An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) (4 page)

“If she mistakes you for her own grandchildren, I beg that you do not disagree.” Penny gazed into Lucy’s eyes, trying to measure the child’s sincerity. She wasn’t certain that was possible, the sincerity of a child? Lucy could not know how her actions, and those of her brother, would impact the outcome of this endeavor.

“That’s all right, ma’am,” Lucy replied and turned Mollie to face her. “I don’t mind if she thinks I am her granddaughter. Sometimes old people get confused.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Penny replied.

“Con-fuss-ed,” Davy mimicked his sister while marching his wooden horse along the side of the chaise, not paying the least attention to anyone. And it was fairly certain if Lucy would play along with this pretense, her brother would follow her lead.

“If we are to be playacting, then you must be our mum.” Lucy offered with a giggle of good humor. “And Da can be our papa.”

Penny chuckled with relief. “That sounds fine. What do you think, Mr. Cavanaugh? Can you play in Lucy’s game?” This would be the closest to persuading the children to go along with the charade. As long as they believed this to be a game, the plan might work. Attempting to have the children remember on their own would be a setup for failure.

The man looked rather pleased with himself. “I suppose I could play along. If that is what Lucy wants.”

“As long as you bear that in mind and do not give us up.” Penny addressed him in stern tones.

“I take it as a personal challenge.” He glanced at Lucy and then Davy. “I can play pretend as well as the next man!”

“And shall you give us up?” Penny inquired of the girl next to her.

“Oh, no, I shan’t!” Lucy remarked, indignant.

“Me neither!” Davy copied his sister in tone, but as for the meaning behind it, Penny imagined the three-year-old had no idea what he had agreed to do. And perhaps it was best to leave it at that.

The swaying of Sir Thomas’s well-sprung chaise had soon lulled the children to sleep. David thought they slumbered as though they were angels, resting upon the plush bench seats. Davy lay curled in a corner, with the fingers of his right hand barely holding on to his wooden horse. Lucy slept on her side, her head resting upon Mrs. Parker’s lap, with her doll caught securely under her arm.

“They are darlings, aren’t they?” David smiled, admiring while gazing at his sleeping godchildren.

“I’m very fond of them.” Mrs. Parker glanced from Davy to Lucy and then rearranged the girl’s cloak so it would not tumble to the floor.

The motion attracted David’s attention to her hand, more specifically, the gold band on her third finger. “A wedding ring? I must admit the notion never crossed my mind. May I see?” He put out his palm to take her hand and brought it near for closer study.

“This is my own,” she told him. “It is a small matter, but one that will not be overlooked by anyone who you would wish to believe we are married.”

“I am certain you are correct.” He turned her hand and studied the simple ornamentation adorning her finger. It was not shiny as a new ring would have been. “I would say it has a very convincing, slightly worn hue.”

“I wasn’t married long.” Mrs. Parker’s soft words were followed by her withdrawing her hand and leaning back into her seat. “I only wished to lend some credibility to our tale.”

“I beg your pardon,” he apologized, raising his gaze from the ring to meet her stare for a moment until she returned her attention to the ring upon her finger.

“It was not a bad marriage, nor was it the happiest time in my life, sir. Mr. Parker was a kind man, and I have no complaints.” Apparently Mrs. Parker did not wish to dwell on her past. She gazed at the slumbering Lucy, then over to Davy. “They do not always look so peaceful, you know.”

“Yes, I do know. I’ve been told I have a ruinous influence on them.” David tried to deliver the news with some amount of courage.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes widened, and she straightened. “Who told you that?”

“It was from one of the footmen, who had it by one of the upstairs maids when a nursery footman complained to her,” David informed her. A small part of him was surprised that she did not already know.

“
Complained?
”

“Well, not really. He just mentioned that there seemed to be more scampering about when I stopped by, that’s all.” David shrugged. “We like to dash about and play, the children and I.”

“Yes, I usually reserve that sort of behavior for the outdoors, not inside the nursery.” There was a critical tone.

If David hadn’t known any better, he would have thought she was dressing him down.

“No doubt you all will have room enough to dash about at the Willows, outdoors, of course.”

“Oh, bother, Mrs. Parker, there is nothing more dreadful than to hang about there. Gran is the only reason I go to the Willows,” David admitted. He hated spending his days, his evenings, his nights there. There was absolutely nothing to do. “I find country life abominable.”

“Really?” She seemed surprised. “What of the ponies and pirates and wild berries?”

“Who said anything about pirates?” He and his brothers had often played plundering marauders of the sea, but David had not made mention of such.

“Oh, my mistake. I cannot imagine how I came to think on that. Perhaps it is because we are near the Channel.”

“Better not let Gran hear you speak of smugglers or pirates. She fears they’ll return and ransack the house someday.”

“I said nothing about smugglers,” she replied with suspicion.

“Don’t even say it in front of Gran. She’s got a deathly fear of them.”

“Yes, as you’ve already said,” Mrs. Parker remarked rather sharply. “And why, after all your praise of your childhood pastimes, do you now denounce country life?
’
”

“Well, it was all right when I was a boy, but now that I’ve grown, had a taste of Town living, I suppose I find life at the Willows a dead bore.” He didn’t feel the need to list the reasons—“dead bore” was all-encompassing.

“I see.” She definitely looked down her nose at that. “I suppose you find the evenings too quiet for your taste, the days lacking in excitement, and the company, as a whole, a bit thin?”

Devil take it, she spotted the rural inadequacies right off. Was she the type of female from whom nothing is kept secret? Gran had overlooked his many misdeeds when he was in his youth, and perhaps even in more recent years, but he really needed to watch himself around Mrs. Parker.

“Despite my opinion of the rural setting upon which we are to descend, allow me to convey to you the following: I dispatched a letter just before I left Town. Woodsworth, the butler, and Mrs. Shore, the housekeeper, will be expecting us. Gran’s companion, Mrs. Sutton, and her nurse are at Gran’s bedside. I do not know who is in charge there.”

“Do not trouble yourself regarding the particulars, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Mrs. Parker’s tone soothed his anxiety. “I am certain the circumstance will be self-evident when we arrive, and I shall manage. This is a difficult time. The children and I are here to lend you and your grandmother some solace, and I wish you would be put at ease.”

“Yes, I know, and I thank you. There are not words enough to relay my appreciation, to you, to Frances, and to Gerald.”

“It is too late for regret. It is a shame you had not been more receptive to your grandmother’s wishes. Had you given the least amount of thought to the consequences of your actions from the beginning, you would not find yourself in such a serious tangle.”

“Yes, my situation is more severe than I ever imagined.” David had only told Gran what she wanted to hear to make her happy, and what was wrong with imparting some direly needed joy? “I realize that now.”

The chaise jolted, hitting a rock or a pothole in the road, jarring the occupants. David reached out to ensure Davy would not be thrown to the floor, mimicking Mrs. Parker’s steadying hold over Lucy.

“We should count ourselves fortunate, indeed, if that is the only rough patch we need survive, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Mrs. Parker straightened in her seat and gazed at him. “I fear before our journey is complete we shall find ourselves in far worse circumstances. However, that does not imply we will fail.”

A small smile graced her lips, and in that moment David felt as if all would work out. He nodded his head. Yes, they would work together, all of them, just as if they were a true family.

“Since we are to be
man and wife
, will you not suspend propriety and allow yourself to call me David?”

“David.” Mrs. Parker carefully enunciated the hard D consonants at the beginning and end of his name. “Perhaps it is best, and you should also . . .”

“Yes, yes. I best become accustomed to using Christian names as well.” He cleared his throat and stared directly at her, feeling at that very moment close and intimate as he whispered with a great deal of regard, “I shall call you . . .
Caroline
.”

Chapter Four

A
fter the final overnight stay at an inn, the children, Nanny, and Penny’s maid, Amelia, would follow in one of the two slower traveling coaches. Penny and Mr. Cavanaugh, in the final leg of the journey, raced ahead, making haste toward the Willows.

Sir Thomas’s chaise turned off the main road and away from the lovely parkland scenery and continued down a winding drive lined with yew trees toward a manor house, soon rolling to a stop. A definitive end to the transitional portion of the upcoming lie they were to perpetrate. Penny leaned the slightest bit forward and lifted her chin to have a proper look at their destination.

The ornately carved, lightly colored Bath stone façade did not appear foreboding. She could make out some gardens to the east of the residence and some greenery that extended beyond. Had the building been timber-framed with small-paned mullion windows and surrounded by tall, dense shrubs, it might not have felt quite as welcoming.

Penny did not wish any further discomfort in her circumstances than what already existed. She could only speak for herself when reflecting upon the importance of what they were about to attempt: a complete and utter lie. At best one could call it a benevolent ruse. They meant no harm, nor did any of them perform this task with intent of personal gain. Still, it did not make her feel any better.

“Do you think your grandmother still lives?” Penny retied the ribbons of her bonnet and then checked the strings of her reticule, taking it up in one hand.

“I can’t say, Mrs. Parker.” Mr. Cavanaugh busied himself by donning his gloves for their imminent exit from the vehicle.

“Best you do not call me by that name any longer, sir,” Mrs. Parker warned. “It may take only one slip of your tongue to undo all the efforts of our Banbury story.”

“Ah, you have the right of it, Mrs.
Cavanaugh
.” The faux spouse spoke with care and took up his walking stick. “And what shall we do when in the presence of the children?”

Penny could not answer directly, but she could only hope an answer would be provided when the necessity arose. “We have already spoken to them about enacting a pretense, have we not? We may do as little as remind them of it every now and again.”

“Very well. That sounds reasonable enough.” He seated his hat upon his head. “I suggest we proceed with all due caution.”

Not only should he accustom himself to calling her
Mrs. Cavanaugh
, but Penny must also answer to it. Briefly meeting his uneasy glance before the door swung open and the steps were let down, Mr. Cavanaugh—
David
—was the first to disembark.

Penny closed her eyes and exhaled, savoring the last moment of virtue
before moving toward their distasteful endeavor. Stepping outside the chaise meant much more than the end of their journey. She fully understood it signified the beginning of a new one. There would be no turning back for either of them.

Mr. Cavanaugh—
David
—had waited for her, just as he should, and offered her his arm to escort her into the house. He may have appeared outwardly calm, but Penny felt the slight tremor beneath her hand. Whatever misgivings she had felt, the anxiety for
David
must have been threefold.

The front door of the grand house opened. The butler, Mr. Woodsworth, stood waiting in the foyer while two women moved past him to welcome the guests.

“God bless, it’s finally you, Master David.” The taller woman met them at the doorway with a small curtsy.

“My dear,” he said to Penny. “This is Mrs. Sutton, my grandmother’s companion, and Mrs. Shore, the housekeeper. May I present my wife?”

“How do you do, Mrs. Cavanaugh?” the ladies chorused and curtsied.

“Mrs. Sutton, Mrs. Shore.” Penny nodded to each in turn.

“How is Gran?” David inquired with an impatient note. “We’d like to see her right away, if you please.” He turned to Penny, as if it were an afterthought, and said, “Could you bear to forgo changing out of your traveling clothes to—”

“Of course.” She completely understood his haste to assure himself of his relative’s condition. “If your grandmother can stand to accept us, dust and all, I will not delay your reunion.”

“I do believe she would forgive me most any indiscretion if you were at my side.” He laid his gloved hand upon hers, trapping it in the crook of his arm.

“This is a good time, actually, sir.” Mrs. Sutton peeked at her broach watch. “Madam has remained fairly stable since receiving word of your impending arrival. I do believe she will be most pleased to see you. Both of you.”

The weary, anxious travelers took a few minutes to divest themselves from their traveling cloaks and accoutrements.

“Mrs. Shore, will you have a tea tray delivered to the front parlor for Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh?” Mrs. Sutton asked the housekeeper. Once the guests were ready to continue, the companion graciously relayed, “Follow me, if you please.”

Penny and David exchanged glances again, this time more serious than before they quit the chaise. She trailed her
husband
up the stairs to the first floor. Mrs. Sutton crossed the landing, turning right down a long corridor, passing many unoccupied rooms until she stopped at a closed door.

Mrs. Sutton turned her head and whispered over her shoulder to the visitors, “Nurse is sitting with her now.”

Penny untied the ribbons of her bonnet and pulled it from her head. She could not prevent dread from creeping into her thoughts.

David nodded, ready to face whatever lay inside, yet in his heart he was not completely certain of his resolve. Mrs. Sutton faced the door once again. The familiar sound of a doorknob turning and the low groan of the door opening worked at unraveling the edge of his courage. David felt a hand steal upon his upper arm. Mrs. Parker, who stood behind him, took firm hold of his shoulder, lending him strength. His grandmother’s companion moved forward and entered the room.

The visitors stepped into a large, darkened bedchamber. The soft light came through the partially covered windows to the right. Ahead, a nurse tended her charge, who lay in a large bed with dark tapestry curtains tied back to the four bedposts.

David immediately went to her side and gently took one of her hands in his. She was a fragile woman under several thick blankets. He leaned close to her. “Gran? Gran? It’s David.”

The old woman began to stir, and her eyelids fluttered open. “Davy? My Davy?” Her voice sounded weaker than he could imagine. “Is that really you?”

“Yes, Gran, and look who I have brought to see you. My dearest Caroline.” David straightened, glanced over his shoulder, and held his other hand out to Mrs. Parker, beckoning her near.

“Caro-line? Finally . . .” The patient attempted to lift her head. “Come here, dear, so I can see you.”

Mrs. Parker handed Mrs. Sutton her bonnet and moved quickly to the bed. “I am here, ma’am. Please, do not tax yourself.”

David wrapped his arm around his
wife
, pulling her close to the bed and nearer still for his beloved relative to have a proper look. “I have finally brought her to you.”

“You are so beautiful, just as I knew you would be.” Her gaze moved over Mrs. Parker’s face, taking in her features with fond appreciation. “I am very happy you have come to visit.”

“I am terribly sorry it has taken us so long.” She covered Gran’s cold hand lying in David’s.

“Where are the children?” Gran gazed into Mrs. Parker’s face with a heartbreaking expression.

“They are traveling with Nanny. We expect they’ll be arriving in a few more hours,” she told Gran.

“Of course they are.” Her voice softened. Gran’s weakened state became marked.

“You’d best rest up and gain your strength so you can see them young folk, ma’am.” Nurse stood by the bedside, fluffing up the pillows and taking particular care the bedcovers were tucked in snugly to keep her patient warm.

“Yes, yes,” his grandmother agreed, sounding even more frail.

“You rest now, Gran. We’ll talk again later.” David relinquished her hand to the nurse, who tucked it under the covers.

“Will you read to me this afternoon, Caroline?” the frail, old woman called out.

“Of course I will, if that is what you wish. I would be delighted.” Mrs. Parker smiled in return.

How kind it was of Mrs. Parker to accede to Gran’s wish, and how good it was to see, if only for a moment, his grandmother’s smile. What more would it take for her to fully regain her strength? Then it occurred to him perhaps the company of her loving family was all that was needed.

“Yes, yes. Let me rest now. Please”—her voice weakened to barely a whisper—“I need to rest.”

No one said a word. Nurse remained while Mrs. Parker and David followed Mrs. Sutton in silence down the corridor and back to the landing where they might speak without disturbing the ailing patient.

“Will you take tea, or would you like to be shown to your room to rest up a bit?” Mrs. Sutton inquired of both guests, but she looked to Mrs. Parker for an answer.

“Tea, if you please, Mrs. Sutton. Would you mind”—she turned to her
husband
—“if we took a turn in the garden first? I’d like to walk about after traveling, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever you wish, my dear.” David deferred to his
wife
, sharply aware, just as she had been, of their circumstance. No doubt Mrs. Parker wanted nothing more than to recover from the journey, but David’s questions regarding her impression of Gran and her condition nagged at him. Thank goodness she was of like mind and must have realized she would have her rest in due time.

“Then I should like to take tea in a half hour or so, if you please,” Mrs. Parker replied and reached out, retrieving her bonnet. “Thank you, Mrs. Sutton.”

“I would appreciate it if you would join us in the parlor for tea.” David
wanted to know how long his grandmother had been lingering. When was the last time the doctor saw her? What was her prognosis? Yes, he had many questions. But first he would speak with Mrs. Parker, in private.

Without waiting for either lady, David descended the staircase.

What was his hurry? David led Penny through the house in such haste from what she could only imagine was the most direct route. They passed a parlor with a green-striped sofa and dark green drapes, the dining room with a long, expansive table, and the smaller sitting room near the rear of the house before exiting out a side door.

Her suggestion to take a turn about the garden was not only meant as a short interlude to move about after spending all that time trapped in a carriage. No doubt it would also allow them some privacy to speak their minds if that is what he wished. Above all else, it would provide Penny some minutes to regain her composure after the upset of visiting the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh.

Penny never would have guessed just how quickly her emotions had been engaged. Not with David, as Frances had envisioned, but with his grandmother. It was clear the old woman had waited a very long time to meet David’s bride.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, I must confess—”

He immediately quieted her with a short stream of nonsensical babble and then warned, “Do wait a few more moments to speak, if you please.”

Penny did not understand and returned a stern, deliberate stare and kept silent for nearly the entire five minutes it took to cross the back of the residence heading toward a wide gravel path lined with rosebushes.

During this time, she could not help but reflect upon the brief visit with David’s grandmother. Stagnant air had greeted the visitors upon entering the bedchamber. Standing close to Mrs. Cavanaugh as she lay in bed, Penny realized the patient’s condition was every bit as dire as Mr. Woodsworth had described in his letter.

There was a very pale cast to her face that nearly matched the white cap covering her hair. What astonished Penny was the manner in which the supposed failing patient became animated at David’s presence, and at her own arrival.

“I thank you for your patience, ma’am.” David stepped away from Penny to glance over his shoulder at the house behind them.