Penelope

by Anya Wylde

  “Miss Fairweather, we don’t have time to waste,” Madame said, yanking Penelope off the sofa and dragging her out of the room.

  ***

  A detailed schedule of the next two days was handed to Penelope. Penelope read over the chart and wondered if it wasn’t better to take the next post-chaise back to Finnshire.

  “When do I eat?” Penelope asked. “It doesn’t say here.”

  “Today you eat while walking,” Madame replied briskly.

  “Walking?”

  “Yes. You cannot, absolutely cannot, waddle any longer, Miss Fairweather.”

  “I waddle?”

  “Like a one winged duck.”

  And thus the two days of intensive training began …

  “Walk, Miss Fairweather, sway your hips …”

  “But, Madame, I am blindfolded. I can’t see … Ouch.”

  “I want you to use your senses. Beyond sight there is touch, scent and sound. Use them and glide like a swan over a crystal lake, barely causing any ripples. Not like a bear trampling in the woods ….”

  ***

  Later that night …

  “You are nodding off again, Miss Fairweather. Up you get. We still have to go over your fan work.”

  “We already went over it a hundred and sixty times. I counted.”

  “Well, this is the hundred and sixty first. Now, place your fan … Unfurl … Close …”

  ***

  At half past six the next morning Penelope snored. A feather tickled her nose. She sneezed and rolled over.

  A moment later a loud blast of sound had Penelope shooting upright on the couch. “Wha … Wazzaat? Whazzappened?”

  Madame stood with a trumpet in her hand.

  “You have had plenty of sleep. It is time to practice.”

  Penelope looked at Madame through bloodshot eyes. She glanced at the clock.

  “I have slept for fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes, well that’s long enough.”

  “I quit,” she said pathetically.

  Madame handed her a cup of tea and tapped her foot impatiently.

  “I mean it. I quit, Madame. I cannot do this any longer. I want to go back to Finnshire.”

  “Very good, my dear. You can go back as soon as we finish practising the Quadrille.”

  “No.”

  “You will practice.”

  “I will not.”

  “Miss Fairweather, you have five minutes ….”

  “Oh, alright, but I am leaving right after.”

  Chapter 21

  The mood in the house was sombre. It felt as if someone had died in the Blackthorne Mansion. Even the maids were seen sporting funeral expressions.

  It was that day, the day on which all of Penelope’s hopes were pinned. It was the day of Lord Bloodworth’s party.

  Madame personally supervised Penelope’s toilette for the grand occasion. Penelope, clad in burgundy silk, stood staring at herself in the mirror while Madame swept her hair back into a low coif. Not one stray curl dared to escape the pins today. The dowager arrived to present her with ruby earrings and a necklace to match. Penelope took it and wore it with the air of a soldier pinning his medals in place before leaving for war.

  A dry eyed Penelope bid her goat goodbye, and then at a measured pace walked towards the carriage. The sight of Perkins waving a white handkerchief at her as the carriage rolled away almost cracked her composure. But she quickly regained her poise and her eyes remained clear and bright all through the journey.

  Penelope walked into Lord Bloodworth’s twinkling house without a single misstep. Her hips swayed, the polite smile on her face stayed fixed, and she successfully imagined each and every one of the hundred and fifty guests present in bright pink bloomers.

  A peculiar sort of detachment had come over her since early that morning. She was tired, tired of fighting and of trying to please. She no longer cared if she spoke out of turn or did the wrong thing. All she wanted was the night to be over with so she could go home, curl up in bed and go to sleep for the next twelve hours.

  She strolled through the crowd with her chin up and her shoulders pulled back. The assembled guests mistook her detachment for pride, the sort of pride that comes from confidence. She sparkled and her charm was magnified by the mere fact that she did not know it.

  After an hour of gliding through the crowd and two glasses of tepid wine later, Penelope had reached the spiritual state of being merrily tipsy. It was that perfect state when everything starts looking wonderful and every tragedy turns into a comedy. She was suddenly filled with joy. The lack of sleep and starved diet added to her delirious state. She felt full of love for her fellow human beings. She spotted Anne’s sullen face and her heart felt like it would burst in affection for her dear friend. She wanted to hug Anne, enfold her in a warm embrace and tell her that things will be alright. But she was not so foxed yet, and recognizing the slippery slope she was heading down she put away her glass of wine.

  But she was tipsy enough to make a vow and act on it. She, Penelope Fairweather, decided to ensure that Anne got her Poyning and that too tonight.

  “Can you spot them?” Penelope whispered to Anne.

  “They just arrived. Are you sozzled?” Anne asked.

  “Just a touch. Nothing to worry about,” Penelope said, standing on her tippy toes to get a look at the entrance. She couldn’t see a blasted thing.

  “Drink the lemonade. At least you are not slurring,” Anne muttered. She didn’t have time to scold.

  Penelope drained the sickly sweet drink.

  “They are coming this way. How do I look,” Anne asked nervously.

  “Beautiful,” Penelope said loyally. The blue silk that Anne wore was not doing much for her complexion, but it did show her figure to an advantage.

  A minute later Anne shifted positions so that they purposely bumped into Lord Rivers and Lord Poyning.

  “Miss Fairweather,” exclaimed Lord Poyning, his face lighting up in delight.

  Penelope frowned and then forced a smile. She would have liked the man to keep his enthusiasm for Anne.

  “Miss Fairweather,” Lord Rivers greeted her with a good deal less fervour.

  “Miss Fairweather,” Lydia Snowly said, coming up to join them.

  Penelope rapidly inclined her head to all three, beginning to feeling a little uncomfortable at all the staring eyes. She felt the words rise up her throat and tickle her tongue, and she quickly sipped her lemonade. Madame’s solution to her little babbling problem was to keep her mouth busy drinking water or lemonade every time she felt rattled. She realised it was working. The words had been washed away. She smiled more confidently and took another big gulp.

  “Anne, Mother sent me to dance with you,” the duke said coming up to join the party.

  “Mother sent you to dance with Miss Fairweather,” Anne hissed at her brother.

  The duke’s mouth twisted in distaste, but he kept his tone polite when he said, “Come along then,” to Penelope.

  “Come along?” Penelope asked.

  “If you would rather not?” the duke suggested hopefully.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Charles. Miss Fairweather is too shy, and I doubt she will be able to dance in such a gathering. Didn’t you tell me she is from some small uncultured village? Don’t be unkind. I will partner you. It is so rare that we get a chance to dance together,” Lady Snowly said smiling sweetly up at the duke.

  Anne raised her foot to stomp on Lady Snowly’s feet when Penelope’s voice halted her.

  “If by ‘come along’ you were asking me to dance, then, your grace, I would be delighted to accompany you,” Penelope said. Her colour was high, but her voice was rock steady.

  The duke shot his fiancée an apologetic glance and led Penelope to the floor.

  The musicians struck the first note. It was a melancholy twang. An echo of love lost.

  He touched her waist and she, keeping her face averted, stepped forward to meet him.

  “Are
you alright?” he asked gently.

  Her eyes leaped to his face. She was surprised that he had remembered. It felt like it had happened so long ago.

  “Yes,” she said a little breathlessly.

  “I was talking about …”

  “The man in the lane. I know.”

  “Are you sure? Anything I can do?”

  “Find the man and finish what I started? Murder him? No, I am alright. I think what happened … almost happened, was for the best.”

  “You learnt a valuable lesson,” he stated simply.

  Her hand briefly tightened on his shoulder. She did not need to say it. He understood.

  He lifted her off the floor, and when he set her back down on her feet, she was closer to him than strictly necessary.

  The music changed becoming quicker. Fingers flew over piano keys, and violinists shook their shaggy heads, furiously moving their bows over strings.

  Penelope felt as light as a feather as the duke led her around the floor. His firm hand guided her leaving no room for mistakes. She looked at him shyly, her face alight with happiness. This was her first dance of the season and he had begun it by being kind. In spite of all the mistakes she had made, he was truly worried about how she was faring. She gripped his hand tighter, letting her eyes show how grateful she was. Perhaps Madame had worked a miracle in the last two days. The duke was softening towards her.

  He smiled down at her and her stomach flipped. His next words seemed to echo her feelings.

  “I have changed my opinion of you,” he said, whirling her around.

  “You have?” she asked, her face flushing with pleasure.

  “Yes, I thought you were a fruit fly.”

  “A fruit fly?” Her rosy bubble deflated a little.

  “Yes, a harmless little creature. I misjudged you. Now, I am convinced that you are in fact a mosquito.”

  “Pardon?”

  “A mosquito, a female mosquito. They are the only kind that suck blood, and some of them can be outright dangerous to a man’s health.”

  Her feet stopped moving. The rosy bubble was now non-existent.

  His hand on her waist forced her to move.

  “You are exactly like a mosquito,” he continued as the music soared to a crescendo, “an annoying little bug, and I wish I could bring my hands together and splat! Squish you in an instant.”

  Penelope blinked.

  The pianist crashed his hands down on the instrument.

  The dance was now over.

  ***

  “You look a little red. Did Charles upset you?” Anne whispered to Penelope as soon as she joined them.

  “He has promoted me from a fruit fly to a blood sucking mosquito. So to answer your question— yes, the ostrich feathers adorning my hair are a little ruffled.”

  Anne giggled and Penelope scowled.

  “Any luck?” Penelope asked, taking the lemonade cup from Anne.

  “He hasn’t asked me to dance,” Anne replied, her face falling.

  “He will. Just leave it to me,” Penelope said in her ear. She then turned her attention to Lord Anthony Rivers.

  “Do you dance Lord Rivers?”

  “Rarely”

  “I do,” Lord Poyning piped up.

  “Anne loves dancing,” Penelope hinted.

  “Do you?” Lord Poyning countered.

  “I do, but I can never be as graceful as Anne,” Penelope replied irritably.

  “Let me be the judge of that. May I have the next dance, Miss Fairweather?” Lord Poyning asked.

  Penelope took a long sip before replying, “I am a little tired after my dance with the duke. I would rather watch you dance for the moment. Perhaps the next?”

  “Women are so delicate,” Lord Poyning said, his eyes running over Penelope’s figure.

  Penelope squirmed under the gaze, her face turning hot. She felt a little disturbed by the look in Lord Poyning’s eyes and she itched to get away.

  “Charles is leading Lydia to the dance floor,” Anne announced.

  Penelope whipped her head around to look at the couple. She watched the duke lead Lady Snowly around the floor. Lady Snowly was smiling, her teeth shinning white in the candlelight.

  When Penelope turned back, it was to find Lord Poyning finally asking Anne to dance. Pleased, she smiled at Lord Rivers.

  “Would you?” Lord Rivers asked unhappily.

  Penelope stopped him short, “No, I am happy to watch for the moment.”

  “Good, good,” he said looking relieved.

  She smiled again widely. This was it— time to put her plan into action.

  “Have you known Anne long?” she asked, fluttering her lashes

  “Yes. Did you get something in your eye?”

  Penelope stilled her lids.

  “I think it was dust. I am fine now. Would you like to take a turn around the room?”

  “No, it is too crowded.”

  Deuced man, Penelope thought getting annoyed. She tried again, “Lord Rivers, I would like to speak plainly. I come from a small village and I cannot flirt and hint at things. I am aware that we barely know each other, but your friendship with Lord Poyning and mine with Anne compels me to ask you for your help. You and only you can help me in this noble endeavour. Yes, Lord Rivers, you and me can bring happiness to our cherished friends.”

  Penelope was pleased at how easily the words had flown from her. The shy and quiet man facing her was comforting. It was hard to be nervous around someone who looked even more out of place in a ballroom than she did.

  “How?” he asked. His eyes were suddenly awake and he was looking at her for the first time with unglazed eyes.

  Penelope faltered at the intense expression on his face. She realised that she had made a mistake in thinking that this man could be easily led. The slight interest she had ignited in him transformed his features. His eyes were intelligent; the subtle change in expression marking him as an almost handsome man. She glanced towards the dancing couples trying to buy time. She watched the duke pull his fiancée closer.

  She wrenched her gaze away from the scene and said, “Lord Poyning is your friend and Anne is mine. I think the two should marry and you are in the best position to help bring them together.”

  Lord River’s expression turned cold, “I apologise, but I don’t think the two would make a good match. I don’t think Lord Poyning is interested in Lady Radclyff, and you are wasting your time on such a fruitless venture.”

  “How can you be sure? Has he said so to you?”

  “No, but he did not need to spell it out. I know him well.”

  “Lord Rivers, I understand your hesitation but what harm can there be in at least trying?”

  “No.”

  “No? Just no? You don’t think ….”

  “Miss Fairweather, please don’t involve me in this. I am a good deal older than you and I know how ugly things can become if you meddle in matters of love, especially when it concerns people close to you. I suggest you let Lady Radclyff handle her own affairs.”

  Penelope was not offended. Lord Rivers’ tone had been kind and his words well meaning. She was a little irritated though. She had been so optimistic that tonight Anne and Poyning’s love story would have a happy ending. She had hoped that secretly Poyning loved Anne just like Anne loved Poyning. Lord Rivers was meant to confess that fact or at least help bring the two together. Nothing of the sort had happened. The first part of the plan had completely flopped. She sulked in silence until Anne returned from her dance with Lord Poyning.

  The rest of the evening went well. Penelope did not utter a single word out of turn. She had drunk sixteen cups of lemonade, spent most of the night in the lady’s powder room, and danced five times with different partners. No man had caught her fancy and only one wealthy man had shown any genuine interest in her. Unfortunately, he was as old as Sir Henry.

  Back in the duke’s carriage, a gloomy Penelope sat bouncing her way back to the Blackthorne Mansion. Anne’s love pickl
e was turning out to be harder than she had originally thought. She spent the entire ride tugging at her uncomfortably tight gloves and planning the next step on how to bring the two love birds together.

  The moment she entered Blackthorne Mansion, the dowager caught her arm.

  “Penelope,” she said, “three Grande dames came up to me tonight. They had something to say about your conduct tonight.”

  Penelope turned white. How could she have forgotten? Today had been a test and if she had failed it, then tomorrow morning she would be on her way back to Finnshire. She had spent the entire night plotting to bring Anne and Lord Poyning together, but if she was no longer in London, then how was she meant to help them?

  Anne, Madame, the dowager and even Lady Bathsheba were counting on her. She doubted her new employers would allow her to bring along a goat. Her own dreams of marrying and having a home would be shattered. She remembered her tipsy state earlier that evening. In a moment from now she would become a haggard, defeated lonely spinster. With the dowager’s next words, she knew that she was about to lose everything.

  “Mother?” Anne prompted, gripping Penelope’s hand.

  “They congratulated me on sponsoring such a promising young lady. My dear, henceforth, you are no long a social hazard.”

  “I didn’t make a mistake?” Penelope asked stunned.

  “No, you didn’t,” the dowager replied smiling.

  “Penelope didn’t make a mistake?” Anne echoed in disbelief. She gripped Penelope’s shoulders and slightly shook her out of her daze. “Penelope, you succeeded. Penelope, did you hear that? You did not make a mistake.”

  “I can stay,” Penelope whispered.

  “She can stay,” Anne squealed, and grabbing Penelope she started waltzing around the room. Her voice rang out as she burst into an impromptu song,

  Oh, my dear, hear me pray

  didn’t you hear Mother say?

  Miss Penelope Fairweather

  you can stay, you can stay!

  Penelope laughed.

  An overcome dowager grabbed the closest person standing next to her. It turned out to be Hopkins, the valet. She joined the two girls in her own version of a more demure Waltz and said, “We will see her now at Miss Henleys, Miss Masters and Miss Attaways. Yes, Miss Fairweather can certainly stay.”