by Anya Wylde
“Lady Plasket,” the duke said, cursing under his breath.
Penelope paled, “The same Lady Plasket whose dinner we …?”
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“But she doesn’t know that you were in the room as well,” she said hopefully.
“On the contrary, I saw an eye peering at me from behind the door. I didn’t know whose eye it was until you described her. I thought it must be some dubious fellow concerned about his own privacy. Lady Plasket must have had an eye stuck to the door, especially after she saw me leave the room. The woman is a gossip. This is going to be all over the ton tomorrow.”
“I am doomed?” Penelope asked, in a small voice.
“Anne had stopped at this inn. I have sent a man to investigate. We should be able to apprehend them soon,” the duke said, ignoring her question.
“I am doomed,” Penelope announced to the green curtains. “I hope we find Anne quickly. I need to make a plan.”
“Plan?”
“Yes, I will have to count my pennies and book myself on the next boat to Ireland. No man in England is going to marry me after this,” she said unhappily.
“We will see,” the duke said, his eyes busy scanning the road.
A grubby child of ten rapped on the window three times. The duke left the carriage to talk to his informer.
The duke returned and almost immediately the carriage started moving.
“They are going to stop at Lord Rivers’ hunting cabin. It is not very far … They must have been afraid that I may catch up with them, which is why they barely stopped at The Golden Pass. They packed their breakfast and are planning to dine there. It is pure luck that I came by the information,” the duke told her.
After that, silence reigned in the carriage, with Penelope dwelling on the kiss and her dwindling future prospects. Soon her eyes became heavy and she nodded off, only waking when the carriage came to a halt.
“This is it?” Penelope asked, her voice husky with exhaustion.
The duke pulled out a box from underneath the seat. A sparkling sliver gun answered her question.
The duke stepped out of the carriage and Penelope followed. He seemed to have forgotten her presence, his eyes intent on searching the landscape.
A large hunting cabin sat in the middle of fat trees. The wild landscape blended in with the wooden exterior of the cabin. It was a pretty picture.
They made their way towards the entrance when loud shouts stopped them in their tracks. The voices had sounded familiar. After a moment of cocking their ears to ascertain where the noise was coming from, the two of them raced towards the back of the building.
Penelope and the duke halted in their tracks, stunned by the vision before them.
The giant cabbages growing in the vegetable patch were remarkable, but what was more remarkable was the fact that Lord Rivers and Lord Poyning were embroiled in a fight. It was not gentlemen fencing, nor was it a manly duel involving pistols. No, it was good old fashioned fisticuffs. They were going at it like enraged school boys, using hands and legs, and when it warranted, teeth.
Anne, the once graceful Lady Radclyff, was cheering from the sidelines. She was jumping up and down shouting encouragement and at times offering helpful tips. Interestingly, her kind support was all for Lord Rivers.
“Kick him between the legs, Rivers … That’s it. Now, punch, punch, punch the blasted man,” Anne screeched.
Penelope did not know what to make of it. The duke, too, was looking a tad lost.
A moment later, Penelope could take it no more. Taking a deep breath, she hollered, “Rivers, for goodness’ sakes, listen to Anne. Bend your knee … Now whack him on the head.”
The duke wanted to let Lord Rivers continue beating up Lord Poyning, but his mother would be worried. They needed to get back to her.
Reluctantly he roared, “Enough!”
Except for Penelope, no one ever dared to ignore that tone. Neither did Lord Poyning nor Lord Rivers. They let go of each other, eyes wary like two stray dogs meeting for the first time.
“Explain,” the duke said quietly.
Anne slinked towards her brother. Penelope imagined a tail between her legs.
“I was eloping with Lord Poyning,” Anne said shamefacedly.
“I gathered as much. Why were you screeching like a fisherwoman is my question. I noticed your loyalties have switched. You wanted your intended to be trounced soundly. Any reason?” the duke asked matter-of-factly.
“Yes, that was before I knew …”Anne stopped, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Can we sit somewhere and talk about this?” Penelope asked, her hands stroking Anne’s hair.
The duke hesitated for a moment, but at Anne’s pleading look, he nodded. He then ordered the two young lords to stay put until he returned.
The duke refused to enter the hunting lodge. Instead, they made their way back to the carriage. Once inside, Anne broke down into convulsive sobs. Penelope soothed her as best as she could.
“He is horrid, Penny, horrid,” Anne hiccupped, “Lord Rivers arrived just in time and told me everything. I did not believe him at first, but he showed me the letters. I had to believe that. I know his hand.”
“Hush, Annie, tell me from the beginning,” Penelope soothed.
Anne straightened and dashed a hand across her streaming eyes.
“That day when I fell off the orange tree … he … he caught me,” her voice became stronger as she spoke, anger replacing misery, “I thought our plan had not worked until he pressed a letter into my palm before leaving. He begged me to meet him at Kitty May’s ball. I met him and he confessed that he had loved me for two years. I was so happy. I thought he felt exactly as I had done all this time. He said that he been frightened of Charles, but he would have pressed his suit had I given him the slightest encouragement. He was flirting with you, Penny, to make me jealous and see if I react favourably.”
“Did you plan to run away that day?” Penelope asked.
“Yes. He told me that Charles would never agree to our marriage. He asked me to elope with him. After that argument with my brother where he made it clear that he would never accept Lord Poyning, I knew I had no choice. If I wanted to marry him, then I would have to elope. Thereafter, Lord Poyning sent me a note with the plan. I was to get into the carriage parked outside the Blackthorne Mansion at four in the morning. I did not know that you had tied that string to alert you if I left.”
“What did Lord Rivers tell you?” the duke asked gently.
“We reached the lodge and found Lord Rivers waiting for us. They had a huge fight, each hurling accusations at the other. Then Lord Rivers tried to tell me not to trust Lord Poyning. I wouldn’t listen to him, not until he showed me the letters.” Anne felt silent.
“What letters?” Penelope prompted.
Anne fidgeted with the tassels on her shawl, refusing to say anymore.
“Can I guess, Annie? I think I know …” the duke said softly.
“How?” Anne asked shocked.
“Did Lady Plasket see you at The Golden Pass?” the duke asked instead of answering her.
“Charles, are you a magician? She was going up to her room when she saw us ordering breakfast. I ignored her. I thought I would be married so it did not matter,” Anne spoke in awe.
“I need to do something. I will be right back,” the duke said shortly. He refused to say anything more and left the carriage.
“Anne, what letters?” Penelope asked again.
“I couldn’t tell you in front of, Charles, but now that he is gone, it will be easier. Quickly then let me recount what Lord Rivers told me. He showed me the letters that Poyning had written to Lydia. Lord Poyning is in love with Lydia Snowly.”
“Truly?” Penelope gasped.
“Yes, they were having an affair. Lord Poyning wanted to marry Lydia, but she refused because he had gambled away all his wealth and his title was not grand enough for her. Charles, on the other hand, is a duke and su
perbly wealthy. Hence, Charles and Lydia became engaged, but Lydia’s love affair with Lord Poyning did not end with the announcement of the engagement. On the contrary, Lydia, rotten as she is, decided that she wanted both men in her life, and hence she hatched a plan.”
“Lord Poyning would marry you and pay off his debts using your dowry and she would marry Charles,” Penelope guessed.
Anne nodded, “The trouble was that Lord Rivers had overheard their plan. He decided to keep an eye on Poyning pretending to be his friend. He wanted to attain proof before divulging the facts to the duke. Meanwhile, he never allowed Poyning to be alone with me for any length of time. And Charles’ protective behaviour towards me further thwarted Poyning’s attempts at courting me.”
“Goodness! Does the duke know?” Penelope asked.
“Lord Rivers contrived to have Charles find Poyning and Lydia in a compromising position. Charles caught them in such a state that it left no room for doubt. Charles made Lydia promise that she should cry of their engagement, and in return he promised not to fight a duel with Poyning and spare his life. Charles is the best shot in London.”
“No wonder I never saw them together anymore,” Penelope commented, her heart feeling lighter.
“Lord Poyning trusted Lord Rivers and confided in him his plans of eloping with me. After the duke caught Lydia and him together, he knew that Charles would never consent to our marriage. He needed to act fast, and I never stopped to think and agreed to the elopement. The romance of it all thrilled me, blinding me to all follies. Lord Rivers followed our carriage and met us at the inn. He was the one who suggested the hunting lodge. He didn’t want to air the truth in public. He wanted to protect me.”
“Lord Rivers seems to have gone to a lot of trouble,” Penelope observed.
Anne blushed, “He said he did it because he fell in love with me at first sight. And, oh, Penny, I never even noticed him. ”
“You have now,” Penelope said smiling.
“Change of plans,” the duke announced entering the carriage. “Anne, you are engaged to Lord Rivers. Penelope, you are now my fiancée.”
Chapter 35
Penelope stood at a window in the library of the Blackthorne Mansion. She stared out at the clear blue sky, the harsh sun pinching her eyes.
The duke sat at the desk glaring at her back.
Her voice trembled when she asked, “Why won’t you believe me? I never encouraged Anne to elope with Poyning. I only aided her in attracting his attention. I would have never let things go so far. Why would I warn you and help you find her—”
“I didn’t need your help. Your presence made things worse,” he cut in sharply.
Penelope felt a cold hand clutch her heart. “I see, I…I made things worse. If I hadn’t insisted on accompanying you, then Lady Plasket wouldn’t have seen us,” she whispered. “I made it worse because now, not only is Anne engaged to marry Lord Rivers, but you, too, have been forced to become engaged to me.”
The duke looked away.
“You want to marry me because Lady Plasket saw us, and that’s the only reason, isn’t it? You want to avoid a scandal?” Penelope persisted.
“What else could I do?” he asked roughly.
She stood waiting for him to say something more. Anything more. A long while later when he still hadn’t spoken, she left the room quietly.
***
Madame Bellafraunde rapped the wall and the carriage came to a halt on the Blackthorne driveway.
“Penelope,” she called.
Penelope kept walking, her eyes, ears and nose closed to the world around her.
Madame Bellafraunde exited the carriage and walked up to the girl. She stood barring her way forward.
“Penelope, I am here for your lessons … Penelope? Blasted, girl, look at me.”
Penelope looked at her.
“Where are you going,” Madame Bellafraunde asked, searching her face.
“Finnshire.”
“I see, and how are you going?”
“I will walk.”
“All those miles?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where is your luggage?”
“I don’t know.”
“What will happen to your maid Mary?”
“She will be alright.”
“And Lady Bathsheba? You are leaving her behind?”
Penelope paled. She turned back to look at the Blackthorne Mansion and let out a tiny sob.
“I was afraid of that,” Madame Bellafraunde muttered. Aloud she said, “Will you go back and fetch her?”
Penelope shook her head.
“You don’t want your goat?”
Penelope nodded.
“You want your goat, but you won’t go back to fetch her?”
Penelope nodded again.
Madame Bellafraunde grumbled under her breath. She then grasped Penelope’s arm and led her back to her carriage.
“I have to go to Finnshire,” she protested.
“Don’t be daft,” Madame said, shoving her inside.
The carriage started rolling again. And all through the ride Madame held Penelope’s hand, afraid she would fling herself out of a moving vehicle.
Penelope tried no such thing. She sat with her eyes closed, an occasional tear leaking down her face until they reached Madame’s home … or rather Lord Adair’s home.
Lord William Ellsworth Hartell Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, lived on an estate almost as large as Blackthorne. Apart from the size, the two had nothing whatsoever in common. The Blackthorne estate had well-manicured lawns. Lord Adair’s estate, Lockwood, also had lawns, or rather they were now ‘had been lawns’. Blackthorne had two hundred and fifty rooms functional all through the year. Lockwood had two hundred and fifty two rooms, of which only the kitchen, dining room, master bedroom, and a guestroom were usable. Blackthorne employed a large number of staff renowned for their skills. Lockwood employed a cook and a butler, both terrible at their jobs, but renowned for keeping secrets even under torturous conditions.
Penelope thought the wild, rough landscape of Lockwood was in tune with her mood. If one wanted to be truly depressed, then this was the place to be.
Madame gently led her across the hall, up the stairs and into a guest bedroom.
Penelope noticed none of the dust on the beautiful furnishings. Nor did she notice the ornate candelabras, the heavy drapery, or the echoing silence of the mansion. But she did notice the cobwebs on the walls of the guestroom. Her heart ached at the sight, and she wailed into a moth eaten pillow.
Madame let her cry for exactly fifty six minutes. She then went and dragged the girl down to the dining room.
“You are back to being Lord Adair,” Penelope sniffed.
“I am not comfortable in skirts,” he replied, shoving a plate of burnt toast towards her.
“Are you a spy?”
“We are here to discuss you, not me,” Lord Adair said, crossing his legs and taking out his cigar.
“Can I have a drink?” Penelope asked, watching him clip the end of the cigar.
“What would you like? Tea, coffee …?”
“Cherry brandy.”
“I have brandy, but it’s not cherry …”
Penelope started crying.
“Wait, perhaps I can get Jules to find some,” Lord Adair said hastily. He rang a bell and Jules appeared.
Jules was a young, handsome, and sprightly butler. He had a moustache adorning his upper lip.
Penelope looked at the moustache and thought it looked as if a caterpillar had died on his upper lip. Sir Henry would not approve. Her soft sobs turned into a heart-wrenching howl.
Jules departed quickly. She stopped crying.
“Life is complicated,” Lord Adair said, blowing rapid puffs of smoke rings. “Now, tell me what is torturing your soul?”
“I am the duke’s fiancée.”
“A vast improvement from Lady Snowly. I must congratula
te him. How did he propose?”
“He didn’t. He informed me.” Her eyes welled up again.
He offered her a smoke. She took one.
“You love him?”
“Yes.”
“Clip the end like this,” he said, taking the cigar and lighting it up for her. “Then what is the problem? You love him and he wants to marry you. You will be the duchess. What more can you want?”
“He only asked me because of Lady Plasket.”
“Lady Plasket?”
“She saw us together at the inn. I was unchaperoned.” Penelope sucked on the cigar.
“I am not going to ask you what you were doing alone at an inn with the duke,” he said when she had stopped coughing. “But, my dear, even if he did ask you to marry him because of some gossiping old woman, then how does it matter? You have got what you wanted.”
“But he does not love me,” she wailed.
“He will in time.”
“No, he will not.”
“I think I need to hear all about this inn business.”
She told him about Anne and how they had chased her down and stopped the elopement.
“And then,” she continued angrily, “when we reached home, he once again called me a pastoral nuisance, feral beast, intrusive pest …”
“This was before or after he told you that you are his fiancée?”
“After.”
“Muttonhead,” Lord Adair murmured.
“He said that I should have warned him about Anne the moment I discovered the travelling case shoved under her bed. He then went on to berate me for insisting that he take me along. He was angry that I had accompanied him in a purple quilt and flimsy peach night dress and no slippers. He …”
“He must have said all that because he was relieved …”
“He has often called me all sorts of names. If it hadn’t been for me, Anne would be ruined …”
“He will be nicer after the wedding. Men normally are.”
“He truly thinks that I am an idiot. He will never be happy with me. I am not good enough for him.”
“Has he kissed you?”
“Two chaste pecks. And then the next was … glorious. He said it was horrid.”
“And?”