Penelope (35 page)

“Truly?”
Penelope gasped.

“Yes, they were
having an affair. Lord Poyning wanted to marry Lydia, but she
refused because he had gambled away all his wealth and his title
was not grand enough for her. Charles, on the other hand, is a duke
and superbly wealthy. Hence, Charles and Lydia became engaged, but
Lydia’s love affair with Lord Poyning did not end with the
announcement of the engagement. On the contrary, Lydia, rotten as
she is, decided that she wanted both men in her life, and hence she
hatched a plan.”

“Lord Poyning
would marry you and pay off his debts using your dowry and she
would marry Charles,” Penelope guessed.

Anne nodded,
“The trouble was that Lord Rivers had overheard their plan. He
decided to keep an eye on Poyning pretending to be his friend. He
wanted to attain proof before divulging the facts to the duke.
Meanwhile, he never allowed Poyning to be alone with me for any
length of time. And Charles’ protective behaviour towards me
further thwarted Poyning’s attempts at courting me.”

“Goodness! Does
the duke know?” Penelope asked.

“Lord Rivers
contrived to have Charles find Poyning and Lydia in a compromising
position. Charles caught them in such a state that it left no room
for doubt. Charles made Lydia promise that she should cry of their
engagement, and in return he promised not to fight a duel with
Poyning and spare his life. Charles is the best shot in
London.”

“No wonder I
never saw them together anymore,” Penelope commented, her heart
feeling lighter.

“Lord Poyning
trusted Lord Rivers and confided in him his plans of eloping with
me. After the duke caught Lydia and him together, he knew that
Charles would never consent to our marriage. He needed to act fast,
and I never stopped to think and agreed to the elopement. The
romance of it all thrilled me, blinding me to all follies. Lord
Rivers followed our carriage and met us at the inn. He was the one
who suggested the hunting lodge. He didn’t want to air the truth in
public. He wanted to protect me.”

“Lord Rivers
seems to have gone to a lot of trouble,” Penelope observed.

Anne blushed,
“He said he did it because he fell in love with me at first sight.
And, oh, Penny, I never even noticed him. ”

“You have now,”
Penelope said smiling.

“Change of
plans,” the duke announced entering the carriage. “Anne, you are
engaged to Lord Rivers. Penelope, you are now my fiancée.”

Penelope stood
at a window in the library of the Blackthorne Mansion. She stared
out at the clear blue sky, the harsh sun pinching her eyes.

The duke sat at
the desk glaring at her back.

Her voice
trembled when she asked, “Why won’t you believe me? I never
encouraged Anne to elope with Poyning. I only aided her in
attracting his attention. I would have never let things go so far.
Why would I warn you and help you find her—”

“I didn’t need
your help. Your presence made things worse,” he cut in sharply.

Penelope felt a
cold hand clutch her heart. “I see, I…I made things worse. If I
hadn’t insisted on accompanying you, then Lady Plasket wouldn’t
have seen us,” she whispered. “I made it worse because now, not
only is Anne engaged to marry Lord Rivers, but you, too, have been
forced to become engaged to me.”

The duke looked
away.

“You want to
marry me because Lady Plasket saw us, and that’s the only reason,
isn’t it? You want to avoid a scandal?” Penelope persisted.

“What else
could I do?” he asked roughly.

She stood
waiting for him to say something more. Anything more. A long while
later when he still hadn’t spoken, she left the room quietly.

***

Madame
Bellafraunde rapped the wall and the carriage came to a halt on the
Blackthorne driveway.

“Penelope,” she
called.

Penelope kept
walking, her eyes, ears and nose closed to the world around
her.

 Madame
Bellafraunde exited the carriage and walked up to the girl. She
stood barring her way forward.

“Penelope, I am
here for your lessons … Penelope? Blasted, girl, look at me.”

Penelope looked
at her.

“Where are you
going,” Madame Bellafraunde asked, searching her face.

“Finnshire.”

“I see, and how
are you going?”

“I will
walk.”

“All those
miles?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where is your
luggage?”

“I don’t
know.”

“What will
happen to your maid Mary?”

“She will be
alright.”

“And Lady
Bathsheba? You are leaving her behind?”

Penelope paled.
She turned back to look at the Blackthorne Mansion and let out a
tiny sob.

“I was afraid
of that,” Madame Bellafraunde muttered. Aloud she said, “Will you
go back and fetch her?”

Penelope shook
her head.

“You don’t want
your goat?”

Penelope
nodded.

“You want your
goat, but you won’t go back to fetch her?”

Penelope nodded
again.

Madame
Bellafraunde grumbled under her breath. She then grasped Penelope’s
arm and led her back to her carriage.

“I have to go
to Finnshire,” she protested.

“Don’t be
daft,” Madame said, shoving her inside.

The carriage
started rolling again. And all through the ride Madame held
Penelope’s hand, afraid she would fling herself out of a moving
vehicle.

Penelope tried
no such thing. She sat with her eyes closed, an occasional tear
leaking down her face until they reached Madame’s home … or rather
Lord Adair’s home.

 Lord
William Ellsworth Hartell Adair, the Marquis of Lockwood, lived on
an estate almost as large as Blackthorne. Apart from the size, the
two had nothing whatsoever in common. The Blackthorne estate had
well-manicured lawns. Lord Adair’s estate, Lockwood, also had
lawns, or rather they were now ‘had been lawns’. Blackthorne had
two hundred and fifty rooms functional all through the year.
Lockwood had two hundred and fifty two rooms, of which only the
kitchen, dining room, master bedroom, and a guestroom were usable.
Blackthorne employed a large number of staff renowned for their
skills. Lockwood employed a cook and a butler, both terrible at
their jobs, but renowned for keeping secrets even under torturous
conditions.

Penelope
thought the wild, rough landscape of Lockwood was in tune with her
mood. If one wanted to be truly depressed, then this was the place
to be.

Madame gently
led her across the hall, up the stairs and into a guest
bedroom.

Penelope
noticed none of the dust on the beautiful furnishings. Nor did she
notice the ornate candelabras, the heavy drapery, or the echoing
silence of the mansion. But she did notice the cobwebs on the walls
of the guestroom. Her heart ached at the sight, and she wailed into
a moth eaten pillow.

Madame let her
cry for exactly fifty six minutes. She then went and dragged the
girl down to the dining room.

“You are back
to being Lord Adair,” Penelope sniffed.

“I am not
comfortable in skirts,” he replied, shoving a plate of burnt toast
towards her.

“Are you a
spy?”

“We are here to
discuss you, not me,” Lord Adair said, crossing his legs and taking
out his cigar.

“Can I have a
drink?” Penelope asked, watching him clip the end of the cigar.

“What would you
like? Tea, coffee …?”

“Cherry
brandy.”

“I have brandy,
but it’s not cherry …”

Penelope
started crying.

“Wait, perhaps
I can get Jules to find some,” Lord Adair said hastily. He rang a
bell and Jules appeared.

Jules was a
young, handsome, and sprightly butler. He had a moustache adorning
his upper lip.

Penelope looked
at the moustache and thought it looked as if a caterpillar had died
on his upper lip. Sir Henry would not approve. Her soft sobs turned
into a heart-wrenching howl.

Jules departed
quickly. She stopped crying.

“Life is
complicated,” Lord Adair said, blowing rapid puffs of smoke rings.
“Now, tell me what is torturing your soul?”

“I am the
duke’s fiancée.”

“A vast
improvement from Lady Snowly. I must congratulate him. How did he
propose?”

“He didn’t. He
informed me.” Her eyes welled up again.

He offered her
a smoke. She took one.

“You love
him?”

“Yes.”

“Clip the end
like this,” he said, taking the cigar and lighting it up for her.
“Then what is the problem? You love him and he wants to marry you.
You will be the duchess. What more can you want?”

“He only asked
me because of Lady Plasket.”

“Lady
Plasket?”

“She saw us
together at the inn. I was unchaperoned.” Penelope sucked on the
cigar.

“I am not going
to ask you what you were doing alone at an inn with the duke,” he
said when she had stopped coughing. “But, my dear, even if he did
ask you to marry him because of some gossiping old woman, then how
does it matter? You have got what you wanted.”

“But he does
not love me,” she wailed.

“He will in
time.”

“No, he will
not.”

“I think I need
to hear all about this inn business.”

She told him
about Anne and how they had chased her down and stopped the
elopement.

“And then,” she
continued angrily, “when we reached home, he once again called me a
pastoral nuisance, feral beast, intrusive pest …”

“This was
before or after he told you that you are his fiancée?”

“After.”

“Muttonhead,”
Lord Adair murmured.

“He said that I
should have warned him about Anne the moment I discovered the
travelling case shoved under her bed. He then went on to berate me
for insisting that he take me along. He was angry that I had
accompanied him in a purple quilt and flimsy peach night dress and
no slippers. He …”

“He must have
said all that because he was relieved …”

“He has often
called me all sorts of names. If it hadn’t been for me, Anne would
be ruined …”

“He will be
nicer after the wedding. Men normally are.”

“He truly
thinks that I am an idiot. He will never be happy with me. I am not
good enough for him.”

“Has he kissed
you?”

“Two chaste
pecks. And then the next was … glorious. He said it was
horrid.”

“And?”

“Well, two more
after that. He didn’t say he liked them.”

He smiled, “But
he did not say he didn’t either.”

Penelope bit
into the burnt toast.

“Let me see
now. You are in love with the duke. He wants to marry you but only
because Lady Plasket saw you together. You love him too much to
have him marry someone he does not love. He considers you … ah yes,
a nuisance, a pest and whatnot. You would rather go back to that
ghastly stepmother of yours than live a life of luxury as a
duchess. It is all clear now.”

Penelope
scowled.

“I had agreed
to stay with Madame, not Lord Adair. People talk,” Penelope said
irritably.

“I live with
ghosts and they don’t talk. Why not stay for a few days? Think
things over and then …”

“No,” Penelope
said firmly. “I want to leave.”

“This place is
suitably morose. No one comes here, and you will not find a single
house in London more entrenched in secrets or dust. Cry for some
time, sneeze a little longer and within a few days …”

“No.”

“Very well, I
will have the carriage ready for you tomorrow morning if you still
want to go.”

“Thank
you.”

***

It was seven in
the morning and Penelope sat on the steps of the grand staircase of
Lockwood, her head resting against the bannister.

“I am a spy,”
Lord Adair announced looking up at her. “And if you want the
details, then follow me to the breakfast room.”

She jumped up
and raced after him.

Once in the
breakfast room, he pointed at the rubbery eggs and burnt toast.

“Drink your
chocolate and eat some breakfast. Then you will learn the
truth.”

Penelope eyed
him sceptically. “Why would you tell me such a thing? Are you
bamming me just to get me to eat?”

“I am not, and
until you drink your chocolate, you won’t hear another peep from
me.”

“This is
chocolate?” she asked, swirling the muddy drink around.

“So I am
told.”

She took a sip,
made a wry face, and drank the contents in a few big gulps.

He nodded
approvingly and said, “Good girl. You deserve the truth for
drinking that swill. Go on, start on the eggs.”

Penelope shoved
a spoonful in her mouth.

 Watching
her chew, he said, “In short, I was working on behalf of the king.
I had been asked to uncover an assassination plot sponsored by the
French.”

Bits of egg
sprayed out her mouth as she gasped.

“You are
bamming me,” she said, her eyes wide.

“I am not. I am
telling you the truth.”

She searched
his face for a moment and then asked sceptically, “So that is why
you had disguised yourself as Madame?”

He nodded.

“But why choose
to be a modiste? And how did you manage it? Aren’t spies shady
little whiskered characters that slink through shrubberies?”

He lifted up a
hand halting her babbling tongue. A hint of a smile played on his
lips. “Slow down, I will answer every one of your questions. To
begin with, a few years ago the king informed me of the plot. He
had received information that most of his informants were being
watched. Therefore, he chose to put his trust in me and asked me
for my help.”

“But why a
modiste?” she interrupted.

“Because men
are fools,” he said passionately. “They think that women have a
head full of cotton and pink ribbons. They talk to their wives or
mistresses in the small hours of the morning, the smoke sluggishly
escaping their lips along with their darkest secrets. And in turn,
women hold those secrets close to their hearts until the most
opportune moment arrives. I could have bribed the women and
discovered the secrets, but it could have alerted the French. I
needed the aristocratic women to trust me. And a weakness that most
of the ladies in the ton share is vanity.”