Penelope (30 page)

“Not at
all.”

“Are you
certain?”

“Your grace,
what do you want?” she asked, glaring at him.

“I want to know
if Anne is in love with Lord Poyning. I know she has confided in
you, and I am worried about her, Penelope. Lord Poyning is not the
man for her. Can you not set your loyalties aside for a moment, for
Anne’s happiness?”

“Why don’t you
ask her yourself, your grace?”

“She is still
angry with me. Besides, how can she confess such a thing to her own
brother? She knows I don’t approve of Poyning. I detest the man,
and you are wasting your time in trying to help her. I will never
consent to their union.”

“Your grace, I
think if she truly loves him, then she will never be happy with
anyone else. You cannot dictate her life. After all, you never
asked her permission before choosing Lady Snowly.”

“But does she
truly love him?” he persisted.

She refused to
reply.

“Anyhow, I do
not need anyone’s permission to choose my bride, whereas Anne needs
my consent,” he said irritably.

Penelope
started walking again. He was so unbearably arrogant. Everything
had to go according to his wishes. He had no concern for his
sister’s happiness. No wonder Anne refused to talk to him. What can
you say to a stubborn mule?

The duke
grabbed her shoulders and forced her to turn around.

“Don’t you dare
walk away when I am speaking to you,” he blazed down at her.

“I have nothing
to say to you,” she replied shortly.

“Do you like
Poyning?”

Penelope
stopped squirming under his grip. A hint of guilt flashed across
her face.

“Ah, so you
don’t like him either. In fact, I remember that day on the balcony.
You pretended to swoon in order to get away from him,”

“I … I can’t
like everyone that Anne loves.”

“So she does
love him,” he mused softly.

Penelope met
his eyes, her face stricken.

“I tricked you.
Don’t feel guilty. You are a remarkably loyal person.”

He pulled her
behind a large oak tree, away from prying eyes. He continued,
speaking urgently, “I need you to trust me. Poyning is not the man
for her… He is not a good man, Penelope. Believe me. I am willing
to let Anne marry anyone she likes. Just not him. Tell me you will
help me?”

“What did he
do?”

“I cannot tell
you, but I swear by my honour he is not to be trusted. He will ruin
her.”

“I need to know
more.”

“I would never
hurt my sister. It is not his wealth or position that I am
objecting to. I … I cannot say more. I wish I could.”

Penelope heard
the pain and the truth in his voice.

She finally
said, “He reminds me of an eggplant.”

The duke’s
mouth dropped open.

“Did you say
eggplant?” he asked after a brief moment.

“Yes, eggplants
are slimy and deceiving.”

“Deceiving?”

“They look so
pretty and purple from the outside, like delectable, sweet crisp
fruits. Instead, they are deceptive vegetables, stringy and slimy
when cooked. I don’t like them.”

“Ah, I see now.
Lord Poyning is an eggplant.” He added thoughtfully, “I think he is
a potato.”

“Potato?”

“Bland, insipid
and tasteless. Potatoes take on the flavour of whatever sauce they
are put into. No distinct flavour, no moral character … In fact, no
character at all.”

“Everybody
likes potatoes. How can you not like them? That’s just odd.”

“Everyone likes
Poyning.”

“I don’t,” she
retorted, and then bit her lip. “I will try and speak to Anne
tonight.”

“Thank you,” he
replied softly, his hand tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. The
ringlet sprang back to kiss her cheek once more.

“Rebellious,”
he grinned, his mood lighter now that he had an ally.

“Your grace,”
she said, stepping away from him. “You should make up with
Anne.”

“Brothers and
sisters fight a lot and all the time. You should know that. You
have five younger sisters, after all. Within a few days all will be
forgiven and forgotten. Don’t worry, Anne always comes to me when
her head is cooler. She inevitably realises that I am always right.
She will apologise.”

“I think this
time is different. I have never seen her so furious …” she said
worriedly.

“Penelope,” the
duke cut in. “You are pretty.”

She blinked at
the sudden change in topic. “Pretty what?”

“Just pretty.
Fetching, attractive …”

Her eyes
skittered away. What, she wondered, was suddenly wrong with the
duke?

“Thank you,”
she said doubtfully. She was waiting for an insult to follow.

“Shall we kiss
again?”

“Your grace,
have you taken leave of your senses?” she gasped.

“Kissing is
like apologising. It gets easier after the first time.”

She caught his
eye and realised that he was teasing her. His eyes were
twinkling.

 She
scowled. “We should return indoors. It is almost time for nuncheon
and your rules …”

“To hell with
the rules,” he said lazily, stepping closer to her.

“I am hungry. I
dropped the fruit cake, my favourite … It was the last piece and
the cook won’t make another for at least a few weeks now. It is
strawberry cake next, and I am not fond of that … I am really very
hungry. I should go ….”

He placed a
fingertip on her mouth to halt her babbling.

He tilted her
face up and looked into her eyes,

“Madame has
taught you well. You can conceal your expressions, but your eyes …
so transparent… Your eyes give you away, Penelope. Every single
time.”

Penelope
dropped her lashes.

“You are
nervous,” he said thoughtfully.

“Are you
flirting with me?” she asked finally.

“And if I
am?”

“Then desist
right this moment. I have been torn with guilt …”

“Guilt?”

“Yes, because …
because of Lady Snowly! How could you kiss me when … however badly,
but it was a kiss, and here you are flirting with me again….”

His eyes turned
cold, “You don’t need to feel guilty. If anyone should, then it
should be me.” He abruptly added, “I think that’s your maid walking
across the lawn.”

“But—”

“Go,” he said,
lifting his hand and attracting Mary’s attention.

“But—”

“I thought you
were hungry. Couldn’t wait for your meal?”

“But—”

“Your grace,”
Mary said, coming up to them.

The duke
stopped frowning, “Ah, Mary, how are you feeling now?”

“Your tonic
worked boootifully, your grace,” Mary replied, turning pink in
pleasure.

“Good. Let me
know if you need it again,” he said.

Mary nodded
frantically.

He smiled at
her and then without a backward glance at Penelope strode off
towards the Blackthorne Mansion.

“Mary, when did
you become so friendly with the duke?” Penelope asked in
confusion.

“Miss Pea, you
will late for your meal. Hurry now. The dowager was asking for you
…”

“Mary!”

“I am telling
you, Miss Pea. That day while I was cleaning his room, he came in
to look for something. I was a little scared, but he soon put me at
ease. He is really very nice. We had a long talk and he was all
concerned about me head and—”

“What did you
talk about?” Penelope interrupted.

“Oh, lots of
things. Finnshire, your sisters, Periwinkle the pig …”

“Did … did he
ask about me?” she asked, pretending to be nonchalant.

“Oh yes, he
asked if you had a habit of throwing things at people. I told him
about the time you threw—”

“What else?”
she cut in hastily.

“He said you
should have been a carrot head. ‘Orrible temper you have, he said.
I agreed. But I told him that it lasts only a few minutes, and then
you are happy as a bee.”

“And?”

“Then he wanted
to know about the goat. What Lady Bathsheba eats and if we should
find her a Lord Bathsheba. We discussed the smell of polish. I told
him that there are two kinds of people in this world. Ones that
don’t like the smell of polish and ones that do. Mostly people like
the smell of polish, but he said he didn’t care either way. I have
never met anyone who did not care about the smell of polish before
and I …”

Penelope tuned
her out. She leaned against the entrance of the Blackthorne Mansion
and stroked her temple. Insulting her one moment and flirting the
next, befriending her maid, wanting kisses … The duke and his odd
manner were giving her a frightful headache.

When Penelope
entered her room later that afternoon, she found a giant, warm
fruit cake fresh from the oven sitting in the middle of her
bed.

She picked up a
slice and whispered, “To hell with the rules,” and took a giant
bite.

***

“Fruit cake?”
Penelope offered.

Anne shook her
head, her smile tight.

Penelope
pretended not to notice the waves of hostility shooting out of
Anne. She cheerfully took her place on the bed.

“You need to
get out of the quilt. You must be roasting,” she said, trying to
pull the quilt off Anne.

Anne gripped
the blanket and glared at her, “I am not hungry, and I am not
warm.”

“Annie, Annie,
Annie … don’t lie to me. You want me to empty this icy jug of water
over your head. Admit it. No, you really want me to empty it over
your head. You will be cool in a moment. This summer heat …”

Anne squealed,
hopping off the bed, “Don’t, Penny, please. I will never forgive
you …”

“Then sit down
and promise you will talk to me,” Penelope threatened, waving the
jug in the air.

Anne glanced at
the basin of water lying on the washstand.

Penelope,
guessing her thoughts, blocked her path.

Anne huffed,
“Fine, I will talk to you. I promise.”

Penelope smiled
in triumph, “Now, why are you sulking?”

“You heard my
brother.”

“You did not
give him a chance to speak.”

“He insulted
you and … and he does not approve of Lord Poyning.”

“Have you
considered asking him why he disapproves?” Penelope asked
carefully.

“He will never
tell me. He thinks I am ten years old instead of twenty. ‘I want to
protect my little Annie from the big bad world’,” she mocked.

“You hurt him,
Anne.”

A tear trickled
down her cheek. “I know,” she whispered.

“He is terribly
unhappy. Please speak to him. He may have a good reason for
disliking Lord Poyning. I think he does. Hear him out …”

She dashed away
her tears, her eyes sparkling in anger. “So now you are on his
side? You are supposed to be my friend, not his. Have you fallen in
love with him? I know you have. I have seen the way you look at
him. It is obvious to everyone… and he is to marry Lydia. The icy
Lydia Snowly, whom I loathe. Did he consider my feelings before
proposing to her? I will have to live under the same roof and see
her sly face every day. If he can marry that sour faced woman, then
why can’t I marry someone I love?”

“Anne …”

“No, Penelope.
I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say. You are simply
jealous because I have a chance of marrying Lord Poyning while you
…”

Penelope looked
away, her face stricken.

Anne caught her
hurt expression and her anger quickly deflated.

“Penny, I was
cruel …”Anne said in a small voice. “I am sorry. I … I am just so
angry that I … Oh! I am so muddled, I don’t know what to do. I am
sorry that I said you are in love with Charles. I promise no one
else is aware … I shouldn’t have said that or that you are jealous.
I know you are not spiteful.”

Penelope nodded
briefly. Her eyes darted away from Anne and fell on the open
wardrobe.

The two sat in
awkward silence, each waiting for the other to say something.

Finally,
Penelope stood up and turned to leave.

“Penny?” Anne
called piteously.

Penelope
ignored her. She straightened her back and blinking away unshed
tears walked out of the room.

“Lady
Bathsheba, I have news,” Penelope announced.

The goat
sniffed at the grass and choosing a particularly juicy piece
nibbled delicately.

“I had a
proposal.”

Lady Bathsheba
spat out the grass and cocked her ears.

“You heard that
right. Lord Worsted proposed to me. He asked me to marry him.”

Lady Bathsheba
eyed Penelope. The grass was forgotten.

“This is how it
happened,” Penelope said, plonking herself down on the grass next
to the goat. “The duke had a dinner party last night. And before
you ask, no, that snarly Lydia Snowly did not attend. But Lord
Worsted was among those who did attend. It was almost the happiest
day of my life. He is a lord, with a reasonable income and
extremely nice.”

Lady Bathsheba
seemed to nod.

“He cornered me
on the balcony with a hot toddy in his hand. The toddy is important
as you will learn by and by. He complimented me on my dress and
then launched into a heart-warming proposal. It was all so sudden.
I didn’t know what to say. I was wondering if I should accept,
since Lord Rivers has stopped calling on me, and to be honest I see
no other prospect … and Lord Worsted was so effusive and elegant in
his speech until he took off his gold spectacles to clean them.
They, you see, had fogged up from the steam coming from the hot
toddy. He then apologised profusely, for the girl he thought he had
been proposing to through foggy spectacles on a dark balcony was
Miss Dorrit. I am, unfortunately, not Miss Dorrit …”

Lady Bathsheba
stood up, turned around, and swishing her white tail walked off in
disgust.