Penelope

by Anya Wylde

  Anne twirled Penelope around her twice and then dropped her into a dip, “She can go riding in Hyde park, St James and Ranelagh.”

  “Or Tattersalls and Vauxhalls,” the dowager sang.

  “And to balls and dinner parties,” Penelope cried.

  “Attend morning calls and funny plays. All day, every day,” Anne roared.

  Hopkins, getting carried away by the festive mood, added sombrely, “Miss Fairweather, Miss Fairweather, at Blackthorne you can stay.”

  The maids, hiding behind the bannisters, started doing a celebratory jig and joyfully sang their own background chorus,

  The mops and brooms are amazed,

  The cups and saucers are a tad dazed

  As we stand on our heads and shout in glee

  The goat can stay and so can Miss Pea!

  An emotional Penelope sniffed and blubbered,

  Bring the glasses

  Bring the bottle

  Open up the bubbles

  For I am no longer any trouble

  I can stay, I can stay

  The dowager says I can stay!

  Perkins and Hopkins (in a dignified way that befitted their status) bobbed their heads in time with the imaginary music while Anne belted out another tune,

  A loony lass and empty pockets

  Country airs and borrowed lockets

  Can now prowl and hunt on London streets

  For wealthy men and sugary treats

  Soon she will be clad in white and walk down the perfumed aisle,

  In her hand she will hold the flowers while sporting a shy becoming smile

  And we will cry and bawl and weep and weep

  When alas she marries the chimney sweep!

  “Altogether now,” the dowager shouted.

  Perkins, Hopkins and the maids behind the bannisters joined the dowager, Penelope and Anne in enthusiastically singing the final chorus,

  She can stay, she can stay, she can stay

  And no one would dare say nay

  For Penelope Fairweather will be here at Blackthorne evvvv- errry single daaaaaaaaay!

  As the last notes died down, the group dropped into a courtly bow aimed at the lone spectator.

  The spectator happened to be the duke, who naturally scowled through it all. He shook his head in disgust as he made his way to bed. That, he concluded, had been bloody awful.

  Chapter 22

  Penelope opened her wardrobe and found a shrivelled rose lying on her shawls. She picked it up and carefully placed it in the bottom drawer of her dressing table. In the last two weeks she had found a handkerchief with ‘Pinilowpea’ embroidered on it, an old pair of gloves tucked under her pillow, a button carefully wrapped in brown paper , a box of biscuits and two candle stubs.

  Mary informed her that the presents were from the maids downstairs and Bagley the footman, fondly referred to as Walrus. Bagley had left the rose and a box of biscuits because he had fallen in love with Penelope. As for the maids, they had left the presents for Penelope as form of encouragement.

  When people sing and dance together at four in the morning for someone’s success, then that someone becomes special. The forty two servants inside Blackthorne Mansion now felt a bond with Penelope. The hundred and twenty servants outside the mansion had been informed of the night’s events, and as a matter of solidarity they too felt an attachment towards Penelope.

  The maids were often caught singing ‘she can stay, she can stay’ as they went about their daily work. All at once, Penelope’s success and her catching a man during the season became a matter of great importance for the servants of the Blackthorne estate. They tried in their own way to support the cause of the ‘bonnie lass from Finnshire’ as she was now dubbed.

  Penelope appreciated the gestures, but she also felt that these small reminders worked as an added pressure. She would now have to catch a man this season. Otherwise she would be disappointing a whole lot of people and a goat.

  It wasn’t as if she wasn’t trying. She was and she had a few men call for her. Still, two things were greatly troubling her. The first was the fact that only very old and very poor men had shown any interest in her. Anne had suggested that Penelope keep her oldest suitor as a reliable option. After all, the eighty year old Lord Autenberry would die soon and leave her a rich widow. Besides, she wouldn’t have to warm his bed.

  The second thing that was bothering her was the fact that duke had stopped trying to send her home. It wasn’t as if he had suddenly softened towards her. On the contrary, he was eyeing her more and more grimly with every passing day. She sighed and pinned a sapphire brooch onto her dress. She had to leave for Miss Martin’s soiree and she had no more time to ponder any longer. For now she could do nothing else but keep her eyes open and stay alert for the duke’s next devious plan.

  ***

  Lord Poyning descended upon Penelope the moment she entered Miss Martin’s soiree. He led her to the dance floor and holding her closer than propriety deemed correct whispered in her ear, “You look like a blooming, scented water lily, my dear.”

  Penelope wrinkled her nose. And he, she thought, was like a bowl of steaming onion and garlic soup. He smelled.

  As they circled the dance floor, Penelope wondered how she had ever considered Lord Poyning handsome. His charm had worn off quickly enough for her, but Anne and several other young ladies continued to eye him in lust.

  She tried to look at him dispassionately and find something attractive in him. His face was nice enough, though his smile was a touch leery. His eyes were big, blue and heavily lashed. They could have been considered becoming if they did not hold a constant furtive expression. His arms were spindly like thin, tapered candles sticking out of a broad candle holder. It was an odd sight, but what was odder still was his style of dancing. The man did not glide. He hopped. He hopped like a bunny, and Penelope was forced to hop along with him. She huffed and she puffed and she bounced as she tried to match steps with him. In conclusion, she decided that Lord Edward Poyning was an unattractive grasshopper.

  Lord Poyning considered himself to be a rake, a ladies man, someone who understood the very soul of women. He also considered himself impeccably dressed, and his short sighted valet concurred with this opinion. Lord Poyning also took care to pin a substantial bunch of flowers and ribbons onto his coat. At every social gathering he would pluck a flower and hand it to each lady that he danced with. One single white rose adorning his button was saved for his favourite of the night. It was all done very discreetly, leaving the girls pleased and blushing.

  Over the years Lord Poyning had broken numerous silly hearts. Currently, Penelope was worrying not about her heart but her poor fingers, which were being crushed by Lord Poyning’s enthusiastic grip. Her attention being focused on her mauled fingers, she did not realise how and when he had danced them out onto the balcony.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the cool night wind hit her face. She whipped open her ivory fan and then proceeded to furiously flutter it.

  Lord Poyning eyed her uneasily and hastily stepped back.

  “A woman’s weapon is a fan,” Penelope muttered to herself, testing the pointed end of the handle for sharpness.

  “Did you say something?” Lord Poyning asked.

  “I said it is a lovely night,” Penelope replied, the breeze from the fan blowing the ringlets away from her face.

  “Are you warm, Miss Fairweather?”

  “No. In fact, I am a little cold,” Penelope said, hoping he would take the hint and lead her inside.

  “Perhaps if you put away your fan, it will help?” Lord Poyning suggested.

  She reluctantly closed the fan.

  “Are you alright, Miss Fairweather?” Lord Poyning asked, stepping closer to her.

  “Yes, yes …” Penelope said, nervously stepping back.

  Smiling he lurched forward and grabbed her gloved hand. “Miss Fairweather, have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  Penelope had n
ever been called beautiful by anyone before and she wished the compliment had come from someone else. She had not forgotten Anne. Anne loved this man and Penelope could not betray her friend. She wriggled her gloved hand trying to free it from his grasp.

  “Anne may be looking for me,” Penelope hinted.

  “Please, Miss Fairweather, a minute longer? It is such a lovely night …,” he replied, caressing her knuckles.

  “Lord Poyning, I really think we should return indoors,” Penelope insisted.

  She tugged her hand forcefully. He held on. She then yanked her hand back with all her might. It worked. Her hand was free, but the glove was not. It hung limply in the impassioned Lord Poyning’s grasp.

  She eyed the glove and decided to leave it with him. She tucked both her hands under her armpits to discourage him from trying to make any more love to her poor fingers. She was now thoroughly annoyed and worried. Her job was to make him fall in love with Anne and not herself.

  “Miss Fairweather,” he breathed. “Do not hold yourself back.”

  Penelope eyed his pursed lips in distaste. She had two choices. One, she could whip out her fan and repeatedly poke him with the pointed end until he let her go, or two, she could swoon. She decided to go with the latter option. It was a more civilised way out, and accordingly she lifted her hand to her forehead, closed her eyes and swayed. When he refused to take the hint and continued to murmur sweet nothings in her burning ears, she let her legs go slack. He caught her as she buckled, and being unable to hold a limp body in his arms for long, he laid her on the balcony floor.

  “What’s the matter?” the duke’s voice said, somewhere above her head.

  A tiny frown creased her brow before being quickly smoothed out.

  “I am not s-sure. She swooned … Perhaps the heat?” Lord Poyning stuttered. He quickly tucked Penelope’s glove under her back and stood up.

  “It is a cool night, Lord Poyning,” the duke replied.

  “I don’t know … Women are so delicate. Shall I fetch Lady Radclyff?” Lord Poyning asked, itching to get away.

  “Stay away from my sister,” the duke said in a controlled manner. He took Penelope’s wrist and checked her pulse. He noted the missing glove.

  “Perhaps I could fetch a glass of water?”

  “Brandy may help,” the duke muttered, extracting the missing glove from beneath Penelope.

  Lord Poyning rapidly exited the scene.

  “Darling, I was waiting for you,” Lady Lydia Snowly pouted. Her eyes fell on Miss Fairweather lying prostrate on the ground.

  “As you can see, I was detained.”

  “I suppose you can’t leave her like this and let her revive on her own?” Lady Snowly asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  “I see. Would you like me to do something?” Lady Snowly asked, peering down at Penelope.

  “Get Anne and ask her to bring smelling salts. Miss Martin may have some.”

  The duke waited until Lady Snowly departed before saying to Penelope, “Miss Fairweather, we are alone now. You can stop this nonsense and get up.”

  Penelope stuck to her role and continued playing dead.

  “I could dump this glass of wine on your head,” he said conversationally.

  Penelope’s eyes flew open and she looked at his hand. It was empty. She then recalled her situation and said sleepily, “Where am I?”

  The duke raised a brow and said, “Who am I? What time is it?”

  “Eh?”

  “That’s what one says upon waking up from a fainting spell. You forgot the other two lines.”

  “I did swoon,” Penelope snapped.

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “Well, I think you do.”

  “Do what?”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Should I have any reason to doubt it?”

  Penelope did not reply. She moved her head attempting to get up. The duke’s hand shot out to protect her head from smashing into a clay flower pot.

  He scowled, “Why were you pretending? Did Lord Poyning try and do something unsavoury?”

  “No,”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, waving the glove in front of her face.

  “Yes,” she said, snatching the glove from him and putting it on.

  “I am surprised, Miss Fairweather. You had an excellent opportunity to trap a wealthy man and you let it go? He must have done something. Otherwise why—”

  “Your grace, that is enough. I did swoon and—”

  “Or was swooning a part of your plan to trap him? Was he not playing along? I wonder if I ruined things by coming along and—”

  Penelope pounced, catching his neck in her small hands.

  “Oh, you horrid man, I wish I could strangle you. I was not trying to trap him. You—”

  A throat cleared behind them and Penelope turned to find Anne, Lady Snowly and Lord Poyning staring at her. She gulped and dropped her hands.

  “You all prevented a murder tonight. Well done. Now, can we return indoors?” the duke asked blandly. “Ah, the brandy, I think I need it more than Miss Fairweather here, Lord Poyning. After the whole near death situation, I am in shock.”

  Lord Poyning handed the glass to the duke and then warily eyeing Penelope edged back into the ballroom.

  “What happened?” Anne asked, once they were alone.

  Penelope dusted her skirts and smoothed her hair. “I swooned and then attempted to murder the duke. Shall we return indoors?”

  “Yes, of course. It is a pity you did not finish my brother off. If only we had arrived a couple of minutes later ....”

  ***

  After a short conference with Anne, Penelope returned to Miss Martin’s drawing room with a new plan of action. According to this plan she was meant to attract Lord Rivers, which would solve two pressing problems. Firstly, her own hunt for a husband would become more focussed. Lord Rivers was an excellent catch— wealthy, titled, young and agreeable. And yet no one saw him as a potential husband. His disinterest and curt replies disheartened even the most ambitious mothers of potential brides. And more importantly he did not make her skin crawl. Secondly, Lord Poyning would finally stop chasing her. And if Lord Rivers was courting Penelope, then Anne would get to spend more time with Lord Poyning, for the two friends seemed attached at the hip.

  The plan was simple enough. The execution was the problem. Her first obstacle occurred when she tried to strike up a conversation with him. Just like all her predecessors, she too was having a hard time getting more than a word out of him. If she pouted prettily, he thought she was going to cast up her accounts. If she complimented him, he eyed her suspiciously, and if she used the flirtatious language of fans, he hastily excused himself.

  She changed tactics by speaking to him like she would to a cousin or a friend. This seemed to work more favourably. He had just started warming up to her when Lady Lydia Snowly suddenly arrived into their midst like a sparkling icicle that had snapped off the roof of a dark, dank cave and landed on top of an unsuspecting polar bear’s head. Penelope was that unfortunate polar bear.

  “Lord Rivers, you are being so kind in keeping our guest entertained. Are you feeling better, Miss Fairweather?” Lady Snowly did not wait for her to reply but continued on, “I have been remiss in my duties. By right I should have seen to Miss Fairweather’s comforts. She hardly knows anyone here and I—”

  “She is not your guest,” Anne said cutting her short.

  “Anne dear, I am the duke’s fiancée and soon to be his bride. I will be the Duchess of Blackthorne and by that right I have some obligations to fulfil. Miss Fairweather happens to be one of them. She is the duke’s guest so—”

  “You are not the Duchess of Blackthorne yet. I think you should enjoy your freedom while you have it. Pray, leave Miss Fairweather to me for the moment. You will have plenty to do when and if you marry Charles,” Anne replied, her voice dripping sugar.

  “Where is Charles?” Lady Snowly asked, glaring at Anne.
<
br />   Anne shrugged, “You should know. He is, after all, your fiancé. I am merely his sister and he does not feel the need to keep me informed of his whereabouts.”

  Lady Snowly flung the blood red shawl across her shoulders. Her departing glance clearly warned that as soon as she became the duchess, the first person she would pack off to the country would be Anne.

  “You can thank me later for saving you from that … that … arrrgh! I don’t know a bad enough word that describes her,” Anne said.

  “Hush, Lord Rivers and Lord Poyning will hear you. Remember, you are all sweetness and light, or at least you are should be in the presence of men,” Penelope said.

  “Madame?”

  “Who else will teach me such things?” Penelope said grinning.

  “I wish he wouldn’t marry her,” Anne said, her face falling.

  “I know she is a little snarly, but if the duke loves her …”

  “Snarly,” Anne chuckled. “Snarly Lydia Snowly. How apt. As for love, it is a match of convenience. She belongs to the right family, and her father Lord Snowly has a lot of common business interests with Charles. Lydia went running to her father the moment she set eyes on Charles. Her father has never deprived his darling daughter of anything, so he wrapped my brother up in ribbons and presented him to her on her birthday. There was a ball thrown on the grand occasion.”

  “I didn’t realise the duke was willing to marry for convenience.”

  “He will only marry for convenience. Anything but love,” Anne replied, ending the conversation.

  Lord Rivers had disappeared. Penelope assumed that she had most likely scared him away. Therefore, with nothing else to occupy her, she spent the evening dwelling on Anne’s last comment and watching the couples dance.

  Interestingly, Lydia Snowly was waltzing around in Lord Poyning’s arms, and the two of them were much closer than what was considered seemly. The duke and Anne were supporting identical livid expressions as they watched the couple dance. Anne’s reasons were understandable, but Penelope did wonder at the duke’s dark looks. Anne had said that the duke did not love Lady Snowly, but was that true? Was he suffering a bout of jealousy at seeing Lady Snowly giggle into Lord Poyning’s shoulder? The thought made her heart lurch painfully.