Penelope

by Anya Wylde

  “Penelope’s first dance should be with you. It is expected.”

  “Mother, I am not going to dance with this … this …”

  “Please,” Lady Radclyff said pitifully.

  “Fine, I will dance with her. Keep the first for me,” he snapped at Penelope.

  Penelope blinked. This was not how she had imagined her season to begin or how her dance card would be filled.

  “Now, Miss Fairweather, shall we discuss …” the dowager paused and turned to address her son. “That’s all, Charles, you may leave.”

  The door banged shut behind him.

  “Now that’s taken care off, Miss Fairweather, lets deal with our other pressing problem,” the dowager said.

  “You want to go home don’t you?” Lady Radclyff asked.

  “Yes, I am sorry, I think it’s best if I leave …” Penelope said.

  “But things will only get better from now on, my dear. Things like that don’t happen every day. It was a case of extraordinary circumstances,” the dowager soothed.

  “But I am often falling into such pickles,” Penelope replied.

  “You get drunk?” Lady Radclyff asked in delight.

  “No, but if something bad has to happen, then I normally end up being in the middle of it,”

  “But why?” Lady Radclyff asked fascinated.

  “I don’t know,” Penelope replied gloomily.

  “Well, nothing terrible is going to happen from now on. You have us to guide you in the right direction,” the dowager said firmly.

  Penelope was touched by all that the dowager was willing to do for her. They were willing to break rules and hide her presence from Sir Henry Woodville. What she couldn’t understand was why. She had only caused chaos since stepping into London.

  The dowager searched Penelope’s face and understood her apprehensions. She pulled out her knitting and with her hands busy, said, “You have met my father, Sir Henry Woodville, and you saw how strict he is? His views on women … Well, I am not going to tell you a long story on how he became that way. In short, he has always been a miserable old fool,”

  Lady Radclyff giggled.

  The dowager’s tone turned sombre as she continued, “My mother became ill one winter while we were staying at our country house. Father thought it best to send me off to the nearest ladies academy while she recovered. He couldn’t be bothered with a snivelling little girl. I stayed at the academy for five years and returned home only after mother’s death. I had been painfully shy during those initial days at school. A cheeky young girl called Grace found me crying one day. She consoled and befriended me. We were complete opposites. I was a miserable, silent child, while she was life, laughter and joy. She pulled me out of my shell and taught me how to live. For the first time in my life I sat in the sun without caring about my complexion, broke rules and felt thrilled instead of fearful. We teased and fought with each other. We laughed, sang and danced. I learnt to have fun. It was a happy carefree time and I cherish those memories. I am grateful to her …”

  The dowager paused to wipe her eyes. “A few years later I received a letter from Grace. We often wrote to each other. She was cheerful and happy in her letter telling me how pleased she was that she was soon going to be a mother. She asked me for advice, since I had already given birth to Charles. She did not tell me that she was ill or suffering. The only hint I had that things were not well was from the last line in her letter. She asked me to take care of her baby’s future if anything happened to her. I immediately wrote back promising to take care of her child. My status and word as a duchess and our long standing friendship allayed her fears. Or at least I hope it did, as that was the last letter I received from her. She died giving birth to a beautiful baby girl called Penelope.”

  The only sound in the room was of the three women softly crying.

  Penelope went and hugged the dowager. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “I have a more selfish reason for helping you,” Lady Radclyff announced after wiping her eyes. “You may find this hard to believe, but I actually like you. The season is a bore, but with you around, I am sure things are going to get a lot more exciting.”

  Penelope choked out a laugh and then sobered, “I don’t want to embarrass you. I am grateful for your kindness, but I am afraid I am not ready for the season. I understand your reasons for helping me, your grace, but …”

  “That is where we come in. We have a week and by the end of it you will be worthy of being a king’s bride. Trust us,” the dowager coaxed.

  Penelope was conflicted. On the one hand she wondered if it was possible for her to learn the nuances of polite society in so short a time. She doubted it. She also wondered if it wasn’t better to return to Finnshire than make a fool of herself and embarrass the Radclyff family in front of the ton.

  On the other hand she knew that if she married well, she could help her sisters, her father and herself. Besides, the dowager’s words had made her feel less like an unwanted burden, and she wanted to help the dowager honour her promise. Perhaps if she applied herself she may just manage to attract a man.

  A vision of her own haggard face in a grey uniform and a spinster’s cap running after someone else’s brats flashed through her mind. She shivered. This was it, a crossroad where a happy home was within her grasp, and on the other side lay years of loneliness and misery

  She eyed the two elegant women in front of her. She could not ask for better teachers than the dowager and Lady Radclyff, and if she refused this offer, then she would forever wonder. What if?

  “I am willing to try,” Penelope said, her heart racing in excitement.

  “Then let’s not waste time and prepare you for the first ball of the season, Miss Fairweather,” Lady Radclyff said, leaping of her chair.

  Penelope smiled weakly and nodded in agreement.

  Chapter 9

  The duke had been thwarted in his attempt to send Miss Fairweather packing, but the war was not over yet. He was back on his feet with a plan and he knew he had to act fast because if that rural pest got a whiff of what he planned, then she would waste no time in finding a way out. He smiled; if a slight tilting of his lips could be deemed a smile. With great deference, he led an elderly gentleman towards the Blue Room.

  “Charles, what brings you here? I have never seen you out of your study at his hour,” Lady Radclyff said, eyeing her brother suspiciously.

  “I am simply here to do my duty as a good host. I was pained to see Miss Fairweather suffering due to that sprain in her ankle. We cannot have her uncomfortable, now can we? Therefore, I have brought a remedy,” he announced, looking rather smug at the ingeniousness solution to all his problems. He moved aside to let an old man through.

  “Dr Johnson! How considerate, Charles. I am surprised none of us thought of calling him before,” the dowager said, her eyes telling the duke that she knew what he was up to.

  The duke widened his eyes innocently.

  The dowager hmmphed and muttered something rude under her breath.

  The duke smothered a smile and turned to eye Penelope. She looked guilty, he thought in satisfaction. Her cheeks were rosy red, her eyes were furtive, and her hands were pulling at the yarn in agitation. He had her now. She could not trick an experienced physician. Nothing whatsoever was wrong with her foot, and her little act would be up for good. Mother would be shocked and Anne disappointed to learn that their little innocent friend was not so innocent after all, and that she was in fact a liar. He could not wait to hear the good doctor’s judgement.

  “Leave, Charles. The doctor can’t examine her with you in the room,” the dowager ordered.

  Some of his exuberance dampened slightly. He opened his mouth to argue but was neatly shot down by one simple look from the deceptively sweet dowager. With a short nod, he left.

  He left but did not leave. That is to say, he went out of the door, stamped around a bit, and then once the occupants of the room were convinced of his departure, he bent his
six foot form and stuck his eye to the keyhole.

  He found that he had a splendid view of Miss Fairweather, and if she stayed in the same position, he would be able to see the whole thing clearly.

  She stayed in the same position. It was the physician who approached her. After a few routine questions, the doctor reached for her foot.

  The duke stopped breathing. This was it … the moment of truth.

  Suddenly he heard a deep heartfelt sigh behind him. He froze and then turned to look behind.

  A maid stood staring at his behind in admiration and shock. The silly girl was rooted to the spot just staring with her eyes wide, mouth slightly open and a hint of … Was that drool?

  He glared at her and she did not notice. He straightened and waved and got no response. He hopped from foot to foot trying to attract her attention as silently as possible. When that didn’t help either, he wriggled his buttocks and her eyes wriggled with it. He gave up. He would have to deal with her later. Currently his attention was urgently required elsewhere. He stooped once more to look through the keyhole.

  But before his eye could focus on what was going on inside the room, a throat cleared behind him. The duke squeezed his eyes shut in annoyance. He briefly contemplated ignoring this new interruption and then thought better of it. He turned back to find Perkins had joined the maid.

  Perkins did not look pleased, not by the maid’s awed expression and her point of interest, or by the duke’s unworthy occupation.

  Mutely, Perkins attempted to pull the maid along. In a daze, the girl refused to budge.

  The duke eyed the two irritably and once again bent to peer through the keyhole.

  This time it was a voice that distracted him.

  “Your grace, I—” The unfortunate creature was shushed by Perkins, the maid and the duke.

  He unbent himself … again, his back giving a slight twinge, to find his estate manager, Theodore, also staring at his buttocks. Theodore looked just like how one would imagine a man with his sort of name would look— small, brown and fidgety.

  This time the duke swore he would not look away, no matter who arrived. He bent once again and managed to stick his eye back on the keyhole without any further interruption.

  He could see the doctor kissing the dowager’s hand. He had finished his examination and was giving his verdict. Or had the verdict already been given? The duke was not certain. He panicked. If it had been given, then they would be coming this way. Gathering the last shreds of his dignity, he raced back towards his study.

  The maid and Theodore took off after the duke. Perkins ran after them at the speed of a horse— that is he ran, but in his head. In reality, he hobbled a few inches forward.

  “Leave,” the duke snapped, turning around and addressing the enchanted maid.

  The maid broke out of her trance. Her eyes wrenched away from his buttocks and focused on his face. She took one look at his expression and fled.

  “Theodore, I don’t think I have to tell you but …”

  “I won’t mention the little incident, your grace. Not even on my deathbed.”

  “Thank you, but to be safe you should give me your solemn oath.”

  Theodore repeated his promise with his hand on his heart.

  “Ah, we have to do his sort of thing correctly. Fetch me a holy book.”

  Theodore finally departed after taking his oath in numerous different ways and languages.

  The duke waited in his study for half an hour growing impatient. The physician had left ages ago and he would have told mother and sister that the country girl was a fraud.

  He wanted to look down his long aristocratic nose at his sister and tell her that in future she must defer to his judgement. She was too young to correctly assess a person’s character. He would graciously offer himself as a guide, and instead of looking smug and all knowing, he would adopt an understanding countenance. He would not sneer at his mother. No, he would smile at her and comfort her. A mistake like that was all too easy to make. He would pat her on the back, give her a bit of brandy, and then he would have the acute pleasure of throwing Miss Fairweather out of the Blackthorne Mansion, into a carriage bound straight for Finnshire, and out of his life for good.

  He picked up an inkpot and set it back down. Next he opened a ledger, stared at the numbers for half a minute and then slammed the book shut. His eyes strayed to the clock. He frowned. Half an hour had gone by and his mother had not arrived. His patience snapped, and he decided to inspect matters for himself.

  He walked towards the Blue Room, pausing briefly in front of a large Venetian mirror. He looked at his reflection and scrutinised his expression. He looked too happy. He frowned a little but … no, that was not right either … He then chose his blank aristocratic expression. Perfect.

  He entered the room and found a picture; a picture some would consider sweet, but to him it looked vile. The rosy glow, the sparkling smiles, the feminine laughter, and his mother’s hand gently patting Miss Fairweather’s hand hurt him deep inside. He silently raged at the foolishness of his family members. Had they forgiven her already? Had they no self-respect?

  “Charles,” Lady Radclyff commented, eyeing her brother’s thundering expression in delight.

  “What brings you here … again?” the dowager asked, hiding her own smile behind a flowery teacup.

  The duke rearranged his expression to look faintly inquiring, “I was just concerned about our guest. I suppose Dr Johnson has seen her?”

  “Yes,” the dowager said.

  The duke waited, and when no further light was thrown on what had occurred, he deigned to ask, “The prognosis?”

  Lady Radclyff took pity on her brother and said, “He has bandaged her ankle. He assured us that it wasn’t broken, merely sprained. It should be alright in a few days’ time.”

  “So it was sprained?”

  “Yes, she wrenched it badly. It is horrible, all red and swollen. It looks remarkably painful,” Lady Radclyff replied.

  “I see… I see. I suppose I should get back to work then,” he muttered, turning on his heels.

  “Don’t you want to wish Miss Fairweather a speedy recovery, seeing how you were so concerned about her welfare a moment ago?” the dowager enquired.

  “Miss Fairweather, go boil your head!” the duke stormed, slamming the door shut behind him.

  “How touching,” Penelope murmured.

  “Quite,” the dowager replied, picking up her knitting needles.

  Chapter 10

  Madame Bellafraunde fluttered in with a swish of aubergine skirts, veils and golden tassels. Four uniformed maids followed her. Her massive form immediately collapsed on the nearest sofa while one of the maids urgently fanned her using an exquisite cream and silk lace fan.

  Everyone waited until the smelling salts had been administered and the chilled champagne drunk. Finally, Madame, much revived from the ordeal of walking from her carriage to the doorstep of the duke’s home, lifted an imperious hand in signal.

  Lady Radclyff immediately launched into an explanation, “No one but you can help us, Madame Bellafraunde. The situation is dire. Miss Fairweather here is in immediate need of your attention. She is raw from the country, poor as a church mouse and has not a single thing to wear, and she debuts next week! I know you do not pay calls to customers’ homes, but Miss Fairweather has turned her ankle. If things were not so grave, we would have waited. But as you can see … only the best can help her.”

  Penelope shuffled her feet doing her best to look pathetic. She had been told that a hint of flattery and a lot of disparaging remarks against the intended victim was the only way the excellent, extremely choosy, and most expensive modiste in town would help her. It was rumoured that Madame Bellafraunde once turned away a countess because she didn’t approve of her smile.

  Penelope therefore did not smile.

  The dowager entered the Blue Room and, wonder of wonders, Madame Bellafraunde actually heaved herself off the sofa to bow to her.r />
  “Can she be made presentable?” the dowager asked.

  Madame Bellafraunde lifted her veil and Penelope stifled a gasp.

  Madame Bellafraunde was not a Madame but a Mr Bellafraunde sporting a faint moustache and day old stubble.

  After a moment of stunned silence, Penelope whirled. She spun on the spot and the carpet and the furniture twirled and whizzed with her. She immediately spotted what she searched for and quick as lighting raced towards it. She sprang over the couch misjudging the distance. She rammed into the back seat and fell landing face down.

  She ignored the pain in her ankle and rallied forces. She scrambled back up and took another flying leap. Her legs spread, her skirts flew and her toes pointed gracefully. Her landing was a tad clumsy, but she had reached her goal.

  She turned like a warrior. Her eyes narrowed and lips parted. Like a seasoned hunter, she lifted the object that she had snatched from above the fireplace.

  The room squealed in shock.

  Penelope held a barking iron— that is to say a hunting rifle— a grey rusted rifle that was the duke’s paternal grandfather’s. The last time it had been used was in an attempt to shoot down a tiger. The tiger survived, but the unfortunate squirrel that got shot in the process … didn’t.

  Otherwise it was used to scare of annoying guests, Lady Radclyff’s unsuitable suitors and the occasional trespasser. Now Penelope held it and aimed it at the impersonator, the man who had dared to enter the duke’s home dressed in an exquisite silk aubergine gown.

  “Don’t worry, your grace. I have it all in hand. Lady Radclyff, would you be kind enough to call a few burly footmen? We will tie this imposter up and keep him in the dungeon until the Runners arrive.” Penelope was proud that her voice came out strong and loud. The run in with the highwayman had done wonders to her courage. She had always assumed that she was as bold as a mouse. London, it seemed, had turned her into a tomcat.

  “Err, Miss Fairweather … we do not have a dungeon and—” Lady Radclyff started to say.

  “Well, we could always lock him in a room or a dingy attic. The important thing is to tie the man up. Stop dawdling and hurry, Lady Radclyff. Don’t worry, I know I have to press the trigger, and if he attempts to escape, he will be awfully sorry. I have seen my father do it. I have it all in hand.”