Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Ouch, Miss Fairweather, calm down. Stop it. Stop … Ouch.”

  The duke moved his large, leather clad foot back and Penelope stepped forward, stuck her tiny feet out and stomped again and again.

  “Doxie am I?” Penelope cried, blowing the hair off her face. “Your mother and sister do not care about my breaking your precious rules. In fact, they told me that you break them all the time, as do your exalted guests. Why am I being singled out?”

  The duke hopped from one foot to the other trying to avoid her stamping feet. And while their feet danced around the room, their heads continued to argue.

  “I stayed because your mother requested me to do so. Her promise to my dying mother means something to me, even if you do not value it. Besides, I have nowhere else to go. My stepmother has forbidden me to return to Finnshire.”

  “I don’t blame your poor stepmother. Having a wild child like you thrust upon her unsuspecting bosom …,” the duke started to say when Penelope raised her knee in an attempt to hit him between his legs. Instinctively the duke’s leg bowed and he lost his balance and fell backwards, landing on the couch. Penelope ended up right on top of him.

  “My stepmother hates me …” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

  “Can you blame her?” the duke asked incredulously.

  She looked up at his face and spat out a button, “I am not leaving. You can take it up with your mother. If she tells me to go, then I will go.”

  “She won’t tell you to go. You tell her you want to go.”

  Penelope scowled at him.

  “You tell her you want to go,” she mimicked in a child’s voice.

  “I don’t like you,” he said scowling back.

  “We established that,” she retorted, trying to get up. She fell right back on his chest.

  “I have a proposition.”

  She eyed him in shock.

  “Not that sort of proposition,” he said hastily. “I want you to clean the house.”

  Some of the steam went out of her, “Clean the house? The servants …”

  “Not this house, the Desmond house.”

  “Desmond who?”

  “Desmond was a head gardener. My grandfather had built a house for him near the Blackthorne Mansion. The house now lies empty, hidden between trees ….”

  “And you want me to clean it. Why?”

  “It is a very dirty house. It needs cleaning.”

  “But why should I clean it?”

  “It is a wager. If you clean it alone and within a day, then I will allow you to live here for the rest of your life. I will consider all your debts paid. I will never ask you to leave. I will tolerate you like I would a rat in the basement. You will live here and I will live here under the same roof,” The duke shuddered and continued, “and as long as we keep away from each other, then all will be well.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “Then you will pack your bags and convince my mother that you want to go back to Finnshire. My mother can override my wishes, but she cannot force you to stay if you insist that you want to go.”

  “How big is this house?”

  “Four rooms. I am sure you can manage that much.”

  Penelope eyed him suspiciously.

  “Big rooms or small rooms?”

  “Smaller than the rooms here, I think. I am not sure.”

  This did not sound so bad. If she managed to do this, then the duke would stop trying to send her home. It was worth the risk.

  “I will do it.”

  The duke smiled at her.

  “I knew you would agree.”

  They suddenly became aware of the fact that they were still lying on top of each other. The duke sprang up and helped Penelope to her feet. He went to his writing desk and pulled out a small map.

  “This is where you will find the house. Remember, you cannot take anyone along to help you.”

  Penelope, wanting to do things right, spat on her hand and offered it to him to seal the bargain.

  The duke eyed the spit glistening on the palm of her hand. He gingerly shook two of her fingers.

  Penelope tried to take her fingers back, but he held it fast. He was staring at the red marks on her wrist.

  “I did not mean to … Put some salve on that.”

  “I will,” she replied, smoothing her skirts and her hair.

  The duke looked away and gestured towards her chest.

  “What is it?” Penelope asked.

  “There,” the duke replied, pointing vaguely towards her bosom. He refused to look in her direction.

  Penelope glanced down at her chest and noticed that a button had slipped open. She squeaked and turning around slipped the button back in place. Facing the duke once again, she inclined her head politely and strolled out of the room.

  It was a truce for the moment.

  Chapter 24

  While the occupants of the Blackthorne Mansion snored, Penelope woke up and stretched luxuriously. She felt content, warm and happy. The season was going as well as could be expected. She no longer flinched when a butler announced her name. Sir Henry, Anne and the dowager had accepted her. The lessons with Madame were progressing well, and most importantly the duke had finally decided to give her a chance. All she had to do was clean the dirty Desmond house. Thereafter, she would have nothing to fear.

  She threw the covers aside and reluctantly stood up. A peek out of the window showed a pretty pink sky. She quickly changed, and carrying a broom and a bucket full of cleaning brushes, mops and rags, she made her way outdoors.

  The bucket was heavy and she often had to stop and rest, but she didn’t mind for it was a wonderful morning, neither too cold nor too hot. The flowers bloomed, the birds chirped, and the scent of sweet grass filled the air. Whistling a happy tune, she strolled towards the Desmond house.

  ***

  Londoners, with their noses pressed to cold windows, smiled, for a mid-summer storm was raging across England. Zeus had blessed their land, taking away the bright happy sun, and replacing it with gusty winds, lashing rain and utter misery.

  The duke sat in his study looking over accounts. His eyes rapidly scanned the numbers while Theodore’s whiskers nervously twitched.

  “About the Desmond house, your grace…” Theodore squeaked.

  “Yes, I have asked someone to clean the place … Did I mention it to you?”

  “No, but if we are lucky the storm will do the job.”

  “The storm?”

  “Yes, I am hoping that the storm will pull the house down, if not completely, then at least partially. It will make our work easier.”

  The duke’s eyes snapped up. He asked slowly and carefully, “What do you mean pull the house down? I thought you said the trouble was the smell?”

  “Yes, the smell was from rotting wood and mould. The house has lain empty for years since Mr Desmond died. Mrs Green’s son recently married, and I thought it would make a wonderful present for her son if we gave them the house to rent at a low price. I went to inspect it and a beam almost fell on top of my head. I was afraid someone may decide to spend the night there and end up getting killed. I tried to tell you this, sir …”

  “How bad is the state of the house?”

  Theodore trembled at the duke’s tone, “Most of the wood has rotted and the ceiling is hanging dangerously low. The walls have cracks in them. We can’t do much about it except burn the remains and build a new house from scratch. Don’t worry, sir. I have another property in mind for Mrs Green’s son …”

  The duke circled a number on the ledger. He handed the book to Theodore and said calmly, “This is not adding up. I will leave you to finish the rest of the work here. I have some business to see to. Handle anything urgent.”

  “Yes, your grace,” he replied, his face wrinkling in confusion.

  The duke’s black shoes clicked down the hallway towards the morning room. He had last seen Penelope at Lord Henley’s dinner party last night. This morning she had not com
e down for breakfast. Everyone had assumed that she had been tired from all the late nights and had decided to sleep in late.

  “Mother, have you seen Miss Fairweather? Anne?”

  “Charles, we were just coming to you. She has not been in her room since early this morning. Her maid was worried and just informed us of her absence. I hope she did not go out for a walk and is now caught in this dreadful storm somewhere. It’s been hours, Charles …,” Anne said worriedly.

  “She is a country girl. I am sure she will be fine. Nevertheless, I will try and find her. She must have taken shelter nearby and is waiting for the weather to settle. Calm down, Annie. Mother, I will be back soon.”

  The duke had spoken soothingly. His heart, though, was pounding. The moment he closed the door of the morning room, he started running. He stopped long enough to scan the contents of a map lying in his study. Thereafter, he made his way out of Blackthorne Mansion and into the raging storm.

  Outside the world looked more like late evening than mid-morning. Black clouds engulfed the sun, while the wind snapped branches of trees, ripping the delicate vines apart. The rain cascaded down like a broken faucet and the flowers bowed under the onslaught. The earth had turned muddy, slippery and dangerous.

  The duke ran most of the way, heedless to the wind and rain stinging his face. When he reached the Desmond house, he found the door was hanging off one hinge and the wild wind was swinging it madly.

  He caught it and held it, his heart in his mouth. All he could see was darkness, and the tinder box lying in his pocket was soaking wet.

  “Penelope,” he roared, trying to shout over the raging tempest.

  He called her again and again, his ears straining to hear the sound of her voice.

  “Here,” a soft call came from the back of the house.

  He faltered, becoming quiet. He wondered if he had imagined it. He stepped deeper into the house.

  The smell of rain and wind had washed away the stench. A beam had collapsed in one corner. A soft grey light coming from the broken roof illuminated parts of the house.

  He carefully made his way over the rotting wood and furniture. Another whisper of sound reached him and he paused, his breath caught.

  “I am here.”

  Hope surged in his chest. It was Penelope’s voice.

  “I am coming. Where are you,” he shouted.

  “Behind the beam. I can’t get out.”

  A large beam had fallen diagonally across a door in the corner. A small part of the door at the very top had rotted away leaving a small gap. He stood on his toes and peered through the gap.

  She was huddled in one corner wearing a dress too big for her; a maid’s dress he guessed. She was clutching a filthy rag in her small hands, and her hair and face were smeared with dirt. An empty bucket and a broom rested against the wall. His heart clenched at the sight.

  He started talking softly while his hands worked at lifting away the broken beam.

  “An unpleasant day to take a walk.”

  “I woke early. It was fine this morning …,” she said, through chattering teeth.

  “When did you leave the house?”

  “Five.”

  “You should have taken your maid along.”

  “You told me to clean this house alone and with no help. How could I take Mary? I wanted to finish cleaning. You said if I cleaned you would let me stay … I was cleaning … Then it started storming and the beam fell. I can’t clean anymore … The wood is too heavy ….” She fell silent.

  The duke cursed softly. It was past eleven. She had been trapped for hours not knowing if she would come out of this alive.

  “We will be home soon.”

  “I don’t have a home. I did not clean … I lost ….”

  He stood up, trying to lift the beam. He caught sight of her face … It was frozen in shock. He wanted her to scream, shout and throw things at him. He wanted her to behave like the Penelope he knew. Her voice was so detached … The beam moved under his hands. He lifted it up and moved it aside.

  “Penelope?” he said softly, pushing open the door.

  She rose to her feet unsteadily and looked at the duke.

  He held open his arms and the rag fell from her hand.

  She took a hesitant step, her eyes locked on his. She took another step, this time more confidently, and then suddenly she was sprinting towards him.

  She paused when they were close enough to kiss.

  He smiled encouragingly.

  And that was when she punched him in the stomach.

  He was relieved rather than hurt. The fire was back in Penelope’s eyes. He lifted his hand, trying to reach out to her.

  She backed away, choosing to go deeper into the dangerous house rather than have him touch her again.

  She spoke rapidly through chattering teeth, “You tried to murder me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous ….”

  She spoke over him, “I had hours to think. The Desmond house is your property. You had to know what state the house was in. How could you not? You sent me here knowing that I may be killed. The house was falling apart even before the storm set in. Did you hope to find my dead body? Are you disappointed to see me alive?”

  “You are being dramatic. Calm down and listen to me for one moment.”

  “No,” Penelope cried. “I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say anymore. You have disliked me from the moment you set eyes on me. Your pride was hurt when I refused to leave, so you planned to kill me.”

  “You are mistaken.”

  She held up her hand. Her entire body trembled with rage.

  “I don’t understand you, not your kindness or your hatred. I don’t understand why someone as insignificant as me disturbs your pretentious world. But I do know that I choose life. I would rather live with Lord Weevil, who makes my skin crawl, and a stepmother who hates the sight of my face than die in self-pity. I value my life over and above petty London politics, carriages, jewels and titles. I want to live, your grace. Live till I am old, grey and withered. You have won the wager, Duke of Blackthorne. You have got what you always wanted. I am leaving,” she finished quietly.

  “Penelope …”

  “Miss Fairweather,” she corrected coldly, moving towards the entrance.

  “Miss Fairweather, let me explain …,” he said, grabbing her arm

  She shook her head refusing to listen to him. Wrenching her hand free, she covered her ears and ran out of the house.

  He watched her disappear into the storm outside. Her steps were sure and her head was held high. She had not shed a single tear.

  He slammed his hand on the door, his eyes closing in remorse. She had not lost, he knew, but won. He stood for a long time staring with unseeing eyes as the Desmond house fell apart around him.

  Chapter 25

  Penelope flung open her travelling case. Next, she pulled out her bag of stockings from the wardrobe and started sorting through them. She refused take a single item of clothing that the duke had paid for. She had brought along two stockings, both black and laddered. It should be easy enough to find.

  “Miss Fairweather.”

  She whirled around and found the duke standing at the entrance soaking wet. He had not changed but had come straight to her bedchamber.

  She backed up until her shoulders hit the wardrobe.

  “I am not here to murder you,” he said irritably, walking to the other end of the room. “Go and stand near the door. If I launch an attack, you will be able to get away.”

  “Are you going to attack?”

  “No, but I do request that you hear me out.”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she moved to the wardrobe and started pulling out the dresses.

  “I came here to explain ….”

  “Explain? You should be apologising … Oh, but the great Duke of Blackthorne never apologises, of course,” she said, her lips curling bitterly.

  “Will you keep quiet until you hear what I have to say? T
hereafter, you can go back to accusing me.”

  Penelope’s eyes flew to his. He was looking sheepish.

  “This is difficult for me. A little embarrassing and I don’t know how to say this,” the duke said hesitatingly.

  Penelope crossed her arms over her chest. Her packing forgotten, she pinned her eyes on him. This was getting interesting.

  “I am listening,” she said.

  “You are? Well, don’t you want to continue packing while I speak?”

  “No, I want to look right at you.”

  “Fine, the thing is that … Well, it is just that it is a bit unseemly talking about it to a lady. But then you are not exactly a l—”

  Penelope made a growling noise.

  The duke rushed on, “When I was seventeen, I fell in love with this girl Emily. She was a year older than me, and she told me that she loved me as well. She also told me that she was pregnant with my child. Shortly after that … I caught her in bed with my footman.”

  “Was it Walrus that you caught her with?”

  “Walrus?”

  “Bagley, the footman.”

  “Oh no, it was his cousin. Do you know about this?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “No, it was a guess. Anyhow, you got cuckolded and your heart was broken. Thereafter, you started to hate all women. The poor duke was cheated in love and he decided to never fall in love again. Am I right?”

  “Not exactly. Well, you see, I fell in love again at twenty two. And this time Elizabeth told me that she was pregnant with my child. Shortly after that I caught her in bed with the head gardener.”

  “Lovell? But he is eighty.”

  “No. Her head gardener.”

  “Right, so you were cuckolded twice. A lot of people are cheated in their lives, but that is not a good enough reason to distrust all women—”

  “When I was twenty five,” the duke continued. “Elizabeth informed that she was carrying my child. I then caught her in bed with my carriage driver.”

  “Same Elizabeth whom you caught with the head gardener?”

  “No, this was a different Elizabeth. When I was twenty six, I caught—”

  “Stop,” Penelope ordered. “I think I get where you are going with this. You were cuckolded a number of times. I am now starting to understand why you no longer want to fall in love.”