My True Love

by Cheryl Holt

  All she could hope for was that he would meet with her in the garden as they'd planned. If she was fortunate, perhaps he would visit on a few added occasions so that she would have a handful of marvelous memories to carry with her as she went down the road toward matrimony.

  Just then Colette entered. She was a thin beauty, several years older than Penny, who had been employed for her expertise in coiffeur technique and wardrobe management when Penny entered her teen years. Her hair was long and black, and she had dark eyes. Her skin was dark too, a strange sort of olive color that made her look as if she'd spent too many hours in the sun without a bonnet. An exotic woman, she was full of chatter about the people Penny knew—Penny's family members or the servants. Usually her tales highlighted their romantic woes, and it was from her that Penny had learned all she knew about physical love.

  As an unmarried female Colette was an endless source of information on numerous topics about which she shouldn't have known. She'd filled Penny's head with stories about male conquests and lovers, and she'd provided detailed insight and guidance concerning the masculine animal—with much of her wisdom apparently gleaned from personal experience. Whether Colette's copious adventures were true was a matter for debate, but she certainly told a good yarn and she absolutely adored scandal and intrigue. With her penchant for gossip, she could definitely put the women of the ton to shame.

  "Tell me!" Penny started to say impatiently the moment Colette stepped through the door. “What did you learn?”

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  "No one, they do not know anything"—her French accent was still strong, and anything came out as anyteeng—"but what His Grace has told them."

  "What is that?" Penny asked. Being desperate to know all, she had sent Colette on a mission to find out all about Mr. Pendleton: what he'd been doing in the house, how he'd caused such an enormous ruckus, why the duke's men were chasing him. She hated to think that the resourceful woman had returned empty-handed.

  "The monsieur was visiting His Grace on a matter of business."

  “But what about the gunshot?'' Penny exclaimed. “I thought you said everyone heard a gunshot. That Jensen saw the hole and smelled the smoke."

  "Oui! Oui!" Colette responded, waving animatedly. "Did I not tell you this is so?"

  "And?"

  "Your father, he says this was an accidente. That Monsieur Pendleton did not mean to do this harm to your mother's portrait. It was a problem with the pistol." She raised her hands in the air, gesturing and saying, "Poof! It explode."

  "If it was an accident," Penny reflected, trying to make sense of the little Colette had related, “why were they chasing him off the grounds?"

  Colette shrugged. "No one knows this"—thees—"answer."

  They spent a good portion of the morning pondering Mr. Pendleton. As usual, Colette proved herself a worthy companion when it came to obsessing about the previous night's events. While Mr. Pendleton had asked Penny not to reveal his identity, she could hardly keep him a secret from her abigail, and she didn't intend to. Colette was a trusted confidante, and Penny never had to worry about her. Though Colette could talk herself blue in the face, she also had an uncanny knack for understanding when to be silent. She could be as tight-lipped as a jar of preserves when the circumstances warranted.

  Mr. Pendleton‘s auspicious entrance into Penny‘s life was

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  extremely exciting, and she wasn't about to let his coming pass

  unheeded, not when she had someone like Colette with whom

  to share it. Plus, there was the next assignation, and Penny

  needed Colette's stealthy assistance in order to attend the midnight rendezvous.

  Throughout the day Penny repeated everything that had happened in the garden, every punch that was thrown, every threat

  that was made, every kind word spoken. With the analytical

  skills of Bow Street investigators, they tore it apart and delved

  into each nuance of the entire situation.

  Why had Mr. Pendleton surfaced when he did? What did it

  mean?

  They ruminated until the afternoon's light faded into evening.

  By the time they went through Penny's closets, searching for

  the appropriate dark-colored dress for her to wear to her appointment, they had become convinced that there were great forces

  at work.

  Colette was constantly reading such things as tea leaves and the stars, looking for signs and omens, and surely his arrival had to be significant. Perhaps fate had lent Penny a hand.

  What else could Mr. Pendleton's appearance possibly portend?

  ******************

  Lucas paced the deck of his moored ship, the Sea Wind. It was one of five that he owned and used for transporting goods; along the eastern seaboard of the United States with an occasional trip between the New World and the Old. The vessels' were his pride and joy, accumulated through a lifetime of toils and struggle.

  As a lad of only five, he'd been kidnapped from the harbor near his parents' home in Virginia and forced onto a merchant ship. In the years he'd been lawlessly indentured, he'd sustained himself with his memories of the loving family from which he'd been wrongfully stolen. Upon his return as a young man, he'd been heartbroken and outraged to discover that the home

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  of which he'd often dreamed was gone, and he couldn't bring it back. His parents were long-dead from influenza, and his brother and sister had been farmed out to neighbors, growing up lost, confused, and abused.

  Though not much more than a boy himself, on seeing their condition, he'd vowed to work and fight until he was a man in his own right, one who did not need to rely on others, and one who could care for the two younger siblings his parents had left behind.

  When he thought back to those terrible days, it was difficult to remember that he had ever been that determined child, and he wasn't certain where he'd found the drive that pushed him to succeed. He had lied and cheated and stolen, doing anything and everything necessary in order to provide for the three of them.

  By age fifteen he'd won his first ship at a turn of the cards. It hadn't been much to speak of or look at—a rusted-out, worm-eaten schooner that barely floated—but standing at the bow as it cut through the waves, he'd felt like the king of the oceans. By age twenty he owned two ships. By age twenty-five he possessed five first-class sailing vessels and a small estate outside Jamestown that grew plenty of valuable tobacco. They lived in a fine house, filled with servants and the best items to be found on that side of the Atlantic.

  His sister, Caroline, had blossomed as she'd matured, becoming a rare beauty. She'd organized their home and managed their affairs during the long weeks he and Matthew were away. Then the opportunity had arisen for her to visit England. The invitation had come from some distant cousins, a baron's family who had a daughter Caroline's age who would be making her come-out.

  Initially Caroline had raised the idea and, unable to refuse her even the smallest request, he had reluctantly assented to her suggestion that it would be fun to go to London for a season of balls and parties. He had truly believed that she deserved the exotic escapade and, reasoning that she would be appropriately

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  supervised by her hosts, he hadn't worried that they were making a bad decision. j

  When she'd returned, all grown-up and developed in ways

  he couldn't quite define, the explanation hastily became clear.

  He could still vividly recall the morning one of the serving

  women had whispered her suspicions in his ear. During the

  confrontation that followed, Caroline had happily pronounced

  the news, stubbornly refused to name the father, and joyfully

  accepted the chance to bear the man's bastard.

  After her death Lucas could never move beyond the unwavering conviction that her passing had been his fault. The regrets piled high: if
only he hadn't let her visit England ... if only he'd traveled with her to act as chaperon ... if only he'd forced the name of her paramour from her lips before she'd died......

  He never stopped wondering about the lover who had been

  able to seduce such a levelheaded woman as Caroline. While

  the cad was obviously the type who could callously commit

  his dastardly deed, then send her home to Virginia once he was

  finished, he was also the sort of man who could instill strong

  ardor and devotion long after the time for loyalty and silence

  had passed. Relentlessly Lucas had obsessed over who it could

  have been.

  To learn, in the end, that it was Harold Westmoreland!

  Westmoreland had a reputation for regularly beguiling women with one beautiful female after the next linked to him romantically for decades. The handsome blackguard was a master at seduction, and Caroline hadn't stood a chance against his wily charms.

  Well, this time Westmoreland had mined the wrong girl. By setting his sights on Caroline, he had pompously underestimated the gravity of the sin he'd committed. He had no way of knowing the strength of Lucas's commitment to his family or the! lengths to which Lucas would go to avenge his sister. Westmoreland would make good on the debt he owed Caroline Pendleton. Lucas intended to see to it. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

  He paced to the stern, then back toward the bow, looking

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  out across the busy docks, trying to see Matthew coming through the crowd of people, but his brother was nowhere in sight. For a while he lost himself in watching the hustle and bustle on the surrounding ships. In contrast, his own was quiet. The sailors who'd accompanied them from Virginia had been given extended shore leave, and the coin to enjoy it, until the two Pendleton brothers concluded their private English business and were ready to head for home once again. He didn't like the deserted feeling on the deck, but it couldn't be helped.

  Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he stiffened, biting against the smile that threatened to break out as he felt a small toy sword pressed against his waist. In mock play he raised his hands, saying gruffly, "Who goes there?"

  " 'Tis I, Blackbeard," a young boy's voice said in return, trying to sound vicious. "Your money or your life!"

  "Hmmm ..." Lucas pretended to think it over. "And if I don't have any money to give, what then, my bloodthirsty pirate?''

  "I'll throw you to the sharks!" the boy declared.

  Lucas spun around and grabbed him, swinging him off his feet and into a tight hug. "What a ferocious lad you are."

  "Were you scared?" Harry asked.

  "I was terrified," Lucas lied.

  "Really?"

  "Really," Lucas insisted as he sat the boy on top of a barrel.

  As always when he looked at Harry, he couldn't quite fathom the depth of emotion the boy always managed to stir. From the moment Caroline had died, Lucas had loved him unfailingly. It was impossible not to.

  He was pretty, if such a comment could be made about a male child. His eyes were bright blue, his cheeks rosy red, his hair white-blond and just starting to turn dark underneath the top layer.

  The Pendletons were all dark-haired, so Lucas had often suspected that Harry's father had been blond, and he'd been proved right. In fact, he'd made several interesting discoveries

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  during his brief foray into Westmoreland territory: Little Harry looked just like Harold and Penelope. Now that Lucas had seen the other bloodline from which Harry had sprung, he was forced ' to admit that the Westmoreland ancestry was probably more strongly conveyed in Harry's features than the Pendletons'.

  Another peculiar finding, one he didn't like to admit, was that Harry had the Westmoreland temperament. Since Caroline had been a softhearted soul, Lucas had convinced himself that Harry's strength of character, his determination, and his ability to act like a pampered, royal babe had all come from the dominant men in the Pendleton family.

  To his dismay, his visit to the Westmorelands had changed his mind. Harry was a perfect match with the mighty, endowed family. With his stalwart opinions and excess of will, he was such an exact fit that he could be plopped down in the middle of them, and he'd fit right in without needing any opportunity to assimilate. The observation was disheartening and one Lucas didn't intend to dwell upon.

  Young Harry was a Pendleton born and raised, so what did it matter if he shared a few common traits with the Westmorelands?

  "What have you been doing, lad?" he asked.

  "I've been helping Master Fogarty."

  Lucas liked hearing that the wizened old sailor had taken the boy under his wing. "How have you been helping him?"

  "We've been working on my sewing, but he says I need; some extra practice with my stitches."

  "Well, stitching is an important skill for a seafaring man."

  "That's what Master Fogarty told me," Harry responded,

  appearing much too mature for his age.

  As they conversed, Lucas spied Matthew coming in their direction, and hope flared that his brother had been able tomake the arrangements they'd discussed after talking stridently most of the night.

  "Uncle Matt has returned," he pointed out to Harry. They

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  could see him weaving his way around several large carts that were loaded down with produce.

  Harry jumped off the barrel and ran to the rail, waving and shouting, "Uncle Matt! Uncle Matt!" Despite the din of noise, Matthew managed to hear his cries. His head swung up, and he smiled and waved to his merry nephew.

  Lucas walked to the rail as well and rested a hand on Harry's head. "I need to talk to Matt alone," he instructed. "Why don't you go below. I'm sure Master Fogarty could use some more of your valuable assistance."

  "Oh, Uncle Luke," he grumbled, but he didn't argue. He was a good boy when he wasn't causing mischief.

  "I'll call you when we're finished. We'll go have supper at that pub you enjoy." The promise of food lit up his face, and he disappeared down the hatch before Matthew stepped onto the gangplank.

  From the confident gleam in Matthew's eye, Lucas instantly ascertained that they'd met with success, and he couldn't help but think that the ease with which they'd resolved their main problem was a sign they were proceeding correctly.

  "I've found us a house," Matthew said without preamble.

  "Well done." Lucas nodded.

  "I think it will fit nicely with what we've planned."

  "How so?" Lucas asked, although he didn't need to inquire as to the details. He and Matthew had always been of similar mind in their devious pursuits, and his younger sibling would very probably pick exactly what Lucas himself would have selected.

  "It's less than an hour from the city," Matthew explained.

  "So, we'll be able to ride in easily to complete our business."

  "Exactly," Matthew said. "It's on the edge of the village, close enough to walk to the marketplace but far enough out so that nosy neighbors won't be stopping by to see the goings-on."

  "And the accommodations?"

  "It's hardly a ducal palace"—Matthew shrugged off the

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  type of luxury to which their pending guest was accustomed— "but it will suffice for our purposes. The place is owned by a local merchant. He's out of the country just now, attending to his foreign commerce."

  "Due back when?"

  "Not for months."

  "So, it's completely furnished?" Lucas questioned, painting a mental picture of the dwelling he'd be calling home for the next short while.

  "Right down to the bedding."

  "Good work."

  "I thought you'd be pleased," Matthew said. His brother could hardly have been anything but. Cautiously he added, "There's one other issue we need to address."

  "What?"

  "It comes with a wonderful yard. There's a small orchard with apple tre
es that would be great for climbing, and a slow-running stream just made for swimming—if the situation goes on that long and we get into summer."

  "Oh, Lord, let's hope it's completed before then," Lucas said fervently, and they both laughed. "I don't think my nerves could take that much intrigue."

  "Harry would love it," Matthew insisted, but Lucas hesitated. In their hours of scheming about how Lady Penelope Westmoreland was to help them achieve their goal regarding her father, this had been the only sticking point.

  Harry had been trapped on the ship for all the weeks of the frigid crossing of the North Atlantic. Then he'd languished at the London docks while Lucas had frantically tried to find an opening with the duke. With the spring weather upon them, the lad needed to be where he could roam and play before they began the long journey back to America, but the two brothers had other, more pressing concerns about where the boy should be situated.

  As they put their strategy into action, they weren't sure of the best location to keep him safe. Leaving him aboard with

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  Fogarty wasn't an option. They couldn't risk the possibility that Harold Westmoreland might chance upon the boy by accident and then end up abusing him in some fashion in order to get back at Lucas for what was about to happen to Lady Penelope.

  Yet, did they dare expose Harry to what would be occurring at the country house?

  "I can't decide," Lucas finally said. "Let's see how the rest of the week shapes up. We'll discuss the matter again when the time is closer."

  "Fair enough," Matthew said. "Other than that, we're set to proceed."

  "I'm glad. It's a load off my shoulders to know we're ready." He turned toward the hatch in order to ask Harry to join them. "All this plotting has left me famished. Let's go eat."

  "A grand idea." Matthew clapped him on the back. "And after we've finished dining, are you prepared for this evening?"