Penelope

by Anya Wylde

“It was my idea,” Anne cried indignantly.

  “You are lying.”

  “I am not.”

  “Miss Fairweather?” the duke asked, turning towards her.

  “It was my idea,” Penelope replied, her ears turning red.

  “But I asked her to plan it,” Anne scowled, crossing her arms.

  The duke again turned to Penelope and raised a brow.

  Penelope nodded.

  “Anne, how could you follow some madcap scheme thought up by this ... imbecile? This … muttonheaded, niffynaffy, goose-witted mad woman. This loony rural—”

  “Charles! I will not have you insult Penelope in front of me. She has been kind enough to help me while you—”

  “Help you how? By making you look desperate?”

  “I am desperate, I had no choice,” she shouted. “You scare all the men away. I want to marry. It is your duty to help me and not thwart me every step of the way.”

  “I allowed Lord Beetle to approach you. In fact, I let him propose to you.”

  “I don’t want to be Lady Beetle. Who would want to marry a man called Beetle?”

  “Oh, and Poyning is better?”

  “He is handsome and we will make beautiful babies ….”

  “Anne!” the duke roared scandalised. His own sister talking of making babies…

  “The other man you allowed within a foot of me was Mr Appleby,” she continued heatedly. “He took me riding, and did you know I was asleep within five minutes of him opening his mouth? You only let the most boring, morbid men near me. Lord Berry, another suitor that you were kind enough to approve of, had the audacity to tell me that my eyes were big and beautiful just like his precious Nuggins. Nuggins is his toad.”

  “Anne, let’s talk about this,” he said soothingly.

  “No, you listen to me. I have been out for three whole years and I am still unwed. I don’t want to die a spinster. I don’t want to live with you and that horrid Lydia for the rest of my life. You have always dictated every step in my life ….”

  Penelope stood up. This was between brother and sister. She had no right to be here.

  “Sit!” both Anne and the duke roared.

  Penelope sat.

  Anne slammed a fist on the table. “Where was I? Oh yes, Lydia. Did you have a fight with her? I saw her cut you last night. Is that why you are taking out your frustration on me?”

  “Lydia and I are not your concern,” he warned.

  “Your attachments are not my concern? You can marry whom you like? You don’t care that I cannot stand the sight of her, yet you think you have the right to tell me whom to marry?”

  “I don’t need your permission to marry anyone, whereas you, my dear sister, need mine.”

  Anne pushed the chair back, her face livid. “I have sat out most dances because of you. You are the reason that no one dares to approach me. I don’t want baubles. I don’t want you to fill my sight with flowers. I want a husband and babies.”

  “Really, you shouldn’t mention wanting babies in front of me. It is not seemly …”

  Anne walked out before he finished his sentence.

  The duke looked at Penelope.

  Two large tears rolled down her eyes.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked frowning.

  “You fought with Anne,” she said, shedding more tears.

  He came around to her side, “True, but neither Anne or I am sobbing. Then why in the world are you?”

  “Because you fought and you lub each other,” she blubbered.

  He hastily produced a large snowy handkerchief and shoved it in her hand.

  She blew her nose. Loudly.

  He backed away when she tried to hand the handkerchief back, “You keep it. Is that the only reason why you are crying?”

  “And Madame said that I am in …” Penelope closed her mouth and leapt off her chair.

  The duke’s arm shot out, blocking her escape. “You are what?”

  “You are a little possessive of Anne. You shouldn’t dictate her every move,” she said calmly, ignoring his question.

  “You know, I have never seen anyone stop crying so fast. Your tears have all dried up. It is remarkable.”

  He took her chin and tilted it up.

  “Do you know something else?” he asked softly.

  She mutely shook her head.

  “You, Miss Fairweather, are more than a little strange.”

  He smiled at her and she smiled back.

  “We are friends are we not, Penelope?”

  “Friends don’t call each other names. You called me an imbecile, muttonhead—”

  “I am sorry,” the duke cut in.

  Penelope’s mouth popped open, “That’s the second time you have apologised to me, your grace.”

  “It is hard the first time. Thereafter, it rolls off the tongue.”

  “I see. Well, I think I should go talk to Anne. She is distraught ….”

  “I know her. She is best left alone in that mood. Speak to her in the evening. Besides, I have something further to say to you.”

  “I am not going to apologise for helping Anne ….”

  He held his hand up, silencing her.

  “I am not asking you to apologise. I think it is mostly my fault. I have spoilt the girl rotten. I was forced to become her brother, friend, confidant and father at the age of seventeen, and perhaps I didn’t know how. I was too young and the habit stuck. I had to protect her from Sir Henry’s strict views on how a girl should be brought up. In short, he wanted me to ignore her. I did the opposite. I became possessive, showered her with affection … Now it has all come back to bite me in my … err … what I mean to say is that perhaps you are right. I should stop ordering her around.”

  Penelope was impressed. The duke seemed to be taking Anne’s outburst and their little adventure fairly well. He dispelled her glowing thoughts the very next moment.

  “Is Anne is love with that shabbaroon?”

  “Who?”

  “Poyning?”

  Penelope turned a gimlet eye on him, “Ah, so all this sweet talk and pretending to be remorseful was to get this answer out of me?”

  “Is she truly in love with him or is it a passing fancy?” he coaxed, stepping closer to her.

  “I am not answering that,” she said, suddenly finding it difficult to breath.

  “Hmm. Will you tell me if you are in love with Lord Rivers?”

  When she did not reply, he bent his head and peered into her face trying to catch her eye. “You fell off the tree into his arms. He was your intended target, was he not, Penelope? Are you in love with him?”

  She shied away from his searching gaze.

  “I don’t know what love is.”

  “Does he make your heart beat when he comes close to you?”

  Penelope’s heart hammered.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  He caught the back of her head and forced her to look at him.

  “Do you tremble at his touch?”

  She nodded mutely, gripping her hands on her skirts to stop them from shaking.

  “Then you, country girl, are in love,” the duke whispered, bending down to kiss her.

  This time his kiss was not chaste, nor was it fleeting. It was demanding, desperate, passionate.

  Her toes curled and she stopped breathing.

  ‘When you are in love, Miss Pea, your toes will curl’ Mary’s voice whispered in her mind. She squished the voice away and concentrated on the duke’s mouth moving over her lips expertly, sensually.

  Sharp, sweet sensation raced through her limbs.

  In the distance church bells pealed, and slowly the soft sounds of a violin filtered through the fog in her brain. Soon a piano joined in and then a harp. A couple of flutes later, an entire orchestra was playing in Penelope’s head.

  When the angels started singing, Penelope could deny it no longer. Her mother was prancing about with a cupid sending her a clear message straight from heaven.

 
She was truly, madly and deeply in love with the duke …

  … and the duke was to marry Lydia Snowly.

  She broke the kiss and with it her dreams shattered.

  She did not look at him, afraid he would see the emotion shimmering in her eyes. Instead, she did the only thing she could.

  She fled.

  Chapter 30

  Penelope inspected the slice of fruit cake. It was a little dry but edible. She picked out a raisin and popped it into her mouth.

  Penelope was starving. She had missed dinner and breakfast, all because she couldn’t face him … not after that kiss … her first glorious kiss. Her eyes glazed over and she absently took a bite and chewed. Her eyes closed in pleasure. Whether it was from the sweet cake dissolving in her mouth or the kiss, she wasn’t sure.

  The sun beat down on her bare shoulders. Her primrose parasol that matched her walking dress lay abandoned on the garden bench. It was almost noon. The duke would be in his study. She leaned back and relaxed. For the moment there was no fear of running into him.

  “You are not a doxie.”

  Her eyes flew open.

  The duke stood squinting at her.

  “You! You were meant to be in your study.”

  “I was,” he replied, sitting down next to her. “Now I am not.”

  “I see,” she said, inching away from him and picking up her parasol.

  “Why are you sounding so odd. Do you have a cold? You are squeaking.”

  “No, I am f…fine.” She cleared her throat.

  “I wanted to speak to you …”

  Penelope prayed he wouldn’t mention the kiss.

  “…about your questionable character.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you had changed your opinion of me,” she said, digging the pointed end of her parasol into the earth.

  “Not entirely. The trouble was that I knew my past may be clouding my judgement, but then you had done nothing to dispel my fears. In fact, your conduct had been the complete opposite. I had misgivings.”

  Penelope frowned and stared at the ground. She had scratched out a heart with her parasol. Her foot shot out and she quickly rubbed it out.

  “But then I changed my mind,” he said. “In fact, I am convinced that you are innocent, white as a lily, pure as snow …”

  “What made you change your mind, your grace?” she asked, her heart pounding.

  “It was the kiss that we shared,” he replied, confirming her thoughts.

  He did not notice her blushing face and continued, “That kiss was … astonishing. I have never experienced such a kiss before in my life … you … you amazed me.”

  She squashed the cake in her fist. Her face was glowing in pleasure. “I … I amazed you …?”

  “Yes, by how bad you are at kissing. How could anyone not know how to kiss? It was terrible and so, so awful that I was forced to conclude that the reason you were so lacking in skill is because you had never kissed before. Do you see what you have done? You, my dear Penelope, have forced me, Charles Radclyff, the Duke of Blackthorne, to change my mind and present you with the title of non doxie,” he said pleased.

  Penelope grabbed her flowery bonnet and deposited it on her head. Next she snapped open her parasol and sprang off the bench.

  “You must be delighted,” the duke said, standing up to join her.

  Penelope started trotting towards the house.

  The duke’s long legs easily kept up.

  “Your grace?” she finally spoke.

  “Yes?”

  “In five years …”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you become bald,” she said coldly.

  “How could you?” he asked shocked.

  She didn’t reply.

  “You are angry,” he said, examining her face.

  “Not at all.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Your grace, what do you want?” she asked, glaring at him.

  “I want to know if Anne is in love with Lord Poyning. I know she has confided in you, and I am worried about her, Penelope. Lord Poyning is not the man for her. Can you not set your loyalties aside for a moment, for Anne’s happiness?”

  “Why don’t you ask her yourself, your grace?”

  “She is still angry with me. Besides, how can she confess such a thing to her own brother? She knows I don’t approve of Poyning. I detest the man, and you are wasting your time in trying to help her. I will never consent to their union.”

  “Your grace, I think if she truly loves him, then she will never be happy with anyone else. You cannot dictate her life. After all, you never asked her permission before choosing Lady Snowly.”

  “But does she truly love him?” he persisted.

  She refused to reply.

  “Anyhow, I do not need anyone’s permission to choose my bride, whereas Anne needs my consent,” he said irritably.

  Penelope started walking again. He was so unbearably arrogant. Everything had to go according to his wishes. He had no concern for his sister’s happiness. No wonder Anne refused to talk to him. What can you say to a stubborn mule?

  The duke grabbed her shoulders and forced her to turn around.

  “Don’t you dare walk away when I am speaking to you,” he blazed down at her.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she replied shortly.

  “Do you like Poyning?”

  Penelope stopped squirming under his grip. A hint of guilt flashed across her face.

  “Ah, so you don’t like him either. In fact, I remember that day on the balcony. You pretended to swoon in order to get away from him,”

  “I … I can’t like everyone that Anne loves.”

  “So she does love him,” he mused softly.

  Penelope met his eyes, her face stricken.

  “I tricked you. Don’t feel guilty. You are a remarkably loyal person.”

  He pulled her behind a large oak tree, away from prying eyes. He continued, speaking urgently, “I need you to trust me. Poyning is not the man for her… He is not a good man, Penelope. Believe me. I am willing to let Anne marry anyone she likes. Just not him. Tell me you will help me?”

  “What did he do?”

  “I cannot tell you, but I swear by my honour he is not to be trusted. He will ruin her.”

  “I need to know more.”

  “I would never hurt my sister. It is not his wealth or position that I am objecting to. I … I cannot say more. I wish I could.”

  Penelope heard the pain and the truth in his voice.

  She finally said, “He reminds me of an eggplant.”

  The duke’s mouth dropped open.

  “Did you say eggplant?” he asked after a brief moment.

  “Yes, eggplants are slimy and deceiving.”

  “Deceiving?”

  “They look so pretty and purple from the outside, like delectable, sweet crisp fruits. Instead, they are deceptive vegetables, stringy and slimy when cooked. I don’t like them.”

  “Ah, I see now. Lord Poyning is an eggplant.” He added thoughtfully, “I think he is a potato.”

  “Potato?”

  “Bland, insipid and tasteless. Potatoes take on the flavour of whatever sauce they are put into. No distinct flavour, no moral character … In fact, no character at all.”

  “Everybody likes potatoes. How can you not like them? That’s just odd.”

  “Everyone likes Poyning.”

  “I don’t,” she retorted, and then bit her lip. “I will try and speak to Anne tonight.”

  “Thank you,” he replied softly, his hand tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. The ringlet sprang back to kiss her cheek once more.

  “Rebellious,” he grinned, his mood lighter now that he had an ally.

  “Your grace,” she said, stepping away from him. “You should make up with Anne.”

  “Brothers and sisters fight a lot and all the time. You should know that. You have five younger sisters, after all. Within a few days all will be forgiv
en and forgotten. Don’t worry, Anne always comes to me when her head is cooler. She inevitably realises that I am always right. She will apologise.”

  “I think this time is different. I have never seen her so furious …” she said worriedly.

  “Penelope,” the duke cut in. “You are pretty.”

  She blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Pretty what?”

  “Just pretty. Fetching, attractive …”

  Her eyes skittered away. What, she wondered, was suddenly wrong with the duke?

  “Thank you,” she said doubtfully. She was waiting for an insult to follow.

  “Shall we kiss again?”

  “Your grace, have you taken leave of your senses?” she gasped.

  “Kissing is like apologising. It gets easier after the first time.”

  She caught his eye and realised that he was teasing her. His eyes were twinkling.

  She scowled. “We should return indoors. It is almost time for nuncheon and your rules …”

  “To hell with the rules,” he said lazily, stepping closer to her.

  “I am hungry. I dropped the fruit cake, my favourite … It was the last piece and the cook won’t make another for at least a few weeks now. It is strawberry cake next, and I am not fond of that … I am really very hungry. I should go ….”

  He placed a fingertip on her mouth to halt her babbling.

  He tilted her face up and looked into her eyes,

  “Madame has taught you well. You can conceal your expressions, but your eyes … so transparent… Your eyes give you away, Penelope. Every single time.”

  Penelope dropped her lashes.

  “You are nervous,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Are you flirting with me?” she asked finally.

  “And if I am?”

  “Then desist right this moment. I have been torn with guilt …”

  “Guilt?”

  “Yes, because … because of Lady Snowly! How could you kiss me when … however badly, but it was a kiss, and here you are flirting with me again….”

  His eyes turned cold, “You don’t need to feel guilty. If anyone should, then it should be me.” He abruptly added, “I think that’s your maid walking across the lawn.”

  “But—”

  “Go,” he said, lifting his hand and attracting Mary’s attention.

  “But—”

  “I thought you were hungry. Couldn’t wait for your meal?”