My True Love

by Cheryl Holt

  Staring at the portrait of her parents made her overly melancholy, so she left the gallery and climbed to the nursery. Though it had gone unused for over a decade, the servants still kept it clean, the toys neatly stacked on the shelves, the rocking horse placed just so by the window. It looked very much as it had on the last occasion when Penny had been young enough to feel comfortable spending time there.

  Willie's children would play in the room someday, perhaps her own would join them. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine how all those little blond boys and girls would look, but instead, she saw a vision of herself as a youngster, sitting with a doll, while her grumpy nurse stood stoically in the corner.

  As she recalled the memory, she sustained a strong wave of emotion as she realized that she hadn't really been playing with her doll. She'd been listening for footsteps, wondering if her mother or father would deign to visit, if she would be allowed to see them that day, and she shook her head at the thought of what had been lost. She didn't really know her parents at all. And never had.

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  “What a waste,'' she murmured to the silence. Quietly she closed the door, and as she did, she understood that there was so much she was leaving behind, but at the same time, so little.

  Then and there she made a vow to her own children, to the ones she'd have with Lucas: They would never live like this. They would know laughter and happiness, all the cheerful sentiments Penny hadn't realized she'd missed as a girl. They might not receive a new pony every birthday, but they would always be showered with plenty of love and attention. She would expend every bit of her energy and make every necessary sacrifice in order to see that they were content.

  On a sigh, she returned to her chamber and slipped inside. As always, Colette was waiting patiently.

  "You are ready?" she asked.

  "Yes," Penny answered.

  "You have made your au revoir?" She wrinkled her nose in dismay.

  "Oui," Penny said, giving a reassuring smile.

  For a change, her usually bold Colette was fretting and stewing about their secret plan. She urged Penny to take more time, make better arrangements, be more cautious.

  Although Colette rarely talked about her early years, she'd mentioned enough for Penny to know that her mother had been an aristocrat's mistress during the Terror. His entire family had been murdered, and with Colette only six or seven years old, she and her mother had fled Paris in the middle of the night, running for their lives. They escaped to England with only the clothes on their backs and a handful of coins, and her mother died shortly after they arrived. Colette had known poverty, she'd been hungry and gone without shelter, so she wasn't overly keen on the prospects offered by Penny's decision.

  In contrast, Penny hadn't spent a moment worrying about whether she was doing the right thing. She viewed her elopement as a grand adventure, where Colette saw adventure as something frightening and to be avoided at all costs. Colette would take safety and security over adventure anytime.

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  "Everything will be fine, Colette," she said, patting the woman on the shoulder. "Trust me, please. Mr. Pendleton won't let anything bad happen to either one of us."

  She gave a definitive French growl low in her throat. ' 'How can you know this to be true?"

  "Wait till you meet him," Penny insisted, "then you'll see what I mean."

  It was strange to be in the position of defending her rash behavior. Colette was the romantic, the first to see the possibilities in any arrangement between a man and a woman. Penny was always the more pragmatic of the two, but not in this instance. Although Colette talked a good story, the woman's fears of destitution were too ingrained. She detected nothing engaging about Penny's resolution, but she was extremely faithful and would go along quietly.

  "But what kind of man is this one," Colette asked, "that he would take you away from your home and your family?" She gestured about the beautifully appointed room, which housed only the finest things that money could buy. "I cannot feel comfortable about this."

  It had been their ongoing quarrel, with Colette certain that they were making a huge mistake and Penny unable to persuade her otherwise. But then, Colette wasn't the one facing marriage to Edward Simpson. Penny was convinced that Lucas was the answer to her prayers, but there would be no swaying Colette. She'd have to see for herself, so continuation of the disagreement was pointless.

  Besides, it was quickly nearing midnight. Their opportunity for dispute had ended. "It's too late for arguing, Colette, and you know you can't change my mind."

  "This is true, for I have tried my best."

  "You can still change yours though," Penny assured her. "You don't need to come with me."

  “Bah," Colette said, angrily waving her hand, "as if I would let you go off by yourself with your American.'' She muttered the word like a vile curse. "Someone must watch out for you."

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  "Thank you," Penny said, truly appreciating her loyalty and devotion. "I'm glad."

  "So am I," Colette said, and she walked to the dressing room and came back with their cloaks and the two rather large portmanteaus she'd packed. While Lucas had advised Penny to bring one small bag, they'd settled on two bigger ones. Penny required some finery for her wedding day, and Colette, ever the adviser d’amour, had selected several fancy, sheer undergarments for Penny to use to entice her new husband.

  They'd haggled relentlessly about what to take, gradually whittling down their choices, but the amount couldn't be helped. There were some sacrifices a woman of Quality simply couldn't be expected to endure!

  Colette set the bags on the floor, then stepped over to Penny and hooked the clasp of her cloak, encircling her in the dark sable. As she smoothed out the fur's swirl, she reached for the hem and laid it in Penny's hand.

  "I have sewn coins in the lining. Just in case." She lifted her own cloak, a lighter wool, gave it a hearty shake, and Penny heard it rattle. "I have placed some in my own as well. You must promise not to tell your man."

  "Colette ..." she breathed, exasperated with the woman's caution.

  "Promise me!" she demanded sternly. "The coins will be our secret."

  "All right," Penny reluctantly agreed.

  "A woman can never be too careful," she said. "She can never know what might happen ..."

  "Yes, yes," Penny said irritably. She appreciated Colette's wariness but knew they would never need the covert stash of money.

  Her last task was placement of the note she would leave behind, the one that would explain her departure. Her mother would be wondering where she was, so she felt it necessary to allay any undue fears. She'd debated what she should or shouldn't say, finally deciding that she wouldn't mention Mr.

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  Pendleton or her hasty marriage. The news would only set her father into a frenzy of searching, increasing the risk of discovery, so she'd chosen the simplest explanation she could.

  At her writing table she read through the words that had been so carefully written on the slip of parchment.

  Mother and Father,

  I cannot marry Edward, so I have gone away. I am fine. Please do not worry. I will contact you again after I am established in my new situation.

  Penny

  She wanted to express more—that she loved them, or would miss them—but it wasn't their way, and she wasn't certain deeper sentiments would be welcomed. She wanted only that her mother not fret. Sealing the note, she placed it on her pillow, where she hoped it wouldn't be discovered for many hours to come.

  Suddenly overwhelmed by the moment, Penny leaned forward and gave Colette a tight hug, the first one ever in all the years they'd known each other.

  "Are you ready, mon amie?" Penny asked, for the initial time calling her maid friend.

  "Oui," Colette answered, her eyes wet with tears.

  They longingly gazed around the room where Penny had spent most of her life. Then, needing the extra support, she sli
pped her hand into Colette's, and they linked their fingers tightly. Together they walked into the hall, down the back stairs, and out the door, and they disappeared into the gardens, ready to meet the future.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lucas glanced at his timepiece, but he couldn't see the placement of the hands. It was too dark, and the fog was swirling, creating a perfect atmosphere for clandestine activity. Along the back wall of the Westmoreland property, where he stood silently in his black clothing, nothing moved. Neither people nor animals were willing to brave the thick soup that made it impossible to see or sense direction. Even the rats had gone into hiding. Apparently he was the only being foolish enough to venture out in such conditions.

  It was late. Too late, if she was coming. Had he misread her? Had she changed her mind? Or, worse, had she merely been trifling with him, never planning to join him at all?

  "No, no," he said to himself. "She gave her word. She meant it!" But even as he attempted to reassure himself, he couldn't prevent the feelings of apprehension from creeping over him. It was the fog, he knew. It had a way of displacing thought and process, prompting a man to doubt the world and his place in it.

  Though it took much to unnerve him, the dense cloud in which he was enveloped took on a life of its own, forcing him to question his resolve. Throughout his global travels, he'd

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  never encountered anything like it, and in the weeks he'd been in London, he'd not begun to get used to it. It crept up stealthily, slithering across the ground and reaching out like a ghost's long fingers. It swallowed sound, making the busy London streets unnaturally silent, causing him to leap at shadows and hear too many bumps in the night.

  Try as he might, he couldn't put aside the trepidation it stirred. Just as he began to ponder whether he should return to the ship, he heard footsteps, but from two persons instead of one. He stayed where he was, wondering if she'd told their secret, and if the duke's men were, even at that moment, ready to close in.

  Holding his breath, he waited. Then two figures, both cloaked in black, halted directly in front of him, so near that he could have touched either one.

  “Are you certain this is the correct place?'' a woman whispered in a French-accented voice, and he braced.

  "Yes, but this blasted fog is so thick. I can't see my hand in front of my face."

  Penny. He nearly sagged with relief.

  "I am here," he said softly, and even in the dim light he could see both jump at the realization that he was right next to them. He stepped from his hiding place.

  "Lucas," Penny said, breathing an audible sigh of relief that it was he and not another.

  "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

  "Me? Not come to be with you?" she asked. "Are you mad?"

  He could sense her smiling, hear the joy in her words, and before he could stop himself, he was extending his arms and hugging her tightly. She came willingly, fitting so well. The hood on her cloak fell back, exposing all that blond hair. Unfortunately it shone like a flare, and he allowed himself one incredible instant to run his fingers through the silky strands before he shielded her from discovery by covering her head once again.

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  Unable to resist, he placed a kiss on her forehead, allowing his lips to linger much longer than they should. He knew the modest embrace was subterfuge, that he was horribly in the wrong, but as with the other times he'd been around her, he was physically overwhelmed by her and incapable of keeping his hands to himself.

  Then and there he made the decision not to—at least for the time being, and on this harmless level. They were supposed to be eloping. His bride certainly believed they were, so why not play along? Why not act as if they were in love and running off together? What could it hurt to hold her hand, to steal a few kisses on occasion? The gestures would ease her nerves, make it easier to spirit her away, and if it helped to calm some of his own mounting desire, so be it.

  He stroked down her back, holding her close, adoring the way she leaned into him and held his waist in return, but his enjoyment was short-lived as he remembered the other woman who had come with Penny. Her quiet regard was so intense that it felt as though her eyes were sharp knives pricking at him.

  "Who is this?" he whispered in Penny's ear. The fog did strange things to sound, sometimes swallowing it completely, other times magnifying it so the echo carried forever. They were hardly safe or freely away, so they had to be extremely circumspect.

  "My personal maid, Colette," she answered.

  Lucas tensed. He'd never imagined that she'd bring another person with her. The idea had never crossed his mind, and he had to stifle a laugh at his own folly, thinking, That's what happens when you kidnap someone you don't know anything about!

  His mind raced, trying to work through the ways the abigail might be a benefit or a danger, but they were in a precarious spot, time was short, and he couldn't think of all the angles. He didn't want to hold a lengthy debate on the subject, but he understood that a second individual simply meant extra ways

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  in which events could go awry. She'd be one more person to contain, one more person to silence, one more person who could escape and tell all. She had to be left behind. There was no other choice.

  "You didn't need to bring a maid," Lucas said. "I have funds. I will hire you one."

  Before Penny could respond, the maid stepped closer. On the surface her accent was pleasing, but underneath it was a hint of temper. "You would hire a stranger to care for Lady Penelope?" Aghast, she asked, "Who do you think you are taking with you? This is Penelope Westmoreland, not some merchant's daughter!"

  "I realize that," he said, struggling for calm in the face of the servant's fury.

  "She must have only the best of care. By me and no one else. I will not allow another to usurp my place at her side! No one else could possibly know how to look after her correctly." She nodded her head. "So, I will accompany you, oui?"

  "No," Lucas said.

  "Oui," Colette insisted, adding slyly, "or I am thinking I will be raising the alarm, eh? I will not let my lady go off alone!"

  "Oh, for crying out loud ..." Lucas muttered.

  "Lucas, please?" Penny said, laying the palm of her hand on the center of his chest and rubbing it in an intoxicating circle. "I'm terribly nervous about all of this, and I'd feel so much better if she's with me. Please, let her come."

  She asked so prettily that his heart melted. No wonder her father had spoiled her as a child, that she'd grown up being given everything she'd ever wanted. What man could ever say no to that lovely face? "Penny," he said, sighing and trying to refuse even as he knew he'd already conceded the argument. "Having her along will make things much more difficult."

  "No, it won't, Lucas," she said. "I swear she won't be any inconvenience."

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  Lucas knew that wasn't true. Even in the dark he could tell the maid would cause all kinds of trouble. She was too astute, too assertive, and much too devoted and ready to come to Penny's aid.

  Penny reached for his hand and slipped her fingers through his, giving a light squeeze. "Please?" she asked once again.

  Gazing down into her blue eyes, he knew it was a lost cause. Colette was coming.

  "All right," he breathed to Penny, utterly capitulating even as he wondered if this would be the way their entire relationship would go.

  He had to find a method of lessening the effect she had on him so that he could be more severe. He needed to exercise more control when he was in her presence. This wasn't an adventure or a lark. It was a kidnapping, for pity's sake, but he was quickly learning she had a style about her that he couldn't resist, and he had no defense against it.

  Despite every wicked intention harbored deep in his heart, he wished to make her happy, and therefore, he was completely and dangerously at her mercy. Whatever she wanted, he was apparently willing to do, and he sighed in disgust at himself, acknow
ledging that this was a dreadful manner in which to begin his career as an abductor.

  “But you," he warned, pointing an accusing finger at Colette and trying to pretend that he'd regained some command of the situation, "you'll do as I say. You won't cross my path; you'll see to your duties. If you cause me any trouble, I'll send you packing."

  "Thank you," Penny said as she rose on her toes and kissed him sweetly on the lips. "Thank you so much."

  It was all he could do to keep from prolonging the moment by kissing her back. As for the maid, she grumbled something in French under her breath, and while he grasped only a handful of words in the foreign language, he was fairly certain that her remark hadn't been a compliment.

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  Stealing one last hug, he smiled down at Penny and whispered, "Let's be off."

  He briskly reached for their two bags, but as he lifted them, he grunted in dismay. Both were so cumbrous that he knew he'd soon be breaking out in a sweat.

  Upon hearing his discomfort, Penny asked, "Are they too heavy for you?''

  "No," he said through clenched teeth. What was in the blasted things anyway? Rocks?

  "They're rather large," Penny apologized. "Would you like us to help you carry them? We could take turns—"

  "No, I've got them," he said, managing to sound gallant even as his back was straining against the load.

  The three of them tiptoed to the back gate. Well oiled, it opened without making a squeak, and they silently moved into the alley. Without speaking, they walked out to the street, then continued on for several streets. At times the fog was so thick that Lucas had to touch the fences of the houses they passed in order to count the number, lest they miss the turn to where the carriage waited.

  As it was, they came upon it so suddenly that they almost ran into it. One of the horses, sensing their approach, shook its withers, causing the harness to jingle and rattle.

  "Who goes there?" Matthew's disembodied voice came from the driver's seat, but he didn't bend over to give anyone a better view of his face. Bundled as he was, the women wouldn't be able to see him, which was as he and Lucas had planned it. Because they couldn't predict how circumstances might eventually unfold, Matthew's participation might take on furtive proportions, and they didn't intend to reveal his identity.