Penelope (17 page)

“I won’t say a
word,” she swore.

They emerged
from behind the curtains to find the Duke of Blackthorne waiting
for them.

Lady Radclyff
sighed and whispered to Penelope, “My brother stands guard over me
like a sphinx or a fiery dragon. Only men with courage are allowed
to make way to my side, and unfortunately England is full of
chicken-hearted nitwits.”

“I am sure he
would encourage a worthy suitor,” Penelope whispered back

“He doesn’t
think any such creatures exist.”

Their
conversation came to a momentary standstill when a lanky dandy
seemed to appear out of nowhere in front of the duke. One minute he
wasn’t there and the next he was. He was dressed in green velvet
from top to bottom, and his shoes were a bright cerulean blue. His
teeth were the largest and whitest Penelope had ever seen. She
blinked, blinded by the sight.

Lady Radclyff
sighed, “Isn’t he beautiful?”

Penelope rather
thought the man looked like a stretched leprechaun, but who was she
to quibble. If Lady Radclyff said he was beautiful, then that was
what he was.

While the duke
was thus engaged with the elongated leprechaun, two other young men
sidled past the duke and gestured timidly to Lady Radclyff.

Lady Radclyff
brightened at the sight of these men. She flicked her fan open and
with her right hand held it in front of her face.

Penelope
frowned. If she remembered Madame’s lessons on the language of fans
correctly, then Lady Radclyff was secretly asking the two men to
follow her.

After a quick
glance at the duke, who was still busy conversing with the green
dandy, Lady Radclyff firmly clasped Penelope’s hand and led her
towards the refreshment table. Once hidden among the crowd and away
from the duke’s line of sight, the two gentlemen arrived to join
them.

“Lord Poyning,”
Lady Radclyff said curtsying.

Penelope noted
the blush on her face.

The other
gentleman was ignored. Lady Radclyff had eyes for only one man.

A discreet
cough from Penelope had Lady Radclyff recalling herself and she
quickly introduced Penelope.

“Lord Poyning
and Lord Rivers. And this is Miss Fairweather.”

Lord Edward
Poyning was a tall handsome man with silver blonde hair, thin lips
and big blue innocent eyes. He smiled charmingly and immediately
engaged Penelope in conversation.

That is, he
tried to engage her in small talk while Penelope tried to be a shy,
retiring wallflower.

Lord Anthony
Rivers, standing quietly to one side, did not need to make an
effort to be a wallflower. He was the very epitome of one. His
quiet nature, a little above average appearance, dark hair and dark
eyes made one often forget that he was in the room. He hardly ever
spoke, except in short clipped sentences, and many found him a
dreadful bore.

“Miss
Fairweather is painfully shy and your efforts are quite wasted. She
doesn’t say a word until the third meeting,” Lady Radclyff said
peevishly to Lord Poyning, who was nattering away to Penelope.

“Miss
Fairweather, you remind me of a rose at dawn, a fresh new rose that
is about to bloom, its petals bedewed and …” Lord Poyning said,
ignoring Lady Radclyff and endeavouring to get one peep out of the
Penelope.

Penelope
couldn’t help it. She laughed.

Lord Poyning
frowned and then smiled wryly, “Ah, I see flattery does not work on
you. I will have to change my tactics. Let me be honest then, Miss
Fairweather. I think you are the prettiest girl in the room.”

Penelope, aware
of Lady Radclyff silently seething, said, “I did not laugh at your
allusion to my being a rosebud.”

“No? Then what
was it?” he asked, quickly scanning his clothes to make sure
everything was in order.

Now, Penelope
had never been subjected to the full blown charm of a handsome man,
and that too a blue blooded lord. She had normally been ignored by
most eligible men back in Finnshire. Therefore, she was more than a
little rattled by Poyning’s persistent interest in her. It stood to
reason that such circumstances would have tipped her over the edge.
Her nerves could stand only so much oozing maleness. She did what
she did best. She babbled.

“No, you see, I
am so sorry, but you made me nervous. Terribly nervous because I am
sure you are a perspicacious man and … Well, I really don’t know
what perspicacious means, but Madame taught it to me and I clean
forgot the meaning. I don’t know why I used it. Where was I? Oh
yes, It was because of Madame that I laughed. I mean, Madame
Bellafraunde. I am sure you have heard of her. Well, I am a shy
retiring creature, not even a wallflower but a shy caterpillar
hiding in the leaves. I hate talking. In fact, I despise it because
of my delicate nerves. Madame told me to imagine everyone in pink
bloomers to soothe those very nerves and make the evening
altogether bearable. That is why I laughed, you see? Ah, no you
don’t. Well to be honest, the thought of you, Lord Poyning, so
dandy in your grey evening coat, wearing pink bloomers underneath
is so ridiculous—”

A deep roar of
laughter came from behind Penelope, halting her speech mid-stream.
She turned to find the duke wiping his eyes and chuckling. He was
looking at her in delight, no doubt having overheard her.

His eyes had
softened and he looked young and carefree for once. The wicked grin
on his face set Penelope’s stomach fluttering.

An adorable,
petite blonde girl exquisitely dressed in peach chiffon attached
herself to the duke’s left sleeve. He looked down at this new
arrival, the smile not yet faded from his lips.

“Charles, I
have never seen you laugh like that. I have tried so often to make
you smile. You never smile. What was so amusing?” the girl asked
the left sleeve.

Penelope looked
away feeling as if she was intruding on a private moment. She was
intensely curious as to the identity of the girl who had dared to
call the duke by his name and stood closer to him than appropriate.
She searched for Lord Poyning and Lord Rivers and discovered that
they had slinked away.

“Miss
Fairweather made him laugh,” Lady Radclyff said irritably, eyeing
the girl now attached to the duke’s right sleeve.

The duke
stopped smiling and the girl stilled. Her eyes darted around to
finally fall on the shrinking Penelope.

Penelope
watched the green eyes turn frigid. Her sweet expression briefly
slipped to reveal a cruel sneer. She would have never imagined that
such a pretty girl with a cute button nose could look so cold. The
girl eyed her from top to bottom and then back again. In under a
minute Penelope had been judged, sentenced and then dismissed as
unimportant.

The duke was
back to looking grim and angry, a beautiful girl was sneering at
Penelope, and Lady Radclyff was annoyed. The ball seemed to be
going extremely badly. Penelope sighed. This is what she
understood. This was how it was meant to be. Nice clothes, fancy
carriage, blue blooded people, and handsome lords wanting to
converse with her were too much to take in a single day. The world
had righted itself and she was now on a footing she understood.
Why, she wondered, could she not be introduced to everything bit by
bit, getting filled like a bucked stuck under a leaky faucet?

“Miss
Fairweather,” Lady Radclyff whispered, grasping Penelope’s upper
arm.

“Off to the
grey silk curtains. I know, I know,” Penelope said, already making
her way to the edge of the ball.

Once again a
canoodling couple was shooed away and Lady Radclyff’s lecture
began, “How could you? How could you tell Lord Poyning, of all the
people, that you were imagining him in pink bloomers? I will never
forgive you. Oh, what will he think of me?” she wailed.

“I am sorry,”
Penelope replied miserably.

“Miss
Fairweather, I think it is best if we depart. I am not sure how
many people overheard you. I can feign a headache, and the duke
will have us bundled up in the carriage in no time. We also need to
confer with Madame on what to do about your nervous habit.”

“I think that
would be best,” Penelope replied unhappily.

“Well, then
let’s bid Lady Hartworth goodbye and find Charles. The ball has
been a bit of a damper. I know you expected a lot but we have all
season.” Lady Radclyff patted her on the shoulder
half-heartedly.

“Lady
Radclyff,” Penelope said, stopping her from pulling the curtain
aside. “Who was that girl, the one with the duke?”

“Oh, that was
Lady Lydia Snowly, the duke’s fiancée,” she replied, stepping back
into the ballroom.

Penelope stood
for a moment longer staring at the draping grey cloth.

“The duke’s
fiancée, Lady Lydia Snowly,” she said aloud.

The music,
laughter and the din of people chattering in the room suddenly made
her want to weep. Her first ball had been an utter disaster.

Penelope bumped
into the duke outside his study door.

“I don’t like
you,” the duke said, holding her arm with two of his fingers and
helping her to right herself.

“I despise
you,” Penelope retorted feeling hurt. She knew he didn’t like her,
but it wasn’t very nice of him to say so to her face. She brushed
his hand off and stepped back.

“Why don’t you
leave?”

Penelope
shrugged.

“Go back to
Finnshire,” he ordered.

“I like London,
your grace. You are an excellent host,” she said politely.

“Are you deaf,
woman? I asked you to go back to your village,” he growled
irritably.

“Your mother
wants me here, your grace,” Penelope replied sweetly.

“I don’t want
you here. I don’t want to see your infuriating face every damn
day!”

“Well, then you
leave,” Penelope said getting annoyed.

“This is my
house,” he roared.

“Speak to your
mother then and tell her that you want me out of this house,”
Penelope snapped, blowing an escaped curl off her face.

“I am warning
you, Miss Fairweather, I want you out of this house or things are
going to get ugly. You do realise I am the duke and … Will you stop
blowing that blasted curl?” he said, glaring at the shiny
ringlet.

“Foo, foo,
foo,” Penelope taunted.

“What in the
world …” the duke said, gawking at her.

“I am blowing
the curl of my face. Fooooo … See? It is my hair. It is my breath.
I will blow if I want to—”

“Stop … just
stop talking for one moment,” the duke thundered, grabbing her
shoulder. He reached for the ringlet and tucked it behind
Penelope’s ear.

Stunned,
Penelope looked into his eyes.

He stared
back.

Things became
awfully quiet.

Penelope’s eyes
slid to the duke’s right forefinger still lingering at her left
ear.

The duke’s eyes
also slid to his right forefinger still lingering at her left
ear.

The two leapt
apart.

Avoiding each
other’s eyes, they turned around and walked off in opposite
directions … Only to meet a moment later near the duke’s black
pantheon. They were all going shopping together.

***

 Penelope,
ensconced in the duke’s beautifully lacquered black pantheon,
bounced her way to the shops. She was wearing a powder blue
Parisian walking dress made of muslin and bordered with white
flounces. Blue gems had been woven through her hair and blue
ribbons added to her bonnet. On her feet she wore soft grey half
boots. That morning Mary had liberally anointed her with Royal
Tincture of Peach Kernels and perfumed her hair with Maharani’s
Lavender Love. She felt, smelled and looked like a lady.

She was unhappy
to note that the carriage windows were tightly shut preventing her
from observing the streets in broad daylight. If the shutters were
opened she was informed, it was only a matter of time before they
were covered in black mud splashed by the wheels of wagons, drays
and other carriages passing by. Although the shutters concealed the
view from her eager eyes, they could do nothing about the sounds
assaulting their ears.

Clattering
wheels on cobblestones, peeling church bells, shouting children,
off-key musicians strumming away on badly tuned instruments,
yodelling flower girls and milk maids, sailors, pirates and thieves
yelling creative curses, and hawkers screeching their wares, made a
racket out on the streets that nicely provided fodder for
Penelope’s imagination. She sat back listening to it all in
delight.

Anne had
stuffed her ears with wool, and the duke had closed his eyes
feigning sleep. The carriage meandered on its way, turning sharply
every time someone dashed across the road. It dipped and rose over
the potholes on well-sprung wheels.

 Penelope
soon grew impatient. The congestion on the roads was terrible
making their progress slow, and the din outside sounded so
exciting. She could not wait to get out and explore.

She wondered if
she could pluck the wool out of Anne’s ears, then thought better of
it. Instead, she asked the duke how long it would be before they
arrived. A muscle twitched next to his mouth, the only indication
that she had been heard and ignored. She eyed him irritably. How
could a beautiful woman like Lady Lydia Snowly want to marry a man
like him? She continued staring at him hoping that he would feel
her eyes on him and answer her question.

For a while she
meditated over this last thought. How did people know when they
were being watched? It was a little strange and more than a little
creepy. Eyes did not have rays like the sun that poked a person in
the neck to alert them as to another’s regard. She squinted. If
there were heated rays shooting out of her eyes, then perhaps
squinting would strengthen their effect and burn a hole through the
duke’s splendid white shirt. Oddly, she did not want to look
directly at his face. Sleeping duke or not, she did not have the
nerve. Instead, the white shirt was subjected to all of her
attention, silent admonishments and mental lectures. She was in the
process of sticking her tongue out at the infernal piece of
clothing when the carriage halted to a stop. They had finally
reached their destination. Mayfair Street.