Her Fateful Debut: A Regency Romance (Three Gentlemen of London Book 1)

by G. G. Vandagriff

  I need to put that out of my mind. Any admiration he felt for me was undone when I showed myself untrustworthy with secrets.

  She certainly did not miss his stern strictures the last time she had seen him. Even though she understood the reason for them, he had treated her like an unruly child.

  Still, her heart pulsed with regret. Kneeling next to Wordsworth, she sought comfort by burying her face in his silky fur. The corgi nuzzled her face, licking away her tears.

  -P-

  The next evening found them only halfway home. Her father’s cough grew worse, and he slept fitfully during the journey. Penelope decided to stop in a small town and risk the quality of the inn, The George. Unfortunately, it was more rustic and less comfortable than The Green Man, but the important thing was getting her father to bed.

  After taking Wordsworth out, she retired to her tiny room under the eaves. It was too early to go to bed, and she wondered what to do with herself. Spying a quill and an inkstand, she found her new sketchbook in her portmanteau and decided to write to her cousin.

  Dearest Elise,

  I hope this letter finds you well, Cousin. I wanted to thank you for all your efforts to assist me while I was in London. You were so very generous with your time. I regret that circumstances prevented me from seeing you before I left.

  I am certain you have now heard that I have cried off from my engagement to Lord Wellingham. I am not the wife he should have. I was indiscreet with his secrets without even realizing it.

  Papa is very ill. The journey back home seems like it is taking far too long.

  I hope, now that we have become better acquainted, you will consider me a friend, as well as a cousin. I do not know when I shall return to London. Hopefully not for many years. Aunt Clarice has generously offered me a home with her when Papa is gone. I hope by that time the scandal will have died.

  I miss your company already.

  Kindest regards,

  Penelope

  -P-

  Home had never seemed more welcoming. While her father’s valet readied him for bed, Penelope went from room to room, reliving memories from before Mama died and Papa had become ill. She even visited the nursery.

  From the window, she looked out over the garden, which had come alive with its spring growth. Had Mama not died, she would be out there now in her large, floppy sunbonnet, delicately moving from rose to rose. What would she have done in this situation?

  Her mother had never stood for any deception; she always placed a high value on integrity. She certainly could never have willingly become the wife of someone who had dangerous secrets to be kept. Mama was far too forthright.

  As she had done continually in the carriage, Penelope looked back once again over the events of the past few weeks, trying to think how she could have done things differently. Ever since her first morning in the park, events had been taken out of her hands—until she had decided to break her engagement. That action had ended the disconcerting feeling of being swept along by events. But it had ended everything else as well.

  When she finally arrived in her bedroom, she found letters waiting for her from Elise and Beau.

  Ruisdell House

  London

  18 April 1813

  Dearest Penelope,

  Beau has been here this morning telling of your flight from London with your father so ill. I am so dreadfully concerned. I hope that Sir Gerald will improve now that you are home.

  Beau was fraught but said he had put a notice in The Morning Post about the wedding being postponed due to your father’s illness.

  Please write and tell me how Sir Gerald does.

  Your affectionate cousin,

  E.

  Beau had said their wedding was merely postponed? He had sent notice to the Post? He still wanted to remain engaged? What did Elise mean by “fraught?”

  The letter stood all her thoughts of the last few days on their heads. She was still engaged. Beau still expected to be married.

  Sitting down hard on her chair by the fire that had only just been lit, she shivered.

  Do I have another chance, then?

  She opened his letter, not knowing what to expect. Its chiding tone angered her, and she felt less inclined to marry him than before. Unbidden came the vision of her betrothed as she had last seen him, calling her to account for her indiscretions. She could berate herself as much as she pleased, but she did not like him to do so!

  Why does he still want to marry me?

  Wilson, her father’s valet, came to the door.

  “Miss Swinton, your father is now abed.”

  She pushed aside her thoughts of Beau and went to her father’s room. Alarmed at the sight of him so frail against the bedsheets, she thought he had shrunken since they had left London. She sent Wilson to arrange for a footman to go for the physician immediately.

  When Mr. Jenkins answered her summons, Penelope led him up to her father’s bedroom. She opened the drapes, and Papa blinked at the sudden infusion of light.

  “Hello, Hal,” he said. “Come to look at the corpse?”

  “Miss Swinton says you went to London. Why in the name of Providence would you do such a foolish thing? You know how that infernal coal smoke affects you. The air is practically solid with it.”

  “My daughter was to have been married, but now she has had to bring me home.”

  Penelope was grateful he did not mention her broken engagement.

  “So I should think!”

  Mr. Jenkins brought his ear to his patient’s chest and listened. Penelope held her breath.

  “Sir Gerald, you have gone and contracted a severe inflammation of the lungs, as well as a fever.”

  Though she had expected such news, Penelope’s eyes filled with tears. “What is to be done?” she asked.

  “Exactly what you are doing. Make him rest in this clean country air. Wood fires instead of coal, of course. When he is feeling better, it would be good for him to sit outside in the sun when the weather is fine—out of any wind, of course. Warm broth will help break up the congestion, if anything can.” Reaching into his black bag, he brought out some cachets, which he handed to her. “Fever powders. Mix them in water and give him one every morning and every night.”

  The doctor asked her father to sit up in bed and packed all the pillows behind him. “It will be easier for him to breathe if he reclines at an angle instead of lying flat in bed.”

  Penelope felt better to have shared her burden. Dr. Jenkins with his almost comical red face and large hands was such a reassuring, practical man.

  “Should someone sit up with him in the night?”

  “It would be a good idea, but you need help. You cannot be awake all day and all night. You will become ill yourself.”

  “Wilson can sit with me,” her father said in his faint voice.

  “Very well,” the physician said. “I will come by to check on you each day. Be a good patient, Sir Gerald.”

  As she walked Mr. Jenkins downstairs, he said to her, “You were wise to get him out of London, but the drive home has not done him any good. Feed him up on calves’ foot jelly and plenty of broth.”

  Penelope ran back upstairs after giving Cook Mr. Jenkins’s instructions.

  “Papa, you are not to fret,” she said. “Between Mr. Jenkins, Wilson, and I, we shall take good care of you.”

  She mixed a fever powder and held his head up while he took the draft.

  “Would you like me to read to you?” she asked.

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” he said. “Now I just wish to sleep.”

  “That is probably best.”

  He was so listless and pale. Surely with a fever he should be flushed? He was almost gray. Moving her chair closer to the bed, she took his hand in hers. Already asleep, he did not return the squeeze she gave it.

  She tried to push aside her fears, but they kept coming back.

  How will I bear it if he dies? I will miss him more than I can even imagine. . . . No! I cannot even
bear to think of it.

  If she continued in this vein, she would succumb to the blue devils. Rising, she went down the hall to her room and unearthed Elise’s latest novel. She walked back to her father’s room, stirred the fire, and, without calling for anyone, added a log. Then she sat down, determined to read.

  It took several attempts, but finally she was able to get past the first page and lose herself in the account of the residents of Staley-in-the-Wold.

  -P-

  After the hectic pace of London life, things moved slowly at her country home. Penelope spent the hours by her papa’s bedside, reading or sketching from memory: Henry Five investigating the toe of Beau’s boot, Aunt Clarice at the piano composing her opera, Miss Sukey shaking her ringlets as she held forth about the French. She even sketched Beau on horseback. He made such a fine figure she could not resist.

  Papa slept most of the time. Mr. Jenkins came by each day but proclaimed that there was little change. With Papa’s still-gray face and continued lack of strength, he appeared very ill, indeed.

  At the doctor’s suggestion, Penelope had a daily outing while he stayed an hour with her father. She took Wordsworth with her and walked to the chapel on their estate. Leaving her dog to chase butterflies in the small cemetery, she went inside and prayed for her father. He could not die now. He was the only family she had left. With every bit of determination she had, she tried to push fear out of her mind, but as soon as she left the peace of the chapel, it smothered her again.

  She visited her mother’s grave.

  Margaret Williams Swinton

  1762-1812

  Beloved Wife and Mother

  Next to it was a small row of three tiny tombstones belonging to her elder brothers, Gerald, Jr., Joseph, and Harold, who had not survived infancy. They always swamped her with sadness. What would it be like to have three living older brothers? The estate would not be entailed away; she would have sisters-in-law and most likely be an aunt times over. Tears welled over, but she dashed them away with her gloved hands. This was the life she had been given.

  Removing her gloves, she pulled the weeds and pinched off the spent pink roses from the bush by her mother’s headstone. Penelope tried to let Mama’s strength infuse her.

  You will go on, Penny. If Papa dies, you will go on. You will go to London and take up charity work like Aunt Clarice. You are strong.

  Whenever her thoughts strayed to Beau, she called them back. She could not deal with them now. But sometimes they persisted.

  Why did he not respect my desire to cry off? Why is he fraught? It does not sound like him at all. It is not as though he cares for me. I had imagined that he would go happily back to his bachelor existence.

  She had put off writing her letter to Elise because her spirits were so low, but after a week, her curiosity over Beau got the better of her. She wrote, using her lap desk as she sat by Papa’s bed.

  Beeches

  Northamptonshire

  27 April 1813

  Dearest Cousin,

  Thank you for your letter. I am sorry to be so long in replying, but I have been waiting until I could give you a good report about Papa. Unfortunately, he is still very ill. I am by his side most of the day.

  Lord Wellingham’s actions puzzle me exceedingly. If you received my previous letter, you know I cried off our engagement before I came back to Northamptonshire. I realized I could put his life in danger with my indiscretions. Indeed, I was certain that he would be relieved at my decision. Have you any idea why he was so fraught?

  I find I am missing London far more than I thought I would. However, with Papa so ill, I know I made the right decision to bring him home.

  I am your faithful cousin,

  Penelope

  As soon as her letter was finished, the butler came to inform her that she had a caller.

  “Mr. Collingsworth is here to see you, miss. I have put him in the yellow sitting room.”

  Ah! Tom! He would chase away the blue devils.

  Not even bothering to check her appearance, she hastened down the stairs. Her friend stood with his back to the door, his stance noticeably firm and straight.

  “Tom! How wonderful of you to pay me a visit!”

  He hastened to her, and she gave him her hands. “Penny. I was so sorry to hear of your father’s illness. I came as soon as I heard.”

  “How kind. I cannot think of anyone to better lift my spirits. And Papa will be so happy to see you.”

  As he stood looking at her, she took in his altered appearance. She had not seen him since he’d come down from Oxford. He now had laugh lines fanning out from his brown eyes, though at the moment they were solemn. His thatch of brown hair was artfully arranged in the Brutus fashion. Tanned skin told her that he still spent much time out of doors. Wordsworth was making a huge to-do about Tom’s presence, and he bent to rub him behind the ears.

  “How ill is your papa, Penny? You look sadly pulled.”

  “He is very ill. And he does not seem to be improving, only getting worse. Maybe you are the very medicine he needs! Come upstairs with me, Tom.”

  Her friend followed her up the stairs to her father’s room. The drapes were closed, and the room stuffy.

  Her father was dozing, as was usually the case. “Papa,” she whispered, smoothing the hand that lay over the sheets with her own. “Tom Collingsworth has come all the way from his parish in Downing to visit.”

  Sir Gerald’s eyes opened a bit, but as they focused on Tom, they opened wide with pleasure. “Master Tom! How good of you to visit! Penny, open the drapes. Open a window. I must get a good look at our friend!”

  “It is so good to see you, Sir Gerald,” said Tom. “I am so sorry you are poorly.”

  “Coal smoke in London. I just need some country air and I will be right as rain!”

  However, in the morning light, her father did not look at all well. His skin was the color of old parchment, and his eyes seemed to have fallen back in his head.

  Penelope opened the window a crack. “I need to bring some of Mama’s fresh roses in here, Papa.”

  “I would enjoy that.” Her father motioned for them to sit. “Tell me what it is like to be the curate in Downing, Tom.”

  “It is a busy little place. A lot of young children in my Sunday School.”

  “I can see that you would be wonderful with them, Tom,” said Penelope.

  “They keep me on my toes. We are forming a cricket team.”

  “Your vicar is to retire this year, I hear,” said Sir Gerald.

  “Yes. And I have proved myself, apparently. Lord Sedgewick has invited me to take over the living in October.”

  “But that is wonderful news!” said Penelope. “You father must be very pleased.”

  “He is,” said Tom. “Particularly since we will be situated so near one another.”

  “I will leave you to visit with Papa while I go cut some roses. It smells far too much like a sick room in here.”

  Penelope went out of the room, down the stairs, and, taking up her shears, into the rose garden.

  It is so good to see Tom! I am glad he will be a vicar soon. He hasn’t changed. He still brings sunshine into every room. I imagine he would love to hear the story of Beau’s fight with Devereaux. And my contribution to it!

  She chose yellow and coral flowers and brought them into the still room to arrange. Before she finished, Tom was downstairs at her side.

  “Your Papa has fallen back to sleep. I think the excitement of seeing the curate of Downings, in the flesh, was too much for him.”

  Penelope gave what passed for a smile. “He is very weak.”

  “Yes, I agree. What is Mr. Jenkins doing for him?”

  They discussed her father’s care and treatment and then, taking the vase of roses, retired to the yellow sitting room. “I’ll take these up later, when he is awake,” Penelope said, sitting in the window seat.

  Tom took a place across from her. “Well, my girl, Father says you ran into a spot
of trouble in London. Want to tell me about it?”

  Penelope felt great relief at the prospect. She had always been able to tell Tom anything. “Yes, I would. But you must remember that you are under the seal of the confessional, or whatever it’s called in the Protestant church. No one but Papa, Aunt Clarice, Lord Wellingham, and the Duke and Duchess of Ruisdell know the true story.”

  Tom, wearing his half-smile of amusement, readied himself to hear her tale.

  “It all started when I got up way too early to sketch in Green Park . . .”

  When she finished, he said, “I knew it was dangerous to send you to London without me! How could you get yourself into such a bumblebroth in such a short period of time? You were not even there two days before being up to your ears in trouble!”

  “Lord Wellingham was most appreciative of my help during the fight. He’s very grateful to you for your instruction.”

  Tom shook his head and laughed. “When are you to be married, then?”

  “It is unclear at the moment. I am afraid I would be the worst possible wife for a member of the Foreign Office who must be discreet in all things. Yet he is determined that I must marry him, because otherwise I will be ruined and have no other prospects.”

  He looked at her oddly and then stood up, hands in his pockets and strolled to the window. “Are you falling in love with this Lord Wellingham?”

  Penelope shrugged. “I like him very well, except when he is annoyed over one of my faux pas.”

  Tom was silent for a moment. “So, is he like a father figure to you?”

  She laughed. “Certainly not! Have I not told you he dresses like a dandy and is considered haut ton?”

  “How exactly have you left things?”

  “He has refused my offer to cry off. The wedding has been postponed because of Papa’s illness, according to the dictatorial Lord Wellingham.”

  Tom turned to her then, his face unaccountably serious. “I always understood that you and I would marry, Penny. I am not in position yet, but I will be when the vicar retires and I have my own living. I am no viscount of the realm. I have no property until Father dies, but I have always been fond of you.”