Penelope (15 page)

That night her
dreams were vivid. She dreamt of fans wearing pink bloomers
scolding her for eating the head of an exquisite biscuit sculpture.
Then the fans morphed into nameless lords and ladies that ordered
her to dance for the duke. And all of a sudden she was no longer in
control of her feet, as they capered about the room on their own.
The duke, sitting upon a golden throne, smiled derisively, and the
ladies started laughing and pointing at her … She looked down at
her clothes and found herself wearing a tattered grey dress
splashed with dirt. The dress was slowly disintegrating and her
dancing feet were shoeless.

 She woke
up groggy and depressed.

***

The duke too
had woken up in a foul mood. Sleep had been fitful since the day
that blasted woman had arrived. He lay in bed staring up at the
ornate ceiling and scratched his ear, his right ear, the same ear
that she had pinched and mauled.

 From the
moment he had set eyes on her she had irked him. She, the
inconsequential country fodder, had tried to warm his bed. He had
won that round, he thought smiling. Put her in her place and
soundly frightened her.

His thoughts
turned gloomy. She had somehow won his mother’s and sister’s
support. He had been forced to let her stay, even after the
drinking debacle. She was a clever player. All his attempts at
sending her packing were failing, and he never failed. Her village
must have some masterminds to produce such an ingenious, evil
specimen. His ego was bruised. He had been proven wrong again and
again. Her ankle had truly been sprained. Whether in an honest
accident or by design, he wasn’t sure. But the point was that he
felt like a fool, and he had looked like a fool in front of his
mother and sister.

He slammed his
hand on the bed. In the Blue Room he had found her naked. He
paused. Well, almost naked. She had been wearing bloomers,
stockings and a corset. A sudden picture of her without the
bloomers, stockings and corset rose in his mind. He growled low and
deep. He had danced with her and she had appeared different … and
smelt of roses. He frowned.

It was a deuced
thing, this whole mess. His mother and sister should have supported
him and not some annoying stranger. He would have to come up with
another plan and this time it had to work. It was becoming
increasingly clear to him that Miss Fairweather was like a fruit
fly— unwanted and insignificant. A fruit fly that could not do any
lasting harm, but was nevertheless irritating and should be gotten
rid of.

 All
thoughts of Penelope vanished when Hopkins, his valet, said
urgently from the door, “Your grace, your mother has been taken
ill.”

The duke did
not waste a single moment. He jumped out of bed, threw on a robe
and rushed to his mother’s room.

His sister sat
by his mother’s side while the fruit fly perched at the other end
of the bed. He ignored their presence focussing on his mother
instead. She looked ashen.

“What is it?”
he asked gently.

“My throat
hurts,” the dowager rasped.

“She has a
fever,” Lady Radclyff added.

The duke came
and took his sister’s place on the bed. He held his mother’s frail
wrist for a moment and then touched her forehead. It was hot.

“I will send
for Dr Johnson. No, Mother, I insist on it. Meanwhile, Annie, leave
the room. I am not sure what is wrong and it could be contagious.
Anne, that’s an order.”

He waited until
Lady Radclyff left and then went to his mother’s desk. He wrote a
short note and handed it to Hopkins.

“Leave
immediately and make sure you return with the physician.”

Once alone, his
face lost some of its composure. He kept his face averted from his
mother, aware that his terror was now only too plain.

A soft touch on
his shoulder startled him. Miss Fairweather was still in the room.
He had forgotten about her.

The glittering
sympathy in her eyes annoyed him.

“Get out,” he
whispered.

Penelope backed
away but refused to leave. “I want to stay by her side. She may
need something.”

“Did you not
hear what I said to Anne?”

“Yes, that the
dowager may be contagious, but then you are still here.”

“I am her
son.”

“I am indebted
to her.”

“Not enough to
risk your life. Get out or I will throw you out myself.”

“I am a
nuisance to you. What do you care—” Her words were cut short. The
duke grabbed her arm, dragged her across the room and shut the door
on her face.

***

Madame arrived
later that morning and found her student distracted.

“It is
conundrum not conoodrum, thistle not thizzle, cacophony not coca
phony ….” Madame slammed the book shut. “You have stolen and read
plenty of books from your father’s library, but it is a pity that
no one taught you how to pronounce all the big words. Really, you
should try and speak in short simple sentences and only use words
that you … Miss Fairweather, are you listening to me?

Madame sighed.
The physician was with the dowager and until he enlightened the
family as to the diagnosis, no one would rest easy. She left after
coaxing Penelope to try on a few corsets and measuring her again to
check the fitting.

It was another
hour before a maid arrived to inform Lady Radclyff and Penelope
that the dowager had requested their presence.

The two girls
leapt up before the maid had finished talking and rushed to the
dowager’s room.

“Don’t look so
morose, my dears. I will live. All I have is a sore throat and a
slight temperature. Nothing contagious,” the dowager whispered.

“Don’t speak,
Mother, I can see it hurts you to do so,” Lady Radclyff said,
taking her place on the bed.

Penelope stood
uncertainly at the door wondering if she was intruding.

An encouraging
smile from the dowager had her pulling up a chair.

“Mamma, we met
Charles outside. He said you have to rest for a few days.”

The dowager
nodded looking gloomy.

“It will be
dreadfully boring in your room all day with nothing to do,” Lady
Radclyff continued.

The dowager
looked even more miserable.

“Perhaps you
can read? Knit?” Penelope asked.

The dowager
shook her head and pointed to her eyes and then her head.

“Ah, you will
get a headache,” Penelope said. “Can I … Would you like me to read
to you?”

The dowager
brightened.

“You don’t mind
reading?” Lady Radclyff asked doubtfully.

“No, I love
reading. I cannot of course pronounce big words like canoozers and
conoodrums, but I do have a book that is simple enough.”

Lady Radclyff
and the dowager smiled in relief.

“It is an
adventure called Bertie’s Botheration. A haunting, gothic tale of
…” She stopped for the dowager was frantically gesturing to her
heart and grinning.

“You have read
it! It is my favourite book. Ah, I see you love it too. Yes … yes,
I understand you could never tell anyone that it is your favourite.
Not lofty enough. I keep a few acceptable names in my head every
time someone asks me what my favourite book is, but one does not
really confess what book they actually really like and have read
over and over …”

***

The duke
glowered at the scene. The fruit fly sat reading some idiotic tale
aloud. His sister snoozed on the sofa while his mother listened
enraptured to the buzzing creature.

He found
himself in one of those situations where you do not like what is
happening, but if you stop it, then the consequences may be worse.
If he did stop the creature from reading, then Anne would have to
take her place. Anne hated reading, despised it in fact, and that
meant that in the end he would have to take her place. He enjoyed
reading but to himself. Not to his mother, especially when his
mother’s taste ran to romance and adventure tales. It was a tad
uncomfortable reading aloud to his mother about swooning maidens
and passionate kisses. He therefore reluctantly allowed the fruit
fly to continue fluttering about his mother.

***

Penelope spent
the next two days glued to the dowager’s side. She took occasional
breaks for meals and to gossip with Lady Radclyff when she came to
visit the dowager. Her lessons were not completely suspended. She
was forced to endure two hours of lectures and teachings with
Madame.

A curious bond
formed between the dowager and Penelope in those two days.
Penelope’s ability to assess the dowager’s mood and wants made her
almost invaluable to the dowager. Her reading skills were wanting,
but the dowager was simply happy to be occupied and have her
favourite story read to her, however badly.

In turn, a
grumpy, petulant dowager put Penelope at ease. She no longer
regarded the dowager in awe. The dowager needed her and that made
Penelope feel, if only for a fleeting moment, that she had a place
where she belonged.

On the third
day Penelope entered the breakfast room to find Lady Radclyff and
the duke already present.

“How is mother?
Didn’t the physician come to see her today?” Lady Radclyff
asked.

“The infection
in her throat is improved, but she is still frail. A day more in
bed and she can resume light activities,” the duke replied, his
eyes on Penelope.

Penelope
ignored him and took a seat. He had made a habit of glaring at her
at every meal. She was getting used to it.

“Miss
Fairweather, would you like to come to my room after your lessons
with Madame? You can help me plan what to wear for tomorrow. I am
torn between the pink and the lavender silk,” Lady Radclyff said
turning to Penelope.

“Did you have
something special planned?” Penelope asked, adding a generous
helping of cream and sugar to her porridge.

Lady Radclyff
giggled, “You have a talent of making me laugh, Miss
Fairweather.”

Penelope added
chopped fruit and carefully sprinkled cinnamon on top. “Truly, Lady
Radclyff, I am unaware of any outing planned for tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” the
duke muttered, and then aloud he said, “Anne, do you want to take
her help in choosing what to wear? I mean, look at her.”

“Befogged
philistine,” Penelope muttered back. Her high-necked white muslin
dress was perfectly acceptable.

“What did you
say?” Lady Radclyff inquired.

“Raisins,”
Penelope replied.

“Raisins are
befogged philistines?” Lady Radclyff asked, her eyes twinkling.

“Yes, wrinkly
little things. I don’t like them,” Penelope said, dipping the spoon
into the porridge bowl.

“Madame will be
here with her dresses today, Charles, and Penelope will look
wonderful at the ball tomorrow. You will have no cause for
complain.”

Penelope set
the spoon back down, her appetite completely ruined. How in the
name of Beelzebub had she forgotten that the ball was tomorrow?

***

“Madame
Bellafraunde”

“Miss
Fairweather, I heard the dowager is better.”

“Yes, she is
better … Do we have enough time?”

Madame smiled.
She gestured to one of her maids, Rose, to start playing the piano
and then took Penelope in her arms.

“We will
practice a few dance steps, and while we are dancing, we will also
focus on our plans for tomorrow.”

“You are
leading, Madame?”

“Time is short.
I don’t have the luxury to coax the duke.”

Penelope’s
shoulders automatically relaxed.

“One day is all
that we have before Lady Hartworth’s ball,” Madame continued. “It
will open the season and everyone worth knowing will be attending.
You are sure to meet all the eligible men at Lady Hartworth’s,
though their appearance at Almack’s and other occasions may not be
certain. If you do catch a man’s eye, then he will be sure to
attend every social gathering that you choose to attend. Men in
lust can get creative.”

This time
Penelope didn’t even blush. She was getting used to Madame.

“I will never
be ready in time.”

“I know that.
It will take you at least a year to attain perfection. Girls start
learning the arts from the moment they are born. Unfortunately you
did not pay attention. I was hoping that we would have a few days
of rehearsals to go over everything you learnt. I cannot expect you
to remember everything in such a short time. I am not that
unreasonable … Don’t look so glum. If we cannot attain perfection,
we will strive for the illusion of it.”

“Whatever do
you mean?” Penelope asked.

Madame twirled
her around, “I like your spirited nature, your way of speaking your
mind, but men looking for wives do not. They think they want an
insipid girl who appears obedient and docile, the very opposite of
their mothers. What they don’t realise is that those very same
insipid creatures turn out to be harridans who will transform into
their mothers the moment the vows are read. The man will slowly
pine away in regret, wishing he had chosen the fiery redhead
instead because at least she would have warmed his bed. I am
digressing ... My point is that you, my dear, will become the
insipid wallflower for the next one month. So shy that not a word
escapes your lips in the presence of men, and so sweet that all you
do is smile idiotically at everyone. The women will love you, since
your stupidity will make them feel superior, while the men will
pity you and want to lock you in a room to protect you from this
cruel world. Your shyness will please them, making them believe
that you will be willing to follow their every whim and fancy
without question.”

“But that’s
terrible. I will be lying to all of London society, and I refuse to
follow a man’s every foolish whim and fancy. Why, when my cousin
tried to force me to give him my piece of pie, I threw him in the
river ... and before you ask, I was eighteen and he was twenty
four.”