An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) (12 page)

“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 sighed 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.

He’d not taken notice of her in
that
way before. She was the widowed aunt who’d finished raising the Duke of Faraday’s children. When they had all grown and married, she had moved on to his friend Gerald’s large brood.

She was too young to be shut up with her relatives’ offspring.

Over the years, David had seen her direct Lucy and Davy with firm but loving guidance. This afternoon he’d watched Mrs. Parker with Gran sharing more than companionship while they enjoyed the story they read together. She really was quite wonderful with Gran. There was real affection growing between them. He could see it evolve right before his eyes.

This woman, Mrs. Parker . . .
Penny
. While she took part in the lives of her extended family and now David’s, he could see that she deserved to love, and to receive love from, a family, children, and a husband of her own.

The poignant realization choked him with emotion.

“Well, whatever I may have said, however many times I have said it, it is woefully insufficient.” He turned to face her. He wanted her to know how appreciative he was. Gran’s recovery, her continued improvement, would not have been possible without Mrs. Parker’s cooperation.

“You must remain still,” came the soft scold.

“What?” He felt her two fingers touch the top of his shoulder again and he relaxed, leaning his back into the chair, to the
correct
position. “I, once again, beg your pardon.”

She set her pencil down and used her fingertips to make a slight adjustment to the positioning of his head and jaw to match the outline she’d drawn. “There. Now, if you could, do remain still.” Her hands lingered, and there was something intimate about the way she lightly touched his face. He stole a look at her from the corner of his eye before doing his utmost to hold his position.

The image of Gran and Mrs. Parker in his grandmother’s bedchamber that afternoon returned to him. He’d watched them. Mrs. Parker sat in a chair near Gran, who hung on every word. Her expression was one of pure delight. He’d only seen it a few times before. Never was there a lovelier sight. She was enjoying herself. Even now he felt a lump of emotion expand in his throat.

Mrs. Parker had looked up from the book to comment to Gran, and he’d pulled back from the doorway, standing squarely in the corridor, afraid of being discovered. Their unobserved comfortable coze moved him. He never imagined that would happen. Then again, his feelings ran very deep when it came to Gran.

“Do all wives make silhouettes of their husbands?” He’d broken the silence between them. Best not let it go on too long—a long quiet made things awkward.

“Only when their grandmothers insist on having one.” Mrs. Parker picked up her pencil and returned to his shadow. Not without first touching his shoulder with two fingers to set him in place. It was not an unpleasant feeling, and he did not object to the contact. “And she made it perfectly clear that I take particular attention documenting the Cavanaugh nose.”

Now who was teasing? David could hear the prodding in her tone. He should have guessed this woman could get on with anyone with whom she interacted. Not only was Mrs. Parker wonderful with children, she was wonderful with his grandmother. He recognized the genuine affection between the two women, and he knew in his heart it was due strictly to Mrs. Parker . . .
Penny
. She was patient, kind, and understanding. And above all, he realized what she was doing for Gran, and for him.

Mr. David Cavanaugh did have a sizeable nose. Penny hadn’t really noticed until she sketched its outline, with a single bold stroke, onto the paper. Then there was his strong chin and well-defined jaw that offset the prominence of his nose. She could not quite make herself relinquish her hold when he had returned to the proper position.

It was a shame that his green eyes—Penny did not have to look at them to know they were green—were not a feature noted on the silhouette. They were, she admitted to herself, quite fine.

She had no idea that sketching his outline would prove to be such an intimate act. Following the line she’d made, tracing his throat, chin, lips, nose, eyes, forehead to the curly hair on his head, gave her a familiarity with his features, with him.

Perhaps she should not allow him to sketch her in return. Penny did not want him to have the same knowledge of her. She felt quite exposed, quite naked at even the thought that he might regard her in such a manner.

“Here we go.” Mrs. Sutton had returned with a second candle. She lit the wick of the second from the first and set it in the wide base she had placed on the table, carefully placing them close together to avoid a second shadow. “You see, a much better contrast.”

“Yes, I must agree. Thank you for your suggestion.” The added illumination created a much darker shadow, which made completing the task quite easy.

“I do not think
I
care for it,” David remarked in a sharp tone. “I, for one, do not wish to lose the hair on one side of my head. Gran can’t want that either.”

“I hardly think you need worry about setting your hair ablaze.” Penny thought he was being awfully silly and wholly unrealistic.

“They ain’t near your head, ma’am,” he went on.

Normally one complained about the smoke and the smell. These candles burned quite clean and smoke free. “You should not have used such fine candles. It seems such a waste.”

“Sir Benjamin supplies us with these wonderful beeswax candles. They are made from wax from his own hives,” Mrs. Sutton replied. Having done her duty, she returned to the chair near the fireplace where she eased onto the chair and retrieved her spectacles and book.

“I’ve been hearing praise for Sir Benjamin all day. He’s sent Grandmother Cavanaugh some ingredients for tisanes and poultices as well as an excellent coughing draught.”

“I believe he is also the creator of the lime water restorative that I had the opportunity to sample,” David added.

The recollection of standing in the rose garden and catching the fresh scent of lime flashed in Penny’s mind. “He sounds to be a most intriguing man.”

“I must remind you, my dear, that speaking so highly of another man while in the presence of your
husband
cannot augment marital harmony,” David teased her. “If you do not desist, you will soon make me jealous.”

“Make you jealous?” Penny stilled and quickly regarded him before turning back to the paper on the wall. Had he said that to keep up their marriage pretense before Mrs. Sutton? Had he thought this was how a husband and wife conversed in their private moments?

The statement made Penny blush. She was glad she did not face him where he might see her cheeks redden.

There she was, blushing at her age!

“I would say you can see the green-eyed monster taking over as we speak, except that my eyes are naturally green. Perhaps I should roar a bit to display my wrath.”

Penny giggled, at the same time bringing her hands to her lips to squelch the embarrassing sound, and she nudged the monster himself with her elbow.

Goodness, first blushing now giggling!

“Sir, you must stop,” Penny scolded him. She did not care for the way he made her feel silly. She was not a young girl, after all. “What must Mrs. Sutton think?”

“I say, it never hurts to see a husband flirt with his wife a little,” Mrs. Sutton commented with a touch of amusement from across the room.

“Flirting?” Penny whispered, quite aghast. “Why on earth would you do that?” She leveled the question in a whisper.

David replied in all seriousness, “Did I not warn you, ma’am, that if I had to remain in this position for more than five minutes, I would be driven quite mad?”

Chapter Eleven

T
he following day’s visit garnered much excitement for Lucy and Davy. Penny led them to the barouche, where they climbed onto the overstuffed scarlet squabs with such enthusiasm. She informed them they must sit properly before the vehicle would depart to make the short journey. The visit could not have been noteworthy to David, who must have called many times in the past.

The entire notion of furthering an acquaintance with anyone during their stay was not an idea that pleased her. The fewer people Penny knew, who knew of Penny, the better. However, this visit could not be avoided. The close connection with these particular neighbors must be sustained. They were good friends of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s, and their invitation necessitated a gracious acceptance.

Upon approaching Manfred Place, the children delighted at every farm animal they passed while Penny gazed about at the groomed gardens. There were several orchards and not merely one conservatory, but three.

The sweeping, long drive curved before the grand, restored old manor where the vehicle came to a halt. David and his
family
had arrived. The butler opened the front door and bid them welcome.

Two ladies waited in the foyer. Miss Lemmon stood behind her elder sister and the lady of the house. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she said, greeting the guests.

“Allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Cavanaugh.” David paused to make the introduction. “Lady—”

“Ah! Finally—here is my husband, Sir Benjamin,” the lady of the house announced, almost immediately after David had begun, motioning to the gentleman approaching behind Penny.

She recognized the man at once when he came into view, and his last name escaped from her lips at the instant David completed his introduction, “—Pelfry.”

At first she felt nothing, numb. Penny did not quite know what to say or what to do. Her eyes widened at the surprise of coming face-to-face with someone who knew her, had known her as Mrs. Penelope Parker.

Pelfry?
It was
Lord Cee-trees
. . . That was what Muriel had dubbed him more than five years ago. The man, as Penny recalled according to her niece, had an “unnatural affinity for citrus.”

“Mrs. Park—” Sir Benjamin’s brows creased momentarily and he paused.

Penny held her breath and prayed that he not say her name. And how would she reply? She could not lie to him. It felt as if he had fallen silent for an eternity.

“But of course,” he finally said in realization. “You have remarried! Our last meeting was many years ago, more than five, I vow.”

Penny did not dare look at David, for that might elicit from him reactions that required explanation. Instead she simply forced a smile, one of relief.

“I surmise we both must have married soon after my visit to Faraday Hall.” Sir Benjamin’s mirthful countenance brightened once again at the recollection. “How fortunate we both are.”

“Yes, I expect so.” Penny did her utmost to remain calm. “In any case, it is a pleasure to see you again, Sir Benjamin.” Penny forced herself to resist her feeling of panic.

“Shall I take Lucy and Davy to see the puppies?” Miss Lemmon interjected during the lull Sir Benjamin had created. “Both Clemmy and Sylvie are there now.”

“Yes, the puppies. Yes, please,” the two children pleaded.

“After you play with the puppies, you can watercolor in the playroom. We’ve set up the paints, paper, and brushes,” Miss Lemmon interrupted, waving to the children to follow her. Without a word of farewell, they rushed off in a thrice.

Why would they not wish to have fun painting instead of spending time listening to dull adult conversation?

“Where are my manners?” Lady Pelfry cooed. “Shall we remove to the Seed Parlor?” She led the way down through the corridor and entered a room with sunlight pouring though a pair of large windows and wallpaper depicting exotic flowers.

“May I first have a word with you, my dear?” Sir Benjamin called to his wife.

“If you will pardon me?” Lady Pelfry motioned to the room, and that they should make themselves comfortable before she left. “I will be but a moment.”

Penny exhaled. The hostess’s absence gave her time to catch her breath and make some sense of being in the presence of Sir Benjamin. The coincidence was absolutely astounding. How could this have happened? What were they going to do if he were to say who Penny really was?

“Mrs. Par—Penny?” David whispered, then glanced at the doorway, making certain they were alone. “Is it true that you are acquainted with Sir Benjamin?”

“Oh, Mr. Cavanaugh. I do not know how this is possible.” Penny pressed her hand to her mouth, covering her trembling lips. Her eyes began to fill with tears. She desperately hoped they would not roll down her cheeks in a betrayal of the guilt she suffered. “I cannot help but think that we shall be discovered.”

“I encourage you to remain calm.” He crossed to the room to stand by her side. He took her trembling hand into his, lending comfort.

“What if Sir Benjamin was to speak of Mrs. Parker to others?” She tightened her grip, squeezing David’s hand.

“I do not believe he will do so,” David reassured her. Hearing him say the words comforted Penny somewhat. “Has he not convinced himself that you have remarried after your initial meeting? He has thoroughly invented a plausible account for your current status as Mrs. Cavanaugh. You have no cause to worry, my dear.” He placed his hand over hers and gazed into her moist eyes. “All will be well. Do dry your eyes. How shall I ever explain to our hosts why my
wife
weeps? They will think me an ogre, I am sure.”

His wife.
They stood there for some moments gazing into each other’s eyes. Penny wished she could believe that there was no cause for tears and all would be well. But how could that possibly come to be? They were about to be exposed, their fraud revealed.

“Ah! I see you both admire the Seed Parlor,” Sir Benjamin announced as he entered the room. “There are nine different types of apple and pear trees depicted along the walls and furniture.”

Penny and David faced away from the door, still standing. One could mistakenly assume they were studying the room and the ornamentations on the walls.

“Really?” Penny tried to sound interested but found the notion a bit strange. She observed that David, who only a moment ago stood beside her, now sat on the orchard-patterned sofa. One could discern it was a fruit orchard and not a forest, for the ripe red and yellow apples and pears hung from the branches.

“Is this not splendid? Really not so different from Faraday Hall.” The baronet drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Ah . . . Faraday Hall . . . I remember it well.”

“Oh? I suppose you mean the small parlor, in the rear of the house?” Penny and her nieces Augusta, Charlotte, and Muriel had spent a great many hours over the years there occupied by reading, studying, and various types of needlework. “Mr. Cavanaugh has never visited my brother-in-law’s country estate.”

“I cannot tell you what an inspiration its Citrus Parlor has had for me. Gave me some ideas for many of the designs when we refurbished this old house.” Sir Benjamin nodded and smiled at the recollection. “It was a stroke of genius that His Grace used a quite extraordinary vase, decorated with various citrus fruit, as a focal point for the ladies’ retreat. I know it must have delighted his young daughters.”

Only during the time they inhabited the schoolroom
. As young ladies, the girls’ tastes grew more sophisticated and the whimsical citrus motif altered, in their estimation, to merely fun, nostalgic memory.

“You will allow me to show you the improvements I’ve made to Manfred Place, will you not?” He turned to David, “I daresay you may find this interesting as well, Mr. Cavanaugh. Perhaps you might consider the very same for the Willows?”

It sounded to Penny this was the beginning of a long afternoon.

While Lucy and Davy were enjoying themselves painting in the playroom, Penny and David had a tour of Manfred Place. Sir Benjamin informed them of all the improvements and led his guests through each of the conservatories. There were three, as Penny had noticed on their journey from the Willows to Manfred Place. Each multipartitioned glass house contained different types of fruit trees and companion plants that were cared for by a group of gardeners overseen by Sir Benjamin himself.

It was a very drawn-out afternoon that was not close to ending.

The highlight of the tour of the grounds, according to the baronet, and his pride and joy, were his beehives. They were encased in glass attached to the conservatories, and housed in a separate room that contained its own heating and cooling strictly for temperature maintenance. There was a small desk where Sir Benjamin could toil over his land management records and plan for his estate grounds and future bees’ wax and honey harvesting. It was also a safe place for others to observe without harm to the tiny insects.

Sir Benjamin could speak on and on about the qualities, usefulness, and benefits of the bees and their by-products, and he had to some length.

Thank goodness Miss Lemmon brought the children, all five of them, with their newly created art in hand. All of the paintings were some type of still life of fruit: citrus, grapes, apples, pineapples, or pears. They took turns displaying their masterpieces, and when the smallest child held his paper up for all to see, Penny remarked, “Who is this young gentleman?”

The lad stood nearly the same height as Davy, but his rounded cheeks, chubby arms, and fingers were a telltale sign of his toddler status.

“That’s Melonhead,” Clemmy exclaimed and then giggled. Sylvie squeaked in agreement or protest, Penny was not certain.

“Clemmy, don’t be disrespectful!” her aunt scolded. “We call him Mel.”

Penny sincerely hoped his name was not Melon-anything. It would have been too cruel for a child.

Sir Benjamin proudly pulled his son into his arms and held him, elevating him over his sisters. “All my children have beautiful and meaningful names: Clementine, Seville, and Melanthius.”

With that said, Penny could have kissed Mr. Cavanaugh for bringing an amicable end to their visit. He did not say as much, but it was her opinion that he wished them to return home before they all sprouted roots where they stood.

“And when he went on about the bees!” David freely spoke his mind once Nanny had departed with the children and only Penny remained in his company. They entered the Willows from the rear entrance and headed to the main staircase.

Penny removed her bonnet and held it in both hands, trying to subdue her mirth, but David saw her composure slip all the same.

Lawks!
He’d never heard anything as dull as the baronet prosing on and on about bees. “He knows so much about them. Sir Benjamin must write a book and share that knowledge for those who wish to enlighten themselves.”

“You must own he knows a great deal, and there are, as Sir Benjamin said, a great many uses for bees’ wax and honey. Not to mention the benefit of pollination of fruit, flowers, and other types of plants.” David would be the first to vow this fact about Penny.

“Of course, but I will not be purchasing that tome.”

“Why would you wish to when you have Sir Benjamin in your backyard? You could simply ask him for his advice personally.” Penny hadn’t precisely given herself away with a chuckle, but David knew when someone was roasting him.

He stopped in his tracks in the foyer and stared hard at her. A very attractive, wide smile crossed her lips, displaying straight, white teeth. “Now who’s flirting with whom?” David returned her smile.

“More importantly, we have not been discovered and all is well.” Penny’s whispered words seemed to dissolve into the lingering quiet. There were no voices, no footsteps, no sounds of any sort.

They stared at each other in the unusual silence of the house, the stillness that permeated through the corridor. Their once flirting, playful stares became questioning. Why did the house feel so odd? David knew she wondered the same.

“Where is everyone?” Her whisper grew soundless, and she now only mouthed the butler’s name. “Woodsworth?”