, even though I knew she was in a great deal of pain.”

  That was when he noticed the black armband worn by William.

  Hugh closed his eyes and did his best to comfort his sister. Margaret hadn’t had an easy time of it over the last few years. She’d lost her husband, delivered a stillborn child, and now lost her mother.

  Their mother.

  Good God, no wonder she’d not arrived in London when the season commenced! She’d been here, caring for their dying mother. And he’d been off gallivanting amongst the ton.

  When the large front doors opened again, he glanced up, expecting to see her.

  But it was not Mother. It was the housekeeper. The truth hit him like a fist to the gut. She was gone.

  He swallowed hard and led Margaret inside. Ah, yes, he ought to have noticed. Crepe on the door, the windows covered with dark heavy drapes. He ought to have realized immediately, by Margaret’s mode of dress.

  She leaned upon him heavily. “Dearest,” he said, “have you had any rest?”

  “I could not sleep. I was hoping you would arrive today.” The tears still fell, although she was no longer weeping.

  Hugh sat his sister down on the sofa and rang the bell for some tea.

  There would be so many details to attend to. He would need to make arrangements for the funeral, send out notices, suffer condolence visits.

  He’d been the viscount for his entire adult life, but for the first time, he felt the full mantle of responsibility fall upon him.

  The staff had already begun to prepare the house. He must send word to his other residences. He would have them observe the mourning period as well.

  “I cannot bear it, Hugh!” His sister was completely done in. She buried her face in her hands as her body shook. “I wasn’t ready for this.” For the millionth time, he chastised himself for his absence at such a tragic time.

  “Where is she?” Hugh had to ask.

  Margaret knew exactly what he was asking. “She’s laid out in the morning parlor. I figured since it was her favorite room… She just had it redecorated after the holidays.” Another low moan.

  All he could do was pat her hand and then pour her a cup of tea after the servant brought it in. He coaxed her into a drinking a little and then sent her upstairs to get some sleep. “I’m here, now, Margaret. You needn’t worry about anything. I will meet with the vicar.” He would also be called upon to meet with solicitors, acquaintances, and all of those neighbors who would feel it was their duty to visit after the funeral.

  He wished Penelope were here.

  Not that he wished to hand these details off to her, rather so that he could discuss them with her. He’d never planned a funeral. When a death occurred, such details had always fallen upon others.

  Margaret was in no frame of mind to cope with all of this. She’d buried her fair share of loved ones already.

  He retired to his study and, sitting atop the desk, discovered the most recent of his mother’s journals. The sight of his mother’s nearly illegible scrawl was bittersweet. Wishing for any sort of connection with her, he touched the paper with the tip of one finger.

  On February 23rd, she’d written about an order she’d placed for new drapes. March 3rd, she wrote, Hugh promised to meet with Miss Radcliffe and Mrs. Merriman in England. This is the one for him, I can feel it! On March 28th the writing was even more impossible to read. Blood on my handkerchief this morning. It is as I’d feared.

  April 4th, I have barely reached my sixtieth year. I had not anticipated such an early demise for myself. If only Hugh had married and found happiness, it would be far easier to say farewell to this world. April 22nd – It is becoming difficult to write, even. Perhaps this shall be my goodbye to this world. To my darling children, I love you more than life itself. You have made this world a place of peace and joy for me. Be happy, loves…

  And that was the last entry. That had been two weeks ago.

  A knock sounded on the door as the estate’s ever present butler looked in. He, too, looked older and tired. “The vicar is here to see you, my lord.”

  And so, it began.

  It had been Penelope’s plan to embark upon the journey to Land’s End as quickly as possible, but matters could not be dealt with so easily. Firstly, since she’d arrived in London a few weeks ago, her mother had once again begun to take an active interest in her only daughter’s marital prospects.

  If she only knew!

  And unfortunately, Penelope had made commitments to attend several functions over the next few weeks. How could she convince her mother that leaving London had become most imperative? She’d tried explaining that Lilly needed her, but unfortunately, Lady Eleanor had been visiting and disputed such a statement emphatically.

  “Glenda and Lord Spencer left for a visit just yesterday,” Lady Eleanor helpfully provided. “You stay in town, dear. You’re causing quite the stir!”

  “Oh, yes. Finally, I no longer find myself apologizing for you.” Penelope knew her mama meant no offense. Penelope had been something of an embarrassment to her parents by refusing to play the part of debutante. “More than one gentleman has gone out of the way to pay you his compliments, and the flowers… Eleanor, you’d never believe how many have been arriving on a daily basis!”

  This was exasperating! For the briefest of moments, Penelope contemplated telling her mother the truth. Mama, I need to track down Lord Danbury before the babe I’m carrying, his, mind you, begins to show any more than it already is! And, oh, by the way, he does not know the baby exists. He doesn’t even know of its possibility. You see, Mama, I seduced the man after he’d had too much to drink and he remembers nothing of it. Now, may I be given leave to escape London or would you prefer I go for a ride in the park with one of the dandies who’s been hanging about?

  But she could not. She was still hoping to get herself out of this situation with some semblance of dignity.

  She’d never had difficulty going where she pleased before. It was just that her mother was so pleased with her recent transformation into something of a lady.

  She needed to un-transform, somehow. She needed to be the embarrassment that she’d always been in the past. So, instead of the truth she said, “Mother, I believe I wish to open up our home in the evenings to host some progressive forums of discussion. We can discuss philosophy, history, science, and even the social sciences. Just last evening, I came across a piece of literature about a new method of thinking, which is in opposition to Unitarianism, called freethinking. Mother, it is earthshattering and involves rationalizing what we believe through logic and empiricism rather than tradition and religious dogma. I’m planning on sending invitations out to all of our acquaintances. If I cannot go to Lilly and discuss this, I’d like to begin discussing it with our peers, right here, now, in London.”

  When Penelope began speaking, her mother looked intrigued. That expression changed to exasperation, which changed to outrage, which then turned into resignation.

  The baroness had been through all of this with her daughter before.

  “Best go to Summer’s Park then, darling. Perhaps you can host your salon next year, when your papa and I are in Bath.”

  Thank you, God.

  “If you are certain, Mother? I’ve been planning it already.”

  “Tell me you have not sent any invitations out,” her mother demanded.

  “I have not. But, Mama, I—”

  “Very well, you may take the carriage and visit with the Duke and Duchess.” There was some consolation for her mother in that Penelope had ironically made connections with the crème de la crème of society. “I shall make my apologies for you.” But her face looked as though all was
lost.

  Penelope wished she could tell her mother that she was not to be so disappointed after all.

  If she could ever bring Hugh to ground, that was.

  The thought pulled her up short. It was not even noon and if she and Rose took to the road today, they could be well out of Town by nightfall.

  Not wishing to waste any time making excuses to her mother’s visitors, Penelope discreetly sidled around to the other side of the room and slipped through the entryway with nobody any the wiser.

  And after she located Rose in the kitchen, the two women began preparations for their departure. They notified Peter and Mokey to ready themselves and the carriage, packed up as many of Penelope’s new dresses as was practical, and then changed into traveling clothes. It was to be a long and onerous journey. Penelope had only traveled to the Danburys’ main country estate once, about six or seven years ago, to attend a house party with her parents and several other members of society who found themselves seeking entertainments at the end of a season. In good weather, without mechanical problems or mishap, the trip had taken over two weeks! Of course, they’d traveled at something of a snail’s pace, and her mother insisted upon numerous and lengthy stops. Could Penelope be so hopeful as to believe they could get to Land’s End in just over one week?

  She could be hopeful, but that did not mean it would happen.

  The first afternoon, there was a great deal of traffic. Riots had broken out at Newgate, and a group of convicts had escaped, causing a long wait at the city gates while authorities searched vehicles heading out of town. The delay cost them nearly three hours. Not an auspicious beginning.

  And as soon as they were finally free of the traffic congestions, rain began to fall.

  They were forced to stop at an inn just outside of the city. It was crowded and not well kept, but they were lucky to find a vacancy. After eating the watered-down stew and wine they had delivered to their room, Rose and Penelope climbed into the bed and lay listening to the storm. Penelope did not ever force Rose to sleep on the small beds set aside for servants when she herself had a huge comfy mattress.