Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  The sun beat down on her bare shoulders. Her primrose parasol that matched her walking dress lay abandoned on the garden bench. It was almost noon. The duke would be in his study. She leaned back and relaxed. For the moment there was no fear of running into him.

  “You are not a doxie.”

  Her eyes flew open.

  The duke stood squinting at her.

  “You! You were meant to be in your study.”

  “I was,” he replied, sitting down next to her. “Now I am not.”

  “I see,” she said, inching away from him and picking up her parasol.

  “Why are you sounding so odd. Do you have a cold? You are squeaking.”

  “No, I am f…fine.” She cleared her throat.

  “I wanted to speak to you …”

  Penelope prayed he wouldn’t mention the kiss.

  “…about your questionable character.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you had changed your opinion of me,” she said, digging the pointed end of her parasol into the earth.

  “Not entirely. The trouble was that I knew my past may be clouding my judgement, but then you had done nothing to dispel my fears. In fact, your conduct had been the complete opposite. I had misgivings.”

  Penelope frowned and stared at the ground. She had scratched out a heart with her parasol. Her foot shot out and she quickly rubbed it out.

  “But then I changed my mind,” he said. “In fact, I am convinced that you are innocent, white as a lily, pure as snow …”

  “What made you change your mind, your grace?” she asked, her heart pounding.

  “It was the kiss that we shared,” he replied, confirming her thoughts.

  He did not notice her blushing face and continued, “That kiss was … astonishing. I have never experienced such a kiss before in my life … you … you amazed me.”

  She squashed the cake in her fist. Her face was glowing in pleasure. “I … I amazed you …?”

  “Yes, by how bad you are at kissing. How could anyone not know how to kiss? It was terrible and so, so awful that I was forced to conclude that the reason you were so lacking in skill is because you had never kissed before. Do you see what you have done? You, my dear Penelope, have forced me, Charles Radclyff, the Duke of Blackthorne, to change my mind and present you with the title of non doxie,” he said pleased.

  Penelope grabbed her flowery bonnet and deposited it on her head. Next she snapped open her parasol and sprang off the bench.

  “You must be delighted,” the duke said, standing up to join her.

  Penelope started trotting towards the house.

  The duke’s long legs easily kept up.

  “Your grace?” she finally spoke.

  “Yes?”

  “In five years …”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you become bald,” she said coldly.

  “How could you?” he asked shocked.

  She didn’t reply.

  “You are angry,” he said, examining her face.

  “Not at all.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Your grace, what do you want?” she asked, glaring at him.

  “I want to know if Anne is in love with Lord Poyning. I know she has confided in you, and I am worried about her, Penelope. Lord Poyning is not the man for her. Can you not set your loyalties aside for a moment, for Anne’s happiness?”

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself, your grace?”

  “She is still angry with me. Besides, how can she confess such a thing to her own brother? She knows I don’t approve of Poyning. I detest the man, and you are wasting your time in trying to help her. I will never consent to their union.”

  “Your grace, I think if she truly loves him, then she will never be happy with anyone else. You cannot dictate her life. After all, you never asked her permission before choosing Lady Lydia.”

  “But does she truly love him?” he persisted.

  She refused to reply.

  “Anyhow, I do not need anyone’s permission to choose my bride, whereas Anne needs my consent,” he said irritably.

  Penelope started walking again. He was so unbearably arrogant. Everything had to go according to his wishes. He had no concern for his sister’s happiness. No wonder Anne refused to talk to him. What can you say to a stubborn mule?

  The duke grabbed her shoulders and forced her to turn around.

  “Don’t you dare walk away when I am speaking to you,” he blazed down at her.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she replied shortly.

  “Do you like Poyning?”

  Penelope stopped squirming under his grip. A hint of guilt flashed across her face.

  “Ah, so you don’t like him either. In fact, I remember that day on the balcony. You pretended to swoon in order to get away from him,”

  “I … I can’t like everyone that Anne loves.”

  “So she does love him,” he mused softly.

  Penelope met his eyes, her face stricken.

  “I tricked you. Don’t feel guilty. You are a remarkably loyal person.”

  He pulled her behind a large oak tree, away from prying eyes. He continued, speaking urgently, “I need you to trust me. Poyning is not the man for her… He is not a good man, Penelope. Believe me. I am willing to let Anne marry anyone she likes. Just not him. Tell me you will help me?”

  “What did he do?”

  “I cannot tell you, but I swear by my honour he is not to be trusted. He will ruin her.”

  “I need to know more.”

  “I would never hurt my sister. It is not his wealth or position that I am objecting to. I … I cannot say more. I wish I could.”

  Penelope heard the pain and the truth in his voice.

  She finally said, “He reminds me of an eggplant.”

  The duke’s mouth dropped open.

  “Did you say eggplant?” he asked after a brief moment.

  “Yes, eggplants are slimy and deceiving.”

  “Deceiving?”

  “They look so pretty and purple from the outside, like delectable, sweet crisp fruits. Instead, they are deceptive vegetables, stringy and slimy when cooked. I don’t like them.”

  “Ah, I see now. Lord Poyning is an eggplant.” He added thoughtfully, “I think he is a potato.”

  “Potato?”

  “Bland, insipid and tasteless. Potatoes take on the flavour of whatever sauce they are put into. No distinct flavour, no moral character … In fact, no character at all.”

  “Everybody likes potatoes. How can you not like them? That’s just odd.”

  “Everyone likes Poyning.”

  “I don’t,” she retorted, and then bit her lip. “I will try and speak to Anne tonight.”

  “Thank you,” he replied softly, his hand tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. The ringlet sprang back to kiss her cheek once more.

  “Rebellious,” he grinned, his mood lighter now that he had an ally.

  “Your grace,” she said, stepping away from him. “You should make up with Anne.”

  “Brothers and sisters fight a lot and all the time. You should know that. You have five younger sisters, after all. Within a few days all will be forgiven and forgotten. Don’t worry, Anne always comes to me when her head is cooler. She inevitably realises that I am always right. She will apologise.”

  “I think this time is different. I have never seen her so furious …” she said worriedly.

  “Penelope,” the duke cut in. “You are pretty.”

  She blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Pretty what?”

  “Just pretty. Fetching, attractive …”

  Her eyes skittered away. What, she wondered, was suddenly wrong with the duke?

  “Thank you,” she said doubtfully. She was waiting for an insult to follow.

  “Shall we kiss again?”

  “Your grace, have you taken leave of your senses?” she gasped.

  “Kissing is like apologising. It gets easier after the first
time.”

  She caught his eye and realised that he was teasing her. His eyes were twinkling.

  She scowled. “We should return indoors. It is almost time for nuncheon and your rules …”

  “To hell with the rules,” he said lazily, stepping closer to her.

  “I am hungry. I dropped the fruit cake, my favourite … It was the last piece and the cook won’t make another for at least a few weeks now. It is strawberry cake next, and I am not fond of that … I am really very hungry. I should go ….”

  He placed a fingertip on her mouth to halt her babbling.

  He tilted her face up and looked into her eyes,

  “Madame has taught you well. You can conceal your expressions, but your eyes … so transparent… Your eyes give you away, Penelope. Every single time.”

  Penelope dropped her lashes.

  “You are nervous,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Are you flirting with me?” she asked finally.

  “And if I am?”

  “Then desist right this moment. I have been torn with guilt …”

  “Guilt?”

  “Yes, because … because of Lady Lydia! How could you kiss me when … however badly, but it was a kiss, and here you are flirting with me again….”

  His eyes turned cold, “You don’t need to feel guilty. If anyone should, then it should be me.” He abruptly added, “I think that’s your maid walking across the lawn.”

  “But—”

  “Go,” he said, lifting his hand and attracting Mary’s attention.

  “But—”

  “I thought you were hungry. Couldn’t wait for your meal?”

  “But—”

  “Your grace,” Mary said, coming up to them.

  The duke stopped frowning, “Ah, Mary, how are you feeling now?”

  “Your tonic worked boootifully, your grace,” Mary replied, turning pink in pleasure.

  “Good. Let me know if you need it again,” he said.

  Mary nodded frantically.

  He smiled at her and then without a backward glance at Penelope strode off towards the Blackthorne Mansion.

  “Mary, when did you become so friendly with the duke?” Penelope asked in confusion.

  “Miss Pea, you will be late for your meal. Hurry now. The dowager was asking for you …”

  “Mary!”

  “I am telling you, Miss Pea. That day while I was cleaning his room, he came in to look for something. I was a little scared, but he soon put me at ease. He is really very nice. We had a long talk and he was all concerned about me head and—”

  “What did you talk about?” Penelope interrupted.

  “Oh, lots of things. Finnshire, your sisters, Periwinkle the pig …”

  “Did … did he ask about me?” she asked, pretending to be nonchalant.

  “Oh yes, he asked if you had a habit of throwing things at people. I told him about the time you threw—”

  “What else?” she cut in hastily.

  “He said you should have been a carrot head. ‘Orrible temper you have, he said. I agreed. But I told him that it lasts only a few minutes, and then you are happy as a bee.”

  “And?”

  “Then he wanted to know about the goat. What Lady Bathsheba eats and if we should find her a Lord Bathsheba. We discussed the smell of polish. I told him that there are two kinds of people in this world. Ones that don’t like the smell of polish and ones that do. Mostly people like the smell of polish, but he said he didn’t care either way. I have never met anyone who did not care about the smell of polish before and I …”

  Penelope tuned her out. She leaned against the entrance of the Blackthorne Mansion and stroked her temple. Insulting her one moment and flirting the next, befriending her maid, wanting kisses … The duke and his odd manner were giving her a frightful headache.

  When Penelope entered her room later that afternoon, she found a giant, warm fruit cake fresh from the oven sitting in the middle of her bed.

  She picked up a slice and whispered, “To hell with the rules,” and took a giant bite.

  ***

  “Fruit cake?” Penelope offered.

  Anne shook her head, her smile tight.

  Penelope pretended not to notice the waves of hostility shooting out of Anne. She cheerfully took her place on the bed.

  “You need to get out of the quilt. You must be roasting,” she said, trying to pull the quilt off Anne.

  Anne gripped the blanket and glared at her, “I am not hungry, and I am not warm.”

  “Annie, Annie, Annie … don’t lie to me. You want me to empty this icy jug of water over your head. Admit it. No, you really want me to empty it over your head. You will be cool in a moment. This summer heat …”

  Anne squealed, hopping off the bed, “Don’t, Penny, please. I will never forgive you …”

  “Then sit down and promise you will talk to me,” Penelope threatened, waving the jug in the air.

  Anne glanced at the basin of water lying on the washstand.

  Penelope, guessing her thoughts, blocked her path.

  Anne huffed, “Fine, I will talk to you. I promise.”

  Penelope smiled in triumph, “Now, why are you sulking?”

  “You heard my brother.”

  “You did not give him a chance to speak.”

  “He insulted you and … and he does not approve of Lord Poyning.”

  “Have you considered asking him why he disapproves?” Penelope asked carefully.

  “He will never tell me. He thinks I am ten years old instead of twenty. ‘I want to protect my little Annie from the big bad world’,” she mocked.

  “You hurt him, Anne.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek. “I know,” she whispered.

  “He is terribly unhappy. Please speak to him. He may have a good reason for disliking Lord Poyning. I think he does. Hear him out …”

  She dashed away her tears, her eyes sparkling in anger. “So now you are on his side? You are supposed to be my friend, not his. Have you fallen in love with him? I know you have. I have seen the way you look at him. It is obvious to everyone… and he is to marry Lydia. The icy Lady Lydia, whom I loathe. Did he consider my feelings before proposing to her? I will have to live under the same roof and see her sly face every day. If he can marry that sour faced woman, then why can’t I marry someone I love?”

  “Anne …”

  “No, Penelope. I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say. You are simply jealous because I have a chance of marrying Lord Poyning while you …”

  Penelope looked away, her face stricken.

  Anne caught her hurt expression and her anger quickly deflated.

  “Penny, I was cruel …”Anne said in a small voice. “I am sorry. I … I am just so angry that I … Oh! I am so muddled, I don’t know what to do. I am sorry that I said you are in love with Charles. I promise no one else is aware … I shouldn’t have said that or that you are jealous. I know you are not spiteful.”

  Penelope nodded briefly. Her eyes darted away from Anne and fell on the open wardrobe.

  The two sat in awkward silence, each waiting for the other to say something.

  Finally, Penelope stood up and turned to leave.

  “Penny?” Anne called piteously.

  Penelope ignored her. She straightened her back and blinking away unshed tears walked out of the room.

  Chapter 31

  “Lady Bathsheba, I have news,” Penelope announced.

  The goat sniffed at the grass and choosing a particularly juicy piece nibbled delicately.

  “I had a proposal.”

  Lady Bathsheba spat out the grass and cocked her ears.

  “You heard that right. Lord Worsted proposed to me. He asked me to marry him.”

  Lady Bathsheba eyed Penelope. The grass was forgotten.

  “This is how it happened,” Penelope said, plonking herself down on the grass next to the goat. “The duke had a dinner party last night. And before you ask, no, th
at snarly Lady Lydia did not attend. But Lord Worsted was among those who did attend. It was almost the happiest day of my life. He is a lord, with a reasonable income and extremely nice.”

  Lady Bathsheba seemed to nod.

  “He cornered me on the balcony with a hot toddy in his hand. The toddy is important as you will learn by and by. He complimented me on my dress and then launched into a heart-warming proposal. It was all so sudden. I didn’t know what to say. I was wondering if I should accept, since Lord Rivers has stopped calling on me, and to be honest I see no other prospect … and Lord Worsted was so effusive and elegant in his speech until he took off his gold spectacles to clean them. They, you see, had fogged up from the steam coming from the hot toddy. He then apologised profusely, for the girl he thought he had been proposing to through foggy spectacles on a dark balcony was Miss Dorrit. I am, unfortunately, not Miss Dorrit …”

  Lady Bathsheba stood up, turned around, and swishing her white tail walked off in disgust.

  Penelope sighed.

  “Yes, well I thought you should know,” she muttered to no one in particular.

  “Talking to yourself?” the dowager asked, coming up to her.

  “No, to Lady Bathsheba. She abandoned me but a moment ago,” Penelope replied leaping up.

  “You shouldn’t sit on the grass, my dear. Your skirts will stain.”

  “Sorry,” Penelope mumbled, dusting her skirts.

  The dowager tucked a hand under her arm and started walking.

  “You have fought with Anne, and now you are refusing to speak to her?”

  “Yes, I … err …”

  “Splendid. That girl needs to learn that she cannot have her own way every time. You have changed, Penelope, and for the better. Not just your appearance, but something in you has changed. A month ago you would have gone running to appease Anne. Now look at you.”

  “Yes, well ….”

  “Let her come to you. Spoilt her rotten, I have.”

  “The duke thinks that he is the reason she is spoilt.”

  “Then I wholeheartedly agree with him. He is entirely to blame,” she said comfortably.

  They skirted a rose bush and sat down on the fountain steps.

  “Penelope, I don’t want you to speak to Anne until she approaches you herself, but …”