Penelope

by Anya Wylde

  Chapter 23

  Anne stirred her porridge morosely. She looked like the world had come crashing down around her slightly pointed ears.

  The duke glared at the sun streaming in through the large French windows of the breakfast room. He occasionally stabbed his eggs and poked at the sausage.

  The dowager and Penelope eyed the duke’s wounded breakfast plate in distress.

  It was suffice to say that the day had begun rather badly.

  Penelope could not stand the funeral atmosphere any longer. She recalled the old lady she had seen at Hyde Park the day before. She had been trying to cheer up her miserable spaniel. The spaniel had perked up and perhaps so would the duke. The trick was to use the right sort of tone. She practiced it softly under her breath. She missed the dowager’s alarmed look and Anne’s brightening expression.

  Penelope spoke loudly in exactly the right sort of voice one uses in such situations, and before the dowager could warn her, it was out.

  “Ickle, duksey. Ickle, ickle, dukesy. Why are you so saddy? Eh? Who is saddy? Little dukesy is saddy?”

  Stunned silence met her efforts.

  Penelope did not lose heart. She tried again, “I can see a smile hanging over your head, your grace.”

  The duke scowled.

  “Oops, the smile fell on top of your head. Can you feel it trickle down to the tip of your nose? I can see it. There it is now perched on your upper lip. Oooh, it is slipping down slowly … It has now reached the middle of your lips … and it is tickling the corners of your lips and there, there, there, andddd … You smiled!”

  The duke had not smiled.

  Anne collapsed into helpless giggles and the dowager stuffed a napkin into her mouth.

  Penelope rapidly deflated at the thunderous expression on the duke’s face. She crouched lower and lower in her seat wishing she could disappear. The words had sounded reasonable in her head, but addressing Charles Radclyff, the Duke of Blackthorne, thus felt not quite right.

  The duke turned a gimlet eye towards his mother and sister who were helpless with laughter. His head slowly turned towards Penelope, who had by now wriggled off her seat and sat under the table. Only her eyes were visible above the tabletop. She peeked at him from between the jam and butter dish.

  He blinked, and to everyone’s utter shock started laughing, a deep roaring laughter that rang around the room.

  Tears sparkled in the dowager’s eyes and her face softened as she watched her son laugh.

  Anne grasped Penelope’s hand and squeezed it gratefully. Her voice was thick with emotion when she said, “Charles, Penelope has made you laugh again.”

  The duke froze, his eyes flying to Penelope. He slowly stood up, the smile vanishing.

  “Miss Fairweather, I would like to see you in my study. Please finish your breakfast first.” He spoke calmly. The sadness that had glittered in his eyes earlier that morning was replaced by something worse. Blankness.

  Silence reigned after the duke’s departure.

  ***

  The duke was not happy. In the last five years, he could not recall a single moment when he had felt this miserable. It was women who made men miserable, he reasoned. Women who came rushing into a bachelor’s life like an unwanted pup. Instead of slippers, they chewed up feelings, destroyed a man’s favourite possessions, took up all of your time, and then looked at you with big innocent eyes that seemed to say— who me? I would never.

  Pushing aside the ledger, he wondered what to do about Miss Fairweather. All his plans had come to naught, and with his mother supporting the mosquito, things were looking dire.

  “Your grace?” Theodore squeaked.

  The duke slammed the ledger shut. He would have to plan something soon. She was getting bolder and bolder, even daring to make him laugh.

  “Your grace, it is a matter of great urgency. The Desmond house is stinking of –”

  The duke’s head snapped up. “Stinking? How bad does it the smell?”

  “Very bad, your grace. One of the girls swooned.”

  “Stinking enough to have a girl swoon. That’s wonderful, Theodore. Best news I have had in days.”

  “Your grace, but—”

  “Theodore, that will be all. We shall discuss the rest tomorrow. Oh, and leave a small map of where the Desmond house is located on my desk before you go.”

  “But your grace—”

  “Later, Theodore.”

  The man’s whiskers trembled agitatedly, but he did as he was bid. He left the map and departed.

  ***

  “Come in.”

  Penelope gathered all her courage and walked into the study.

  The duke sat at his desk twirling a miniature globe. He did not look up when she entered or acknowledge her presence in any other way. He continued playing with the orb while she stood nervously shifting from foot to foot.

  He was lost in thought, his eyes unfocused. Whatever he was thinking seemed to be making him angrier and angrier. And with his rising emotions, the globe spun faster. But it was only when he suddenly stilled the globe that Penelope began to worry.

  He finally looked up and gestured towards the chair.

  Penelope chose to stand. It would be easier to run that way.

  His mouth twisted humourlessly. He guessed her thoughts and strode past her towards the only entrance in the room. He stood with his back to the door blocking her only escape route.

  Penelope met his eyes boldly, refusing to be cowed. This time all she had done was make him laugh. That was not a crime.

  “You pinched my ear,” the duke said indignantly.

  Penelope examined the carpet.

  “After that you proceeded to get drunk at the dinner table.” The duke started pacing up and down the room. “You befriended my mother and sister and manipulated them to such an extent that my mother, who always heeds my advice, stopped listening to me. And Anne, under your influence, has become flighty and disrespectful. I asked you to leave and you refused to follow my order. What self-respecting woman will continue to stay in a place where she is clearly unwanted?”

  A tiny frown creased Penelope’s brow.

  “You are a terrible influence on my sister. I am sure you will do something that will malign your character and that in turn will reflect on Anne, who is forever seen in your blasted company.”

  Penelope’s head shot up and she glared at him.

  The duke continued raging, “Why do I judge your character so harshly? Firstly, you tried to seduce Lord Poyning. A man and a woman do not escape to a dark corner on a balcony away from prying eyes to discuss the weather. They want privacy for a reason and that reason is—”

  “I did not try and seduce him,” Penelope finally snapped.

  “Secondly,” the duke continued ignoring her outburst, “when your plan failed to trap Lord Poyning, you started making eyes at Lord Rivers. You, Miss Fairweather, are fickle in your affections.”

  “I—” Penelope started to say.

  The duke cut her short, “And thirdly,” he said walking up to her, “you tried to seduce me on your first day in London.”

  Penelope stepped back, and her legs hit the writing desk. “I did not try and seduce you. You kissed me.”

  “That was not a kiss.”

  The duke leaned over, forcing her to bend backwards. “My dear, Miss Fairweather, in conclusion, you are a doxie. In fact, worse than that, for doxies are paid for their services while you—”

  Penelope saw red and blindly grabbed the first thing that touched her hand. She lifted it up and the duke caught her wrist.

  “That inkpot, my dear, is worth more than you are. Drop it.”

  Penelope struggled. The inkpot fell on the carpet with a thud, but she did not give up. She squirmed to get away, and the duke caught both her wrists, refusing to let go.

  “Miss Fairweather, I will let you go if you promise to behave in a civilised fashion and stop this nonsense. No throwing things around.”

  “Why you �
�� you sapscull. I am going to promise nothing,” Penelope growled, stamping on his foot.

  “Ouch, Miss Fairweather, calm down. Stop it. Stop … Ouch.”

  The duke moved his large, leather clad foot back and Penelope stepped forward, stuck her tiny feet out and stomped again and again.

  “Doxie am I?” Penelope cried, blowing the hair off her face. “Your mother and sister do not care about my breaking your precious rules. In fact, they told me that you break them all the time, as do your exalted guests. Why am I being singled out?”

  The duke hopped from one foot to the other trying to avoid her stamping feet. And while their feet danced around the room, their heads continued to argue.

  “I stayed because your mother requested me to do so. Her promise to my dying mother means something to me, even if you do not value it. Besides, I have nowhere else to go. My stepmother has forbidden me to return to Finnshire.”

  “I don’t blame your poor stepmother. Having a wild child like you thrust upon her unsuspecting bosom …,” the duke started to say when Penelope raised her knee in an attempt to hit him between his legs. Instinctively the duke’s leg bowed and he lost his balance and fell backwards, landing on the couch. Penelope ended up right on top of him.

  “My stepmother hates me …” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

  “Can you blame her?” the duke asked incredulously.

  She looked up at his face and spat out a button, “I am not leaving. You can take it up with your mother. If she tells me to go, then I will go.”

  “She won’t tell you to go. You tell her you want to go.”

  Penelope scowled at him.

  “You tell her you want to go,” she mimicked in a child’s voice.

  “I don’t like you,” he said scowling back.

  “We established that,” she retorted, trying to get up. She fell right back on his chest.

  “I have a proposition.”

  She eyed him in shock.

  “Not that sort of proposition,” he said hastily. “I want you to clean the house.”

  Some of the steam went out of her, “Clean the house? The servants …”

  “Not this house, the Desmond house.”

  “Desmond who?”

  “Desmond was a head gardener. My grandfather had built a house for him near the Blackthorne Mansion. The house now lies empty, hidden between trees ….”

  “And you want me to clean it. Why?”

  “It is a very dirty house. It needs cleaning.”

  “But why should I clean it?”

  “It is a wager. If you clean it alone and within a day, then I will allow you live here for the rest of your life. I will consider all your debts paid. I will never ask you to leave. I will tolerate you like I would a rat in the basement. You will live here and I will live here under the same roof,” The duke shuddered and continued, “and as long as we keep away from each other, then all will be well.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “Then you will pack your bags and convince my mother that you want to go back to Finnshire. My mother can override my wishes, but she cannot force you to stay if you insist that you want to go.”

  “How big is this house?”

  “Four rooms. I am sure you can manage that much.”

  Penelope eyed him suspiciously.

  “Big rooms or small rooms?”

  “Smaller than the rooms here, I think. I am not sure.”

  This did not sound so bad. If she managed to do this, then the duke would stop trying to send her home. It was worth the risk.

  “I will do it.”

  The duke smiled at her.

  “I knew you would agree.”

  They suddenly became aware of the fact that they were still lying on top of each other. The duke sprang up and helped Penelope to her feet. He went to his writing desk and pulled out a small map.

  “This is where you will find the house. Remember, you cannot take anyone along to help you.”

  Penelope, wanting to do things right, spat on her hand and offered it to him to seal the bargain.

  The duke eyed the spit glistening on the palm of her hand. He gingerly shook two of her fingers.

  Penelope tried to take her fingers back, but he held it fast. He was staring at the red marks on her wrist.

  “I did not mean to … Put some salve on that.”

  “I will,” she replied, smoothing her skirts and her hair.

  The duke looked away and gestured towards her chest.

  “What is it?” Penelope asked.

  “There,” the duke replied, pointing vaguely towards her bosom. He refused to look in her direction.

  Penelope glanced down at her chest and noticed that a button had slipped open. She squeaked and turning around slipped the button back in place. Facing the duke once again, she inclined her head politely and strolled out of the room.

  It was a truce for the moment.

  Chapter 24

  While the occupants of the Blackthorne Mansion snored, Penelope woke up and stretched luxuriously. She felt content, warm and happy. The season was going as well as could be expected. She no longer flinched when a butler announced her name. Sir Henry, Anne and the dowager had accepted her. The lessons with Madame were progressing well, and most importantly the duke had finally decided to give her a chance. All she had to do was clean the dirty Desmond house. Thereafter, she would have nothing to fear.

  She threw the covers aside and reluctantly stood up. A peak out of the window showed a pretty pink sky. She quickly changed, and carrying a broom and a bucket full of cleaning brushes, mops and rags, she made her way outdoors.

  The bucket was heavy and she often had to stop and rest, but she didn’t mind for it was a wonderful morning, neither too cold nor too hot. The flowers bloomed, the birds chirped, and the scent of sweet grass filled the air. Whistling a happy tune, she strolled towards the Desmond house.

  ***

  Londoners, with their noses pressed to cold windows, smiled, for a mid-summer storm was raging across England. Zeus had blessed their land, taking away the bright happy sun, and replacing it with gusty winds, lashing rain and utter misery.

  The duke sat in his study looking over accounts. His eyes rapidly scanned the numbers while Theodore’s whiskers nervously twitched.

  “About the Desmond house, your grace…” Theodore squeaked.

  “Yes, I have asked someone to clean the place … Did I mention it to you?”

  “No, but if we are lucky the storm will do the job.”

  “The storm?”

  “Yes, I am hoping that the storm will pull the house down, if not completely, then at least partially. It will make our work easier.”

  The duke’s eyes snapped up. He asked slowly and carefully, “What do you mean pull the house down? I thought you said the trouble was the smell?”

  “Yes, the smell was from rotting wood and mould. The house has lain empty for years since Mr Desmond died. Mrs Green’s son recently married, and I thought it would make a wonderful present for her son if we gave them the house to rent at a low price. I went to inspect it and a beam almost fell on top of my head. I was afraid someone may decide to spend the night there and end up getting killed. I tried to tell you this, sir …”

  “How bad is the state of the house?”

  Theodore trembled at the duke’s tone, “Most of the wood has rotted and the ceiling is hanging dangerously low. The walls have cracks in them. We can’t do much about it except burn the remains and build a new house from scratch. Don’t worry, sir. I have another property in mind for Mrs Green’s son …”

  The duke circled a number on the ledger. He handed the book to Theodore and said calmly, “This is not adding up. I will leave you to finish the rest of the work here. I have some business to see to. Handle anything urgent.”

  “Yes, your grace,” he replied, his face wrinkling in confusion.

  The duke’s black shoes clicked down the hallway towards the morning room. He had last
seen Penelope at Lord Henley’s dinner party last night. This morning she had not come down for breakfast. Everyone had assumed that she had been tired from all the late nights and had decided to sleep in late.

  “Mother, have you seen Miss Fairweather? Anne?”

  “Charles, we were just coming to you. She has not been in her room since early this morning. Her maid was worried and just informed us of her absence. I hope she did not go out for a walk and is now caught in this dreadful storm somewhere. It’s been hours, Charles …,” Anne said worriedly.

  “She is a country girl. I am sure she will be fine. Nevertheless, I will try and find her. She must have taken shelter nearby and is waiting for the weather to settle. Calm down, Annie. Mother, I will be back soon.”

  The duke had spoken soothingly. His heart, though, was pounding. The moment he closed the door of the morning room, he started running. He stopped long enough to scan the contents of a map lying in his study. Thereafter, he made his way out of Blackthorne Mansion and into the raging storm.

  Outside the world looked more like late evening than mid-morning. Black clouds engulfed the sun, while the wind snapped branches of trees, ripping the delicate vines apart. The rain cascaded down like a broken faucet and the flowers bowed under the onslaught. The earth had turned muddy, slippery and dangerous.

  The duke ran most of the way, heedless to the wind and rain stinging his face. When he reached the Desmond house, he found the door was hanging off one hinge and the wild wind was swinging it madly.

  He caught it and held it, his heart in his mouth. All he could see was darkness, and the tinder box lying in his pocket was soaking wet.

  “Penelope,” he roared, trying to shout over the raging tempest.

  He called her again and again, his ears straining to hear the sound of her voice.