Penelope knew why she had sung it. Her conversation with Madame earlier about baboons and the duke’s bottom must have been lurking at the back of her mind.
Anne gave up and laughed, “That was … oh, Penelope, wherever did you hear it? I adored every moment. Do you know any others like it? Perhaps you will teach me?”
“She will do no such thing, Annie. I will not have my sister singing like a tavern wench.”
“I am sorry,” Penelope said miserably.
Anne sobered, “I didn’t mean to laugh. I did enjoy it. Although, I have to be honest, you can’t possibly sing such songs in public. As for your skill with the piano, a more delicate instrument may not survive the fervour with which you attack the keys.”
Penelope slumped in her seat.
“Don’t be disappointed, my dear,” the dowager consoled.
“I am not. I am relieved. I know I can’t sing or play. I am just so happy that I will not have to face all those people and make a fool of myself. I often had to in my village and it was never a pleasant experience.”
Anne smiled in delight, “I can’t sing either or play. Although, I would have paid more attention if my teacher had taught me songs like that.”
The duke glowered at his sister, not at all pleased with her enthusiasm.
“Did you learn it in Finnshire? Is it popular there?” Anne continued, ignoring her brother.
“Oh no, Jimmy taught it to me.”
“The highway—,”Anne started asking.
“Yes, yes, who else could she mean?” the dowager said hastily, shooting a glance at the frowning duke.
Anne closed her mouth, and the dowager plunged into a lengthy discussion of ribbons, buttons and petticoats. The duke left the room.
***
Penelope was on her way to change into a dinner dress when the duke blocked her path.
“Who is Jimmy?” he growled.
“A man,” she shot back, annoyed at his demanding tone.
His eyes closed, his head tilted up towards the sky, and it seemed as if he was saying a silent prayer. When he spoke again, his tone was more respectful.
“In the past I would have assumed he is your lover. But now … I am asking you.”
She refused to answer him. He had no right to ask her such questions, and she was not going to jump and do his every bidding.
“Penelope, I am trying very hard to be reasonable. I would like us to be friends. It is not easy switching from a hostile relationship to an amicable one. You have to help me.”
She felt a little guilty. After the talk with Madame, she knew that he was not completely at fault. Yet here she was punishing him for some odd reason.
“I want to be friends,” she replied, offering a tremulous smile.
He smiled back, his face lighting up. But when she made a move to get away, his hand shot out to grip her arm.
“You have not answered my question. Who is Jimmy?”
“I, too, have powerful friends, your grace,” she replied mysteriously.
“What sort of friend teaches a lady tavern songs?” he asked silkily.
“Why do you care? He is my friend and I like his songs. He eats the likes of you for breakfast, so you best watch your tone, your grace,” she smirked.
“Penelope, stop testing my patience. I am asking you for the last time, who is Jimmy?”
She balked at his expression. Her bravado slipped a notch.
“Jimmy is a highwayman, a deer stealer and a burglar of some note. He is the Falcon,” she squeaked.
Stunned, the duke dropped his arm, and Penelope was off like a shot before he could recover his wits.
Chapter 27
Penelope felt like the salmon she was eating; squashed between slices of soft white bread. The slices of bread being the bosoms of two heavily perfumed ladies that were having an animated conversation with each other directly above her head.
“Did you hear that the poet kept sixteen mistresses? They testified, in fact, swore during the trial that he kept each one of them satisfied. It is a pity he had to go kill his granduncle. I would have liked to …”
“Penelope?”
“Hush,” she said, waving away the intruder. The topic had just turned exciting when someone yanked her away from the gossiping women.
She turned around in annoyance.
The duke stood holding a glass of lemonade.
“Why did you pull me away?”
“I would not leave Anne suffocating between two inflated women.”
“I am not your sister,” she said irritably, her eyes searching for the two women. Perhaps if she followed them she would hear more?
“No, you are not my sister.”
Something in his voice yanked her attention back to him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, turning her face away.
“Like what?”
She did not need to see him to know that he was smiling.
“You know …”
“I don’t. Please explain.”
“Oh, to hell with you,” she said, taking a step away from him.
“Running again, Penelope?”
She froze and turned to glare at him, “I am not running away. And I never gave you leave to use my name, your grace.”
“I am the duke and I do as I please,” he replied smugly.
Penelope frowned. She had never seen the duke like this. Teasing, relaxed and smiling … It made her feel unsettled and oddly shy.
She lifted the lemonade glass to her lips to hide her face when a thought struck her. She eyed the duke suspiciously and then the glass.
“You brought me lemonade?”
“I did. I thought you might be thirsty.”
He was laughing at her.
“I am … It is a little hot here.”
“You look warm.”
She blushed, her eyes falling on the cup once again.
“I haven’t poisoned the drink, Penelope. Have you not forgiven me yet?”
She didn’t reply.
After a moment he chuckled.
“I think,” he said snickering, “your name, instead of Miss Fairweather, should be Miss Badweather.”
“That was terrible.”
“I know, which is why it’s funny,” he said grinning.
Penelope felt her lips twitch. “You shouldn’t laugh at your own jokes, your grace.”
“You smiled and that means I am forgiven,” the duke smirked.
“What nonsense. And I did not smile.”
“I saw your lips curve upwards. You smiled.”
“I did not, and you are not forgiven.”
“I beg to differ. If you smile at my terrible joke, then that equals forgiveness.”
“Your logic is daft,” she muttered, draining the cup.
“You drank the lemonade. Now that definitely means that I am forgiven.”
She glared at him and then the cup.
“Miss Badweather?” he prompted.
A giggle escaped her lips. “Alright, I forgive you, your grace. And I think I see Anne. I should go.”
The duke inclined his head and stepped aside. His eyes were blazing joy.
***
“I know I promised to come and see you this morning, but I did not wake up on time, Penelope. What are we going to do?” Anne wailed.
“Anne, we cannot discuss anything here. Too many ears. I suggest you ask Bessie to wake you up early tomorrow morning and you will have to …” She stopped suddenly and then asked in a reverent tone. “Who is he?”
“Lord William Ellsworth Hartell Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, and with him is Lady and Lord Scrivenor. You have met the marquis,” Anne replied promptly.
“I have not met the marquis. How could anyone forget meeting him? He is almost as handsome as the du …” she stopped biting her lip.
“People consider him handsomer than Charles,” Anne said, her eyes twinkling.
“Oh, where is he going?” Penelope cried, watching the marqui
s excuse himself from the group.
“Come, let’s follow him. I can introduce you to him,” Anne said, her face alight with mischief.
Penelope did not quibble and rushed after the departing figure.
He disappeared onto the balcony. Penelope and Anne quickly followed.
A young woman in a scarlet gown detached herself from the shadows and fell into the marquis’ arms.
Anne pulled Penelope behind a large potted plant. The scene before them was not opportune for introductions. They would have to wait for the woman to leave.
The lamps on the balcony allowed Penelope to admire the man in all his glory. He was tall and broad shouldered with slim hips. But it was his face that caught her gaze. It was carved perfection, with a long aristocratic nose, sensual lips, and dark eyes framed by the longest lashes she had ever seen.
The woman moved her arms to pull his head down for a kiss. Just before their lips touched, he smiled.
That smile turned Penelope’s admiration to shock. Lord William Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, was no other than Madame Bellafraunde.
Anne was also shocked but for a different reason. Why in the name of Beelzebub was Madame Bellafraunde kissing a woman?
The couple kissed for what seemed like an eternity. The two girls watched in avid fascination, each one taking mental notes of every sigh and moan emitted, the angle of the head, the practised technique that avoided the two bumping each other’s noses.
When the kiss ended, the marquis whispered something in the woman’s ear. She nodded and with a last loving look disappeared back into the shadows.
Lord Adair pulled out a cigar and said loudly, “You can come out now, Lady Anne, Penelope.”
The two girls emerged looking guilty, not at all surprised that he knew of their presence. He was, after all, Madame Bellafraunde.
“You have questions,” he said, lighting his cigar and taking a puff. He stared out into the dark garden, the smoke curling out of his mouth forming perfect rings.
“Madame Bellafraunde?” Penelope asked, still unsure of his identity.
“Yes, Penelope, I am Lord William Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, and in some circles, Madame Bellafraunde.”
“I don’t understand …” Penelope gaped.
“Why do I need to dress up like a modiste when I am a wealthy marquis? It is not for money and that is all I can say for now.”
“But … but you kissed a woman. We saw …” Anne spluttered.
“I did kiss a woman,” he said, turning to face them. His eyes were shuttered, his expression giving nothing away. “It was unfortunate that you had to witness that. I was in a situation where I could not escape the kiss or give your presence away. Penelope, Lady Anne, would you keep this little incident to yourself? I cannot offer you any explanations, except to beg you to trust me. Can you trust me?”
Penelope recalled the numerous times Madame Bellafraunde had come to her aid. She did not have to think twice. She promptly answered, “I trust you, Madame. I mean, Lord Adair.”
“As do I,” Anne spoke up, though less confidently.
He eyed them silently, the muscles in his face twitching with suppressed emotion.
“Thank you,” he said simply. The soft words held a wealth of meaning behind it.
Anne, feeling a little shaken, escaped back into the ballroom, and Penelope moved to follow her.
The marquis halted her.
“A word. Forget tonight’s incident. I am still Madame Bellafraunde for you, Penelope.”
She nodded, her eyes darting to the French windows.
“Penelope, you have caught the eye of many eligible men. You are a success, my dear.”
She smiled wryly, “I think you are mistaken. No one has tried to woo me, my lord.”
“Lesson number fifty two. Most men are lily livered. You have to encourage them, but then you have to notice them first. You have turned a blind eye to every man in the room except ….”
“That’s not true!”
He flicked his cigar away and sighed. “I am sorry, my dear, but I have to go. We can discuss this another time. Until then, remember my house is open to you when you need it.”
“If I need it,” Penelope said, turning around. She wanted to escape to mull over all she had witnessed.
“You are in love with the duke. You will need it, my dear.”
Penelope stilled and slowly turned to face him.
Darkness and flickering lamplights greeted her ashen face.
Lord Adair had disappeared.
***
Later that night…
“Miss Pea, Lady Anne sent this note for you.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Penelope said, tearing the envelope.
Mary attacked Penelope’s hair while she was distracted with the note.
Penelope quickly scanned the contents,
I have asked fifteen different maids to wake me up tomorrow morning. The time has been confirmed. Come up with a new plan. Every other plan of yours has been horrid. Love Anne.
Penelope crumpled the paper, wincing as Mary yanked her hair with an ivory comb. She was pleased to have something to think about other than Madame’s true identity and her parting words.
Mary blew out the candle and Lady Bathsheba took her place on Penelope’s foot. Penelope sighed softly at the familiar weight on her legs and spent some time thinking up schemes for Anne. When the clock chimed four, her hand crept under the pillow to clutch the piece of paper lying there. She finally closed her eyes and slept.
It was not Anne’s note that she squeezed in her fist, but the duke’s that said:
‘Thank you for staying’
Chapter 28
“Wake up.”
“I will take you to piddle in a moment … a few minutes,” Penelope murmured sleepily.
“What? I don’t need you to take me to piddle. I want you to wake up.”
“Lady Bahhh … thsheba … a moment.”
“Your goat talks now, does she? I am warning you, wake up.”
Penelope snuggled deeper into the quilt and pulled a pillow on top of her head.
The pillow was plucked off and a big pitcher of water emptied over her head.
“What, what, what… what.” Penelope spluttered wide awake and sprang out of bed.
Anne stood grinning, holding an empty pitcher.
Penelope glared at her. Quick as lighting she crossed over to the basin by her washstand and emptied the contents over Anne’s head.
The two stood soaking wet eyeing each other in disgust.
A loud snore distracted them.
Anne glancing at the lump at the end of the bed asked, “I didn’t think goats snored?”
“No one told Lady Bathsheba that,” Penelope growled.
“Alright, I am sorry. You would not wake up and I had no choice … They will be here soon, Penelope.”
“I could have caught my death,” Penelope replied refusing to thaw.
“It is the end of May, and this room is like a monstrous roaring fireplace. If anything, I did you a favour by cooling you down. You were sweating in your sleep. Please, Penny,” Anne said, batting her lashes.
“You will never drown me in my sleep again?” Penelope asked softening a little.
“I promise. I brought you a cup of tea and biscuits.”
“What hour is it?” Penelope asked, picking up the cup and inspecting the contents on the plate.
Anne smiled. Her peace offering had been accepted and she was forgiven.
“The clock had struck five when Bessie woke me up. It must be half past now.”
“I have only had an hour of sleep,” Penelope groaned.
“You can sleep in the afternoon. I will send a note to Madame and ask her not to come.”
At Madame’s name the two girls became silent.
Penelope sat on a chair by the desk, and Anne nudged the sleeping goat until she had space to sit on the dry part of the bed.
“Do you think Madame lied about her bon
net jiggling for only men?” Anne asked.
“Can it jiggle for men and women?” Penelope countered.
Anne shrugged, “She is mysterious and her knack of knowing everything around her is uncanny. I think she is a witch…”
Penelope did not laugh, “She might as well be. I think her choices are hers to make. She has been kind to me and kept all my secrets. I intend to keep hers. Although I am surprised that such a juicy piece of gossip has escaped the ton. How in the world did Madame manage that?”
“The reason Madame is so choosey when it comes to her clients is because of her true identity, and only a handful of women know her secret. Mind you, if she wasn’t the best modiste in town with an invaluable expertise and a knack of ferreting out the dark secrets of her clients, she would have been unmasked years ago. Mother and I found out a long time ago, and we decided to respect her wishes because somehow we couldn’t help trusting her. Even now, I still trust her. She had to have good reason …”
The girls fell silent. Penelope finished her tea and set the cup aside.
“Was the river cold?” Anne suddenly blurted out.
Penelope scowled. She had been avoiding discussing this for the last two days and she had hoped that Anne had got the message by now.
“How did you end up nearly drowning in the Thames? I thought I was the intended victim,” Anne persisted.
“As per our plan,” Penelope said through clenched teeth, “you were meant to jump into the Thames and pretend that you were drowning. Lord Poyning was to come and save you. I was keeping watch to give you the signal when the two men arrived. Lady Bathsheba had other ideas. A horse whined in the distance startling her. She escaped my hold and raced across the wooden plank that jutted out into the river. I followed and I slipped and fell.”
“Lord Rivers did fish you out,” Anne consoled.
“It was not romantic. It was a rotten smelling fish that he caught. The whole blasted idea had been terrible from the beginning. Lord Rivers was repelled rather than attracted by the sight I made.”
“It was your idea,” Anne said under her breath.
Penelope glared at her, “Madame said that men love damsels in distress. She failed to point out that damsels in distress look wretched, miserable and downright horrid.”
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