Penelope stared at Lady Anne in alarm. She had drunk more than a glass, a few in fact, and the brandy. How many glasses was that? She had not even eaten anything. Did that make things better or worse? Her head was feeling a little strange, but maybe it was due to hunger. She frowned trying to think, and the more she strained her brain, the more muddled she seemed to be getting.
The candles seemed to have become brighter, and Penelope squinted at Sir Henry as he sat staring at his pocket watch. He lifted his hand and let it fall onto the table with a thud once. Lady Anne nudged Penelope and she noticed everyone picking up their spoons and starting on the soup. She stared at the numerous spoons and forks and randomly chose one. She carefully dipped the spoon into the bowl and lifted it towards her mouth. Her brain was decidedly scrambled by now. That simple procedure was proving to be a difficult task. She finally managed to bring the spoon to her mouth and swallow the contents. She grinned in delight and looked around the table proudly.
Lady Anne was eyeing her in concern while the duke was looking disapproving.
Penelope stuck her tongue out at the duke and blew a raspberry.
The spoons halted in mid-air and everyone turned to look at her in astonishment.
Penelope was pleased. She would show the duke, she thought happily. She could eat her soup and drink as much wine as she liked. She grabbed her glass and drank the contents, licking her lips.
Sir Henry, oblivious of the situation, said, “Miss Fairweather, what brings you to London?”
Penelope frowned trying to make sense of the words. “I am here to catch a man, a husband, I mean, during the season …. It is odd, is it not, that we call it the London season. It is like saying it is the hunting season … which I suppose it is, except we hunt men instead of rabbits.” She giggled and repeated, “Rabbits, bunny eared men, hee-hee.”
“Do you have an inkling of what sort of husband you would like?” Sir Henry asked, a little lost over the bit about rabbits.
“No, anyone will do as long as he is a man. But, Sir Henry, I will not find a man in this dress. I hate it because it is pink and pink reminds me of pigs. I don’t know why it reminds me of pink pigs,” she said mournfully.
“Any man?” Sir Henry plodded on desperate to keep the conversation coherent.
“Yes, any man. If he is rich, then even better,” she hiccupped.
“I don’t believe you are titled or that you are an heiress, then how will you land a wealthy husband, my dear? Perhaps you should keep your mind open to all prospects. It is a kindly advice from an old man.”
“I suppose… I suppose I will use some of the feminine tricks ladies use to snare a man. I have to marry and as soon as possible. But I take your point, Sir Henry. I will take anyone who will have me.”
The dowager’s fork clattered onto her plate. She nervously glanced at her son. The duke looked thunderous.
“Are you a bit sozzled, my dear? You have had time to only have a glass or two of wine since we sat down. A very delicate constitution, I suppose,” Sir Henry remarked, finally grasping the situation.
Penelope smiled widely, and after a minute of grinning foolishly, she said, “A toast!”
Clambering up on her chair, she unsteadily raised her glass, “A toast to … to moustaches,” she giggled. “To moustaches … If you have in mind to take a bride, Sir Henry, then my cook, Della, back at my father’s house has a shplendid moustache. You would love her moustache, and she even has a few strands of hair on her chin. They curl.”
Lady Anne leapt up and tried to pull her down whispering urgently.
“Shhh, Lady Rashclyff … I have a shecret,” Penelope whispered back loudly. “You are shweet and I like you. The dowager ish beauutifuuul, who I also like, and she has unfortuna … unfortunate-ly spawned a handsome and rude and mean and other bad stuff …err …,” She straightened and pointed at the duke, “You, I don’t like you, and sadly I am seeing three of you.”
“Please hush, Miss Fairweather,” Lady Anne begged.
“Aye, aye, picaroon!” Penelope screeched.
Lady Anne winced, slapping her hands around her ears.
Penelope laughed and twirled on her chair, “Oh, Lady Bathsheba, I left you with Mary, but you missed me and you came.”
Everyone turned to stare at the door where the goat now stood looking bored. Mary rushed in looking apologetic and tried to take the animal away.
“Nooo, Mary, you cannot take her away … Lady Bathsheba,” Penelope wailed and fell off her chair.
The duke didn’t even attempt to catch her. Lady Anne halted the fall but not completely.
Penelope lay sprawled on the ground completely passed out.
A deathly silence fell in the room.
Sir Henry finally looked at the duke and asked, “I knew we were having trouble with the chef, but to send our dinner uncooked and alive and kicking is truly disgraceful.”
The duke stared at his grandfather in confusion.
“The mutton, it wasn’t cooked.”
“Charles, carry Penelope to her room,” the dowager quickly intervened. “You will do as I say,” she added, noting the duke’s expression.
The duke nodded and unceremoniously grabbed Penelope around her waist, flung her over his shoulder and strode out.
Sir Henry, for once, allowed his daughter and grandchildren to leave the dinner table early. He watched them depart, twirling his fluffy white moustache thoughtfully.
Chapter 6
Lady Anne started laughing.
The dowager glared at her, gesturing towards Penelope who was asleep on the bed.
“Mother,” Lady Anne giggled. “She arrived this afternoon and has managed to annoy Charles, scare Sir Henry, horrify you and entertain me. And I cannot believe she is a drunk. This is splendid. Oh, I wish the season would begin. Imagine us letting her loose in a ballroom. She will destroy the place faster than a real live Bengal tiger.”
The dowager frowned disapprovingly at her daughter.
Lady Anne sobered, not because of her mother’s scathing glare, but as a new tentacle of thought wriggled its way into her pleasant daydreams.
“Will she have to go back to Finnshire? Charles will never agree to keep her now, and Grandfather, why, if he sees her at dinner again, he might throw a fit or in despair drown in the turtle soup,” she slumped in disappointment.
The dowager glanced at Penelope, a deceptively harmless looking bundle smiling away in her dreams. Next she looked at her daughter, who had adopted the pose of a tragic queen about to see her lover slain on the battle field. She sighed and said, “I don’t understand her. She is incredibly naive, yet I see intelligence lurking behind those big brown eyes. Initially, I thought she was shy and her insecurity made her babble, but then she launched into that tale describing her brave encounter with the highwayman. It rattled me. Is she a confident woman, a neglected young girl or—”
“She is mad, Mamma. Loony, barmy, batty … completely and utterly daft. Just before dinner she told me that she had been talking to her dead mother. Besides, I caught her whispering to that goat and not loving little coo’s, mind you, but having an adult conversation … with a goat.”
The dowager, instead of being alarmed, looked at Penelope pityingly. “Perhaps the letters Gertrude wrote to me swearing her love for the child were complete falsehood. It is possible that Miss Fairweather has been shamefully neglected and to such an extent that she has had to turn to inanimate objects and animals to keep her spirits up. And the girl has spirit and courage; a whole lot of it. I should have kept a better watch on the girl. I have been remiss in my promise to her mother. It is not too late. I will do what I can. We have to keep her.”
“Pfft,” Lady Anne snorted. “Easy for you to say, Mamma. How will we convince the big, arrogant jungle beast that is my brother? And Grandfather would rather shave off his fluffy moustache than agree to keep an escapee from Bedlam.”
“My dear, how have you failed to notice that in all these years everythin
g has gone according to my plans? Not my son’s or my father’s. Oh, they believe they are the ones in in charge, but a lesson to you, Anne, is that a man, however much he lives under the illusion, is never in control. A woman holds the whip that slaps the horse’s rump, my dear. And here is another lesson for you to chew on. Men are like barrels of wine in Sir Hammersmith’s basement. Strong, sturdy and inviting on the outside, whereas on the inside completely empty.”
They had no more time to dwell on the buffoonery of men for the glowering head of the duke appeared at the bedroom door.
The duke paused at the door, caught by the sight of sleeping Penelope. Her small face was peeking out from under the thick quilt and her long lashes cast shadows on her soft flushed cheeks.
He forced his eyes away from her and addressed his sister, “Anne, she was pickled at the dinner table. On her first day in London. How can you expect me to overlook that? I can forgive her for pinching my ear, even for wearing that … that pink abomination and almost breaking her neck, but getting foxed and insulting me under my own roof is unforgivable. I am sorry, Anne, even if I do relent, Grandfather will not.”
The dowager spoke before Lady Radclyff could reply, “Charles, she had a hard day. The girl left home for the first time in her life. She was almost robbed by a highwayman on the way here, and then you dismissed her so rudely. You are a duke and she is a mere country girl. Think how your hostile behaviour must have frightened her. We should give her another chance. We hardly know her.”
“You must convince Grandfather, Charles,” Lady Anne added. “She didn’t realise the wine was not watered. The poor, poor dear was terrified in spite of her show of confidence. I saw her hands tremble … and Mamma made a promise to Miss Fairweather’s mother. Think of Mamma’s honour, Charles. You have to let her stay.”
“Her kind does not belong here and mother knows better. She should have never issued the invitation in the first place,” the duke snapped.
“Her kind?” the dowager said frowning. “You have always treated everyone equally. I never thought you considered yourself superior to others simply due to your title?”
“Yes, her kind. The sort that goes to any length to trap a man. She is desperate to make a match and she … I just don’t want her in this house.”
The dowager looked at her son sympathetically.
“Deny it, tell me she isn’t desperate to marry, desperate enough to trick and cheat. You all heard her at dinner tonight. Hunting for a man like one would hunt down a rabbit,” the duke roared.
“She has to marry, but then so do all young women of her age. True, her family is depending on her, and the pressure may have tickled her buttons a bit, but from her conduct today, I think she is incapable of tricking anyone. Her missteps were unfortunate but not unforgivable. In fact, I have never met anyone so honest or open before. No deceiving, sly creature could make such a blunder of things,” Lady Anne argued.
“So you agree that her behaviour was disastrous. How can we let such a halfwit into polite society?”
“Charles, what is it?” the dowager asked gently.
The duke turned his back on his mother and glared at the sleeping girl. He didn’t answer.
After a minute of tensed silence, Lady Anne asked, “What did you mean when you said that she almost broke her neck?”
“She tripped coming down the stairs. I stopped her fall and gave her a glass of brandy to calm her nerves. Now I regret that act of kindness. I should have let her kill herself.”
“Now you are being cruel. I will not have you speaking like that. How much brandy did you give her?” the dowager asked.
“A generous amount, and then she asked for more. I could have sworn she had never had it before.”
“And did you give her more?” Lady Anne enquired.
“Well, yes ….”
Lady Anne hid her smile behind her hand. Another heavily laden look was exchanged between the mother and daughter.
Wiping the smile off her face, Lady Anne adopted a firm countenance and faced her brother. “That explains it. No wonder the dear creature drank herself into oblivion. She was in shock and really, Charles, this is all your fault. You should have taken better care of her and ensured that she had eaten a bit before drinking that brandy, or allowed her to retire to her room. She could have been killed, Charles, killed, after tumbling down those stairs. And instead of helping her you go and get her foxed. Mamma, I am sure you agree. He has to make amends for not only being rude to her but also getting her pickled. He has to convince Grandfather.”
“What? That is ridiculous. I did not get her drunk,” the duke roared.
“Hush, the girl is asleep. You have been unkind enough and now it is your duty to set things right. I want to hear no more of this, Charles. She may not know better, but you know the effects of mixing brandy and wine well enough. You should have cautioned her. I am afraid I have to agree with Anne,” the dowager said firmly.
The duke turned puce in rage. His eyes were shooting not daggers, oh no, that would have been too banal an expression, rather it was thunder and bolts of lightning that erupted from the blue flaming depths. He took a deep breath and prepared to launch into a tirade demanding that justice be served.
He opened his mouth and the indignant words rose up to meet his lips, and then fizzed out like cold water dousing a fire for Penelope spoke from the bed, “No, I will go back to my father’s house.”
Penelope had emerged from her drunken stupor and overhead some of the conversation.
The three of them whirled around to look at her.
“Now you have woken her,” Lady Anne muttered to the duke. She ran to Penelope’s side and sat on the bed. “How are you feeling? Drink this. The cook said it works wonders. I know it looks dreadful, but it will make you feel better.”
The quilt was forcefully extricated from her fist and the rest of Penelope’s head finally emerged.
“I am sorry,” she said miserably. “I agree with the duke. I should go. I am incapable of handling London.”
“No one is blaming you. We understand. The circumstances were unusual, and we really should have taken better care of you,” the dowager soothed.
Penelope sniffed and a tear ran down her cheek. Flashes of the night’s events came and went in her mind. She felt terrible. Her head ached and her stomach turned, but her brain at least seemed to function normally once again.
The dowager came and sat next to her on the bed. She took Penelope’s hand and stroked it gently.
Penelope could not believe how good the dowager and Lady Anne were being to her. She knew she had made a mess of things, and her own pride and embarrassment wouldn’t allow her to stay a minute longer. She brushed away her tears and flung back the quilt. She avoided everyone’s eyes as she said, “I want to go ho … leave London.”
“But we don’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault,” Lady Anne soothed.
“Your stepmother is counting on you,” the dowager added.
Penelope didn’t answer. She knew her options were limited, but it was better to leave before she embarrassed the duke and his family in front of the ton. She was bound to do or say something silly, and she no longer had any faith in herself. She had been pickled at the dinner table on the first day in London. A lot more could happen in three months. She silently slid off the bed and stepped towards the wardrobe. The moment her right foot touched the ground, she screamed and fell.
“What is it?” the duke asked sceptically, looking down at her.
She looked at him, her eyes full of pain, “My… my ankle.”
His eyes sparked with anger. He shot her a disbelieving look.
“Let me see,” the dowager said, rushing to Penelope’s side.
Penelope, in spite of the pain, was aware of the duke looking on. She blushed, refusing to pull her dress up. She couldn’t show him her unclad foot … that was simply scandalous.
Lady Anne glared at the duke, who didn’t want to leave.
“Le
ave us, please,” the dowager said, eyeing the duke.
He opened his mouth to argue, but her steely gaze halted him. He hesitated, his eyes falling on Penelope’s ashen face.
“Fine, but from now on everything will go according to my wishes. Mother, you have always listened to me, and I am warning you that keeping her here is a big mistake. Anne, don’t you dare shed any more tears. It will not have any effect on me,” he snapped, turning on his heels.
“Aye, aye, picaroon,” Lady Anne saluted.
The duke slammed the door shut behind him.
Penelope sagged in relief. The dowager gently pushed her dress up and revealed her ankle. It was red and swollen.
“Oh dear, you must have twisted it when you fell off the chair,” the dowager tsked.
“I will be alright. Just ask someone to carry me to the carriage. I cannot stay on any longer… not after …”
“Hush, child, I will not let you go home in such a state. What will your family think?”
“Please.”
“Stay for a few days. Let your foot heal. We can discuss your leaving after that. If you still want to go in a week’s time, I won’t stop you. Your family is counting on you. Stay for them if nothing else,” the dowager coaxed.
Penelope nodded unhappily. She didn’t want to stay, but the pain in her leg was making it hard for her to argue her case. Perhaps in the morning she could request the dowager to change her mind and let her go. It was just one more night. Nothing further could go wrong.
The dowager and Lady Anne departed leaving Penelope to her thoughts. A steaming cup of tea fragrant with herbs lay by her bed side. She gratefully cradled it and thought back to the dowager’s last words. What had she said? Oh yes, that her family was counting on her. She scowled. Her family was counting on her, were they? She looked at Lady Bathsheba warming herself in front of the fire.
Love Regency Style Page 320