“I am not that frightening,” he said frowning at her feet.
“I did not say you were.”
“Then why do you always move … oh!” he said, a wicked smile lighting up his eyes.
“Oh what?” Penelope asked worriedly.
“Nothing.”
“Can you never explain yourself?” Penelope demanded.
“You need to be smart enough to read between the lines, my dear.”
Irritated, Penelope stuck her tongue out childishly.
In one stride he closed the gap between them and swiftly bent his head to catch the tip of her tongue with his lips. He sucked just once and then stepped back, his eyes assessing her reaction.
Her eyes were glazed, and it was a few minutes before she managed to stick her tongue back in.
Satisfied, he went back to his seat and picked up the book. “Inform me as soon as you are sure.”
“Huh?”
“About Annie.”
“Yes… yes, I ….” Penelope did not bother completing her sentence. The duke was already engrossed in the book. The blasted, infuriating, heartbreakingly handsome man, Penelope moaned in utter despair.
***
Anne had behaved like an angel the entire day. The dowager said that the last time Anne had been so good was the day she fell off a horse and knocked herself unconscious.
The feverish excitement, lack of appetite, dreamy eyes, and a silent Anne equalled only one thing. Anne was planning to elope with Lord Poyning. And Penelope would have to do something about it, since no one else was aware of the overflowing travelling case that was currently squashed under Anne’s bed.
Chapter 33
Penelope screwed her eyes shut and rolled her shoulders. She then jumped around the room a couple of times. It was no use. She still felt like a stretched violin string.
The fact that Anne could be planning to elope had troubled her all day and was still troubling her now at midnight. Her mind buzzed with a thousand flickering thoughts keeping sleep at bay. She wished she had an advisor, someone who could give her support and share some of the burden, someone who could lift the hefty weight from her small, slim shoulders.
Her eyes fell on Lady Bathsheba, who was stretched out on the bed looking at her lazily through one open eye. Penelope’s face brightened. How could she have forgotten her beloved companion?
“Lady Bathsheba, we have grown up, have we not? Back in Finnshire, all we had to worry about was ghastly Gertrude’s hooked nose appearing around the corner. Now we have so many troubles. The season is coming to an end, and I am still unwed with no prospects. I have fallen in love with the unattainable duke, who may not think I am doxie any longer, but still considers me an imbecile. Anne may be planning to run away with Lord Poyning, and I am the only who is aware of that fact.”
She stopped to scrutinise the goat’s expression.
“I know what you are thinking. Why don’t I tell the duke or the dowager about my suspicion? Well I can’t. At least not until I am certain. It would worry the dowager. The duke already thinks I am loony, and if I turn out to be wrong, then he will be convinced that I am an idiot as well. I can’t have the man I love thinking that I am an idiot, now can I, Lady Bathsheba? Besides, tomorrow I will spend the day spying on Anne. She will have to stay in touch with Lord Poyning to plan the elopement. I will steal all the correspondence, and as soon as I get proof, I will take it to the duke …”
Lady Bathsheba snorted.
“You don’t think it will work? Trust me, it will work. It has to work. The only way it won’t work is if Anne has already corresponded with Lord Poyning and is planning to run away tonight …”
Lady Bathsheba nodded approvingly.
Penelope perched on the edge of the bed, her foot tapping furiously.
“You don’t mean to say … she is running away tonight? Can she do such a thing? But that’s not fair! She can’t be eloping tonight. She can’t. But if she is, then …”
Penelope leaped up and started pacing again. The clock chimed twelve.
“I have been a fool, Lady Bathsheba. I thought I had a few days to plan, but what if I don’t? What if it is tonight?”
Lady Bathsheba chewed on a piece of wool.
Penelope worriedly blew at an escaped curl that kept tickling her nose.
“It is late. Everyone is asleep. I will have to stay awake and keep watch. Hopefully Anne will stay put and I can divulge all to the duke in the morning. I can’t keep this a secret any longer. I won’t be selfish. If he thinks I am an idiot for imagining such a thing, then so be it. I love Anne too.”
She went and sat on a chair. The only sound to be heard was the grandfather clock ticking away somewhere. A moment later, she yawned, and then frowned. What if she nodded off? She glanced at Lady Bathsheba, who was fast asleep on a ball of green wool … She smiled. She had a plan.
Taking out the knitting bag from the cupboard, she sorted through the wool. She picked up a midnight blue ball of yarn and inspected it. It would do.
She tiptoed out into the hallway and searched the wall directly opposite her room door.
“I am sorry,” she whispered to a giant bust of one of duke’s ancestors before tying the wool around his neck and tightening it like a noose.
She unravelled the rest of the yarn and made her way back to her room. She pulled the thread taught and tied the other end to her wrist. The trap was laid and Penelope dozed on the bed waiting for the bait to catch.
An hour later the bait was caught. The wool yanked her arm and she sprang to sitting position, her eyes dazed. It took her a moment to gather her wits. ‘Anne’ her sludgy brain whispered.
It wasn’t. It was Lady Bathsheba waking up for a midnight adventure. Penelope readjusted the wool and fell asleep.
After dozing for a while, she felt another yank on her arm, and this time the bait was really caught. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she carefully freed her legs from underneath the snoring goat and stood up. The candle had gone out, so floundering in the dark and bumping into various objects, she made her way to the door and opened it.
The lamp in the hallway illuminated Anne’s skirts disappearing down the hallway.
Penelope eyes turned round in horror. In a trice she was running after Anne whispering admonishments.
Anne threw an apologetic look back at Penelope just before wrenching the front door open and disappearing into the dark.
Penelope chased her out onto the garden path, but Anne was already in a carriage and driving away. The pebbles bit into Penelope’s bare feet, and the cold night air slithered under her night dress chilling her instantly. Frustrated, Penelope shouted a few unseemly words at the departing carriage.
She hobbled back indoors and made her way to the duke’s room.
“Wake up, your grace.”
“Your grace! Charles Cornelius Radclyff, if you do not wake up right now, then the world will end,” Penelope wailed.
The duke opened a single eye.
“Ack!” he exclaimed, half sitting up in bed and clutching the sheets defensively to his chest.
“Your grace …”
“Good lord, Penelope? Is that you? What are you doing here … at this hour?”
“I am not here to seduce you …”
“I should hope not. Your hair frightened the life out of me. I thought I was having a nightmare. Do you look so unfortunate every morning?”
“Your grace, Anne has eloped.”
The duke sprang up and Penelope quickly closed her eyes. He was not wearing a single stitch of clothing.
“Tell me everything,” the duke ordered, rapidly pulling on breeches.
Keeping her face averted, she said, “I suspected that she may be planning something of the sort. I tied a string to a bust in the hallway and attached the other end to my wrist. She tripped over the string, alerting me. I raced after her, but she had a carriage waiting and she was away before I could stop her.”
“Pull that rope by my bed.
It will ring in Hopkins’ room.”
She did as he asked and finally felt brave enough to look at him.
He was furiously scribbling something on a sheet lying on his desk.
“How soon can we leave?” she asked.
“You are not coming.”
“But Anne may not listen to you. I may be able to help. She will need a woman around …”
“I can’t waste time waiting for you to get dressed.”
“I will only be a moment.”
“You have two and a half minutes,” he said, knowing full well that it was impossible for her to dress so quickly.
He strode out of the room, pausing long enough to ask a sleepy Hopkins to get the carriage ready.
“Wait, I am coming,” Penelope called.
The duke turned angrily, “I told you I don’t have time …” his words died away.
Penelope was shuffling towards him. She had pulled off the giant quilt from his bed and wrapped it around herself. The ends of the vibrant purple quilt were sweeping the floor. Her small head poked out, and her hair was still a mess. The curls sprang out as if terrified of her scalp and waved in all sorts of directions.
“Why are you waddling?” the duke asked, blinking at the odd vision.
Her foot poked out to show him his woollen slippers.
“You won’t be able to walk in those. They are too large for you. I don’t have time to waste …”
Before he had finished speaking, she was clutching the end of the quilt and his giant grey slippers to her chest.
“I can walk faster barefooted. I will put them on once I am in the carriage,” she pleaded, looking ridiculously tiny engulfed in yards of cloth.
It was her big, brown hopeful eyes that made him blurt out, “Fine!”
At the entrance the duke gathered her up in his arms. “The stones will cut your feet, and the slippers are too big for you to walk quickly enough.”
He deposited her in the carriage, rapped the walls to signal the driver, and then they were off.
***
Penelope, bundled in the corner of the carriage, did not dare make the slightest sound. The duke was looking grim, and he was likely to lash out at her if he remembered her existence. She watched him from the corner of her eye. The single lamp hanging from the roof illuminated his face. She had been amazed at how rapidly and calmly he had organised everything. He was so … wonderfully wonderful. Her eyes glazed over and a foolish love sick smile graced her lips.
He spoke, surprising her out of her daydreams, “I assume they are heading to Gretna Green.”
Penelope nodded, “Won’t the dowager worry when she finds you both gone?”
“I have instructed Hopkins and left a note for her. She will be alright.”
“I hope so,” her voice quavered.
“Don’t worry, Penelope, we will find her.”
Penelope bit her lip. She knew that he was the one overwrought with worry. He loved his sister more than anything in the world, and yet he had remembered to soothe her fears.
“I know you will,” she said confidently. Until then she had not realised how absolute her faith was in him. She was certain he would find Anne, and in time to stop the wedding. The moment she had told him about the elopement, her biggest worry had fled.
A brief silence descended on the carriage, and she almost didn’t catch his whispered ‘thank you’.
She leaned back in her seat and peered at the window. “Can we open the shutters?”
“No, the dust and stones may fly in and scratch your eye.”
“What hour do you think it is?”
“The milk maids are yodelling and the traders already screaming their wares. It must be around four in the morning.”
“Does London ever sleep? In Finnshire …”
“Farmers wake up early as well, Penelope. Close your eyes.”
Penelope closed her eyes. The rolling motion of the carriage, the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain on the roof, and the warm blanket soon lulled her to sleep.
The sun was peeking over the horizon when the carriage jerked to a stop. Penelope awoke to loud voices and commotion. The duke pushed her back onto the seat when she tried to get up.
“Stay,” he whispered, and then gracefully stepped out of the carriage.
Penelope sat twiddling her thumbs, and her leg tapped the floor impatiently. Another shout had her bounding across to where the duke had sat. The shutter was open on his side and she poked her head out.
A highwayman wearing a long, red silk cape and a black mask with an ostrich feather sticking out above his ear had a gun pointing straight at the duke.
Penelope did not pause to think. She wrapped the purple quilt around herself, and then flung the carriage door open and jumped down.
She ignored the other men standing around, her eyes on the duke. She went and stood in front of him protectively.
“You will have to shoot me before you get to the duke,” she announced bravely.
The gun in the highwayman’s hand dipped slightly.
“Let me inform you that I know a member of your fraternity extremely well. If he found out who you were threatening, then your little employment would be over in an instant.”
The duke gripped Penelope’s arm and tried to push her aside.
“Stop it,” he hissed in her ear.
Her hand sneaked out from under the quilt and she flicked his ear.
“Did you just flick me?” the duke asked annoyed.
“Keep quiet or I will do it again. I know how to deal with these people. I have experience,” she hissed back.
“Experience in handling highwaymen? Do you ever think? You could get us both killed. I was handling the situation …”
“I saw how you were handling the situation. He has a gun pointed straight at you, and you are—”
A throat cleared and Penelope snapped her attention back to the highwayman.
“Penelope, step aside,” the highwayman said.
“Jimmy? … Oh, I am so glad it is you. I thought it was …”
“Penelope, I said step aside. I want to have a word with this man.”
“But … but he is the duke … Jimmy?” Penelope said, her voice quivering in confusion.
“Do as he says, or once I am through here, you will be very, very sorry,” the duke growled, pushing her away.
Penelope stumbled and righted herself. She tried to take her place in front of him again, but his iron arm kept shoving her back.
“Now, the Duke of Blackthorne, I assume?” Jimmy asked.
The duke nodded.
“What are you doing with her at this hour?”
“I am on my way to save my sister. She has eloped with the wrong man. Penelope here is helping me.”
“Is he telling the truth?” Jimmy asked Penelope.
She nodded.
Jimmy paused.
“What are your intentions towards her?” he said, turning back to the duke and waving a gun in Penelope’s direction.
“Honourable.”
“Will you swear?”
“Yes.”
Jimmy lowered his gun, “Well, then it’s alright.”
“I am not done,” the duke said, scowling at Jimmy.
Jimmy grinned, “I did not think so.”
“What are your intentions towards Penelope?” the duke snapped.
Jimmy pocketed the gun. “She is the sister of my soul… soul sister.”
“You have a soul?” the duke asked incredulous.
“How poetic, Jimmy. He does so love poetry,” Penelope exclaimed proudly. He had let her precious duke go. All was forgiven.
“A poetic highwayman?” the duke asked.
“Well-read too,” Penelope said, stepping up to Jimmy and giving him a hug.
The duke grabbed her arm and yanked her back. His face was thunderous.
“Oh, I am sorry, your grace. I know why you are angry. I can exchange pleasantries later,” Turning to Jimmy, she said urgently, “We ar
e in a hurry.”
“I understand. I will accompany you to a nearby inn. You can change your horses and refresh yourselves there, and I will ensure that at least part of your journey is safe.”
Jimmy shouted orders and a few men on horseback took their positions behind their carriage.
They were off once more with a retinue of robbers and thieves protecting them on all sides.
“How is your wife?” Penelope asked once they were comfortably seated inside the carriage.
Jimmy’s bottom lip trembled.
“Jimmy? Jimmy, what is it?” Penelope asked concerned.
“Pudding ran away,” he wailed.
“Pudding?” Penelope asked, glancing at the duke. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, Pudding,” Jimmy blubbered. “Pudding left her Boobookins.”
“Pudding is your wife?” Penelope asked carefully.
Jimmy nodded.
“The Cobra,” he sniffed, “whenever he successfully robs a man, he waits for his victim to depart, and he then lies down on the ground and does the Cobra dance—”
“Cobra dance?” Penelope interrupted, her eyes round as saucers.
“Yes, well, it is like this,” Jimmy said, mopping his face with a bright green handkerchief. He then stretched out on the floor of the carriage, nudged the duke and Penelope’s feet aside, and started twisting and moaning and shaking in an odd sort of way.
The duke and Penelope watched fascinated.
Jimmy got up after a minute of convulsions and brushed off the dust from his beautifully cut red velvet pants.
“My apple dumpling …”
“Who?” both the duke and Penelope chorused.
“Pudding, apple dumpling … my wife,” he clarified. “She watched him do the dance. She was so enamoured by it that she left me and all our children.”
The duke awkwardly patted the shoulder of the gloomy thief.
“You should do the Falcon dance,” Penelope said after thinking for a while.
“Eh? What’s that?” Jimmy asked, perking up.
“I don’t know … Make it up …Something like this.”
Penelope started flapping like a bird, her neck bobbing like an owl.
Jimmy faithfully copied her.
“Bob once or bob twice?” Jimmy asked.
“Three is a good number. Bob, bob, bob, and flap. Bob, bob, bob, and flap,” she replied.
Love Regency Style Page 339