Penelope (29 page)

When she opened
her eyes, she found herself in Lord Rivers’ arms. The duke was
kneeling next to him anxiously peering into her face. The duke, she
moaned inwardly, had a knack of appearing next to her at the most
inconvenient times.

She calmed her
galloping heart and muttered, embarrassed, “I am alright.”

“Lady Bathsheba
butted the ladder. You fell before I could steady it,” Lord Rivers
informed her.

The duke was
silent. He grabbed her hand and yanked her away from Lord
Rivers.

“Meet me in my
study,” the duke said, in a controlled voice.

“Anne?”
Penelope whispered, looking around.

“Bring her
along,” he ordered angrily, turning on his heels and striding
off.

Lord Rivers
cleared his throat.

“The duke looks
upset. I think we should depart, Miss Fairweather. It is getting
late.”

Penelope nodded
absently. She watched Anne appear through the trees looking happier
than she felt. The plan had worked for her it seemed.

After Lord
Poyning and Lord Rivers departed, Anne asked cheerfully, “What do
you think Charles wants?”

Penelope did
not answer. She had a sinking feeling that the duke knew what they
had been up to.

“I have much to
tell you, Penny. Stop dragging your feet. Charles has warmed up to
you. He is not going to scold. Maybe he has finally set a date for
his wedding…”

***

“Sit down,” the
duke said, setting aside the ledger.

Anne dimmed
slightly at the look on her brother’s face, “What is it?
Grandfather?”

“He is alive
and as well as can be. I want to ask you about the little incident
in the orangery. Whose idea was it?”

Anne paled.
“What idea?”

“The one that
involved you falling off an orange tree and into the arms of an
unsuspecting man.”

“I slipped.”
Anne squirmed in her seat.

“I watched you
both practice this morning. Now, whose idea was it?”

“Mine,” both
Penelope and Anne muttered together.

“Miss
Fairweather, how could you involve Anne in such schemes? I thought
I had warned you.”

“It was my
idea,” Anne cried indignantly.

“You are
lying.”

“I am not.”

“Miss
Fairweather?” the duke asked, turning towards her.

“It was my
idea,” Penelope replied, her ears turning red.

“But I asked
her to plan it,” Anne scowled, crossing her arms.

The duke again
turned to Penelope and raised a brow.

Penelope
nodded.

“Anne, how
could you follow some madcap scheme thought up by this ...
imbecile? This … muttonheaded, niffynaffy, goose-witted mad woman.
This loony rural—”

“Charles! I
will not have you insult Penelope in front of me. She has been kind
enough to help me while you—”

“Help you how?
By making you look desperate?”

“I am
desperate, I had no choice,” she shouted. “You scare all the men
away. I want to marry. It is your duty to help me and not thwart me
every step of the way.”

“I allowed Lord
Beetle to approach you. In fact, I let him propose to you.”

“I don’t want
to be Lady Beetle. Who would want to marry a man called
Beetle?”

“Oh, and
Poyning is better?”

“He is handsome
and we will make beautiful babies ….”

“Anne!” the
duke roared scandalised. His own sister talking of making
babies…

“The other man
you allowed within a foot of me was Mr Appleby,” she continued
heatedly. “He took me riding, and did you know I was asleep within
five minutes of him opening his mouth? You only let the most
boring, morbid men near me. Lord Berry, another suitor that you
were kind enough to approve of, had the audacity to tell me that my
eyes were big and beautiful just like his precious Nuggins. Nuggins
is his toad.”

“Anne, let’s
talk about this,” he said soothingly.

“No, you listen
to me. I have been out for three whole years and I am still unwed.
I don’t want to die a spinster. I don’t want to live with you and
that horrid Lydia for the rest of my life. You have always dictated
every step in my life ….”

Penelope stood
up. This was between brother and sister. She had no right to be
here.

“Sit!” both
Anne and the duke roared.

Penelope
sat.

Anne slammed a
fist on the table. “Where was I? Oh yes, Lydia. Did you have a
fight with her? I saw her cut you last night. Is that why you are
taking out your frustration on me?”

“Lydia and I
are not your concern,” he warned.

“Your
attachments are not my concern? You can marry whom you like? You
don’t care that I cannot stand the sight of her, yet you think you
have the right to tell me whom to marry?”

“I don’t need
your permission to marry anyone, whereas you, my dear sister, need
mine.”

Anne pushed the
chair back, her face livid. “I have sat out most dances because of
you. You are the reason that no one dares to approach me. I don’t
want baubles. I don’t want you to fill my sight with flowers. I
want a husband and babies.”

“Really, you
shouldn’t mention wanting babies in front of me. It is not seemly
…”

Anne walked out
before he finished his sentence.

The duke looked
at Penelope.

Two large tears
rolled down her eyes.

“Why are you
crying?” he asked frowning.

“You fought
with Anne,” she said, shedding more tears.

He came around
to her side, “True, but neither Anne or I am sobbing. Then why in
the world are you?”

“Because you
fought and you lub each other,” she blubbered.

He hastily
produced a large snowy handkerchief and shoved it in her hand.

She blew her
nose. Loudly.

He backed away
when she tried to hand the handkerchief back, “You keep it. Is that
the only reason why you are crying?”

“And Madame
said that I am in …” Penelope closed her mouth and leapt off her
chair.

The duke’s arm
shot out, blocking her escape. “You are what?”

“You are a
little possessive of Anne. You shouldn’t dictate her every move,”
she said calmly, ignoring his question.

“You know, I
have never seen anyone stop crying so fast. Your tears have all
dried up. It is remarkable.”

He took her
chin and tilted it up.

“Do you know
something else?” he asked softly.

She mutely
shook her head.

“You, Miss
Fairweather, are more than a little strange.”

He smiled at
her and she smiled back.

“We are friends
are we not, Penelope?”

“Friends don’t
call each other names. You called me an imbecile, muttonhead—”

“I am sorry,”
the duke cut in.

Penelope’s
mouth popped open, “That’s the second time you have apologised to
me, your grace.”

“It is hard the
first time. Thereafter, it rolls off the tongue.”

“I see. Well, I
think I should go talk to Anne. She is distraught ….”

“I know her.
She is best left alone in that mood. Speak to her in the evening.
Besides, I have something further to say to you.”

“I am not going
to apologise for helping Anne ….”

He held his
hand up, silencing her.

“I am not
asking you to apologise. I think it is mostly my fault. I have
spoilt the girl rotten. I was forced to become her brother, friend,
confidant and father at the age of seventeen, and perhaps I didn’t
know how. I was too young and the habit stuck. I had to protect her
from Sir Henry’s strict views on how a girl should be brought up.
In short, he wanted me to ignore her. I did the opposite. I became
possessive, showered her with affection … Now it has all come back
to bite me in my … err … what I mean to say is that perhaps you are
right. I should stop ordering her around.”

Penelope was
impressed. The duke seemed to be taking Anne’s outburst and their
little adventure fairly well. He dispelled her glowing thoughts the
very next moment.

“Is Anne is
love with that shabbaroon?”

“Who?”

“Poyning?”

Penelope turned
a gimlet eye on him, “Ah, so all this sweet talk and pretending to
be remorseful was to get this answer out of me?”

“Is she truly
in love with him or is it a passing fancy?” he coaxed, stepping
closer to her.

“I am not
answering that,” she said, suddenly finding it difficult to
breath.

“Hmm. Will you
tell me if you are in love with Lord Rivers?”

When she did
not reply, he bent his head and peered into her face trying to
catch her eye. “You fell off the tree into his arms. He was your
intended target, was he not, Penelope? Are you in love with
him?”

She shied away
from his searching gaze.

“I don’t know
what love is.”

“Does he make
your heart beat when he comes close to you?”

Penelope’s
heart hammered.

“Yes,” she
lied.

He caught the
back of her head and forced her to look at him.

“Do you tremble
at his touch?”

She nodded
mutely, gripping her hands on her skirts to stop them from
shaking.

“Then you,
country girl, are in love,” the duke whispered, bending down to
kiss her.

This time his
kiss was not chaste, nor was it fleeting. It was demanding,
desperate, passionate.

Her toes curled
and she stopped breathing.

 ‘When you
are in love, Miss Pea, your toes will curl’ Mary’s voice whispered
in her mind. She squished the voice away and concentrated on the
duke’s mouth moving over her lips expertly, sensually.

Sharp, sweet
sensation raced through her limbs.

In the distance
church bells pealed, and slowly the soft sounds of a violin
filtered through the fog in her brain. Soon a piano joined in and
then a harp. A couple of flutes later, an entire orchestra was
playing in Penelope’s head.

When the angels
started singing, Penelope could deny it no longer. Her mother was
prancing about with a cupid sending her a clear message straight
from heaven.

She was truly,
madly and deeply in love with the duke …

… and the duke
was to marry Lydia Snowly.

She broke the
kiss and with it her dreams shattered.

She did not
look at him, afraid he would see the emotion shimmering in her
eyes. Instead, she did the only thing she could.

 She
fled.

Penelope
inspected the slice of fruit cake. It was a little dry but edible.
She picked out a raisin and popped it into her mouth.

Penelope was
starving. She had missed dinner and breakfast, all because she
couldn’t face him … not after that kiss … her first glorious kiss.
Her eyes glazed over and she absently took a bite and chewed. Her
eyes closed in pleasure. Whether it was from the sweet cake
dissolving in her mouth or the kiss, she wasn’t sure.

The sun beat
down on her bare shoulders. Her primrose parasol that matched her
walking dress lay abandoned on the garden bench. It was almost
noon. The duke would be in his study. She leaned back and relaxed.
For the moment there was no fear of running into him.

“You are not a
doxie.”

Her eyes flew
open.

The duke stood
squinting at her.

“You! You were
meant to be in your study.”

“I was,” he
replied, sitting down next to her. “Now I am not.”

“I see,” she
said, inching away from him and picking up her parasol.

“Why are you
sounding so odd. Do you have a cold? You are squeaking.”

“No, I am
f…fine.” She cleared her throat.

“I wanted to
speak to you …”

Penelope prayed
he wouldn’t mention the kiss.

“…about your
questionable character.”

“I don’t
understand. I thought you had changed your opinion of me,” she
said, digging the pointed end of her parasol into the earth.

“Not entirely.
The trouble was that I knew my past may be clouding my judgement,
but then you had done nothing to dispel my fears. In fact, your
conduct had been the complete opposite. I had misgivings.”

Penelope
frowned and stared at the ground. She had scratched out a heart
with her parasol. Her foot shot out and she quickly rubbed it
out.

“But then I
changed my mind,” he said. “In fact, I am convinced that you are
innocent, white as a lily, pure as snow …”

“What made you
change your mind, your grace?” she asked, her heart pounding.

“It was the
kiss that we shared,” he replied, confirming her thoughts.

He did not
notice her blushing face and continued, “That kiss was …
astonishing. I have never experienced such a kiss before in my life
… you … you amazed me.”

She squashed
the cake in her fist. Her face was glowing in pleasure. “I … I
amazed you …?”

“Yes, by how
bad you are at kissing. How could anyone not know how to kiss? It
was terrible and so, so awful that I was forced to conclude that
the reason you were so lacking in skill is because you had never
kissed before. Do you see what you have done? You, my dear
Penelope, have forced me, Charles Radclyff, the Duke of
Blackthorne, to change my mind and present you with the title of
non doxie,” he said pleased.

Penelope
grabbed her flowery bonnet and deposited it on her head. Next she
snapped open her parasol and sprang off the bench.

“You must be
delighted,” the duke said, standing up to join her.

Penelope
started trotting towards the house.

The duke’s long
legs easily kept up.

“Your grace?”
she finally spoke.

“Yes?”

“In five years
…”

“Yes?”

“I hope you
become bald,” she said coldly.

“How could
you?” he asked shocked.

She didn’t
reply.

“You are
angry,” he said, examining her face.