Penelope (27 page)

“Stop dawdling,
Penelope. We have only an hour left before we get dressed for
dinner,” Anne said.

Penelope turned
to the piano once again. This time her stomach was fluttering, and
she did not trust her voice. Her eyes darted to the duke. At his
encouraging nod, she gingerly touched the keys.

After the first
few practice notes, her hands flew over the instrument. Closing her
eyes she launched into a jaunty tune.

Merrily I sang
through the hole in the pant

Of a big
bottomed baboon.

I was the legs
you see while the head was Maryanne,

Of a big
bottomed baboon.

We galloped
across the stage,

With leopards
and lions,

Peacocks,
rabbits and a leathery old man,

While I was
part of a big bottomed baboon.

Surely and
merrily and happily we sang,

Of wild jungles
and fairy wine.

My head it
poked out,

My tongue it
stuck out,

At the unhappy
crowd,

All through the
hole in the pant

Of a big
bottomed baboooonnnnn!

Penelope
stopped and opened her eyes. She thought she hadn’t been so bad.
Smiling, she looked at her audience.

A deathly
silence met her.

After a minute
a clap rang out, which soon turned into a standing ovation from
Anne.

 The
dowager yanked her daughter back down.

“Err… that was
… something. The song, perhaps not right for a social gathering,
but you showed enthusiasm and your enjoyment was a pleasure to
watch,” the dowager muttered.

“Mother, that
was ghastly and sung so badly that the animals she sang off would
collapse and die after hearing the dreadful sound emanating from my
excellent piano. I cannot have her touch the instrument again for
fear that either my ears will bleed or that the servants will quit
in anguish … What possessed you to sing something so ridiculous?”
the duke stormed.

Penelope knew
why she had sung it. Her conversation with Madame earlier about
baboons and the duke’s bottom must have been lurking at the back of
her mind.

Anne gave up
and laughed, “That was … oh, Penelope, wherever did you hear it? I
adored every moment. Do you know any others like it? Perhaps you
will teach me?”

“She will do no
such thing, Annie. I will not have my sister singing like a tavern
wench.”

“I am sorry,”
Penelope said miserably.

Anne sobered,
“I didn’t mean to laugh. I did enjoy it. Although, I have to be
honest, you can’t possibly sing such songs in public. As for your
skill with the piano, a more delicate instrument may not survive
the fervour with which you attack the keys.”

Penelope
slumped in her seat.

“Don’t be
disappointed, my dear,” the dowager consoled.

“I am not. I am
relieved. I know I can’t sing or play. I am just so happy that I
will not have to face all those people and make a fool of myself. I
often had to in my village and it was never a pleasant
experience.”

Anne smiled in
delight, “I can’t sing either or play. Although, I would have paid
more attention if my teacher had taught me songs like that.”

The duke
glowered at his sister, not at all pleased with her enthusiasm.

“Did you learn
it in Finnshire? Is it popular there?” Anne continued, ignoring her
brother.

“Oh no, Jimmy
taught it to me.”

“The
highway—,”Anne started asking.

“Yes, yes, who
else could she mean?” the dowager said hastily, shooting a glance
at the frowning duke.

Anne closed her
mouth, and the dowager plunged into a lengthy discussion of
ribbons, buttons and petticoats. The duke left the room.

***

Penelope was on
her way to change into a dinner dress when the duke blocked her
path.

“Who is Jimmy?”
he growled.

“A man,” she
shot back, annoyed at his demanding tone.

His eyes
closed, his head tilted up towards the sky, and it seemed as if he
was saying a silent prayer. When he spoke again, his tone was more
respectful.

“In the past I
would have assumed he is your lover. But now … I am asking
you.”

She refused to
answer him. He had no right to ask her such questions, and she was
not going to jump and do his every bidding.

“Penelope, I am
trying very hard to be reasonable. I would like us to be friends.
It is not easy switching from a hostile relationship to an amicable
one. You have to help me.”

She felt a
little guilty. After the talk with Madame, she knew that he was not
completely at fault. Yet here she was punishing him for some odd
reason.

“I want to be
friends,” she replied, offering a tremulous smile.

He smiled back,
his face lighting up. But when she made a move to get away, his
hand shot out to grip her arm.

“You have not
answered my question. Who is Jimmy?”

“I, too, have
powerful friends, your grace,” she replied mysteriously.

“What sort of
friend teaches a lady tavern songs?” he asked silkily.

“Why do you
care? He is my friend and I like his songs. He eats the likes of
you for breakfast, so you best watch your tone, your grace,” she
smirked.

“Penelope, stop
testing my patience. I am asking you for the last time, who is
Jimmy?”

She balked at
his expression. Her bravado slipped a notch.

“Jimmy is a
highwayman, a deer stealer and a burglar of some note. He is the
Falcon,” she squeaked.

Stunned, the
duke dropped his arm, and Penelope was off like a shot before he
could recover his wits.

Penelope felt
like the salmon she was eating; squashed between slices of soft
white bread. The slices of bread being the bosoms of two heavily
perfumed ladies that were having an animated conversation with each
other directly above her head.

“Did you hear
that the poet kept sixteen mistresses? They testified, in fact,
swore during the trial that he kept each one of them satisfied. It
is a pity he had to go kill his granduncle. I would have liked to
…”

“Penelope?”

“Hush,” she
said, waving away the intruder. The topic had just turned exciting
when someone yanked her away from the gossiping women.

She turned
around in annoyance.

The duke stood
holding a glass of lemonade.

“Why did you
pull me away?”

“I would not
leave Anne suffocating between two inflated women.”

“I am not your
sister,” she said irritably, her eyes searching for the two women.
Perhaps if she followed them she would hear more?

“No, you are
not my sister.”

Something in
his voice yanked her attention back to him.

“Don’t look at
me like that,” she muttered, turning her face away.

“Like
what?”

She did not
need to see him to know that he was smiling.

“You know
…”

“I don’t.
Please explain.”

“Oh, to hell
with you,” she said, taking a step away from him.

“Running again,
Penelope?”

She froze and
turned to glare at him, “I am not running away. And I never gave
you leave to use my name,
your grace
.”

“I am the duke
and I do as I please,” he replied smugly.

Penelope
frowned. She had never seen the duke like this. Teasing, relaxed
and smiling … It made her feel unsettled and oddly shy.

She lifted the
lemonade glass to her lips to hide her face when a thought struck
her. She eyed the duke suspiciously and then the glass.

“You brought me
lemonade?”

“I did. I
thought you might be thirsty.”

He was laughing
at her.

“I am … It is a
little hot here.”

“You look
warm.”

She blushed,
her eyes falling on the cup once again.

“I haven’t
poisoned the drink, Penelope. Have you not forgiven me yet?”

She didn’t
reply.

After a moment
he chuckled.

“I think,” he
said snickering, “your name, instead of Miss Fairweather, should be
Miss Badweather.”

“That was
terrible.”

“I know, which
is why it’s funny,” he said grinning.

Penelope felt
her lips twitch. “You shouldn’t laugh at your own jokes, your
grace.”

“You smiled and
that means I am forgiven,” the duke smirked.

“What nonsense.
And I did not smile.”

“I saw your
lips curve upwards. You smiled.”

“I did not, and
you are not forgiven.”

“I beg to
differ. If you smile at my terrible joke, then that equals
forgiveness.”

“Your logic is
daft,” she muttered, draining the cup.

“You drank the
lemonade. Now that definitely means that I am forgiven.”

She glared at
him and then the cup.

“Miss
Badweather?” he prompted.

A giggle
escaped her lips. “Alright, I forgive you, your grace. And I think
I see Anne. I should go.”

The duke
inclined his head and stepped aside. His eyes were blazing joy.

***

“I know I
promised to come and see you this morning, but I did not wake up on
time, Penelope. What are we going to do?” Anne wailed.

“Anne, we
cannot discuss anything here. Too many ears. I suggest you ask
Bessie to wake you up early tomorrow morning and you will have to
…” She stopped suddenly and then asked in a reverent tone. “Who is
he?”

“Lord William
Ellsworth Hartell Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, and with him is
Lady and Lord Scrivenor. You have met the marquis,” Anne replied
promptly.

“I have not met
the marquis. How could anyone forget meeting him? He is almost as
handsome as the du …” she stopped biting her lip.

“People
consider him handsomer than Charles,” Anne said, her eyes
twinkling.

“Oh, where is
he going?” Penelope cried, watching the marquis excuse himself from
the group.

“Come, let’s
follow him. I can introduce you to him,” Anne said, her face alight
with mischief.

Penelope did
not quibble and rushed after the departing figure.

He disappeared
onto the balcony. Penelope and Anne quickly followed.

A young woman
in a scarlet gown detached herself from the shadows and fell into
the marquis’ arms.

Anne pulled
Penelope behind a large potted plant. The scene before them was not
opportune for introductions. They would have to wait for the woman
to leave.

The lamps on
the balcony allowed Penelope to admire the man in all his glory. He
was tall and broad shouldered with slim hips. But it was his face
that caught her gaze. It was carved perfection, with a long
aristocratic nose, sensual lips, and dark eyes framed by the
longest lashes she had ever seen.

The woman moved
her arms to pull his head down for a kiss. Just before their lips
touched, he smiled.

That smile
turned Penelope’s admiration to shock. Lord William Adair, the
Marquis of Lockwood, was no other than Madame Bellafraunde.

Anne was also
shocked but for a different reason. Why in the name of Beelzebub
was Madame Bellafraunde kissing a woman?

The couple
kissed for what seemed like an eternity. The two girls watched in
avid fascination, each one taking mental notes of every sigh and
moan emitted, the angle of the head, the practised technique that
avoided the two bumping each other’s noses.

When the kiss
ended, the marquis whispered something in the woman’s ear. She
nodded and with a last loving look disappeared back into the
shadows.

Lord Adair
pulled out a cigar and said loudly, “You can come out now, Lady
Radclyff, Penelope.”

The two girls
emerged looking guilty, not at all surprised that he knew of their
presence. He was, after all, Madame Bellafraunde.

“You have
questions,” he said, lighting his cigar and taking a puff. He
stared out into the dark garden, the smoke curling out of his mouth
forming perfect rings.

“Madame
Bellafraunde?” Penelope asked, still unsure of his identity.

“Yes, Penelope,
I am Lord William Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, and in some
circles, Madame Bellafraunde.”

“I don’t
understand …” Penelope gaped.

“Why do I need
to dress up like a modiste when I am a wealthy marquis? It is not
for money and that is all I can say for now.”

“But … but you
kissed a woman. We saw …” Anne spluttered.

“I did kiss a
woman,” he said, turning to face them. His eyes were shuttered, his
expression giving nothing away. “It was unfortunate that you had to
witness that. I was in a situation where I could not escape the
kiss or give your presence away. Penelope, Lady Radclyff, would you
keep this little incident to yourself? I cannot offer you any
explanations, except to beg you to trust me. Can you trust me?”

Penelope
recalled the numerous times Madame Bellafraunde had come to her
aid. She did not have to think twice. She promptly answered, “I
trust you, Madame. I mean, Lord Adair.”

“As do I,” Anne
spoke up, though less confidently.

He eyed them
silently, the muscles in his face twitching with suppressed
emotion.

“Thank you,” he
said simply. The soft words held a wealth of meaning behind it.

Anne, feeling a
little shaken, escaped back into the ballroom, and Penelope moved
to follow her.

The marquis
halted her.

“A word. Forget
tonight’s incident. I am still Madame Bellafraunde for you,
Penelope.”

She nodded, her
eyes darting to the French windows.

“Penelope, you
have caught the eye of many eligible men. You are a success, my
dear.”

She smiled
wryly, “I think you are mistaken. No one has tried to woo me, my
lord.”

“Lesson number
fifty two. Most men are lily livered. You have to encourage them,
but then you have to notice them first. You have turned a blind eye
to every man in the room except ….”