Penelope

by Anya Wylde

  The two girls emerged looking guilty, not at all surprised that he knew of their presence. He was, after all, Madame Bellafraunde.

  “You have questions,” he said, lighting his cigar and taking a puff. He stared out into the dark garden, the smoke curling out of his mouth forming perfect rings.

  “Madame Bellafraunde?” Penelope asked, still unsure of his identity.

  “Yes, Penelope, I am Lord William Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, and in some circles, Madame Bellafraunde.”

  “I don’t understand …” Penelope gaped.

  “Why do I need to dress up like a modiste when I am a wealthy marquis? It is not for money and that is all I can say for now.”

  “But … but you kissed a woman. We saw …” Anne spluttered.

  “I did kiss a woman,” he said, turning to face them. His eyes were shuttered, his expression giving nothing away. “It was unfortunate that you had to witness that. I was in a situation where I could not escape the kiss or give your presence away. Penelope, Lady Radclyff, would you keep this little incident to yourself? I cannot offer you any explanations, except to beg you to trust me. Can you trust me?”

  Penelope recalled the numerous times Madame Bellafraunde had come to her aid. She did not have to think twice. She promptly answered, “I trust you, Madame. I mean, Lord Adair.”

  “As do I,” Anne spoke up, though less confidently.

  He eyed them silently, the muscles in his face twitching with suppressed emotion.

  “Thank you,” he said simply. The soft words held a wealth of meaning behind it.

  Anne, feeling a little shaken, escaped back into the ballroom, and Penelope moved to follow her.

  The marquis halted her.

  “A word. Forget tonight’s incident. I am still Madame Bellafraunde for you, Penelope.”

  She nodded, her eyes darting to the French windows.

  “Penelope, you have caught the eye of many eligible men. You are a success, my dear.”

  She smiled wryly, “I think you are mistaken. No one has tried to woo me, my lord.”

  “Lesson number fifty two. Most men are lily livered. You have to encourage them, but then you have to notice them first. You have turned a blind eye to every man in the room except ….”

  “That’s not true!”

  He flicked his cigar away and sighed. “I am sorry, my dear, but I have to go. We can discuss this another time. Until then, remember my house is open to you when you need it.”

  “If I need it,” Penelope said, turning around. She wanted to escape to mull over all she had witnessed.

  “You are in love with the duke. You will need it, my dear.”

  Penelope stilled and slowly turned to face him.

  Darkness and flickering lamplights greeted her ashen face.

  Lord Adair had disappeared.

  ***

  Later that night…

  “Miss Pea, Lady Radclyff sent this note for you.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” Penelope said, tearing the envelope.

  Mary attacked Penelope’s hair while she was distracted with the note.

  Penelope quickly scanned the contents,

  I have asked fifteen different maids to wake me up tomorrow morning. The time has been confirmed. Come up with a new plan. Every other plan of yours has been horrid. Love Anne.

  Penelope crumpled the paper, wincing as Mary yanked her hair with an ivory comb. She was pleased to have something to think about other than Madame’s true identity and her parting words.

  Mary blew out the candle and Lady Bathsheba took her place on Penelope’s foot. Penelope sighed softly at the familiar weight on her legs and spent some time thinking up schemes for Anne. When the clock chimed four, her hand crept under the pillow to clutch the piece of paper lying there. She finally closed her eyes and slept.

  It was not Anne’s note that she squeezed in her fist, but the duke’s that said:

  ‘Thank you for staying’

  Chapter 28

  “Wake up.”

  “I will take you to piddle in a moment … a few minutes,” Penelope murmured sleepily.

  “What? I don’t need you take me to piddle. I want you to wake up.”

  “Lady Bahhh … thsheba … a moment.”

  “Your goat talks now, does she? I am warning you, wake up.”

  Penelope snuggled deeper into the quilt and pulled a pillow on top of her head.

  The pillow was plucked off and a big pitcher of water emptied over her head.

  “What, what, what… what.” Penelope spluttered wide awake and sprang out of bed.

  Anne stood grinning, holding an empty pitcher.

  Penelope glared at her. Quick as lighting she crossed over to the basin by her washstand and emptied the contents over Anne’s head.

  The two stood soaking wet eyeing each other in disgust.

  A loud snore distracted them.

  Anne glancing at the lump at the end of the bed asked, “I didn’t think goats snored?”

  “No one told Lady Bathsheba that,” Penelope growled.

  “Alright, I am sorry. You would not wake up and I had no choice … They will be here soon, Penelope.”

  “I could have caught my death,” Penelope replied refusing to thaw.

  “It is the end of May, and this room is like a monstrous roaring fireplace. If anything, I did you a favour by cooling you down. You were sweating in your sleep. Please, Penny,” Anne said, batting her lashes.

  “You will never drown me in my sleep again?” Penelope asked softening a little.

  “I promise. I brought you a cup of tea and biscuits.”

  “What hour is it?” Penelope asked, picking up the cup and inspecting the contents on the plate.

  Anne smiled. Her peace offering had been accepted and she was forgiven.

  “The clock had struck five when Bessie woke me up. It must be half past now.”

  “I have only had an hour of sleep,” Penelope groaned.

  “You can sleep in the afternoon. I will send a note to Madame and ask her not to come.”

  At Madame’s name the two girls became silent.

  Penelope sat on a chair by the desk, and Anne nudged the sleeping goat until she had space to sit on the dry part of the bed.

  “Do you think Madame lied about her bonnet jiggling for only men?” Anne asked.

  “Can it jiggle for men and women?” Penelope countered.

  Anne shrugged, “She is mysterious and her knack of knowing everything around her is uncanny. I think she is a witch…”

  Penelope did not laugh, “She might as well be. I think her choices are hers to make. She has been kind to me and kept all my secrets. I intend to keep hers. Although I am surprised that such a juicy piece of gossip has escaped the ton. How in the world did Madame manage that?”

  “The reason Madame is so choosey when it comes to her clients is because of her true identity, and only a handful of women know her secret. Mind you, if she wasn’t the best modiste in town with an invaluable expertise and a knack of ferreting out the dark secrets of her clients, she would have been unmasked years ago. Mother and I found out a long time ago, and we decided to respect her wishes because somehow we couldn’t help trusting her. Even now, I still trust her. She had to have good reason …”

  The girls fell silent. Penelope finished her tea and set the cup aside.

  “Was the river cold?” Anne suddenly blurted out.

  Penelope scowled. She had been avoiding discussing this for the last two days and she had hoped that Anne had got the message by now.

  “How did you end up nearly drowning in the Thames? I thought I was the intended victim,” Anne persisted.

  “As per our plan,” Penelope said through clenched teeth, “you were meant to jump into the Thames and pretend that you were drowning. Lord Poyning was to come and save you. I was keeping watch to give you the signal when the two men arrived. Lady Bathsheba had other ideas. A horse whined in the distance startling her. She escaped my hold an
d raced across the wooden plank that jutted out into the river. I followed and I slipped and fell.”

  “Lord Rivers did fish you out,” Anne consoled.

  “It was not romantic. It was a rotten smelling fish that he caught. The whole blasted idea had been terrible from the beginning. Lord Rivers was repelled rather than attracted by the sight I made.”

  “It was your idea,” Anne said under her breath.

  Penelope glared at her, “Madame said that men love damsels in distress. She failed to point out that damsels in distress look wretched, miserable and downright horrid.”

  “Men do love damsels in distress. We simply need to look lovely while fighting mortal peril.”

  Penelope stuck her head under the bed in search of her slippers. After a moment, her muffled voice hesitantly asked, “Are you sure … about Lord Poyning, Anne?”

  “What do you mean?” Anne asked sharply.

  “Do you love him?” she asked carefully, emerging with the slippers in her hand.

  “Of course. How can you even ask me that?”

  “I suppose … If you truly love him then … Well….”

  “I do love him with all my heart.”

  Penelope searched Anne’s face, and then satisfied with what she saw in her eyes she nodded. “I have a plan, but this time we will need to practice to make sure it all goes smoothly.”

  “I knew I could depend on you,” Anne said, clapping her hands.

  “How long do we have before Lord Poyning and Lord Rivers call on us?”

  “A few hours. They will be here by noon.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes, I was right behind Lord Martin when I heard Lord Poyning mention it to Lord Rivers.”

  “You mean that you were hiding behind the porcine Lord Martin and eavesdropping.”

  Anne did not deny it, but she did have the grace to blush.

  Penelope eyed her for a moment in mock anger, and then grinned and said, “Well done.”

  Anne grinned back.

  “Get dressed and meet me in the apple orchard in ten minutes. We need to get to work,” Penelope ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Anne said, saluting smartly.

  ***

  “Now, this is what I suggest. Instead of going to Hyde Park, we will stay right here on the Blackthorne Estate. We will have a picnic in the lovely oriental garden, and then I will mention how I would love to have fresh, crisp apples ….”

  “Apples are not in season,” Anne interrupted.

  Penelope stared up at the fruitless trees in the orchard. Her heart sank.

  “Curly lettuce is in season,” Anne said.

  “Lettuce is not romantic.”

  “Artichokes?”

  “Anne, I need a tree bearing fruit!”

  “Oranges? We have a few Spanish varieties growing in the orangery.”

  “Spanish oranges … that will do. After the picnic, we will head to orangery. You will climb a ladder and Lord Poyning will stand at the bottom to catch the fruit. I will take Lord Rivers away from the scene. Once I am gone, you will slip and fall into Lord Poyning’s arms. You will be in shock and pretend to swoon and then blink your eyes open and moan delicately.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Anne said, her eyes glazed.

  “Yes, well, now we need to practice falling.”

  “Why?”

  Penelope took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Anne, you have to look enchanting while falling. Only so much of your ankle must show. And you have to fall from the right spot. If he doesn’t catch you, then you may break your neck. I don’t want you dead.”

  “Why won’t he catch me?” Anne asked.

  “He might be distracted by a green spotted butterfly. I don’t know, anything may happen. I am not leaving anything to chance.”

  “You are awfully moody today.”

  “I have not slept,” Penelope growled.

  “No, I agree. We must practice. After the Thames disaster, you had planned to lock Lord Poyning and I in the barn … so romantic ... Anyhow, as soon as you did lock us in, that fool of a Lord Rivers promptly let us out. Your plans are dreadfully holey.”

  Penelope took no notice of her friend’s pathos. She set a ladder against a tree and climbed up to the third rung.

  “Let me try this first to get a feel of it,” she called down to Anne.

  She let her foot slip, and she tumbled to the ground rather more forcibly than was pleasant.

  “You,” she said, through gritted teeth, “were meant to catch me.”

  “You didn’t tell me,” Anne replied.

  Penelope heaved herself off the ground, ignoring Anne’s outstretched hand.

  “You will do the climbing and falling from now on,” Penelope snapped.

  Anne nodded meekly.

  ***

  The duke paused outside the orangery, his eye caught by the curious spectacle. Anne was climbing a ladder and then she was falling. He was about to run to help her when Penelope caught his sister neatly.

  He heaved a sigh of relief and turned to leave when Penelope’s voice stopped him.

  “Anne, your arms were waving and legs flying. We cannot have your petticoats on display. Do not forget your face. Keep it calm and serene.”

  Penelope was by now on the fourth rung, and then she was in the air falling towards the ground.

  Anne caught her and said, “You looked like a baby sparrow being tossed out of the nest by her mother for the first time. You were flapping.”

  “Yes, well that is why I suggested that we practice,” Penelope muttered.

  The duke watched the two climb and fall, over and over again. He scratched his head, and then decided to keep an eye on them for the rest of the day. They were up to something and he had a feeling it was not something virtuous.

  Chapter 29

  Penelope smiled at Lord Rivers.

  Everything had gone according to plan. Anne was currently climbing a ladder with Lord Poyning in attendance.

  Penelope was strolling far away from the scene of the crime dragging a reluctant Lord Rivers along. She halted in her tracks when she came upon a second ladder. Her mouth pursed in thought. She had, after all, practiced falling just as much as Anne.

  “Perhaps we should pluck some oranges as well, Lord Rivers,” she said, trying not to bat her lashes. Fluttering women alarmed the man.

  “Do we have to?” Lord Rivers asked feebly.

  “Please, you can hold the ladder while I climb up,” Penelope coaxed.

  “Yes, of course,” he replied reluctantly.

  Penelope smoothed her skirts, ran a hand through her hair, and then delicately stepped onto the first rung. Her face was a mask of serenity.

  It was on the fourth step that a vision of the duke touching her lips arrested her. Her eyes squeezed shut and her stomach clenched.

  “Not again,” she whispered in distress. Lately her brain had got into a nasty habit of conjuring up thoughts of the duke at the most inopportune times. It was like having some sort of a spasm that constricted her heart and wrenched her away from the world around her. The whole thing was dashed inconvenient, especially at times like this.

  She braced herself as the familiar bittersweet feeling of part fright and part pleasure washed over her. She recalled for the thousandth time the chaste, brief kiss he had given her that day in the carriage, the warmth of his hands when they had danced, and the elation that his laugh always ignited within her.

  She waited for the spell to pass. It always did unless ….

  She swayed, her heart thundering. She knew he was close by. Somehow she always knew when he was watching her.

  The ladder jerked under her and her eyes snapped open. The orangery, tree and ladder came into focus. She glanced down and stifled a squeal. She had climbed higher than she had intended.

  Once again the ladder wobbled alarmingly, and Penelope floundered on the fourth step, her sweaty hands clenched tightly in an effort to stay put. But the third enthusiastic nudge di
d her in and her foot slipped, her skirts flew, her arms flapped, and she toppled to the ground.

  When she opened her eyes, she found herself in Lord Rivers’ arms. The duke was kneeling next to him anxiously peering into her face. The duke, she moaned inwardly, had a knack of appearing next to her at the most inconvenient times.

  She calmed her galloping heart and muttered, embarrassed, “I am alright.”

  “Lady Bathsheba butted the ladder. You fell before I could steady it,” Lord Rivers informed her.

  The duke was silent. He grabbed her hand and yanked her away from Lord Rivers.

  “Meet me in my study,” the duke said, in a controlled voice.

  “Anne?” Penelope whispered, looking around.

  “Bring her along,” he ordered angrily, turning on his heels and striding off.

  Lord Rivers cleared his throat.

  “The duke looks upset. I think we should depart, Miss Fairweather. It is getting late.”

  Penelope nodded absently. She watched Anne appear through the trees looking happier than she felt. The plan had worked for her it seemed.

  After Lord Poyning and Lord Rivers departed, Anne asked cheerfully, “What do you think Charles wants?”

  Penelope did not answer. She had a sinking feeling that the duke knew what they had been up to.

  “I have much to tell you, Penny. Stop dragging your feet. Charles has warmed up to you. He is not going to scold. Maybe he has finally set a date for his wedding…”

  ***

  “Sit down,” the duke said, setting aside the ledger.

  Anne dimmed slightly at the look on her brother’s face, “What is it? Grandfather?”

  “He is alive and as well as can be. I want to ask you about the little incident in the orangery. Whose idea was it?”

  Anne paled. “What idea?”

  “The one that involved you falling off an orange tree and into the arms of an unsuspecting man.”

  “I slipped.” Anne squirmed in her seat.

  “I watched you both practice this morning. Now, whose idea was it?”

  “Mine,” both Penelope and Anne muttered together.

  “Miss Fairweather, how could you involve Anne in such schemes? I thought I had warned you.”