Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  The duke scowled, burying his nose deeper into the newspaper.

  “Yes, Lady Anne. I mean, I am fine, thank you,” Penelope replied not very convincingly.

  “Is it the ball?” the dowager asked.

  The kindness in the dowager’s eyes undid her. She replied honestly, “I am sorry, is it so obvious? I am just worried. When Madame was teaching me, I was too tired to think. Now all I can do is worry about the ball. I am not ready yet to face the ton. I wish Madame was coming—”

  “No one is going to the ball,” the duke snapped.

  “What?” shrieked Lady Anne, “But why ever not?”

  “Mamma has been ill. I cannot have her surrounded by scores of people with no room to breathe. She needs to rest. And I cannot send the two of you unchaperoned. You will have to forget about balls until mother gets better.”

  “Nonsense, I am perfectly fine, Charles.” The dowager sighed seeing her son’s resolute expression. “Fine, I will not go ….”

  “Mother,” Lady Anne exclaimed.

  “Hear me out, Anne. I will stay home and rest if you, Charles, will escort the girls to the ball and keep an eye on them all through the evening.”

  “But …” the duke spluttered.

  “You were already planning to attend Lady Hartworth’s ball. This simply means that you will have to forgo a trip to the gaming room. It’s not too much to ask.”

  “I am unwed,” Lady Anne added batting her lashes at her brother. “I need to attend to find a husband. Besides, when have you not kept watch over me?” She added under her breath to Penelope, “He scares my prospective grooms away.”

  The duke shot his sister an annoyed look, “Fine, I shall take the girls.”

  “Wonderful, the other thing I need you to do–”

  “Mother, you already agreed that if I escort the girls, you will stay home.”

  “Yes, but that was for tonight’s ball. I was planning to take Miss Fairweather and Anne shopping tomorrow.”

  “You are not going anywhere.”

  “I realise that, which is why I was going to say that you take them to the shops. Anne will be disappointed if she doesn’t get to go, and it is your rule that doesn’t allow her to visit the shops with just her maid in tow.”

  “Charles will never agree to take me, Mother. He never has time for his little sister. He is too important to waste his time on such trifles,” Lady Anne said pouting.

  “I never said I will not take you, Annie.”

  Lady Anne grinned, winking at her mother.

  ***

  That evening Penelope was bumping along in the duke’s excellent carriage led by six handsome grey stallions. She was on the way to the ball. And she was frightened yet again. Her palms were sticky with sweat. Her left garter was pinching her thigh, and the cream corset was making it hard for her to breath. She wanted to stick her head out of the window and pant like an overweight French poodle. If she did, then her intricately braided hair, piled on top of her head and secured with jewelled combs, would unravel. Besides, she did not think the duke or Lady Anne sitting opposite her would approve of such conduct.

  “You look beautiful,” Lady Anne soothed.

  Penelope was not soothed.

  Madame had arrived that evening to personally attend to Penelope’s toilette. She had worked a miracle. The cream satin dress overlaid with delicate rose-gold gossamer net was modestly cut and it floated about her like a dream. On her feet she wore deep pink slippers made from a superbly soft cloth, and in the centre of her slippers tiny ruby-like gems were clustered together to form roses. No more embellishments were added, not even a single strand of pearls. Her neck was left bare and ringlets framed her face. Her lashes darkened with soot made her brown eyes sparkle, and her lips mercilessly scrubbed with sugar looked pink and moist.

  “Miss Fairweather, remember Madame’s words and be a wallflower. Everything will be alright,” Lady Anne comforted. After a moment, she added, “I think you should breathe. You are not breathing.”

  “Yes, I am alright. I will be a wallflower, the very best wallflower. In fact, I will be a wall, not even a flower—”

  Penelope was cut short when the carriage jerked to a halt, sending her lurching off the slippery leathery seat. She ended up sprawled on the carriage floor. Any remnants of confidence that had remained in her fled. She sat on the floor gripping the carriage seat and dug her nails in. Lady Anne had to prise apart her fingers and drag her out in the open air.

  The duke ignored her while Lady Anne murmured some comforting, indistinguishable words.

  Penelope made it to the entrance after trying to bolt only twice.

  Lady Anne held her arm in a vice-like grip as their names were announced.

  This was it. They had finally entered the dreaded Lady Hartworth’s ball.

  The ball was in full swing. Earls, viscounts, counts, marquises, and various other aristocrats, along with their better halves and their numerous sons and daughters, thronged together in a great crowd. Turbans, peacock feathers, boas, bosoms, silk, brocade, and wigs were mashed together like a colourful bowl of fruit salad that had slightly wilted due to the unbearable heat.

  White painted faces swam in front of Penelope and the dance floor was barely visible through the mass of bodies. She was relieved. Lady Anne was right. Any misstep on her part would not be noticed in such a crowd.

  Almost immediately upon their entrance a tall, distinguished looking man with a young couple arrived to greet the duke.

  “Miss Fairweather, my mother’s ward.” The duke turned to Penelope and said, “And this is the Duke of Arden, Lord Hamilton and Lady Hamilton.”

  Penelope curtsied elegantly. Something tickled at the back of her mind. She had heard the name before, but where? It came to her all of a sudden and she said, “I remember reading about you, your grace, in The Reflections. My father gets a copy every month. I am so sorry. I heard about your sister’s unfortunate end. She was murdered, was she not? And by—”

  A sharp pinch on her arm from Lady Anne had her stop abruptly.

  The Duke of Blackthorne was glaring at her. The Duke of Arden was eyeing her with interest, while Lord and Lady Hamilton were looking a tad scandalised.

  Lady Anne hurriedly muttered excuses and dragged Penelope across the room towards a discreet corner in the ballroom. She scared off a canoodling couple behind the grey silk curtains and took their place.

  “Miss Fairweather,” Lady Anne said with forced calm, “you cannot, absolutely cannot, discuss matters of murdered sisters, brothers, aunts … with a duke, no less …Oh, dash it. Just stay clear of the topic of death, birth and anything that comes between. In fact, you were supposed to keep silent. What happened?”

  “I was nervous, I didn’t think. I am sorry. I will stay silent,” Penelope replied shamefaced.

  “Well, the Duke of Arden is a decent fellow. He is a great friend of the family so he will overlook this little slip on your part, but we cannot depend on anyone else to be as kind. Promise me, Miss Fairweather, no more babbling.”

  “I won’t say a word,” she swore.

  They emerged from behind the curtains to find the Duke of Blackthorne waiting for them.

  Lady Anne sighed and whispered to Penelope, “My brother stands guard over me like a sphinx or a fiery dragon. Only men with courage are allowed to make way to my side, and unfortunately England is full of chicken-hearted nitwits.”

  “I am sure he would encourage a worthy suitor,” Penelope whispered back.

  “He doesn’t think any such creatures exist.”

  Their conversation came to a momentary standstill when a lanky dandy seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of the duke. One minute he wasn’t there and the next he was. He was dressed in green velvet from top to bottom, and his shoes were a bright cerulean blue. His teeth were the largest and whitest Penelope had ever seen. She blinked, blinded by the sight.

  Lady Anne sighed, “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  Penelope rathe
r thought the man looked like a stretched leprechaun, but who was she to quibble. If Lady Anne said he was beautiful, then that was what he was.

  While the duke was thus engaged with the elongated leprechaun, two other young men sidled past the duke and gestured timidly to Lady Anne.

  Lady Anne brightened at the sight of these men. She flicked her fan open and with her right hand held it in front of her face.

  Penelope frowned. If she remembered Madame’s lessons on the language of fans correctly, then Lady Anne was secretly asking the two men to follow her.

  After a quick glance at the duke, who was still busy conversing with the green dandy, Lady Anne firmly clasped Penelope’s hand and led her towards the refreshment table. Once hidden among the crowd and away from the duke’s line of sight, the two gentlemen arrived to join them.

  “Lord Poyning,” Lady Anne said curtsying.

  Penelope noted the blush on her face.

  The other gentleman was ignored. Lady Anne had eyes for only one man.

  A discreet cough from Penelope had Lady Anne recalling herself and she quickly introduced Penelope.

  “Lord Poyning and Lord Rivers. And this is Miss Fairweather.”

  Lord Edward Poyning was a tall handsome man with silver blonde hair, thin lips and big blue innocent eyes. He smiled charmingly and immediately engaged Penelope in conversation.

  That is, he tried to engage her in small talk while Penelope tried to be a shy, retiring wallflower.

  Lord Anthony Rivers, standing quietly to one side, did not need to make an effort to be a wallflower. He was the very epitome of one. His quiet nature, a little above average appearance, dark hair and dark eyes made one often forget that he was in the room. He hardly ever spoke, except in short clipped sentences, and many found him a dreadful bore.

  “Miss Fairweather is painfully shy and your efforts are quite wasted. She doesn’t say a word until the third meeting,” Lady Anne said peevishly to Lord Poyning, who was nattering away to Penelope.

  “Miss Fairweather, you remind me of a rose at dawn, a fresh new rose that is about to bloom, its petals bedewed and …” Lord Poyning said, ignoring Lady Anne and endeavouring to get one peep out of the Penelope.

  Penelope couldn’t help it. She laughed.

  Lord Poyning frowned and then smiled wryly, “Ah, I see flattery does not work on you. I will have to change my tactics. Let me be honest then, Miss Fairweather. I think you are the prettiest girl in the room.”

  Penelope, aware of Lady Anne silently seething, said, “I did not laugh at your allusion to my being a rosebud.”

  “No? Then what was it?” he asked, quickly scanning his clothes to make sure everything was in order.

  Now, Penelope had never been subjected to the full blown charm of a handsome man, and that too a blue blooded lord. She had normally been ignored by most eligible men back in Finnshire. Therefore, she was more than a little rattled by Poyning’s persistent interest in her. It stood to reason that such circumstances would have tipped her over the edge. Her nerves could stand only so much oozing maleness. She did what she did best. She babbled.

  “No, you see, I am so sorry, but you made me nervous. Terribly nervous because I am sure you are a perspicacious man and … Well, I really don’t know what perspicacious means, but Madame taught it to me and I clean forgot the meaning. I don’t know why I used it. Where was I? Oh yes, It was because of Madame that I laughed. I mean, Madame Bellafraunde. I am sure you have heard of her. Well, I am a shy retiring creature, not even a wallflower but a shy caterpillar hiding in the leaves. I hate talking. In fact, I despise it because of my delicate nerves. Madame told me to imagine everyone in pink bloomers to soothe those very nerves and make the evening altogether bearable. That is why I laughed, you see? Ah, no you don’t. Well to be honest, the thought of you, Lord Poyning, so dandy in your grey evening coat, wearing pink bloomers underneath is so ridiculous—”

  A deep roar of laughter came from behind Penelope, halting her speech mid-stream. She turned to find the duke wiping his eyes and chuckling. He was looking at her in delight, no doubt having overheard her.

  His eyes had softened and he looked young and carefree for once. The wicked grin on his face set Penelope’s stomach fluttering.

  An adorable, petite blonde girl exquisitely dressed in peach chiffon attached herself to the duke’s left sleeve. He looked down at this new arrival, the smile not yet faded from his lips.

  “Charles, I have never seen you laugh like that. I have tried so often to make you smile. You never smile. What was so amusing?” the girl asked the left sleeve.

  Penelope looked away feeling as if she was intruding on a private moment. She was intensely curious as to the identity of the girl who had dared to call the duke by his name and stood closer to him than appropriate. She searched for Lord Poyning and Lord Rivers and discovered that they had slinked away.

  “Miss Fairweather made him laugh,” Lady Anne said irritably, eyeing the girl now attached to the duke’s right sleeve.

  The duke stopped smiling and the girl stilled. Her eyes darted around to finally fall on the shrinking Penelope.

  Penelope watched the green eyes turn frigid. Her sweet expression briefly slipped to reveal a cruel sneer. She would have never imagined that such a pretty girl with a cute button nose could look so cold. The girl eyed her from top to bottom and then back again. In under a minute Penelope had been judged, sentenced and then dismissed as unimportant.

  The duke was back to looking grim and angry, a beautiful girl was sneering at Penelope, and Lady Anne was annoyed. The ball seemed to be going extremely badly. Penelope sighed. This is what she understood. This was how it was meant to be. Nice clothes, fancy carriage, blue blooded people, and handsome lords wanting to converse with her were too much to take in a single day. The world had righted itself and she was now on a footing she understood. Why, she wondered, could she not be introduced to everything bit by bit, getting filled like a bucket stuck under a leaky faucet?

  “Miss Fairweather,” Lady Anne whispered, grasping Penelope’s upper arm.

  “Off to the grey silk curtains. I know, I know,” Penelope said, already making her way to the edge of the ball.

  Once again a canoodling couple was shooed away and Lady Anne’s lecture began, “How could you? How could you tell Lord Poyning, of all the people, that you were imagining him in pink bloomers? I will never forgive you. Oh, what will he think of me?” she wailed.

  “I am sorry,” Penelope replied miserably.

  “Miss Fairweather, I think it is best if we depart. I am not sure how many people overheard you. I can feign a headache, and the duke will have us bundled up in the carriage in no time. We also need to confer with Madame on what to do about your nervous habit.”

  “I think that would be best,” Penelope replied unhappily.

  “Well, then let’s bid Lady Hartworth goodbye and find Charles. The ball has been a bit of a damper. I know you expected a lot but we have all season.” Lady Anne patted her on the shoulder halfheartedly.

  “Lady Anne,” Penelope said, stopping her from pulling the curtain aside. “Who was that girl, the one with the duke?”

  “Oh, that was Lady Lydia Snowly, the duke’s fiancée,” she replied, stepping back into the ballroom.

  Penelope stood for a moment longer staring at the draping grey cloth.

  “The duke’s fiancée, Lady Lydia Snowly,” she said aloud.

  The music, laughter and the din of people chattering in the room suddenly made her want to weep. Her first ball had been an utter disaster.

  Chapter 16

  Penelope bumped into the duke outside his study door.

  “I don’t like you,” the duke said, holding her arm with two of his fingers and helping her to right herself.

  “I despise you,” Penelope retorted feeling hurt. She knew he didn’t like her, but it wasn’t very nice of him to say so to her face. She brushed his hand off and stepped back.

  “Why don’t you leav
e?”

  Penelope shrugged.

  “Go back to Finnshire,” he ordered.

  “I like London, your grace. You are an excellent host,” she said politely.

  “Are you deaf, woman? I asked you to go back to your village,” he growled irritably.

  “Your mother wants me here, your grace,” Penelope replied sweetly.

  “I don’t want you here. I don’t want to see your infuriating face every damn day!”

  “Well, then you leave,” Penelope said getting annoyed.

  “This is my house,” he roared.

  “Speak to your mother then and tell her that you want me out of this house,” Penelope snapped, blowing an escaped curl off her face.

  “I am warning you, Miss Fairweather, I want you out of this house or things are going to get ugly. You do realise I am the duke and … Will you stop blowing that blasted curl?” he said, glaring at the shiny ringlet.

  “Foo, foo, foo,” Penelope taunted.

  “What in the world …” the duke said, gawking at her.

  “I am blowing the curl off my face. Fooooo … See? It is my hair. It is my breath. I will blow if I want to—”

  “Stop … just stop talking for one moment,” the duke thundered, grabbing her shoulder. He reached for the ringlet and tucked it behind Penelope’s ear.

  Stunned, Penelope looked into his eyes.

  He stared back.

  Things became awfully quiet.

  Penelope’s eyes slid to the duke’s right forefinger still lingering at her left ear.

  The duke’s eyes also slid to his right forefinger still lingering at her left ear.

  The two leapt apart.

  Avoiding each other’s eyes, they turned around and walked off in opposite directions … Only to meet a moment later near the duke’s black pantheon. They were all going shopping together.

  ***

  Penelope, ensconced in the duke’s beautifully lacquered black pantheon, bounced her way to the shops. She was wearing a powder blue Parisian walking dress made of muslin and bordered with white flounces. Blue gems had been woven through her hair and blue ribbons added to her bonnet. On her feet she wore soft grey half boots. That morning Mary had liberally anointed her with Royal Tincture of Peach Kernels and perfumed her hair with Maharani’s Lavender Love. She felt, smelled and looked like a lady.