by Anya Wylde
It was her big, brown hopeful eyes that made him blurt out, “Fine!”
At the entrance the duke gathered her up in his arms. “The stones will cut your feet, and the slippers are too big for you to walk quickly enough.”
He deposited her in the carriage, rapped the walls to signal the driver, and then they were off.
***
Penelope, bundled in the corner of the carriage, did not dare make the slightest sound. The duke was looking grim, and he was likely to lash out at her if he remembered her existence. She watched him from the corner of her eye. The single lamp hanging from the roof illuminated his face. She had been amazed at how rapidly and calmly he had organised everything. He was so … wonderfully wonderful. Her eyes glazed over and a foolish love sick smile graced her lips.
He spoke, surprising her out of her daydreams, “I assume they are heading to Gretna Green.”
Penelope nodded, “Won’t the dowager worry when she finds you both gone?”
“I have instructed Hopkins and left a note for her. She will be alright.”
“I hope so,” her voice quavered.
“Don’t worry, Penelope, we will find her.”
Penelope bit her lip. She knew that he was the one overwrought with worry. He loved his sister more than anything in the world, and yet he had remembered to soothe her fears.
“I know you will,” she said confidently. Until then she had not realised how absolute her faith was in him. She was certain he would find Anne, and in time to stop the wedding. The moment she had told him about the elopement, her biggest worry had fled.
A brief silence descended on the carriage, and she almost didn’t catch his whispered ‘thank you’.
She leaned back in her seat and peered at the window. “Can we open the shutters?”
“No, the dust and stones may fly in and scratch you eye.”
“What hour do you think it is?”
“The milk maids are yodelling and the traders already screaming their wares. It must be around four in the morning.”
“Does London ever sleep? In Finnshire …”
“Farmers wake up early as well, Penelope. Close your eyes.”
Penelope closed her eyes. The rolling motion of the carriage, the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain on the roof, and the warm blanket soon lulled her to sleep.
The sun was peeking over the horizon when the carriage jerked to a stop. Penelope awoke to loud voices and commotion. The duke pushed her back onto the seat when she tried to get up.
“Stay,” he whispered, and then gracefully stepped out of the carriage.
Penelope sat twiddling her thumbs, and her leg tapped the floor impatiently. Another shout had her bounding across to where the duke had sat. The shutter was open on his side and she poked her head out.
A highwayman wearing a long, red silk cape and a black mask with an ostrich feather sticking out above his ear had a gun pointing straight at the duke.
Penelope did not pause to think. She wrapped the purple quilt around herself, and then flung the carriage door open and jumped down.
She ignored the other men standing around, her eyes on the duke. She went and stood in front of him protectively.
“You will have to shoot me before you get to the duke,” she announced bravely.
The gun in the highwayman’s hand dipped slightly.
“Let me inform you that I know a member of your fraternity extremely well. If he found out who you were threatening, then your little employment would be over in an instant.”
The duke gripped Penelope’s arm and tried to push her aside.
“Stop it,” he hissed in her ear.
Her hand sneaked out from under the quilt and she flicked his ear.
“Did you just flick me?” the duke asked annoyed.
“Keep quiet or I will do it again. I know how to deal with these people. I have experience,” she hissed back.
“Experience in handling highwaymen? Do you ever think? You could get us both killed. I was handling the situation …”
“I saw how you were handling the situation. He has a gun pointed straight at you, and you are—”
A throat cleared and Penelope snapped her attention back to the highwayman.
“Penelope, step aside,” the highwayman said.
“Jimmy? … Oh, I am so glad it is you. I thought it was …”
“Penelope, I said step aside. I want to have a word with this man.”
“But … but he is the duke … Jimmy?” Penelope said, her voice quivering in confusion.
“Do as he says, or once I am through here, you will be very, very sorry,” the duke growled, pushing her away.
Penelope stumbled and righted herself. She tried to take her place in front of him again, but his iron arm kept shoving her back.
“Now, the Duke of Blackthorne, I assume?” Jimmy asked.
The duke nodded.
“What are you doing with her at this hour?”
“I am on my way to save my sister. She has eloped with the wrong man. Penelope here is helping me.”
“Is he telling the truth?” Jimmy asked Penelope.
She nodded.
Jimmy paused.
“What are your intentions towards her?” he said, turning back to the duke and waving a gun in Penelope’s direction.
“Honourable.”
“Will you swear?”
“Yes.”
Jimmy lowered his gun, “Well, then it’s alright.”
“I am not done,” the duke said, scowling at Jimmy.
Jimmy grinned, “I did not think so.”
“What are your intentions towards Penelope?” the duke snapped.
Jimmy pocketed the gun. “She is the sister of my soul… soul sister.”
“You have a soul?” the duke asked incredulous.
“How poetic, Jimmy. He does so love poetry,” Penelope exclaimed proudly. He had let her precious duke go. All was forgiven.
“A poetic highwayman?” the duke asked.
“Well-read too,” Penelope said, stepping up to Jimmy and giving him a hug.
The duke grabbed her arm and yanked her back. His face was thunderous.
“Oh, I am sorry, your grace. I know why you are angry. I can exchange pleasantries later,” Turning to Jimmy, she said urgently, “We are in a hurry.”
“I understand. I will accompany you to a nearby inn. You can change your horses and refresh yourselves there, and I will ensure that at least part of your journey is safe.”
Jimmy shouted orders and a few men on horseback took their positions behind their carriage.
They were off once more with a retinue of robbers and thieves protecting them on all sides.
“How is your wife?” Penelope asked once they were comfortably seated inside the carriage.
Jimmy’s bottom lip trembled.
“Jimmy? Jimmy, what is it?” Penelope asked concerned.
“Pudding ran away,” he wailed.
“Pudding?” Penelope asked, glancing at the duke. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, Pudding,” Jimmy blubbered. “Pudding left her Boobookins.”
“Pudding is your wife?” Penelope asked carefully.
Jimmy nodded.
“The Cobra,” he sniffed, “whenever he successfully robs a man, he waits for his victim to depart, and he then lies down on the ground and does the Cobra dance—”
“Cobra dance?” Penelope interrupted, her eyes round as saucers.
“Yes, well, it is like this,” Jimmy said, mopping his face with a bright green handkerchief. He then stretched out on the floor of the carriage, nudged the duke and Penelope’s feet aside, and started twisting and moaning and shaking in an odd sort of way.
The duke and Penelope watched fascinated.
Jimmy got up after a minute of convulsions and brushed off the dust from his beautifully cut red velvet pants.
“My apple dumpling …”
“Who?” both the duke and Penelope chorused.
&nb
sp; “Pudding, apple dumpling … my wife,” he clarified. “She watched him do the dance. She was so enamoured by it that she left me and all our children.”
The duke awkwardly patted the shoulder of the gloomy thief.
“You should do the Falcon dance,” Penelope said after thinking for a while.
“Eh? What’s that?” Jimmy asked, perking up.
“I don’t know … Make it up …Something like this.”
Penelope started flapping like a bird, her neck bobbing like an owl.
Jimmy faithfully copied her.
“Bob once or bob twice?” Jimmy asked.
“Three is a good number. Bob, bob, bob, and flap. Bob, bob, bob, and flap,” she replied.
Thereafter, they spent some time deciding on the intricate details and the rhythm of the Falcon dance.
The duke closed his eyes, his lips pressing together to keep his laughter from bubbling over.
The carriage rolled to a stop. They had arrived at the inn.
“The Golden Pass,” Penelope read, and then turning to the duke said, “Your grace, do not eat the chicken here … I think, instead of chickens, they feed their customer crows. I dined here once.”
The duke couldn’t help it. He laughed.
Chapter 34
As soon as the duke stepped out of the carriage and into the blazing afternoon sun, Jimmy launched into activity.
“I have stopped robbing ladies ever since my apple dumpling left me, but I should have something …” Jimmy said, patting his cloak.
“What are you looking for?” Penelope asked, watching him shake out his red silk cloak and search all his fifty two pockets.
“I don’t have one with me …Wait, my men are guarding …” Jimmy muttered to himself, and leaped out of the carriage.
A moment later, he leaped back in and settled a large, intricately carved wooden box on the seat.
“What is it?” Penelope asked in a hushed voice. The box was beautiful.
“Apart from books, I have a penchant for collecting these,” Jimmy said, caressing the box lovingly. “I carry them with me everywhere I go. It hurts to part with a single one, but I think my soul would cry forever if I did not share it with you.”
“But what is it? And if it is stolen, then I am not taking it.”
“It is stolen,” Jimmy said, opening the box. “But I think you will agree that your need is greater than mine at the moment. Even your morals cannot quibble. You will take it.”
Penelope was quiet for a long time. She stared at the contents of the box and finally nodded.
“Thank you,” she said reverently.
Jimmy smiled in triumph and sorted through the contents; the contents being hundreds of combs and brushes of all shapes, sizes and colours.
“I would love to give you this beautiful ivory piece, but this would suit you better,” he said, taking out the sturdiest and ugliest wooden comb from the box. “It is not because I don’t want you to have a lovelier one …”
“I understand. Anything else will get stuck in my hair and break.”
“Precisely. Now turn around.”
“Do you know how to dress a woman’s hair?”
“You forget, I have daughters and they no longer have a mother. I had to learn how to braid. We had a nanny for the children. She stole my silver lampshade and ran away. I haven’t had time to find a replacement …”
“How could someone steal from you? You are a sophisticated thief,” Penelope said, turning around and letting Jimmy attack her hair.
Jimmy reddened, “I am pretty good at my job, but even sophisticated thieves like us can be duped. I had partaken of a little too much wine that night. Numnums had run away and I was feeling maudlin …”
“Numnums?”
“My apple dumpling, my pudding, my berry pie, blossom butt—”
“Your wife,” she hastily interrupted.
“Yes,” Jimmy sighed.
He manipulated her hair for a little longer and then said, “Here, I am done.”
“You are extraordinarily talented. Even Mary has never been able to make my hair behave so quickly,” Penelope said, inspecting her hair in a small mirror that Jimmy produced.
“It is a simple braid. The duke may return any moment. I had to work fast. At least you will no longer frighten the inn’s customers.”
“Jimmy, will I ever see you again?” she asked, setting the mirror down.
“Now don’t get all teary-eyed,” Jimmy said sniffing and wiping his eyes.
“I hate goodbyes,” Penelope said, a large tear trickling down her cheek.
“Then let us not say it,” he said, kissing her forehead.
Penelope offered a watery smile, and with a last wave and a swish of the cloak, Jimmy left her alone.
***
Penelope, bundled in the purple quilt, followed a flushed young lad towards the back of the inn. The bellboy refused to look her in the eye all through the walk up the kitchen stairs. The moment they reached their room, he scurried away.
“Your grace, that bell boy thought I was a loose skirt,” Penelope exclaimed as soon as she entered the room.
“I had to let him think that. I did not want anyone to discover that we were travelling alone without a chaperone. I was thinking of your reputation.”
Penelope hmmphed.
“Besides, you look ridiculous.”
“My hair is tamed.”
He blinked and eyed her from crown to toe.
“A vast improvement,” he said softly.
Penelope blushed. She avoided his eyes and glanced around the room.
Whoever had decorated the room must have loathed the owner. The colours were hideous, the furniture appalling and dusty. But that didn’t bother her. What did bother her was the queen size bed in the corner.
“Come here,” he said.
Her eyes flew to his, and she stepped back until her shoulders hit the door.
The duke sighed, “When will you stop backing away every time you see me? I have breakfast here. I want you to come and eat quickly. We only have half an hour.”
“We did not have to stop, not on my account,” Penelope huffed, making no move to join him.
“I needed to change horses … Now, will you eat something?”
She gingerly made her way towards the duke, her eyes wary.
“I am not going to kiss you, Penelope.”
By now her cheeks were the colour of ripe tomatoes, but she believed him. She walked more confidently and took her place next to him.
She finished scraping the last morsel off her plate when she caught the duke eyeing her strangely.
She followed his line of sight and looked down at herself. The quilt had slipped off her shoulders revealing her thin, pale peach silk nightdress. The plate fell from her hands with a clatter.
The duke turned his face away, a hint of red creeping up his neck.
A moment of uncomfortable silence later, he eyed her once again.
Her lashes fluttered. She had not managed to cover herself up.
“I said, I won’t kiss you,” he said, standing up.
“Yes, it would be a terrible idea,” she replied, standing up as well.
The quilt lay forgotten on the chair.
He moved towards her. She met him half way.
“It would be a terrible idea.”
Penelope nodded half-heartedly. “Terrible, terrible idea.”
“Why?” the duke asked, cupping the back of her head.
“Why what?” she asked dazedly.
“Why is it a bad idea to kiss? To kiss is good thing …”
“Kissing is good,” she said, nodding eagerly, “very, very good.”
“Then we shouldn’t be bad.”
“No, we should not …”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. He pecked her.
After all that intense eye contact, she had been expecting a proper kiss. She frowned. What the duke had given her was a platonic, dutiful, and an indifferent li
ttle kiss. The sort of peck the duke would give a dry, boring old grandmother. And now the blasted man was stepping … Penelope didn’t let him pull away. She caught the back of his head and pecked him back, her lips lingering a touch longer.
He frowned and pecked her again.
She gave a little stamp with her foot, grabbed his head and glued her lips to his refusing to let go.
He smiled against her lips and kissed her, not a peck this time but an achingly soft, sweet kiss.
She laughed and wriggled closer.
He made a funny little sound at the back of his throat and tugged her chin.
Her lips parted, his tongue delved in and the room spun.
Her hands tightened on his shoulders. And the next moment the two were wrapped in a passionate duel, the gentleness, laughter, and dusty little inn forgotten … until an imaginary Lady Snowly caught hold of Penelope’s ear and pulled her away from the duke.
He reluctantly let her go, his eyes questioning.
“Lady Snowly …,” she whispered.
“… is not here,” he finished huskily.
And then they jumped right back into each other’s arms and continued where they had left off.
A moment later a knock at the door had them flying apart. A maid had arrived with a fresh pot of coffee and a whole lot of awkwardness. The awkwardness did not die with her departure.
“Wrap yourself up,” he said, sounding as if he was in pain.
When her fumbling fingers refused to work, he roughly pulled the cloth around her, taking care to touch her skin as little as possible.
They were both breathing heavily by the time he finished.
“I am going down to the carriage. I want you to follow in a few minutes. Make sure no one sees you. Hide your face,” the duke said, avoiding her eyes.
Penelope squeaked something incomprehensible in reply to his departing back.
A few minutes later, Penelope poked her head out of the door and found curious beady eyes squinting at her from the room directly opposite.
They eyed each other, each acknowledging that something unseemly was going on. The woman blinked first, breaking the spell.
She smiled and Penelope fled.
“Someone saw me,” Penelope gasped, as soon as the carriage door was closed.
“Who?”
“She was oddly familiar… She looked like a mongoose, with a long body and a small head …’”