Timeless Regency Collection: Autumn Masquerade

by Josi S. Kilpack

  The pretty pout appeared again, and Penelope refrained from rolling her eyes, but only just. “Penny, what makes you think she loathes you? I’m certain you’re exaggerating.”

  Penelope leveled her sister with a flat stare. “The fact that she says, ‘Penelope, you are loathsome. Go change into a day dress that doesn’t have dirt smudges along the hem.’”

  “Oh, now see? Telling a person she’s loathsome because her dress is dirty is not nearly the same as loathing someone.”

  Penelope closed her eyes. “Persephone, this will never work. This is a disaster in the making, I can feel it.”

  “Nonsense.” Persephone patted Penelope’s hands and stood, smoothing her dress. “Now I must Plan.” She tapped a finger against her lip, and Penelope stifled a groan. Things never went well when her sister Planned. “We shall say that you have developed a ferocious megrim by the afternoon of the second day of the festival. That way, when you are pretending to be me in the duke’s esteemed company, I can be elsewhere with Gilroy. Aunt Millicent will be expecting to see only one of us in attendance that evening, so my presence won’t be missed. Or rather your presence. Oh, stuff it, you know what I mean.” Persephone waved a hand in the air. “Now, you shall wear one of my dresses, of course. Do not eat any sweets between now and the festival.”

  Penelope stood and snatched the duke’s letter from the table. “I am going for a walk in the meadow,” she said through clenched teeth. “Your debt to me is herculean, Persephone Timely, and I shall one day collect!” Penelope stomped to the kitchen door that led to the small garden just outside. “And furthermore, I’m not the one who sneaks extra strawberry tarts into her room each evening! Perhaps your dress will have to be taken in to fit me!”

  Persephone gasped in outrage and spun on her heel, while Penelope narrowed her eyes and left the kitchen, feeling at least a small moment of victory.

  “Don’t eat any sweets between now and the festival...” she muttered as she left the yard, closing the white wooden gate behind her and setting off for the expanse of land behind the home, which in the spring was filled with wildflowers and butterflies, but now in autumn had begun to mellow and turn colors. There was a bite to the air, but rather than return to the house and retrieve her wrap, Penny wrapped her arms around her middle and walked briskly away from the modest home—her aunt and uncle’s home, not hers or Persephone’s.

  Mama had loved her girls, had babied Persephone, and indulged Penelope’s quaint interests in science and paleontology, often remarking fondly that Penny was so very much like her papa, who had been gone those many years. It was those very interests and traits that now stood to Penelope’s detriment in Aunt Millicent Fanbecker’s eyes. She had never liked the girls’ papa and had been most irritated when her sister married such a strange, unconventional man, even though he was a baron. When Mama died two years ago, Millicent had taken the girls into her home because, of course, it was the right thing to do, and perhaps some of that audacious behavior could be eventually shamed out of that strange Penelope. Persephone was the darling, of course, and without Mama’s gentle presence in her life to love her unconditionally, Penny felt very much alone indeed.

  A gust of wind blew against her face, and Penny sucked in a breath. She rubbed her arms and quickly made her way across the long expanse of the meadow and into the trees that bordered the property. She picked her way through the underbrush, her feet crunching on leaves that had begun to fall. The path was familiar, and she was surprised she’d not worn a trench through it by now. A dry creek bed lay within the wooded area, and it was there she’d discovered a treasure trove. Fossils, one after the other, had revealed themselves to her patient hands in the past two years—her precious trilobites and sea creatures that had lived eons ago in the ocean that had since receded and now lay less than a mile away.

  Her fingers itched for a small trowel and brush to search even further, but it was cold, and almost evening, and there was the matter of That Letter still clutched in her fingers. She looked at it again, trying to slow the thudding of her heart. The problems with actually meeting His Grace, the Duke of Wilmington, were so massive she hardly knew where to begin. She placed her cold fingertips against her forehead where she felt the beginnings of a real headache forming.

  Aunt Millicent’s husband, Uncle Horace, had a cousin who lived in London and was often invited to tea with the Countess of Everley, whose husband’s sister had married the tenth Duke of Wilmington. His Grace had died two years earlier, leaving his one and only son as heir to the dukedom. The duchess was most diligent in her search for a wife for her son, who at his eventual death was in danger of passing the title to an odious distant relation, and such a thing would never do. And yet the new duke showed no interest in any one particular young lady, and in the last two Seasons had refused to step one immaculately polished boot into Almack’s to peruse the latest flock. He had been introduced to, and summarily dismissed, each and every young debutante his mother paraded before him, telling her that he was looking for a Woman of Substance.

  Uncle Horace’s cousin mentioned to the Countess of Everley that there was, in fact, a very polished and beautiful young lady who lived near the country estate and whose father had been a baron. It was a station significantly removed from a dukedom; however, desperate times called for desperate measures, and if the young lady in question were indeed polished and beautiful, the chasm could be bridged—at least overlooked.

  And so the duchess had written to Aunt Millicent, through the Countess of Everley and Uncle Horace’s cousin, that her son, His Grace, the Duke of Wilmington, would be most interested in an introduction to Millicent’s polished and perfect niece. She was sending along a note from His Grace—whose handwriting had looked suspiciously feminine to Penny—introducing himself and requesting a response, if the young lady would be so kind.

  Penny wandered to her favorite tree stump next to her fossil sanctuary and sat, elbow on knee and chin in hand, the latest letter from His Grace dangling between her fingertips. It was a disaster of epic proportion; she could find no less dramatic phrasing to describe the predicament. Of course, the duchess meant her son wanted to correspond with Persephone. The perfect one. And after Millicent approached the girls with those initial letters in hand, all aflutter and beside herself at Persephone’s good fortune, Persephone had cornered Penny and begged her twin to write the letter for her. Persephone couldn’t be bothered with it, and as Doctor Gilroy Fitzroy, new to the village and most sought after indeed, had shown an interest in her, she couldn’t possibly dream of betraying that interest by corresponding with another.

  Penny had eyed her sister rather flatly, telling her that as her aim was to marry and establish a family of her own, what better place to do so than at the side of one of the country’s noblest? His status, not to mention fortune, far eclipsed that of a lowly village doctor, a tradesman. Persephone would hear none of it, however. Her heart was taken, it was a matter of True Love, and that was that. It was actually one of the few times Penny had to admit a certain grudging respect for her sister, whose usual flights of fancy and demonstrations of vapidity were enough to have Penny’s head pounding within an hour. Persephone was choosing her heart over a potential fortune, and Penny could hardly fault her for it.

  So, to appease her sister, Penny had written the duke a charming note, signed Persephone’s name to it, and it had been dispatched posthaste to London. Penny never expected to hear another word from His Grace, but she must have written something that caught his eye, for he responded himself—his handwriting notably more masculine this time—and Penny, in spite of herself, had been charmed by the dry wit evidenced in the bold scratches of the quill. She drafted a return note, again signing her sister’s name, and had begun a correspondence of once, and then twice weekly letters. She had a stack of them at the bottom of her vanity drawer, tied with a blue ribbon and hidden beneath a box of fossils.

  Six months’ worth of letters, each more detailed, charming, and
compelling than the last. His Grace was in his young thirties, passed through Eton and Oxford, took a personal interest in his estates, and enjoyed picnics and walks along the river in the rain. But most of all, he had an avid interest in, nay, obsession with paleontology. Penny closed her eyes, remembering the letter she’d received from His Grace admitting such an odd, and as he termed it “boring”, interest. She had nearly swooned. And so now, six months later, His Grace, the Duke of Wilmington, believed Persephone Timely to be an avid hunter of fossils and disdainer of all water-colored landscapes and pointless embroidery.

  Penny shivered again at a gust of wind and opened her eyes to look out over the autumn landscape. She had somehow assumed that she and the duke would never cross paths. He would never try to meet “Persephone” in person. That the beautiful world she lost herself in between his letters and hers would somehow suffice. That she would never be forced to admit her subterfuge, would never have to bear the scrutiny of a duchess who would find her significantly lacking as wifely material for her son, and would never have to face the wrath of Mean Aunt Millicent when her duplicity was discovered. She didn’t think she would ever have to tell Persephone, “If by chance he comes to visit, you must pretend to be interested in ancient animal bones. Oh, and you also despise the color pink, much preferring blue.” That would be well-received indeed. Persephone’s dresses were always of the pink variation. Penelope’s were, of course, blue.

  And now he was actually going to arrive. She was going to have to pretend to be Persephone, which might be plausible if they were alone and she could merely speak for herself. But they wouldn’t be alone, and others around them would be expecting Persephone to be, well, Persephone. The thought of not only trying to balance such a scene, but also to actually act like her sister, had her feeling slightly nauseated. She had been foolish in the extreme to imagine such a scenario would never occur. She had been so caught up in the joy of actually having made a friend, a true friend, whose interests so perfectly mirrored her own. She realized the depth of her affection for her faceless friend when they were four months into their correspondence and he asked her to please, if she would, address him by his Christian name, Henry. And she had given him leave to call her by her Christian name, as well.

  Penny frowned, feeling a sting in her eyes that she most certainly did not want there. She hadn’t given him leave to use her name, but her sister’s name, and she had shrugged off the sense of unease even then, wanting to hold her fantasy world close to her heart where it would safely stay.

  “Fool, fool, fool,” she muttered aloud and looked again at his most recent letter. He was coming to the village festival. Estate business would keep him away for the first day, but he was most looking forward to making her acquaintance for the second day’s activities. She stood, restless, and wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. She didn’t want to meet him as Persephone. She wanted to meet him as Penny. She would prefer him to be plain in appearance, although she supposed she could stomach it if he were thin and elegant, blond, most likely, and poetic. Not too terribly tall as to be intimidating. Or even if he were a bit portly, she wouldn’t mind. It would make her feel less conscious about herself, for in spite of her identical likeness to Persephone, she never quite felt beautiful. She always felt awkward and out of place, because no matter how much she tried to be everything she should, she just... wasn’t. Time and again, young men who assumed they would find the same package in her as in her sister had turned away disappointed.

  Persephone could have her handsome doctor, and they would have handsome children who could paint watercolored bowls of fruit or embroider or set broken bones. Penny had no illusions about making a good match herself, because she couldn’t hold the charade for so long. And rather than marry because it was expected, and be miserable in it, she’d rather be the spinster aunt who was content to sit in the dirt and dig for bones with a little shovel. She was just fine with that image in her head, until she imagined a life where she would never be irritated by little children underfoot or sit in companionable silence next to her sweetheart before the fire in the evenings with a good book.

  And as for Henry... her heart ached a little, and she placed her hand to her chest. The Henry of her heart was gentle, not handsome enough to turn heads, and wasn’t really a duke. Because Penelope Timely would never be a duchess.

  Chapter Two

  Henry Phillip Johnathan Arthur, eleventh Duke of Wilmington, flipped through the papers in his lap as the carriage continued on its way to his ancestral seat, Wilmington, which bordered the village of Ellshire. He was glad to leave the bad air and noise of London behind, welcoming the air that wafted through the carriage window he’d opened as soon as the big city was far enough behind him.

  “Honestly, Henry, it grows colder by the minute,” his mother, the Duchess of Wilmington said and pulled her fur-lined wrap closer to her thin, elegant frame.

  “Apologies, Mother.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Might I assume the heating brick has outlived its purpose?” Henry slid the window closed, wishing he’d decided to ride alongside the carriage on his horse rather than reviewing estate business en route as a means of efficiency. His heart thrummed in anticipation, however, at the reason he’d decided to do so in the first place. The more work he could accomplish before reaching the estate, the more time he would have to pursue the primary reason for his visit. And Persephone Timely was well worth the inconvenience of riding in the carriage with his mother, who was never warm and despised the brisk, country air.

  “No matter. We’ll arrive in less than an hour.” His mother smiled at him. “I must admit I was rather surprised you expressed an interest in the Ellshire Autumn Festival this year. Especially since you’ve not given it two thoughts since you were ten years old.”

  Henry shrugged, busying himself with his documents again, trying for a nonchalance he wasn’t sure she’d believe. “I really should be more involved in the estate business, wouldn’t you say? I’ve visited all the others this year. Wilmington is the ancestral seat, after all.”

  The duchess snorted. If duchesses were to do such a thing. “You only visited the other estates all year to avoid being in London for the Season.”

  He finished reading a page and scrawled a quick signature at the bottom. “I would never do such a thing, Mother.”

  She sniffed. “You would. You would, and you did. Rather makes me wonder if you’ve decided to remain a bachelor your whole life.”

  Henry glanced up at her, again with the half smile. “When I find a woman worthy of my time, I’ll express an interest.”

  “How can you find such a paragon when you refuse to even look?”

  He sighed. “It’s distasteful, Mother. Like walking through a market and choosing the best piece of fruit. But how do I know it’s not bruised or rotted on the inside?”

  “You know very well the patronesses at Almack’s are discerning and extraordinarily exacting in their approval of each Season’s debutantes. You’ll not find a rotten piece of fruit in that esteemed assembly.”

  At that, he laughed and couldn’t help himself. “Exacting in their examination of a young lady’s breeding and decorum. They’re all the same, those young women. Not a personality expressed among the lot. And those that manage to speak comment only on the weather.”

  “A duchess needn’t have a personality. She must know how to host a ball and look elegant.”

  “Mother.” He gave her his full regard as her eyes widened in innocence. “You have more of a personality than anyone I know, duchess or not. Male or female. What if Father had followed your brand of advice when looking for his bride?”

  “We found each other.”

  “Exactly! And it didn’t happen at Almack’s. It was a horse race, as I recall?”

  She turned her nose up and looked out the window. “I do not recall.”

  “Is it so much to ask that I want something more, something like you two had?” He felt the customary pang at the
loss of his father. The tenth Duke of Wilmington had been a good man. An honorable man.

  “When affections become engaged, the parting is all the more painful.” Her confession was little more than a murmur, and he wasn’t certain he’d heard her. He experienced a swift surge of love for his mother and leaned forward to clasp her fingers.

  “I miss him too. Every day. And I want something more than a cold, polite marriage.”

  She smiled at him, her eyes suspiciously bright, and Henry sat back in his seat to allow her to collect herself. She wouldn’t appreciate an acknowledgment of her near-tears. But if all went well with Miss Persephone Timely, he knew his mother would be very pleased indeed.

  Penny entered the parlor the following afternoon slightly windblown, with her bonnet looped over her arm, sketchbook in hand, shawl falling from her shoulders, and very much unaware that they had visitors. She took in the scene with a modicum of confusion. Persephone sat ramrod straight on the settee, an elegant woman of indeterminate years sat across from her, and the largest man the home had likely ever seen stood at the hearth, his hands behind his back and feet set apart as though standing at ease before a military commander. His hair was as black as night, and his eyes were a startling sea foam green. He regarded her with a fair amount of what she could only assume was surprise as Aunt Millicent, also seated and adjacent to the other woman, motioned toward Penelope with a subtle flare of her nostrils.

  “And this is my dear sister’s other daughter, Persephone’s twin.”

  Penny raised a brow at her aunt. Persephone’s twin, was it? She now had no name of her own?

  Persephone delicately cleared her throat, and Penny thought she might have detected a sympathetic wince. “Your Grace,” she said to the man and then looked at the older woman, “and Your Grace, my sister, Miss Penelope Timely. Penny, may I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Wilmington, and his mother, the Duchess.” She turned back to the guests. “We are, as you can indeed see, twins.” She smiled at Penny with wide eyes and patted the seat next to her on the settee.