Penelope (31 page)

Penelope
sighed.

“Yes, well I
thought you should know,” she muttered to no one in particular.

“Talking to
yourself?” the dowager asked, coming up to her.

“No, to Lady
Bathsheba. She abandoned me but a moment ago,” Penelope replied
leaping up.

“You shouldn’t
sit on the grass, my dear. Your skirts will stain.”

“Sorry,”
Penelope mumbled, dusting her skirts.

The dowager
tucked a hand under her arm and started walking.

“You have
fought with Anne, and now you are refusing to speak to her?”

“Yes, I … err
…”

“Splendid. That
girl needs to learn that she cannot have her own way every time.
You have changed, Penelope, and for the better. Not just your
appearance, but something in you has changed. A month ago you would
have gone running to appease Anne. Now look at you.”

“Yes, well
….”

“Let her come
to you. Spoilt her rotten, I have.”

“The duke
thinks that he is the reason she is spoilt.”

“Then I
wholeheartedly agree with him. He is entirely to blame,” she said
comfortably.

They skirted a
rose bush and sat down on the fountain steps.

“Penelope, I
don’t want you to speak to Anne until she approaches you herself,
but …”

“But?” Penelope
prompted.

“I know her.
She is in one of her moods and I am afraid she may do something
silly. Keep an eye on her will you? You will be attending all the
social gatherings together, and she can hardly cut you in
public.”

Penelope
pressed the dowager’s hand. “I will keep an eye on her. I
promise.”

The dowager
stood up, “While you are at it, do something about Lady Snowly as
well. I can’t stand the woman.”

Penelope
gasped.

“My son is a
nitwit and you are good at thinking up schemes, or so I heard. Get
her out of his life,” the dowager said, pulling her up.

They started
strolling back towards the house.

 Penelope
understandably knocked into three prickly bushes on the way.

***

“Mother, will
Miss Fairweather speak to me tonight at Kitty May’s ball?” Anne
asked. Her fingers gripped the carriage seat as the wheels dipped
in a pothole.

“She is sitting
right next to you. Why don’t you ask her yourself?” the duke
grumbled.

Anne ignored
him and continued to eye her mother questioningly.

The dowager
sighed, “Miss Fairweather, will you talk to Anne during the
ball?”

“Please ask
Lady Radclyff to raise the right side of her buttock. She is
sitting on my shawl,” Penelope said, ignoring the question.

“Anne, can you
give Miss Fairweather back her shawl?” the dowager asked, closing
her eyes and rubbing her temple.

“Please thank
Lady Radclyff—” Penelope started to say when the duke slammed the
carriage seat halting her speech.

“Enough, I am
close to losing my temper, and I am warning you that if the two of
you do not start behaving like ladies, then this carriage is going
back to Blackthorne. Be civil or you will not be attending a single
social gathering in future.”

“We will
behave,” Anne said quickly.

Penelope
ignored the duke, her hands busy smoothening her shawl.

“Penelope?” the
duke warned.

Penelope
gulped. It was that tone … the aristocratic tone that he used on
special occasions, the sort of tone that set everyone around him
bowing and scraping. No one dared to ignore that tone.

She took a deep
breath and looked him in the eye. “Your grace, I am being civil. I
have not proceeded to pull Lady Radclyff’s hair … yet.” Her voice
was dripping sugar.

Anne and the
dowager gasped softly.

The duke held
Penelope’s eyes, and she bravely focused on a tiny freckle above
his right eyebrow.

A hint of a
smile crossed his face and her eyes widened.

“I suggest you
stay away from each other tonight. No conversation, and if I catch
you, Miss Fairweather …”

Penelope’s gaze
slipped. His deep, husky voice had not threatened this time.
Instead, it had been filled with a wicked promise that trickled
deep down into her belly making her shiver.

Her stomach was
still fluttering when she entered Kitty May’s ball, which was
already in full swing. Everything glittered and sparkled, and the
hostess was shining brighter than all the lamps in the room. Kitty
wore a multi-coloured gown that hurt the eye. Penelope squinted
through the garish colours, her mouth quirking in amusement. She
automatically turned towards Anne to share the vision … but Anne
was already moving away from her. She sent Penelope a forlorn look
before disappearing into the crowd.

A rush of
loneliness swamped Penelope. She had always had Anne by her side at
every social gathering. Truth be told, she had forgiven Anne. She
wanted to speak to her and yet she did not know how or what to say.
She acknowledged to herself that she was embarrassed. Embarrassed
that Anne had guessed what she felt for the duke. She did not want
to face the pity in Anne’s eyes. The duke was an engaged man and
far above her station. She was not a fool and completely aware how
hopeless the entire situation was.

The dowager
moved away to greet an acquaintance and Penelope stood alone amidst
hundreds of people, her heart heavy.

“You should
talk to her,” the duke said gently.

“I thought you
did not want us to talk,” Penelope replied, surprised that he had
come to stand by her side.

“I didn’t mean
it. I would like my sister to be friends with my…” he paused and
then continued, “I want Anne to be friends with you.”

“What were you
going to say… my what?” It was out before she could stop
herself.

“Friend. We are
friends are we not, Penelope?”

“You don’t
treat me like a friend.”

“Hmm … I
suppose I don’t treat you like a sister either. You are hinting at
the kiss … Well, you will have to put up with it. In spite of your
utter lack of skills, I am tempted to … Shall we be friends who
kiss?”

“Kissing
friends? No, I think not. I would rather we were acquaintances. I
see Lady Lydia Snowly across the room. There she is standing next
to Anne wearing a beautiful red dress.”

“Do you really
want me to keep my distance?” the duke asked.

“Don’t you want
to dance with your fiancée?”

“No, I don’t
want to dance with Lydia. I would rather dance with you.”

“I don’t
understand you. Are you laughing at me or … oh, I don’t care. Don’t
answer. I am going to speak to Anne, and before you assume that I
am running away, then let me clarify that I am not. Not this time.
I am simply concerned for my reputation.”

“Your
reputation is safe with me.”

“I beg to
differ, your grace,” Penelope snapped, walking away.

***

Penelope fought
through the crowd, peeking over heads and shoulders trying to find
Anne. Soon she found herself stuck between two large bodies and her
nose squashed into someone’s ample bosom. Breathing became
difficult and her thoughts naturally turned morbid … A lot of
people died these days, she mused, while trying to extricate
herself. And the physicians said it was the water that did it … The
poor drank only gin and beer, but they seemed to die faster than
anything.

The bosom moved
and she emerged puffing on the other side. Perhaps lard made one
live longer. The physicians had it all wrong. It was sugar and
dripping fat that allowed the rich to live longer. No wonder so
many aristocrats were fleshy. Her thoughts were substantiated by
the sight of a large earl being carried across the room on a gold
plated platform. He looked old. She added laziness to the list of
things needed for longevity.

She sighed as
she stepped into an open space and finally spotted Anne
disappearing onto the balcony.

 Unfortunately, the balcony happened to be on the opposite
side of the room. She also spotted Lady Snowly looking radiant in
green silk making her way towards the powder room. Her shoulders
slumped. Why, she moaned silently, did this sort of thing keep
happening to her?

Finding no
other way out, she squared her shoulders and plunged into the
lethal arena once again.

Squirming
through the crowd, she chose another topic to muse over. This time
the subject was even more morbid, namely Lydia Snowly. The duke was
a goose for wanting to marry the likes of her. Lady Snowly would no
doubt pick the duke’s flesh, and once she had ingested that, she
would advance to chewing his bones. The poor man would have a short
life. Lady Snowly was not a tigress. A tigress is a magnificent
being. No, Lady Snowly was a mole. She appeared calm, beautiful and
refined during the day, and at night she turned into a mole,
scrabbling through dirt in underground tunnels. She fed on gossip,
her ears stuck underneath the floor boards of various households.
She drank the hopes of debutantes, nibbled on the hearts of earls
and viscounts, but her main course would be the duke. For dessert
she would dine on Penelope.

A little
ashamed of her vicious imagination, Penelope blushed. She pushed
open the balcony door and the rush of night air cooled her heated
cheeks.

She spotted
Anne at once. She was leaning against the railing while a man was
talking to her in low urgent tones. Penelope neared the couple
trying to keep her footsteps silent. Anne spotted her before she
could eavesdrop.

The couple
sprang apart and the lamp lit the man’s face. It was Lord
Poyning.

“Miss
Fairweather,” Lord Poyning said, looking not a bit phased.

Anne was
artless. She blushed.

“Lord Poyning,
it is a lovely evening,” Penelope said, searching the two faces in
front of her.

“Made lovelier
by your presence,” Lord Poyning replied promptly.

Penelope could
tell his heart was not in the compliment. She spied a white rose
that Anne was attempting to hide in her skirts. It seemed Lord
Poyning’s favourite girl for the night was Anne. She silently
apologised to her friend for interrupting her romantic moment, but
she knew it would have to be disrupted further.

“I wanted to
speak to Anne privately, Lord Poyning.”

“I thought you
were angry with her,” Lord Poyning said slyly.

Penelope
frowned. Anne had confided in him about that? When had they become
so close, she wondered?

A hint of
irritation crossed Anne’s face. “Lord Poyning, I am awfully
thirsty.”

Lord Poyning
was taken aback by her tone, but he took the hint and left to fetch
Anne a drink.

An
uncomfortable silence descended on the balcony after his
departure.

“Poyning is a
funny sort of name. Do you really want to be Lady Poyning?”
Penelope said, trying to break the tension.

“It sounds a
bit like annoying,” Anne said, her lips quirking.

“Is he
annoying?”

“I thought you
were not talking to me,” Anne said, ignoring the question. She
turned to look at Penelope and found her kneeling on the floor, her
hands clasped together in appeal.

“Forgive me,”
Penelope proclaimed dramatically.

“Penny, you
can’t do that here … not at Kitty May’s ball. Someone will see you.
Stand up.”

“Not until you
promise to forgive and forget.”

“I should be
apologising. Penny, please behave … eeek, let go of my foot!”

“You apologised
so many times, and I took too long to forgive. No, that’s not
right. I forgave you that very day, but I was mortified that you
thought that I was … I mean, your brother …”

“I understand.
I guessed as much. But nothing has changed. You should have told me
how you felt. I would not have thought less of you. I don’t know
how you can be in love with my boring, arrogant … Never mind. If
you do not want to talk about it, then we won’t. Now, for the love
of all that is holy, get up. I can see someone coming.”

Penelope stood
up and patted the dust off her skirts.

“Penny, how
could you behave like a total idiot?” Anne giggled.

“I have no
pride when it comes to winning back people I love.”

Anne smiled, “I
love you too, Penny.”

“Then tell me
all about Lord Poyning and your little romance.”

“You love my
brother more than you love me,” and that was the only reply Anne
was willing to give on the subject.

“The Baronet of
Hampshire has decided to marry the milkmaid,” Anne announced,
scanning the latest newspaper.

“How do you
know? It does not spell out the name,” the dowager asked.

“Who else has
sixteen Newfoundland dogs, three Persian cats and thirty six
horses?” Anne sniffed.

“You are
confident that the baronet has that many animals?”

“When have I
been wrong? My sources are excellent,” Anne replied.

“Your source is
Becky, your lady’s maid,” the dowager said blandly.

“This time it
is not,” Anne said triumphantly.

Penelope
stopped admiring the duke’s handsome head. She swivelled to inspect
Anne, who had sounded a little too cheerful for this time of the
morning. She said thoughtfully, “Anne, pass me the butter and the
jam. And the teapot, thank you … Oh, the salt, pepper, and the
toast as well.”

Penelope knew
something was wrong. Anne should have been annoyed by her demands.
After all, the teapot had been lying next to Penelope, and Anne had
to get up from her chair and come around to her side to pour
Penelope a cup.

“How is your
knee, Perkins?” Penelope asked the butler absently. Her eyes were
focused on Anne’s flushed face.

“The knee is
having a good day, Miss. Thank you for the ointment,” Perkins
mumbled, glancing at the guests. Madame and Kitty May had joined
them for a late breakfast. They were to go shopping with the
dowager after the meal.