Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Yes,” she said a little breathlessly.

  “I was talking about …”

  “The man in the lane. I know.”

  “Are you sure? Anything I can do?”

  “Find the man and finish what I started? Murder him? No, I am alright. I think what happened … almost happened, was for the best.”

  “You learnt a valuable lesson,” he stated simply.

  Her hand briefly tightened on his shoulder. She did not need to say it. He understood.

  He lifted her off the floor, and when he set her back down on her feet, she was closer to him than strictly necessary.

  The music changed becoming quicker. Fingers flew over piano keys, and violinists shook their shaggy heads, furiously moving their bows over strings.

  Penelope felt as light as a feather as the duke led her around the floor. His firm hand guided her leaving no room for mistakes. She looked at him shyly, her face alight with happiness. This was her first dance of the season and he had begun it by being kind. In spite of all the mistakes she had made, he was truly worried about how she was faring. She gripped his hand tighter, letting her eyes show how grateful she was. Perhaps Madame had worked a miracle in the last two days. The duke was softening towards her.

  He smiled down at her and her stomach flipped. His next words seemed to echo her feelings.

  “I have changed my opinion of you,” he said, whirling her around.

  “You have?” she asked, her face flushing with pleasure.

  “Yes, I thought you were a fruit fly.”

  “A fruit fly?” Her rosy bubble deflated a little.

  “Yes, a harmless little creature. I misjudged you. Now, I am convinced that you are in fact a mosquito.”

  “Pardon?”

  “A mosquito, a female mosquito. They are the only kind that suck blood, and some of them can be outright dangerous to a man’s health.”

  Her feet stopped moving. The rosy bubble was now nonexistent.

  His hand on her waist forced her to move.

  “You are exactly like a mosquito,” he continued as the music soared to a crescendo, “an annoying little bug, and I wish I could bring my hands together and splat! Squish you in an instant.”

  Penelope blinked.

  The pianist crashed his hands down on the instrument.

  The dance was now over.

  ***

  “You look a little red. Did Charles upset you?” Anne whispered to Penelope as soon as she joined them.

  “He has promoted me from a fruit fly to a blood sucking mosquito. So to answer your question— yes, the ostrich feathers adorning my hair are a little ruffled.”

  Anne giggled and Penelope scowled.

  “Any luck?” Penelope asked, taking the lemonade cup from Anne.

  “He hasn’t asked me to dance,” Anne replied, her face falling.

  “He will. Just leave it to me,” Penelope said in her ear. She then turned her attention to Lord Anthony Rivers.

  “Do you dance Lord Rivers?”

  “Rarely”

  “I do,” Lord Poyning piped up.

  “Anne loves dancing,” Penelope hinted.

  “Do you?” Lord Poyning countered.

  “I do, but I can never be as graceful as Anne,” Penelope replied irritably.

  “Let me be the judge of that. May I have the next dance, Miss Fairweather?” Lord Poyning asked.

  Penelope took a long sip before replying, “I am a little tired after my dance with the duke. I would rather watch you dance for the moment. Perhaps the next?”

  “Women are so delicate,” Lord Poyning said, his eyes running over Penelope’s figure.

  Penelope squirmed under the gaze, her face turning hot. She felt a little disturbed by the look in Lord Poyning’s eyes and she itched to get away.

  “Charles is leading Lydia to the dance floor,” Anne announced.

  Penelope whipped her head around to look at the couple. She watched the duke lead Lady Lydia around the floor. Lady Lydia was smiling, her teeth shining white in the candlelight.

  When Penelope turned back, it was to find Lord Poyning finally asking Anne to dance. Pleased, she smiled at Lord Rivers.

  “Would you?” Lord Rivers asked unhappily.

  Penelope stopped him short, “No, I am happy to watch for the moment.”

  “Good, good,” he said looking relieved.

  She smiled again widely. This was it— time to put her plan into action.

  “Have you known Anne long?” she asked, fluttering her lashes

  “Yes. Did you get something in your eye?”

  Penelope stilled her lids.

  “I think it was dust. I am fine now. Would you like to take a turn around the room?”

  “No, it is too crowded.”

  Deuced man, Penelope thought getting annoyed. She tried again, “Lord Rivers, I would like to speak plainly. I come from a small village and I cannot flirt and hint at things. I am aware that we barely know each other, but your friendship with Lord Poyning and mine with Anne compels me to ask you for your help. You and only you can help me in this noble endeavour. Yes, Lord Rivers, you and I can bring happiness to our cherished friends.”

  Penelope was pleased at how easily the words had flown from her. The shy and quiet man facing her was comforting. It was hard to be nervous around someone who looked even more out of place in a ballroom than she did.

  “How?” he asked. His eyes were suddenly awake and he was looking at her for the first time with unglazed eyes.

  Penelope faltered at the intense expression on his face. She realised that she had made a mistake in thinking that this man could be easily led. The slight interest she had ignited in him transformed his features. His eyes were intelligent; the subtle change in expression marking him as an almost handsome man. She glanced towards the dancing couples trying to buy time. She watched the duke pull his fiancée closer.

  She wrenched her gaze away from the scene and said, “Lord Poyning is your friend and Anne is mine. I think the two should marry and you are in the best position to help bring them together.”

  Lord River’s expression turned cold, “I apologise, but I don’t think the two would make a good match. I don’t think Lord Poyning is interested in Lady Anne, and you are wasting your time on such a fruitless venture.”

  “How can you be sure? Has he said so to you?”

  “No, but he did not need to spell it out. I know him well.”

  “Lord Rivers, I understand your hesitation but what harm can there be in at least trying?”

  “No.”

  “No? Just no? You don’t think ….”

  “Miss Fairweather, please don’t involve me in this. I am a good deal older than you and I know how ugly things can become if you meddle in matters of love, especially when it concerns people close to you. I suggest you let Lady Anne handle her own affairs.”

  Penelope was not offended. Lord Rivers’ tone had been kind and his words well meaning. She was a little irritated though. She had been so optimistic that tonight Anne and Poyning’s love story would have a happy ending. She had hoped that secretly Poyning loved Anne just like Anne loved Poyning. Lord Rivers was meant to confess that fact or at least help bring the two together. Nothing of the sort had happened. The first part of the plan had completely flopped. She sulked in silence until Anne returned from her dance with Lord Poyning.

  The rest of the evening went well. Penelope did not utter a single word out of turn. She had drunk sixteen cups of lemonade, spent most of the night in the lady’s powder room, and danced five times with different partners. No man had caught her fancy and only one wealthy man had shown any genuine interest in her. Unfortunately, he was as old as Sir Henry.

  Back in the duke’s carriage, a gloomy Penelope sat bouncing her way back to the Blackthorne Mansion. Anne’s love pickle was turning out to be harder than she had originally thought. She spent the entire ride tugging at her uncomfortably tight gloves and planning the next step on how to bring th
e two love birds together.

  The moment she entered Blackthorne Mansion, the dowager caught her arm.

  “Penelope,” she said, “three Grande dames came up to me tonight. They had something to say about your conduct tonight.”

  Penelope turned white. How could she have forgotten? Today had been a test and if she had failed it, then tomorrow morning she would be on her way back to Finnshire. She had spent the entire night plotting to bring Anne and Lord Poyning together, but if she was no longer in London, then how was she meant to help them?

  Anne, Madame, the dowager and even Lady Bathsheba were counting on her. She doubted her new employers would allow her to bring along a goat. Her own dreams of marrying and having a home would be shattered. She remembered her tipsy state earlier that evening. In a moment from now she would become a haggard, defeated lonely spinster. With the dowager’s next words, she knew that she was about to lose everything.

  “Mother?” Anne prompted, gripping Penelope’s hand.

  “They congratulated me on sponsoring such a promising young lady. My dear, henceforth, you are no long a social hazard.”

  “I didn’t make a mistake?” Penelope asked stunned.

  “No, you didn’t,” the dowager replied smiling.

  “Penelope didn’t make a mistake?” Anne echoed in disbelief. She gripped Penelope’s shoulders and slightly shook her out of her daze. “Penelope, you succeeded. Penelope, did you hear that? You did not make a mistake.”

  “I can stay,” Penelope whispered.

  “She can stay,” Anne squealed, and grabbing Penelope she started waltzing around the room. Her voice rang out as she burst into an impromptu song,

  Oh, my dear, hear me pray

  didn’t you hear Mother say?

  Miss Penelope Fairweather

  you can stay, you can stay!

  Penelope laughed.

  An overcome dowager grabbed the closest person standing next to her. It turned out to be Hopkins, the valet. She joined the two girls in her own version of a more demure Waltz and said, “We will see her now at Miss Henleys, Miss Masters and Miss Attaways. Yes, Miss Fairweather can certainly stay.”

  Anne twirled Penelope around her twice and then dropped her into a dip, “She can go riding in Hyde park, St James and Ranelagh.”

  “Or Tattersalls and Vauxhalls,” the dowager sang.

  “And to balls and dinner parties,” Penelope cried.

  “Attend morning calls and funny plays. All day, every day,” Anne roared.

  Hopkins, getting carried away by the festive mood, added sombrely, “Miss Fairweather, Miss Fairweather, at Blackthorne you can stay.”

  The maids, hiding behind the bannisters, started doing a celebratory jig and joyfully sang their own background chorus,

  The mops and brooms are amazed,

  The cups and saucers are a tad dazed

  As we stand on our heads and shout in glee

  The goat can stay and so can Miss Pea!

  An emotional Penelope sniffed and blubbered,

  Bring the glasses

  Bring the bottle

  Open up the bubbles

  For I am no longer any trouble

  I can stay, I can stay

  The dowager says I can stay!

  Perkins and Hopkins (in a dignified way that befitted their status) bobbed their heads in time with the imaginary music while Anne belted out another tune,

  A loony lass and empty pockets

  Country airs and borrowed lockets

  Can now prowl and hunt on London streets

  For wealthy men and sugary treats

  Soon she will be clad in white and walk down the perfumed aisle,

  In her hand she will hold the flowers while sporting a shy becoming smile

  And we will cry and bawl and weep and weep

  When alas she marries the chimney sweep!

  “Altogether now,” the dowager shouted.

  Perkins, Hopkins and the maids behind the bannisters joined the dowager, Penelope and Anne in enthusiastically singing the final chorus,

  She can stay, she can stay, she can stay

  And no one would dare say nay

  For Penelope Fairweather will be here at Blackthorne evvvv-errry single daaaaaaaaay!

  As the last notes died down, the group dropped into a courtly bow aimed at the lone spectator.

  The spectator happened to be the duke, who naturally scowled through it all. He shook his head in disgust as he made his way to bed. That, he concluded, had been bloody awful.

  Chapter 22

  Penelope opened her wardrobe and found a shrivelled rose lying on her shawls. She picked it up and carefully placed it in the bottom drawer of her dressing table. In the last two weeks she had found a handkerchief with ‘Pinilowpea’ embroidered on it, an old pair of gloves tucked under her pillow, a button carefully wrapped in brown paper , a box of biscuits and two candle stubs.

  Mary informed her that the presents were from the maids downstairs and Bagley the footman, fondly referred to as Walrus. Bagley had left the rose and a box of biscuits because he had fallen in love with Penelope. As for the maids, they had left the presents for Penelope as a form of encouragement.

  When people sing and dance together at four in the morning for someone’s success, then that someone becomes special. The forty two servants inside Blackthorne Mansion now felt a bond with Penelope. The hundred and twenty servants outside the mansion had been informed of the night’s events, and as a matter of solidarity they too felt an attachment towards Penelope.

  The maids were often caught singing ‘she can stay, she can stay’ as they went about their daily work. All at once, Penelope’s success and her catching a man during the season became a matter of great importance for the servants of the Blackthorne estate. They tried in their own way to support the cause of the ‘bonnie lass from Finnshire’ as she was now dubbed.

  Penelope appreciated the gestures, but she also felt that these small reminders worked as an added pressure. She would now have to catch a man this season. Otherwise she would be disappointing a whole lot of people and a goat.

  It wasn’t as if she wasn’t trying. She was and she had a few men call for her. Still, two things were greatly troubling her. The first was the fact that only very old and very poor men had shown any interest in her. Anne had suggested that Penelope keep her oldest suitor as a reliable option. After all, the eighty year old Lord Autenberry would die soon and leave her a rich widow. Besides, she wouldn’t have to warm his bed.

  The second thing that was bothering her was the fact that the duke had stopped trying to send her home. It wasn’t as if he had suddenly softened towards her. On the contrary, he was eyeing her more and more grimly with every passing day. She sighed and pinned a sapphire brooch onto her dress. She had to leave for Miss Martin’s soiree and she had no more time to ponder any longer. For now she could do nothing else but keep her eyes open and stay alert for the duke’s next devious plan.

  ***

  Lord Poyning descended upon Penelope the moment she entered Miss Martin’s soiree. He led her to the dance floor and holding her closer than propriety deemed correct whispered in her ear, “You look like a blooming, scented water lily, my dear.”

  Penelope wrinkled her nose. And he, she thought, was like a bowl of steaming onion and garlic soup. He smelled.

  As they circled the dance floor, Penelope wondered how she had ever considered Lord Poyning handsome. His charm had worn off quickly enough for her, but Anne and several other young ladies continued to eye him in lust.

  She tried to look at him dispassionately and find something attractive in him. His face was nice enough, though his smile was a touch leery. His eyes were big, blue and heavily lashed. They could have been considered becoming if they did not hold a constant furtive expression. His arms were spindly like thin, tapered candles sticking out of a broad candle holder. It was an odd sight, but what was odder still was his style of dancing. The man did not glide. He hopped. He hopped
like a bunny, and Penelope was forced to hop along with him. She huffed and she puffed and she bounced as she tried to match steps with him. In conclusion, she decided that Lord Edward Poyning was an unattractive grasshopper.

  Lord Poyning considered himself to be a rake, a ladies man, someone who understood the very soul of women. He also considered himself impeccably dressed, and his short sighted valet concurred with this opinion. Lord Poyning also took care to pin a substantial bunch of flowers and ribbons onto his coat. At every social gathering he would pluck a flower and hand it to each lady that he danced with. One single white rose adorning his button was saved for his favourite of the night. It was all done very discreetly, leaving the girls pleased and blushing.

  Over the years Lord Poyning had broken numerous silly hearts. Currently, Penelope was worrying not about her heart but her poor fingers, which were being crushed by Lord Poyning’s enthusiastic grip. Her attention being focused on her mauled fingers, she did not realise how and when he had danced them out onto the balcony.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the cool night wind hit her face. She whipped open her ivory fan and then proceeded to furiously flutter it.

  Lord Poyning eyed her uneasily and hastily stepped back.

  “A woman’s weapon is a fan,” Penelope muttered to herself, testing the pointed end of the handle for sharpness.

  “Did you say something?” Lord Poyning asked.

  “I said it is a lovely night,” Penelope replied, the breeze from the fan blowing the ringlets away from her face.

  “Are you warm, Miss Fairweather?”

  “No. In fact, I am a little cold,” Penelope said, hoping he would take the hint and lead her inside.

  “Perhaps if you put away your fan, it will help?” Lord Poyning suggested.

  She reluctantly closed the fan.

  “Are you alright, Miss Fairweather?” Lord Poyning asked, stepping closer to her.

  “Yes, yes …” Penelope said, nervously stepping back.

  Smiling he lurched forward and grabbed her gloved hand. “Miss Fairweather, have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  Penelope had never been called beautiful by anyone before and she wished the compliment had come from someone else. She had not forgotten Anne. Anne loved this man and Penelope could not betray her friend. She wriggled her gloved hand trying to free it from his grasp.