Penelope

by Anya Wylde

  “But—”

  “Your grace,” Mary said, coming up to them.

  The duke stopped frowning, “Ah, Mary, how are you feeling now?”

  “Your tonic worked boootifully, your grace,” Mary replied, turning pink in pleasure.

  “Good. Let me know if you need it again,” he said.

  Mary nodded frantically.

  He smiled at her and then without a backward glance at Penelope strode off towards the Blackthorne Mansion.

  “Mary, when did you become so friendly with the duke?” Penelope asked in confusion.

  “Miss Pea, you will late for your meal. Hurry now. The dowager was asking for you …”

  “Mary!”

  “I am telling you, Miss Pea. That day while I was cleaning his room, he came in to look for something. I was a little scared, but he soon put me at ease. He is really very nice. We had a long talk and he was all concerned about me head and—”

  “What did you talk about?” Penelope interrupted.

  “Oh, lots of things. Finnshire, your sisters, Periwinkle the pig …”

  “Did … did he ask about me?” she asked, pretending to be nonchalant.

  “Oh yes, he asked if you had a habit of throwing things at people. I told him about the time you threw—”

  “What else?” she cut in hastily.

  “He said you should have been a carrot head. ‘Orrible temper you have, he said. I agreed. But I told him that it lasts only a few minutes, and then you are happy as a bee.”

  “And?”

  “Then he wanted to know about the goat. What Lady Bathsheba eats and if we should find her a Lord Bathsheba. We discussed the smell of polish. I told him that there are two kinds of people in this world. Ones that don’t like the smell of polish and ones that do. Mostly people like the smell of polish, but he said he didn’t care either way. I have never met anyone who did not care about the smell of polish before and I …”

  Penelope tuned her out. She leaned against the entrance of the Blackthorne Mansion and stroked her temple. Insulting her one moment and flirting the next, befriending her maid, wanting kisses … The duke and his odd manner were giving her a frightful headache.

  When Penelope entered her room later that afternoon, she found a giant, warm fruit cake fresh from the oven sitting in the middle of her bed.

  She picked up a slice and whispered, “To hell with the rules,” and took a giant bite.

  ***

  “Fruit cake?” Penelope offered.

  Anne shook her head, her smile tight.

  Penelope pretended not to notice the waves of hostility shooting out of Anne. She cheerfully took her place on the bed.

  “You need to get out of the quilt. You must be roasting,” she said, trying to pull the quilt off Anne.

  Anne gripped the blanket and glared at her, “I am not hungry, and I am not warm.”

  “Annie, Annie, Annie … don’t lie to me. You want me to empty this icy jug of water over your head. Admit it. No, you really want me to empty it over your head. You will be cool in a moment. This summer heat …”

  Anne squealed, hopping off the bed, “Don’t, Penny, please. I will never forgive you …”

  “Then sit down and promise you will talk to me,” Penelope threatened, waving the jug in the air.

  Anne glanced at the basin of water lying on the washstand.

  Penelope, guessing her thoughts, blocked her path.

  Anne huffed, “Fine, I will talk to you. I promise.”

  Penelope smiled in triumph, “Now, why are you sulking?”

  “You heard my brother.”

  “You did not give him a chance to speak.”

  “He insulted you and … and he does not approve of Lord Poyning.”

  “Have you considered asking him why he disapproves?” Penelope asked carefully.

  “He will never tell me. He thinks I am ten years old instead of twenty. ‘I want to protect my little Annie from the big bad world’,” she mocked.

  “You hurt him, Anne.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek. “I know,” she whispered.

  “He is terribly unhappy. Please speak to him. He may have a good reason for disliking Lord Poyning. I think he does. Hear him out …”

  She dashed away her tears, her eyes sparkling in anger. “So now you are on his side? You are supposed to be my friend, not his. Have you fallen in love with him? I know you have. I have seen the way you look at him. It is obvious to everyone… and he is to marry Lydia. The icy Lydia Snowly, whom I loathe. Did he consider my feelings before proposing to her? I will have to live under the same roof and see her sly face every day. If he can marry that sour faced woman, then why can’t I marry someone I love?”

  “Anne …”

  “No, Penelope. I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say. You are simply jealous because I have a chance of marrying Lord Poyning while you …”

  Penelope looked away, her face stricken.

  Anne caught her hurt expression and her anger quickly deflated.

  “Penny, I was cruel …”Anne said in a small voice. “I am sorry. I … I am just so angry that I … Oh! I am so muddled, I don’t know what to do. I am sorry that I said you are in love with Charles. I promise no one else is aware … I shouldn’t have said that or that you are jealous. I know you are not spiteful.”

  Penelope nodded briefly. Her eyes darted away from Anne and fell on the open wardrobe.

  The two sat in awkward silence, each waiting for the other to say something.

  Finally, Penelope stood up and turned to leave.

  “Penny?” Anne called piteously.

  Penelope ignored her. She straightened her back and blinking away unshed tears walked out of the room.

  Chapter 31

  “Lady Bathsheba, I have news,” Penelope announced.

  The goat sniffed at the grass and choosing a particularly juicy piece nibbled delicately.

  “I had a proposal.”

  Lady Bathsheba spat out the grass and cocked her ears.

  “You heard that right. Lord Worsted proposed to me. He asked me to marry him.”

  Lady Bathsheba eyed Penelope. The grass was forgotten.

  “This is how it happened,” Penelope said, plonking herself down on the grass next to the goat. “The duke had a dinner party last night. And before you ask, no, that snarly Lydia Snowly did not attend. But Lord Worsted was among those who did attend. It was almost the happiest day of my life. He is a lord, with a reasonable income and extremely nice.”

  Lady Bathsheba seemed to nod.

  “He cornered me on the balcony with a hot toddy in his hand. The toddy is important as you will learn by and by. He complimented me on my dress and then launched into a heart-warming proposal. It was all so sudden. I didn’t know what to say. I was wondering if I should accept, since Lord Rivers has stopped calling on me, and to be honest I see no other prospect … and Lord Worsted was so effusive and elegant in his speech until he took off his gold spectacles to clean them. They, you see, had fogged up from the steam coming from the hot toddy. He then apologised profusely, for the girl he thought he had been proposing to through foggy spectacles on a dark balcony was Miss Dorrit. I am, unfortunately, not Miss Dorrit …”

  Lady Bathsheba stood up, turned around, and swishing her white tail walked off in disgust.

  Penelope sighed.

  “Yes, well I thought you should know,” she muttered to no one in particular.

  “Talking to yourself?” the dowager asked, coming up to her.

  “No, to Lady Bathsheba. She abandoned me but a moment ago,” Penelope replied leaping up.

  “You shouldn’t sit on the grass, my dear. Your skirts will stain.”

  “Sorry,” Penelope mumbled, dusting her skirts.

  The dowager tucked a hand under her arm and started walking.

  “You have fought with Anne, and now you are refusing to speak to her?”

  “Yes, I … err …”

  “Splend
id. That girl needs to learn that she cannot have her own way every time. You have changed, Penelope, and for the better. Not just your appearance, but something in you has changed. A month ago you would have gone running to appease Anne. Now look at you.”

  “Yes, well ….”

  “Let her come to you. Spoilt her rotten, I have.”

  “The duke thinks that he is the reason she is spoilt.”

  “Then I wholeheartedly agree with him. He is entirely to blame,” she said comfortably.

  They skirted a rose bush and sat down on the fountain steps.

  “Penelope, I don’t want you to speak to Anne until she approaches you herself, but …”

  “But?” Penelope prompted.

  “I know her. She is in one of her moods and I am afraid she may do something silly. Keep an eye on her will you? You will be attending all the social gatherings together, and she can hardly cut you in public.”

  Penelope pressed the dowager’s hand. “I will keep an eye on her. I promise.”

  The dowager stood up, “While you are at it, do something about Lady Snowly as well. I can’t stand the woman.”

  Penelope gasped.

  “My son is a nitwit and you are good at thinking up schemes, or so I heard. Get her out of his life,” the dowager said, pulling her up.

  They started strolling back towards the house.

  Penelope understandably knocked into three prickly bushes on the way.

  ***

  “Mother, will Miss Fairweather speak to me tonight at Kitty May’s ball?” Anne asked. Her fingers gripped the carriage seat as the wheels dipped in a pothole.

  “She is sitting right next to you. Why don’t you ask her yourself?” the duke grumbled.

  Anne ignored him and continued to eye her mother questioningly.

  The dowager sighed, “Miss Fairweather, will you talk to Anne during the ball?”

  “Please ask Lady Radclyff to raise the right side of her buttock. She is sitting on my shawl,” Penelope said, ignoring the question.

  “Anne, can you give Miss Fairweather back her shawl?” the dowager asked, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple.

  “Please thank Lady Radclyff—” Penelope started to say when the duke slammed the carriage seat halting her speech.

  “Enough, I am close to losing my temper, and I am warning you that if the two of you do not start behaving like ladies, then this carriage is going back to Blackthorne. Be civil or you will not be attending a single social gathering in future.”

  “We will behave,” Anne said quickly.

  Penelope ignored the duke, her hands busy smoothening her shawl.

  “Penelope?” the duke warned.

  Penelope gulped. It was that tone … the aristocratic tone that he used on special occasions, the sort of tone that set everyone around him bowing and scraping. No one dared to ignore that tone.

  She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Your grace, I am being civil. I have not proceeded to pull Lady Radclyff’s hair … yet.” Her voice was dripping sugar.

  Anne and the dowager gasped softly.

  The duke held Penelope’s eyes, and she bravely focused on a tiny freckle above his right eyebrow.

  A hint of a smile crossed his face and her eyes widened.

  “I suggest you stay away from each other tonight. No conversation, and if I catch you, Miss Fairweather …”

  Penelope’s gaze slipped. His deep, husky voice had not threatened this time. Instead, it had been filled with a wicked promise that trickled deep down into her belly making her shiver.

  Her stomach was still fluttering when she entered Kitty May’s ball, which was already in full swing. Everything glittered and sparkled, and the hostess was shining brighter than all the lamps in the room. Kitty wore a multi-coloured gown that hurt the eye. Penelope squinted through the garish colours, her mouth quirking in amusement. She automatically turned towards Anne to share the vision … but Anne was already moving away from her. She sent Penelope a forlorn look before disappearing into the crowd.

  A rush of loneliness swamped Penelope. She had always had Anne by her side at every social gathering. Truth be told, she had forgiven Anne. She wanted to speak to her and yet she did not know how or what to say. She acknowledged to herself that she was embarrassed. Embarrassed that Anne had guessed what she felt for the duke. She did not want to face the pity in Anne’s eyes. The duke was an engaged man and far above her station. She was not a fool and completely aware how hopeless the entire situation was.

  The dowager moved away to greet an acquaintance and Penelope stood alone amidst hundreds of people, her heart heavy.

  “You should talk to her,” the duke said gently.

  “I thought you did not want us to talk,” Penelope replied, surprised that he had come to stand by her side.

  “I didn’t mean it. I would like my sister to be friends with my…” he paused and then continued, “I want Anne to be friends with you.”

  “What were you going to say… my what?” It was out before she could stop herself.

  “Friend. We are friends are we not, Penelope?”

  “You don’t treat me like a friend.”

  “Hmm … I suppose I don’t treat you like a sister either. You are hinting at the kiss … Well, you will have to put up with it. In spite of your utter lack of skills, I am tempted to … Shall we be friends who kiss?”

  “Kissing friends? No, I think not. I would rather we were acquaintances. I see Lady Lydia Snowly across the room. There she is standing next to Anne wearing a beautiful red dress.”

  “Do you really want me to keep my distance?” the duke asked.

  “Don’t you want to dance with your fiancée?”

  “No, I don’t want to dance with Lydia. I would rather dance with you.”

  “I don’t understand you. Are you laughing at me or … oh, I don’t care. Don’t answer. I am going to speak to Anne, and before you assume that I am running away, then let me clarify that I am not. Not this time. I am simply concerned for my reputation.”

  “Your reputation is safe with me.”

  “I beg to differ, your grace,” Penelope snapped, walking away.

  ***

  Penelope fought through the crowd, peeking over heads and shoulders trying to find Anne. Soon she found herself stuck between two large bodies and her nose squashed into someone’s ample bosom. Breathing became difficult and her thoughts naturally turned morbid … A lot of people died these days, she mused, while trying to extricate herself. And the physicians said it was the water that did it … The poor drank only gin and beer, but they seemed to die faster than anything.

  The bosom moved and she emerged puffing on the other side. Perhaps lard made one live longer. The physicians had it all wrong. It was sugar and dripping fat that allowed the rich to live longer. No wonder so many aristocrats were fleshy. Her thoughts were substantiated by the sight of a large earl being carried across the room on a gold plated platform. He looked old. She added laziness to the list of things needed for longevity.

  She sighed as she stepped into an open space and finally spotted Anne disappearing onto the balcony.

  Unfortunately, the balcony happened to be on the opposite side of the room. She also spotted Lady Snowly looking radiant in green silk making her way towards the powder room. Her shoulders slumped. Why, she moaned silently, did this sort of thing keep happening to her?

  Finding no other way out, she squared her shoulders and plunged into the lethal arena once again.

  Squirming through the crowd, she chose another topic to muse over. This time the subject was even more morbid, namely Lydia Snowly. The duke was a goose for wanting to marry the likes of her. Lady Snowly would no doubt pick the duke’s flesh, and once she had ingested that, she would advance to chewing his bones. The poor man would have a short life. Lady Snowly was not a tigress. A tigress is a magnificent being. No, Lady Snowly was a mole. She appeared calm, beautiful and refined during the day, and at night she turned
into a mole, scrabbling through dirt in underground tunnels. She fed on gossip, her ears stuck underneath the floor boards of various households. She drank the hopes of debutantes, nibbled on the hearts of earls and viscounts, but her main course would be the duke. For dessert she would dine on Penelope.

  A little ashamed of her vicious imagination, Penelope blushed. She pushed open the balcony door and the rush of night air cooled her heated cheeks.

  She spotted Anne at once. She was leaning against the railing while a man was talking to her in low urgent tones. Penelope neared the couple trying to keep her footsteps silent. Anne spotted her before she could eavesdrop.

  The couple sprang apart and the lamp lit the man’s face. It was Lord Poyning.

  “Miss Fairweather,” Lord Poyning said, looking not a bit phased.

  Anne was artless. She blushed.

  “Lord Poyning, it is a lovely evening,” Penelope said, searching the two faces in front of her.

  “Made lovelier by your presence,” Lord Poyning replied promptly.

  Penelope could tell his heart was not in the compliment. She spied a white rose that Anne was attempting to hide in her skirts. It seemed Lord Poyning’s favourite girl for the night was Anne. She silently apologised to her friend for interrupting her romantic moment, but she knew it would have to be disrupted further.

  “I wanted to speak to Anne privately, Lord Poyning.”

  “I thought you were angry with her,” Lord Poyning said slyly.

  Penelope frowned. Anne had confided in him about that? When had they become so close, she wondered?

  A hint of irritation crossed Anne’s face. “Lord Poyning, I am awfully thirsty.”

  Lord Poyning was taken aback by her tone, but he took the hint and left to fetch Anne a drink.

  An uncomfortable silence descended on the balcony after his departure.

  “Poyning is a funny sort of name. Do you really want to be Lady Poyning?” Penelope said, trying to break the tension.

  “It sounds a bit like annoying,” Anne said, her lips quirking.

  “Is he annoying?”

  “I thought you were not talking to me,” Anne said, ignoring the question. She turned to look at Penelope and found her kneeling on the floor, her hands clasped together in appeal.