“Nor did Penny,” Penelope agreed. “The next was an amiable sort of fellow, always ready to laugh at a joke. He might almost have been acceptable, except for his predilection for wine and raspberry tarts. He was already beginning to be stout, and he was not quite thirty.”
“I see,” Lord Newhorn said, hiding a smile behind his hand.
“After that, there was this lean, cadaverous fellow — a viscount of some place or other, who stood in line for a dukedom. He was ponderous, prone to pontificating, rather like a clergyman who had forgotten that his patron house supports his income.”
“Truly unacceptable,” Lord Newhorn’s lips were held in a severe line, but little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.
Penelope went on through the list of the suitors her uncle had approved, ending with, “ . . . and finally, there was the youth who was a good three years younger than Penny, a third or fourth son who was in religious studies. I truly do not know what Uncle was thinking, for if he had ever heard her parody the Sunday sermons, he should know that they would never suit.”
Lord Newhorn bellowed with laughter, and Penelope joined him. They guffawed, giggled, and snorted in a manner most unbecoming.
When they had finally wound down, Lord Newhorn asked, “What exactly is your sister looking for in a husband?”
“That, My Lord, is a good question. My footman is carrying a basket of excellent lemonade and biscuits. Perhaps we could find a place to sit and talk about it.”
Chapter 8
Benjamin wiped his eyes, to remove the tears from all the laughter, and said, “Sitting in the shade and discussing your sister’s expectations sounds like an excellent plan. Perhaps your man could take my horse to the corral? I do not think he will need cooled down since we have been walking for a while.”
“James,” Miss Chapman said, “Would you mind terribly? You can come back directly.”
“If you are sure, Miss Chapman,” James said uncertainly.
“I shall be perfectly fine. We will rest beneath the big willow. It is shady there, and the long grasses make a comfortable seat with the blanket spread over them.”
“Very well, Miss,” James replied.
“I can carry the basket,” Benjamin said, reaching out for it.
So it was agreed. James took the horse away, and Benjamin followed Miss Chapman up a narrow path to a shady spot beneath an old weeping willow. Benjamin set the basket down on a convenient flat rock.
Miss Chapman opened it and took out a thickly woven plaid blanket. Benjamin helped her spread it out.
She is not at all what I expected. She is supposed to be shy and reticent, but I find her quite forthcoming, perhaps even a little bold. Clearly, there is more here than meets the eye. Perhaps the shyness is a protective facade.
Miss Chapman seemed to be considering his silence and his last words. “Now, as to what my sister is looking for in a husband, I can only guess. I am her confidant, but not a mind reader. As for myself, I have not thought a great deal about marriage, since it is customary for the eldest to marry first. But I think she has felt obliged to care for me.”
“Hmmm. I begin to see some of her difficulty. She feels responsible for you?”
“Yes. I think that is why my Uncle Horace suggested this marriage for me. It would relieve Penny of the responsibility of seeing after me should anything happen to him.”
“I gather that taking on the care of a sister was a deal breaker for these suitors?” Benjamin asked.
“Almost to a man. The only one who was even remotely amenable was the one studying to be a clergyman, and he allowed that having an unpaid companion for his wife could be advantageous, especially when there were children to see to and large church events to tend.”
“I gather that was a deal breaker for your sister?”
“Very much so! She wants to provide for me, not turn me into an unpaid drudge. For that I very much thank her, for I do not think I should have enjoyed it at all.”
“Well, well.” Benjamin sat down on the edge of the blanket and stretched his long legs out on the grass.
I rather like the sound of this older sister. She has pluck and backbone. Florence would have liked her, I think. My peers are dimmed idiots. The younger sister isn’t half bad, either.
“If we were to wed, would you expect to bring your sister with you?” Benjamin asked.
“I would, but I doubt if she would consent. She has set her cap toward being an authoress and supporting herself. She is quite fond of reading about the adventures of Aphra Behn.”
“Would she then add spying to her repertoire?”
Miss Chapman, who had seated herself on the opposite side of the blanket, frowned at her toes. “I don’t think so. She is much too retiring for that. No, I think she would observe people, and write insightful stories about them where the original subjects are only slightly disguised. She would have arrangements with a publisher who would only meet with her man of business.”
“Intriguing!” Benjamin observed. “Do you think there are many ladies who do that?”
“Several, I should think. It is difficult to find ways to earn money unless you are of a class to go into service or become a governess.”
Miss Chapman seemed lost in thought for several moments, then she brightened. “But where are my manners? Would you care for some lemonade?”
“I would be delighted,” Benjamin replied. “All this talking is thirsty work.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? I have a bottle for each of us.”
Benjamin glanced into the basket. “And the third bottle?”
“For James. The dear old fellow won’t admit it, but he needs a pick-me-up during the day to keep him going. It is one of our little secrets, my sister and I. We always add a snack for James.”
“Unorthodox, but practical, I suppose. Wouldn’t want the fellow fainting on us. Will he sit with us?”
“Oh, dear, no. He wouldn’t hear of it. He is embarrassed enough that I always have something for him. Hush, now. I hear him coming up the trail.”
Indeed, Benjamin could also now hear footsteps coming up the narrow path.
“There you are, Miss Chapman,” James said. “Your horse is all set in the pasture area, Lord Newhorn. He seems to be right at home.”
“Ranger makes himself at home almost anyplace that has a bit of feed,” Benjamin remarked.
“I think I like your Ranger,” Miss Chapman said. “He seems like a sensible, sedate sort of horse.”
“Now that age is catching up with him, he certainly is,” Benjamin said. He watched as Miss Chapman matter-of-factly handed the third bottle of lemonade and a packet of biscuits to James.
“I’ll just wait down here, Miss,” James said, “And keep an eye out for anyone coming up the path.”
When the footman had vanished back down the path, Benjamin remarked, “That is astonishing behavior for a chaperone.”
“Have no fear,” Miss Chapman said. “He is well within screaming distance. He trusts me to know what is right and proper and his ability to handle a situation should your behavior be less than pleasing.”
“I see,” Benjamin said. “Is your uncle aware of this arrangement?”
“Probably not.” Miss Chapman bit into a biscuit. “I’m sure he would be quite scandalized, but as long as both James and I give a good report, we have nothing to fear.”
“Miss Chapman, I find you to be a most astonishing person. Far from retiring, you are firm, practical, and self-possessed.”
“Having a reputation for being retiring makes it possible for me to go home early from all sorts of dull engagements,” Miss Chapman said. “Unfortunately, that usually leaves Penny having to make our excuses and good-byes.”
“I see,” Benjamin said. “I wonder how many younger sisters use this subterfuge?”
Chapter 9
James was remarkably silent as they walked back, toward the Castlemount townhouse. At length, Penelope could endure the silence no longer.
“Well?
What do you think?” she demanded.
“I think that the longer you and Miss Edith keep this up, Miss Chapman, the harder it is going to be to switch things around.”
“Did you make inquiries, James?”
“I’ve got some feelers out. There was something havey-cavey went on nine years ago that got him exiled. I’ve not learned just quite what.”
“I wonder if your friend, the printer’s devil, would know something?”
“Well, now there’s a thought, Miss. Although I don’t think you should be sayin’ words such as that.”
“It is a job description, not swearing, James,” Penelope said with exasperation. “I’d go ask him myself, but if I knock on the door of a printer’s office, Uncle Horace would have a fit.”
“Well, you have the right of that.” James hefted the basket from one hand to the other. “I’ll go directly after I get you home and see what I can find out. Say that I’m getting you somethin’ from tha market, lest I get turned away from tha errand.”
“Ribbons,” Penelope said. “Ribbons are always a good excuse. Get one or two, and several fish for Edith’s cat.”
“Right you are, Miss. I’ll do that very thing. Can’t get too many lest they spoil before the little critter gets them eaten up.”
“Some ice, perhaps? Oh, I know. Kippers. If the fish are dried or pickled, they won’t spoil so quickly.”
“I’ll get some of both,” James assured her. “That way, if the kitten doesn’t like them, she’ll have something to eat.”
“So far, we’ve not had any trouble getting her to eat. It is more a problem of keeping her out of our plates.”
James laughed, and they parted company at the steps of the house.
When Penelope went into the house, she found the chambers she shared with her sister quite empty.
She collapsed on the couch in front of the fireplace, which was laid with the makings of a fresh fire. The room was quite comfortable without it.
Penelope pulled the hatpin out of her hat, and took the pins out of the braid at the nape of her neck. She laid back on the worn, comfortable cushions, taking no heed to the damage done by her dusty boots.
Penelope stared at the ceiling, letting her emotions wash across her mind. She felt . . . odd. Yes, that was the word. Odd. Like nothing she had ever felt before in her life.
On the one hand, she was slightly annoyed with her sister. After all, this was all on her behalf, so where was she? Oh, of course. In Stella’s room, and Penelope dared not go looking for her lest she give the whole show away.
Penelope sat up and began unlacing her boots. What was she supposed to think? Lord Newhorn was everything one could wish for, except for his mysterious past. Why had he been sent into exile? Clearly, he had not been at loggerheads with his parents. They had visited him while he was in Europe, even when travel was difficult.
Drawing her boots off her feet, one at a time, Penelope then picked them up and clapped them together, creating a cloud of dust.
Edith came bursting in the door, with the little cat in her arms. “Penny! You are back. Oh, you must see what I have taught Indigo to do!”
“Indigo? You named her?”
“Does it not suit him? He is the most cunning thing, with such blue eyes.”
“Him? I thought the kitten was a girl.”
Edith laughed and colored up. “I thought so, too, but we gave him a bath. Stella says that he is quite plainly a little tom kitty.”
Stella came in behind Edith, and started to set the tea tray down on the occasional table beside the fireplace. “Goodness!” she exclaimed. “I thought the maids dusted in here.”
“Oh, that was me,” Penelope said. “I shook my boots, I’m afraid they made rather a mess.”
Stella kept her face completely still and, pulling a cloth from her apron pocket, balanced the tray on one hip while she used her other hand to whisk the dust off the table.
“I’m sorry,” Penelope said contritely, “I didn’t think.”
“Well,” Stella said, “At least it was only dust.” She set the tray down.
The kitten immediately homed in on it. He put his head down, hiked his rear quarters, gave a little wiggle and prepared to leap.
“No, no!” Edith exclaimed scooping him up. “I’ll put him in your dressing room, Penny. He is something of a little monster when there is tea to be had.”
“Tea? He likes tea?”
“The cream,” Stella volunteered a bit grimly, “the butter, anything remotely meat-like. We have had quite the day.”
“Oh, he is so very cunning and so smart,” Edith raptured.
“Too smart for his own good,” Stella rejoined. “Do lock him up, please, and let us hear what your sister has to say.”
Penelope took the cloth from Stella’s hand and quickly wiped the dust from the chairs. “The least I can do is clean up my mess,” she said. “Dear Stella, it was so good of you to let Edith hide in your room.”
Stella sighed, and didn’t say anything. “Was the kitten so very dreadful?” Penelope asked, thinking that she had discovered the difficulty.
“He is a kitten,” Stella said, with studied calm. “He has teeth, he has claws, and I do not think my coverlet will ever be the same again.”
“Oh, dear. I am so sorry, Stella. We shall get a new one, shan’t we, Penny?” Edith put in.
“That won’t be necessary, Miss,” Stella said firmly. “What did you learn today, Miss Penelope?”
“Sadly, not a great deal that we did not know already. He is personable, polite, and sometimes even funny.”
“So we are at a standstill,” Edith said, sinking slowly into her chair.
“Not quite. I’ve asked James to talk to his friend who does the type setting at the newspaper office. I believe they have a file of back copies of the papers. Perhaps he can learn something there.”
“That sounds promising. Good thinking, Penny.”
“Not my good thinking, James’s. He is using purchasing ribbons for us as an excuse, and he will stop by the market and pick up some fish for your little terror.”
“Oh, Penny. Truly he is not that bad. After tea, I will show you his new tricks.”
“Edie, do you not wish to have a husband?”
“Someday, I suppose. But right now, truly I do not. If you find something wrong with this man, Uncle Horace will not expect me to marry him. Perhaps,” the little minx grinned wickedly, “he will expect you to marry him instead.”
Penelope rolled her eyes at her sister. “Sooner or later, one of us is going to have to find a husband. I have put it off until it probably is too late, so it is likely to be you.”
“Fiddle, faddle!” Edith exclaimed. “You are not in your dotage yet, and I would like at least another season or two just to be a girl. You had three.” Edith buttered a scone and bit into it petulantly. “‘Ith by thurn,” she said through a mouthful of buttered crumbs.
“Edith, don’t speak with your mouth full,” Penelope said crossly. “I’m going to lie down for a while.”
“Don’t you want to see the kitten’s new trick?” Edith asked, her mouth now clear of scone.
“No, I really don’t.” Penelope went into her room and closed the door firmly behind her.
Chapter 10
Edith dangled the string with the bit of feather tied to it for Indigo to catch. It was not a bit like Penny to go off in a huff like that. Whatever could the matter be?
I do not care how handsome, or good at conversation Lord Newhorn might be, I found him very dark and frightening.
Edith caught up the kitten. “Yes, dark and frightening, just like those mean boys who were tormenting you,” she declared.
The kitten squirmed and batted her nose with one paw. “Oh, look what a clever little thing you are,” Edith praised him. “Why can’t you turn into a handsome prince? Then I could marry you, and we could live happily ever after.”
Edith was not quite sure what living with a cat prince would be like
or how it would turn into happily ever after. She dangled the feather toy for the kitten, who leaped for it, nearly caught it, and chased it as Edith drew it around in a circle.
Edith had some vague idea that life with a cat prince would entail marble halls, cats dressed as courtiers, and perhaps several courses of fish dinners each day.
“I might get tired of eating fish,” Edith told the little cat. “Do you think you would mind the occasional bit of beef?”
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