“Yes.” David cleared his throat. His gaze was downcast, his voice soft when he said, “Without you, Gran’s recovery would not have been possible. My debt to you is beyond measure.”
He pressed her hand before removing his, and her heart thumped a bit harder. She could not pretend the action had no effect on her.
Do not allow his actions to sway you.
It might have been an awkward moment, but Penny believed his words to be sincere. Despite her niece’s last words of caution, Penny understood what Frances could not. This London Corinthian, a type of man who denied himself any real feelings, had humbled himself.
“Let us not keep Miss Lemmon waiting any longer, shall we?” Penny faced forward, took hold of her skirt, and descended the staircase.
“Will you join us for tea?” Mrs. Parker stepped into the green parlor before David.
“I’ve heard tell there are strawberry tarts to be had.” He had not forgotten the announcement when he’d first arrived and hoped a few of those treats might remain.
“I thank you for your offer of tea and strawberry tarts, but I need to return to Manfred Place and make arrangements for your family’s visit.” Miss Lemmon moved toward the front door with purpose. “Clemmy and Sylvie have already made friends with your Lucy and Davy. My little nephew Mel, who is near Davy’s age, I would guess, they have yet to meet.”
“Very well. I look forward to making his acquaintance as well.” David accepted her refusal. The children had enjoyed themselves earlier this afternoon. And he expected they would enjoy themselves equally when they visited, especially if there were puppies.
“I shall see what I can arrange and inform you when plans have been made.” Miss Lemmon stepped out into the foyer where her maid waited with shawl and bonnet in hand for her mistress.
“We look forward to hearing from you.” Mrs. Parker followed their visitor to bid her farewell.
“I shall see you very soon, I am sure. Good day to you both.” Miss Lemmon donned her bonnet and drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders preparing to depart. Woodsworth opened the door for the women, and the visitors left.
The approaching visit to Manfred Place could only be a much-improved experience compared to Lucy and Davy’s slightly unruly visit with Gran.
Chapter Ten
The first week at the Willows had ended with Grandmother Cavanaugh’s astonishing improvement and no end of the guests’ stay in sight. Mrs. Pitt and Miss Harding called every other day, presumably to read another chapter of Emma to Madam and take tea. In actuality, the main reason for their presence was to look in on the patient in order to report her progress to their brother.
On the days Dr. Harding’s sisters did not visit, one could be assured Miss Lemmon would arrive with a basket containing homemade remedies from Sir Benjamin as suggested by the physician. A mere three days ago she extended an invitation, as promised, on behalf of her family, for the Cavanaughs to visit Manfred Place. The children would be expected to enjoy an afternoon of painting and puppies.
Penny conveyed all this in her letter to Frances, reassuring her all was proceeding better than expected and that the children were well. There was little else to relay to her niece with the exception of the weather and other monotonous daily matters. No one at the Willows remained idle. The household revolved around the recovery of the patient. For Penny and David, their days were a balance of tending to Grandmother Cavanaugh and keeping Lucy and little Davy amused. There were many other activities, indoors and out, which occupied their days, not to mention Pug, who was a constant playmate.
As much as the children would have liked to spend every afternoon frolicking with their godfather, Penny reminded them of his duty to his grandmother, and they did seem to understand.
Penny sat at the secretary in her bedchamber penning the closing salutations when Mrs. Sutton knocked on the frame of the open bedchamber door.
“Madam is awake and asking for you. I believe she is ready for you to read to her.” A relaxed smile, one that Penny had not previously seen before, washed across Mrs. Sutton’s lips. “She is most anxious to hear more of Emma.”
“I shall be there as soon as I finish this letter.” Penny would not dare take the chance of leaving it unfolded where it could be read.
“I will tell Madam that you will be on your way shortly,” the companion replied before leaving. “We shall be waiting for you.”
After Penny allowed her signature to dry, she blotted the letter, folded it, applied the seal, and set it aside to be later posted. With that task completed, she headed to Grandmother Cavanaugh’s bedchamber. Peering through the open doorway, Penny looked toward the empty four-poster.
“There you are, Caroline!” Grandmother Cavanaugh, already seated upon the settee, looked up with a grand smile. “Do you have the book, Sutton?”
“Right here, Madam.” Mrs. Sutton handed the slim volume to Penny and remained standing.
“Will you be staying to hear what Emma does next?” Mrs. Cavanaugh’s midafternoon rest had been quite the restorative. Her blue eyes sparkled, and her skin had lost its ashen color, making her appear much heartier.
“Unfortunately, there are some matters that require my attention in the kitchen.” Mrs. Sutton replaced some items, tidying up a bit.
“That is a shame. I hate for you to miss part of the story.” Madam arranged the shawl around her. “Do return when you’re able.”
“I shall, Madam. If I should be away for a lengthy period, you will indulge me by relaying the pertinent details, will you not?” Mrs. Sutton inclined her head before taking her leave.
“Of course we shall,” Madam called to the companion’s retreating back before addressing Penny. “Now, come sit next to me, Caroline.” She indicated the chair near to the settee. “Miss Lemmon was good enough to read chapter eight to me earlier.”
“Very well.” Penny settled into the chair and opened the book, turning to the bookmarked page. “Chapter nine it is.”
“Before we once again delve into Miss Woodhouse’s life”—Madam leaned forward and reached out to grasp Penny’s forearm—“would you mind telling me a bit more about Lucy and Davy?” Grandmother Cavanaugh’s interest in the children was truly all-consuming, and she obviously adored them.
Here Penny sensed the impending discussion would be uncomfortable for her.
“I expect David has told you about them, hasn’t he?” Penny had learned that her husband had relayed the everyday trials and triumphs of his godchildren to his grandmother, since their birth.
“Oh, no one knows children like their mother.” The sweetness in the older woman’s voice and the gentle touch of her hand upon Penny’s arm made her heart ache.
“I expect that is true.” The elderly woman already knew everything about them, except their true parentage. “What is it you want to know?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . the things only women notice and adore about their young ones. Men never seem to be aware. Have you taught Lucy how to stitch yet?” She stared intently at Penny for an answer.
“I have, ma’am, but only just.” Penny could answer this question honestly. She had started the girl with a needle and hoop not a month ago.
“And their letters?”
“Lucy practices and nearly reads. Davy is a bit young yet,” Penny continued, amazed to find conversation came easily. “But he shows interest in his sister’s accomplishments and has already picked up a pencil and does his best to mimic her.”
“Yes, boys do take a bit longer.” Grandmother Cavanaugh nodded, satisfied with the children’s progress. “He will come along in good time. As did his father, I am sure. I hate to brag, but my Davy is quite accomplished, is he not? There are not many endeavors he cannot master. He may have taken a bit longer than his elder brothers, but look at him now—he is a pillar of triumph.”
Yes, he was quite the pillar.
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“My Davy is good with them, is he not?”
“He is an excellent influence, and they enjoy his company very much.” David had always paid extraordinary attention to the children. Actually, he spoiled them.
“That is good to know. I am so happy for him.” Madam turned to face Penny. “Happy for both of you. What a wonderful little family you have. I am so proud!”
Penny noticed Grandmother Cavanaugh’s eyes growing moist, and she blinked away her tears.
“Will you do me a small kindness? I would love to have their silhouettes so that I might look upon them always.”
“By all means, ma’am, I will be very happy to have them done.”
“Yours and David’s too, if it’s not too much of a bother.” Mrs. Cavanaugh’s curiosity had been momentarily satisfied, and she leaned back into the settee and relaxed once again.
“It is no trouble at all.” There wasn’t much Penny would deny this woman. “Is there anything else I may do for you?” She could not help but feel a twinge of guilt at, not lying precisely, but that she had maintained, if not reinforced, the deception. But it had made Grandmother Cavanaugh so happy.
“I think I am ready to hear a chapter or two now, dear.”
“Goodness, you are feeling much better, aren’t you?” Penny shifted the book in her hand. She checked to see if Madam was indeed comfortable before reading.
“Oh, yes. I recall now. Mr. Martin has approached Mr. Knightley about proposing to Emma’s friend Harriet. Emma has it in mind to match Harriet to Mr. Elton. I cannot think who will be the villain in this story.” Madam laughed and Penny chuckled along with her.
“A villain? Are you certain there will be one?” Penny could not be sure. She had read Pride and Prejudice but not the others by this same authoress.
“I have read all of the author’s previous works, and each has had a scoundrel or some type of lying rogue who upsets the inhabitants of their story, such as Mr. Willoughby, Lieutenant Wickham, or Mr. Henry Crawford.”
There was nothing wrong with the old woman’s memory. Who would have thought she had been close to death less than a week ago?
“I suppose there may be. We have only just begun this story.” Had Madam detested the character of the “lying rogue” so much? Would she perceive her own grandson David’s character as equally despicable if she learned of his deception? Penny sincerely hoped the older woman never would.
She began reading aloud. Grandmother Cavanaugh’s enthusiasm at Emma and Harriet collecting riddles and Mr. Elton’s addition to their collection delighted her. She gasped at the vicar’s resourcefulness and sincerely hoped he was not the villain of the tale.
As events of the book unfolded, Penny and Madam discussed the story’s progress and their hopes for the upcoming visit of Emma’s sister and her family. They speculated about the true meaning of Mr. Elton’s riddle. Why had it been so easy for Emma to decipher, yet so difficult for Harriet, especially since it had been meant for her?
Mrs. Cavanaugh and Penny repeated particularly clever phrases from the book and, in certain places, contemplated the meaning of the narrative. She knew with every line read, every page turned, she grew more and more attached to his sweet old woman. Not only was she bright and adept, Penny dreaded that she would, certainly somehow, discover her grandson’s secret.
Could he survive another bucolic evening in the country?
The idea of another quiet evening after consuming a quiet dinner then retiring to the small parlor where he would sit in quiet with the ladies was far too much solitude and quiet for him.
David sank into one of the chairs, crossed his legs, rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, and planted his jaw in the palm of his hand. How was he to endure the next several hours without dozing off from sheer boredom?
Mrs. Sutton settled in a chair near the hearth. She slid on a pair of reading spectacles and opened her book. To watch the companion pursue this leisurely activity might be worse than doing so himself.
This was intolerable. There was absolutely nothing to do here.
Mrs. Parker entered and passed him, continuing to the opposite end of the room and stopping near the window.
Growing more and more curious, David stood and followed her. She had pulled up a chair near a large sheet of paper she had attached to the wall.
“What exactly is it you’re doing, may I ask?” He watched her set a candle on a tall table next to the chair.
“It is your grandmother’s wish to have your shade cast,” Mrs. Parker informed him.
“Mine?”
“All of ours: yours, mine, the children’s. Theirs are finished.” She motioned to the chair. “Madam will appreciate your cooperation. You do not need to do anything, sir. Just sit there.”
“Very well.” His time was better spent doing this than fighting his continuing twilight battle with Morpheus.
“Your grandmother will be so pleased.”
“You know there is nothing I will not do for her.” David sat in the straight-backed chair and became a cooperative victim.
“Now sit tall.” He felt her press against his spine to straighten his posture. “Rest back against the chair, just relax.” With a gentle pressure on his shoulder, she leaned him back. “Tilt your chin up a bit . . .” Looking away from him, she moved his jaw with her index finger. “There. Perfect. Now don’t move.”
Don’t. Move. This wasn’t exactly painful, but David did not feel quite right.
“How long do I need to stay in this position? It’s dash—” He stopped himself from finishing and substituted another, less coarse word. “Desperately uncomfortable.”
“As long as it takes me to outline your shadow onto this paper,” Mrs. Parker stated calmly, almost as if she were speaking to a child.
She may have placed him where she wanted him to sit, but David could not think he was quite comfortable. He felt a hair, or something, touching the top of his ear and reached up to wipe away whatever it was. Now his upper lip did not feel quite right, a tickle that must be assuaged.
“Now stop, if you please,” she scolded him. “This task will take forever if you continue to move. Honestly, you are a worse fidget than little Davy.”
“I imagine he would also find this extremely tiresome and a dead bore.”
“Davy may be a great deal better behaved than you. Stop wiggling your nose, if you please,” she scolded. “Do not complain to me. Your grandmother asked to have the silhouettes of your family members for display in her rooms so she may look on them always.”
“It’s a female thing, I take it,” he mumbled. Just being in the country was dashed difficult enough to tolerate. Now he had to sit in a chair where he was not allowed to move. His ruddy nose itched.
“For heaven’s sake, go ahead and scratch your nose!” Mrs. Parker pulled the small table closer and positioned the candle, looking over him to check the shadow his head cast upon the paper. “Keep looking forward. We want your profile.”
David rubbed the side of his nose with the back of his hand, then once again settled. “We do, do we?” David returned to his original position and, while holding his head motionless, looked to his right to catch a glimpse of his own silhouette.
“I think that’s about right.” Sweeping around him, she settled on a stool between the chair where he sat and the wall and touched his shoulder with two fingers as if setting him permanently into position. She turned to the wall and began to sketch on the paper.
“Will I be tracing your outline after you’ve finished with mine?” He’d never done such a thing before. The task hardly seemed difficult, and he supposed he could do it.
“You may, if you would like to attempt it,” she replied, keeping her focus on the paper and pencil in hand, sketching in feathery short lines. “I thought I would ask Nanny to do mine. She did the children’s.”
David s
ighed and did his utmost to endure the mind-numbing oblivion it took to sit. “Are you—”
“Please, do not move,” she gently scolded.
He felt her two fingers touch him on the shoulder, in the same place, and he resumed his position once again.
“You may speak, but please do not move.”
David drew in a slow breath, doing his utmost to keep his composure. “I was wondering how much longer this will take? I will warn you there is only so much . . . inactivity I can withstand. To sit motionless for a long period of time will drive me to my wits’ end.”
“There now,” Mrs. Parker replied in an encouraging manner as she would praise a child. “You are doing very well.”
That would not work for David, for he was not a child.
Mrs. Sutton had set her reading spectacles and book aside, wandering near to check the process. “Do you not think a second candle might create a better contrast?”
“I believe you’re correct, Mrs. Sutton.” Mrs. Parker paused, and David stole another glimpse out of the corner of his eye. “I’m used to using only one candle, but I can see how another would improve the edges.”
“Allow me to fetch another for you.”
“You are too kind,” Mrs. Parker replied and returned to the paper on the wall.
Mrs. Sutton quit the room, leaving David very much aware that he was alone with the artist.
Intent on the task before her, Mrs. Parker’s expression remained calm but serious. The soft light of the single taper illuminated her delicate features. She was quite pretty, David decided and pulled his attention from her, once again facing straight ahead, staring at nothing in particular. He merely sat calmly as she had requested.
An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) Page 11