by Archer, Kate
The rift had been patched up via a profuse apology, a spectacular diamond tiara, and a new rule in the house that there was never to be a fox hunt on a day they hosted a dinner.
Penny Darlington would not have even been born if that argument had not been patched up.
Penny put her hands to her cheeks. What a goose she was! After all, what was the worst thing that could possibly happen if someone she loved made her cry?
She would cry, that was all.
Then, at some later point, she would stop crying. Her mother had cried over that dinner party. No, really she had cried because she thought her husband loved his fox hunt more that he did herself. And then, she had stopped crying and got on with it.
Her mother did not die over it and neither would Penny.
She sighed. It was all well and good to come to the realization now, but it was far too late. Lord Cabot would not come back for a second trouncing, and she suspected Mr. Thornbridge would not either. At least, he would not venture it until Penny was married and no longer a burden to her aunt.
Perhaps that was the right course, then. She must marry somebody suitable and pretend to be happy about it. At least that would give her aunt a chance at real happiness.
While she was at it, she would seek to toughen herself up a bit. She was exceedingly daring on the back of a horse. She must find a way to be daring with her feelings too.
*
Henry had made his way to London as fast as he had made his way to Devon—riding hard and changing horses often. He was determined to catch Miss Darlington there and did not wish to risk having her set off and missing her on the road again.
He’d jumped off his horse, handed the reins to a boy, and bounded up the steps. After a good pounding, a footman Henry recognized from prior calls opened the door.
“I would like to see Miss Darlington,” he said. “I know it is not her at-home day, but it is urgent. Lord Mendbridge knows all about it.”
The footman’s brows had been slowly coming together on his forehead as Henry spoke. Another footman tittered somewhere in the hall behind the fellow.
“I’m sorry, Lord Cabot,” the footman said, “Miss Darlington is not at home.”
“Oh, I know she’d say so,” Henry said, “but I must insist all the same. She’ll change her mind if I am afforded time to speak.”
Now the footman looked really confused. “No, my lord,” he said hurriedly, “I mean she is really not at home. She is not here.”
“Where then?” Henry said. “Has she gone riding in the park? I could catch up to her there, I suppose.”
“She’s gone to Bath, my lord,” the footman said.
“Bath!” Henry cried. “Why? Why has she gone to Bath?”
“Well,” the footman said slowly, “they came from Newmarket on their way to Devon.”
“Yes, I know,” Henry said, suppressing the urge to throttle the fellow. “But what has Bath got to do with it?”
“It’s Mrs. Wellburton’s particular route,” the footman said.
“What kind of route is that!” Henry shouted. “Who goes from Newmarket to London to Bath to Devon?”
“Mrs. Wellburton, my lord,” the footman said, backing up.
Henry turned and jogged down the steps. Mrs. Wellburton was a madwoman, and he was going to Bath.
*
The day had been agonizing for Penny. She’d had to put on a bright face for Kitty and then Mrs. Wellburton had to put on a bright face for them both. The only individual with an authentic bright face was Kitty.
It had been planned that Penny and Kitty would shop and then they would escort Mrs. Wellburton to the pump room, but her aunt had decided she did not wish to go after all. In fact, Mrs. Wellburton suggested they cut the visit short and leave for Devon in two days’ time, as so many of her friends were not in residence.
Kitty believed what she was told, but Penny did not. Her aunt did not want to encounter Mr. Thornbridge again under what could only be extremely awkward circumstances.
Penny had thought she would not disclose that she had overheard the proposal, and Mrs. Wellburton’s reason for declining, but then she began to waver. Perhaps it would be best to confess her eavesdropping and convince her aunt that there was no cause to refuse Mr. Thornbridge on her account. Her father was well able to escort her to London next season and Kitty would be there too.
Penny had waited until they had all gone above stairs and enough time had passed that she could count on Kitty being engrossed in a book and oblivious to any sounds in the hall. She tiptoed to her aunt’s door and softly knocked.
“Enter,” Mrs. Wellburton said.
Penny came in and her aunt said, “Goodness, I thought it must be my maid forgotten something. Can you not sleep?”
Penny sat down on the cozy velvet sofa next to her aunt. “Not a wink,” she said. “I must say this all to you quickly or I shall never say it all. I heard Mr. Thornbridge’s proposal and your refusal. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but you must not do it! I am perfectly fine and I could not go on thinking I had ruined your happiness too.”
At the mention of the proposal, a faint pink bloomed on Mrs. Wellburton’s cheeks. She was silent for a moment and Penny feared she was angry to find her niece had been listening at doorways.
“You just said, my happiness too,” Mrs. Wellburton said. “That is precisely what I have feared. Tell me, Penny, how it is that you think you have ruined your own happiness?”
Penny had not anticipated the conversation going in that particular direction. Still, with her dear aunt holding her hand and looking into her eyes, she could not dissemble.
After she had done pouring out the tale of Lord Cabot—everything from his marked interest, to his insult, to his proposal during the minuet, only leaving out that she had ridden his horse—Penny sat back exhausted. It was not an unhappy exhaustion, though. It had felt good to put everything into words.
“Good God, girl,” Mrs. Wellburton said, laughing, “you have made a mess of it.”
Penny did not see why her aunt should find the whole thing amusing. In fact, she felt a little stung by her aunt’s reaction. A lot stung, if she were to be honest. She had a great urge to run from the room. Instead, she remembered her recent vow to toughen herself up.
“Yes, I admit it,” Penny said. “I have made a wretched mess of things.”
“Well, do not look so forlorn over it,” Mrs. Wellburton said. “It is true, I have not favored Lord Cabot. I did not think he took the flirtation seriously, but perhaps I only measured him by his father’s yardstick. I must have, else he would not have proposed to anybody until he was forty. What I have never taken Lord Cabot for, though, is an easily put off gentleman. If he is in earnest, he will try again.”
Penny was cheered by her aunt’s words. Not because they were true, she knew they were not, but because of the effort her aunt took in attempting to assuage her feelings.
“But do you think the same of Mr. Thornbridge?” Penny asked. “You must not turn him down again! You must not or I will be so unhappy!”
“Well, I cannot say what Mr. Thornbridge will do,” Mrs. Wellburton said. “He has not the energy and pigheadedness of youth.”
“But if he does, Aunt,” Penny pressed on, “you will not say no.”
“As your father says, we will clear that fence if we come to it.”
*
Henry arrived to Bath in the middle of the night. He had no house there, nor any friend who might be in residence. He’d finally found an inn on the outskirts of town that would take him in, and that only because of the quality of his horse and his autocratic manner. He’d been traveling so long without his valet that his appearance was a rumpled and unprepossessing mess.
He’d cleaned up as best he could, though it was not particularly up to anybody’s standards. Jarvis would have had apoplexy over the state of his coat, and downright died at the sight of his neckcloth. Disheveled or no, he would see Miss Darlington this morning.
; It had not taken long to ask around and find out where she stayed, though a few people he’d asked had said nothing and only hurried away from him. He was certain they thought him some mad sort of gentleman intent on carrying the lady off for nefarious purposes.
Finally, he banged on the third front door in as many days in his quest to overtake Miss Darlington.
*
Penny, Kitty and Mrs. Wellburton were in the drawing room. Mrs. Wellburton made a great show of attending to her sewing, Kitty was absorbed in a book, and Penny gazed round the room, settling on nothing.
She sat up at the loud banging on the door. Could Mr. Thornbridge have gathered his courage and come back for another run at it? Whoever it was, they had arrived with vigor.
From out in hall, Penny heard Lord Cabot say, loudly, “I must insist on seeing Miss Darlington this instant!”
Mrs. Wellburton’s head snapped up from her sewing. Penny was frozen where she sat.
He had come!
Why had he come?
Her aunt rose and nearly ran to Kitty’s side. She pulled her up and away from her book. “I must show you something in my room, Kitty. Now.”
“Now?” Kitty said, her face all wonder.
“Right now, come.”
Mrs. Wellburton hauled Kitty from the room. In the hall, Penny heard her aunt say, “Good morning, Lord Cabot. My niece is in the drawing room. Miss Dell and I shall return presently.”
Penny smoothed her dress, she patted her hair, she fussed with the ribbon at her waist. What should she do? Where should she put herself? How should she receive him? She didn’t know what to do!
Before she could give in to an almost overwhelming urge to run, Lord Cabot strode into the room. He bowed.
Penny rose and curtsied. Then she peered at him. He was an absolute mess, what had happened to him?
“Miss Darlington,” he said approaching, “I apologize for my appearance, but I have been to Devon, and then London, and now Bath, in search of you!”
“You did not know my aunt’s particular route,” Penny said, in lieu of saying anything of sense.
“I did not, but I know it now,” Lord Cabot said.
“Yes,” Penny said. “She likes to stop in London. And then stop in Bath.”
“As I understand it,” Lord Cabot said. “Surely, you must know why I’ve ridden over half of England to catch up to you?”
Penny sank down on the sofa. She hoped she knew, but she could not say so.
“First,” Lord Cabot said, striding back and forth across the carpet, “I must outline all the reasons you should throw over your fears. One, I was all in a jumble at the Tudor ball because of Ashbridge and well, because of you. I had not yet sorted out my feelings, though they were laying there right in front of me and I sought to deny them. I was an imbecile, as you very well know.”
Lord Cabot had reached the bookshelf and turned, walking briskly back again. “Second,” he said, “I now realize what you are afraid of. You worry that I am a beast and have been hiding it all this time. It is not true! Yes, I was a beast on that occasion, but I am not usually. In fact, I would go so far as to say hardly ever.”
The lord reached the door and swung around to continue his pacing. “Third, I am willing to write the following into a marriage contract: Should I ever insult Lady Cabot, I will stand in the middle of the street and shout that I am a beast that does not deserve her. You see? I am willing to go that far.”
Penny suddenly said, “But you see, I am not afraid of you hurting my feelings anymore!”
“My God,” Lord Cabot said, stopping in his tracks. “It cannot be true. You cannot love Burke. Would he shout in the street? Would he go that far?” Lord Cabot stared at the far wall. “I do not think he would.”
Penny was entirely lost. “What does Lord Burke have to do with it?”
“Does he have nothing to do with it?” Lord Cabot asked, turning to face her. “But then, why should you no longer fear I could affect your feelings?”
“I did not say you could not affect my feelings,” Penny said. “I said I am no longer afraid of you hurting them. You would, you know. Sooner or later.”
Lord Cabot appeared irate over the suggestion. “I would not! I swear it! Your feelings shall be as a delicate china cup in my hands! I will never even put a chip in them!”
“No,” Penny said, laughing, “You are wrong. I am certain you will chip them. You will come late for dinner, and I will call the carriage, and you will apologize and buy me a tiara. Then we will carry on.”
Lord Cabot rushed to her side. “Do you accept then? I can buy you a tiara today if it makes the slightest difference.”
“I do accept,” Penny said, “but delay the tiara. You will need it someday.”
“Miss Darling,” Lord Cabot said, grasping her hands. “I mean, Miss Darlington.”
“Leave it at Miss Darling,” Penny said. “Or just Penny when we have a row.”
Lord Cabot lifted her chin and kissed her softly. “Very well, Miss Darling.”
They stayed in that position a shocking amount of time. So shocking that after nearly an hour Penny distinctly heard Kitty out in the hall. “Hadn’t we better go in, Mrs. Wellburton,” she said loudly.
They did not come in, though. Mrs. Wellburton knew when to stay away.
It was well that Kitty was kept away. Penny and Lord Cabot, or Henry as she knew him now, had very much to speak of.
“I must tell you something very shocking,” Penny said between kisses. “And you must promise not to be angry with anybody involved.”
“I swear,” Lord Cabot said.
“It was not Rupert that rode Bucephalus. It was I.”
“Yes, I know it,” he said.
“You know it?” Penny asked.
“Of course I know it. What else could have given me the courage to ride for days across England in pursuit of you? I realized you must love me if you rode my horse.”
“That is a very bold assumption, my lord.”
“But I was right and we shall not have a row about it. Now, I must tell you something shocking. You have no idea the scope of the service you did me. I am ashamed to say I’d got myself involved with a moneylender.”
“Yes, I know it,” Penny said.
“How—”
“Lord Grayson,” Penny said. “He was in a pique over the idea that you pursued Miss Dell.”
“Miss Dell?” Cabot said laughing. “I was thought to favor Miss Dell and you were thought to favor Burke?”
“Burke?” Penny asked. “Where would you get such an idea?”
“Lord Dalton,” Cabot said ruefully. “I should have never believed a word of it. But you know, you were laughing with Burke that first night at dinner. Quite a lot, I thought. Too much, I also thought.”
Penny was pleased to note a hint of possessiveness in his tone, though she could not ignore her own past tinges of green.
“Lord Dalton told me that you were a great scholar and would reveal it to Miss Dell to secure her favor.”
“A scholar?” Lord Cabot said laughing. “You never did believe that.”
“As it happened…but you’re not?”
“God, no. Shall we even have a library at home?”
“We will have a small section for equine genealogies and such,” Penny said, “and then the rest for Kitty to read when she comes.”
“Very good notion. And, perhaps one of our children will be a very great reader.”
Penny laughed merrily over the idea. “One never knows, I suppose.”
“In any case, whatever our wrong-headed ideas have been, it has all come right in the end,” Cabot said. “Our path going forward is remarkably smooth—I spoke to your father before I left Newmarket and he was approving of the match.”
“Was he?” Penny asked.
“Oh, yes. Very.”
Lord Cabot had entwined his arm around her waist and pulled her so close she could barely breathe. She did not mind it at all.
Though,
a very sudden and urgent thought came to her. “Mr. Thornbridge!” she cried. “We must fix Mr. Thornbridge!”
After apprising her fiancé of what she meant by fixing Mr. Thornbridge, they speedily set off to find the gentleman. That both Mrs. Wellburton and Kitty were surprised to see them fly out the door was to be expected. Especially poor Kitty, as all she heard was, “We are engaged! We shall not be gone an hour!”
Penny and Lord Cabot were true to their word. They’d found Mr. Thornbridge at home and Penny had speedily apprised him of the current circumstances. Mr. Thornbridge had mused over the idea that he might wait until a suitable time had expired after his first proposal. Perhaps he would allow the lady’s thoughts to settle before a rapprochement. He was still talking when Penny ordered a footman to get the gentleman’s coat and walking stick.
He was back at the house not many more minutes after that, and the situation was resolved to everybody’s satisfaction. Mrs. Wellburton might have blushed like a schoolgirl and Mr. Thornbridge might have stumbled over his words, but the end of it was they would marry.
*
Lord Mendbridge looked upon the recently concluded race week with satisfaction. He’d not won every match up, but he’d won enough of them. Poor Penny had not been able to race her horse at all, but she was young and there would be other races. All in all, it was a job well done.
The town had begun to clear out and he hosted some of the remaining gentlemen of the club for a last evening’s celebration.
They had concluded a very good dinner and just passed round the port when Montrose bustled in with a letter. He handed it to his lord and said, “From Miss Darlington in Bath, my lord. It appears as if she’s written in a hurry and it has been sent by private courier.”
Lord Mendbridge looked at the scrawl on the outside of the letter. Montrose was right, it was badly written. His daughter had very neat handwriting as a usual thing, this was near illegible.
“I hope nothing has gone wrong,” he said quietly.
Montrose nodded. Though Lord Mendbridge had spoken quietly, the men round the table grew silent. Nobody liked to be nearby when a letter came so urgently. A special courier who was unexpected generally brought bad news.
