Love Forever After
Page 15
Not planning on wandering out of the wealthy enclave of towering mansions and manicured lawns, she felt safe in not bringing her maid along. After last night, she felt more secure in the full eye of the public than behind any of these polished front doors. Perhaps that was a foolish reaction, but she could not help how she felt.
As she reached the high wrought-iron gate at the end of the drive, Penelope finished her glove and looked up. A shiny black phaeton rolled by under the guidance of a haughty driver in maroon livery. The high-stepping grays politely waited until they reached the corner before marring the cobblestones with their droppings. The rows of houses reflected quiet elegance and centuries of gently bred good taste.
So the heap of grimy rags cluttering the base of Graham’s gatepost, hidden from the footman’s watchful eye by an ornamental shrub, stood out like a screeching mynah in a cage of canaries. Even as Penelope spotted it, a watchman hurried to remove the offense from her gaze.
To her surprise the bundle of rags darted from the post and ran into the yard when she opened the gate. Beneath the grime Penelope detected a young boy, but his expression was more defiant than terrified when he saw her.
“Excuse me, milady. I’ll be disposing of the young ruffian for you.” The watchman strode through the gate in pursuit of the stray.
Desperate, the boy cried out. “Mr. Chad, miss! I gots to see Mr. Chad!”
Grimly recognizing the probability that this might be one of Chadwell’s valuable informants, perhaps with word of Nell, Penelope stepped in. “I’m sorry, officer. The boy is expected here. I’ll show him the way to the kitchen gate. Thank you so much for your quick assistance.”
The man already had the urchin by the scruff of the neck and was hesitant to release his quarry, but under Penelope’s glare, he shrugged and scraped a bow. The boy retaliated by spitting on his polished boot. A cuff to a filthy ear was prevented by the simple expedient of Penelope stepping between them.
“If you will step around to the kitchen, officer, tell the maids I said you were to have a cup of tea and a bite to eat.” Penelope restrained the hostile youngster by clinging to his collar until the guard was out of sight.
Then leaning over and glaring directly into narrowed brown eyes, she chastised the young offender. “The man was doing what he gets paid to do. If Mr. Chadwell intends you to visit with any frequency, you might inform him you will need a new suit of clothes and a bath.”
“Gor blimey!” As he realized he was neither to be beat nor struck, the boy relaxed into amazed adulation.
Penelope released his collar and straightened. “A simple ‘Yes, ma’am,’ will suffice.” She waited.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, waiting to see what that would bring him.
“Very good. Is Mr. Chadwell expecting you?”
Caution leapt to his eyes. “Not per’zactly, mum.” He tacked on the latter after a moment’s hesitation. “I ain’t made out for the country, mum. I can’t ’ardly breathe what wi’ all ’em flowers in the air and all. And I reckon I rightly rather take on old Boozer ’ere than one of ’em blitherin’ cows. So’s I come to arsk Mr. Chad for a position ’ere in the city, where me family is.”
Not quite understanding this garbled message, Penelope did grasp that the boy was covered with bruises and scratches as well as dirt and that he appeared more than half starved. Not wishing to send him in the same direction as the watchman and not knowing what else to do with him, she picked up her skirt and started toward the door.
“Come. We will see if Mr. Chadwell is at home.”
The boy gaped in astonishment as she marched up the spotless stairs. When she turned to lift an eyebrow at him, he responded with alacrity, leapt to the stair, and followed as obediently as a puppy at her heels.
Harley opened the door with an expression of horror. Penelope swept past him and signaled her follower to do the same, her flashing eyes daring the butler to utter a word of protest. No fool he, his mouth snapped shut as the urchin scampered across the threshold and scattered dust across the marble foyer.
“If Mr. Chadwell is at home, please inform him he has a caller. Meanwhile, show our guest to a bathtub and some food. In that order.”
A squeal almost of pain emitted from the small ruffian at the word “bath,” and he glanced frantically for escape. He made a dash for the glassy hallway.
Harley uttered a curse. A footman hovering in the background gave chase. Penelope shouted at the urchin to halt, to no effect. He slipped and slid across polished floors, scattered rugs, and almost gained the dining room before sprawling head forward, just missing the fragile legs of a Chippendale hall table adorned with a Chinese vase.
Penelope caught her breath as he raised his head, bumping the table underside, but her gaze also caught a motion under the stairs. “Alexandra, come out here at once!”
The little imp appeared at the same time as Graham’s study door opened and Chadwell staggered into the fray. At sight of Chadwell’s bleary, excessively rumpled state, the urchin sat up and made a sound like, “Coo, blimey!” The table promptly toppled.
With elfin swiftness Alexandra caught the vase before it hit the ground, but the resultant splash of water and blossoms drenched her new muslin gown. In disgust she dumped the remains over the youth at her feet.
“Nasty boy! Look what you made me do!” she cried indignantly, glancing down at her once beautiful new frock.
“You maggot-brained little. . .” The urchin launched into a tirade between hiccups of self-pity, but Chadwell interrupted.
“Pippin, shut up and go with Harley. I’ll deal with you shortly. Harley, get that ruffian to the kitchen. Jones, quit gawking and clean up that mess.” He turned a sardonic eye to Penelope in her bright bonnet and gown. “I believe the other urchin is your responsibility.”
Without raising her voice, Penelope directed Alexandra. “Thank you for saving the vase, Alex. Set it down and Jones will take care of it. Mrs. Haywood will find you a new frock, and the maids will clean that one. Why were you not in the nursery where you belong?”
“It’s too pretty out to sew silly stitches. I was looking for you. Is he going to stay here? And who’s that?” Alexandra peeped around the corner of the newel post at the decidedly disreputable gentleman in the study doorway.
“Your cousin. Now upstairs, Alexandra. We will go riding this afternoon and not sooner.”
“My cousin?” Alexandra gave Chadwell a look of doubt that encompassed his unshaven face, his untidy hair, and his lack of coat or cravat, and sniffed audibly. “That nasty boy’s father, I suppose.” Nose in the air, she swayed primly up the graceful staircase in her best Mrs. Haywood manner.
Penelope shot Chadwell a bleak look of surprise and chagrin as she realized the possibility that Alexandra could be right, then marched out the front door without looking back.
Chapter 16
Penelope’s hurt look practically accusing him of fathering that starveling child nearly crumpled what remained of Chadwell’s defenses. As the front door slammed behind her, he glanced to the nearly empty brandy decanter on the desk, wondering if he ought to take the rest of it up to bed with him.
He grimaced at the caterwauling from the kitchen and looked up in time to catch the accusing look in John’s eyes as the servant hurried down the stairs. One more black mark in his book, and that was before John discovered the state of the velvet frock coat on the study floor.
Remembering the orphan in the kitchen, Chadwell resolutely climbed the stairs to his chambers. Penelope’s accusing eyes followed him with every step. Woman molester. Child abuser. Drunkard. Scapegrace. Rake. Each step brought another fitting appellation. Liar. Deceiver. Abuser of trust.
He was all of these and more, although perhaps not in the way she imagined. It didn’t matter, though. Once she found out the truth, it was all over. He had thought it wouldn’t matter. He had thought if she ever discovered the truth, he could go on as before, but now he could see that was a fool’s dream.
Swearing to himself, he proceeded to his chambers and a much needed shave.
Dolly ran to Penelope as soon as she entered the salon where Lady Reardon entertained her morning callers. “Come, let us take a walk. The sun is too nice to stay inside.”
“Delphinia, what has come over you? Bring Lady Trevelyan in at once. Lady Northrup and Mrs. Simmons haven’t had a chance to say hello.” Lady Reardon reprimanded her youngest child before greeting Penelope. “Do come in, Penelope. Delphinia has been over-excited since learning of Arthur’s return.”
Removing her bonnet, Penelope nodded a greeting to the guests and returned the dowager’s smile of joy. “How very happy for you! Is he here now? How is he?”
“Henry has taken him to our home to Surrey. We will be leaving shortly to join him. He is seriously injured, but the physicians give him every chance of surviving.”
This good news did not seem to lighten Dolly’s eyes as it ought, but caught in the trap of etiquette, Penelope could not excuse herself to find out what troubled her friend. The other women carried her into the conversation, and as other callers arrived, it seemed impossible to extricate herself.
Her thoughts far away from the chitchat, she dismissed a few furtive glances and whispered asides, but Graham’s name mentioned in loathing and fear caught her attention.
Dolly intervened before Penelope could find the speaker. Sitting down beside her on the love seat, she began to chat animatedly about the pleasures of the Surrey countryside.
It was not a topic that required much concentration, and soon Penelope was rewarded with another scrap of conversation that Dolly’s chatter did not hide.
“The description is the same! The whole world knows it is. It is only because of his name and title that no one has stepped forward to accuse him.”
The angry voice was the same as the one who had mentioned Graham’s name, but Penelope could not see any connection. Perhaps their conversation had moved on to other subjects.
Desperately Dolly attempted diversion by handing Penelope a cup of chocolate. “This is the very best I have ever had. Mother found it in a little shop behind Bond Street. They have the most extraordinary bird in the window. . .”
Whatever else Dolly had to say was lost to Penelope as the angry voice interrupted another in a loud reprimand. “Who else do you know who wears eye patches and is large enough to halt a carriage and drag a female from inside?”
The words silenced the whole room. Paling, Penelope sought the speaker.
A tall, stout woman, Mrs. Simmons was of an age to affect a turban. She wore a voluminous flowered print that would have done credit to a chair, and held herself as erect as her old family name allowed. She met Penelope’s look defiantly.
“My husband wears eye patches, Mrs. Simmons,” Penelope said, sipping on her chocolate. “Do you speak of him?”
Lady Reardon rushed to avert this direct challenge. “That was the most dashing patch he wore the other night, cut to match his coat, if I’m not mistaken. All the ladies found the effect quite remarkable.”
“But Mrs. Simmons was saying?” Already in a rebellious mood, Penelope forced the gossip into the open.
The old lady responded to the challenge. “I was saying your husband exactly matches the description of the brute who dragged a woman from her carriage last night and bludgeoned her to death right there on the street.”
Steadfastly, Penelope met the other woman’s sharpness with cool aplomb. “How very interesting. I have never heard Graham described as a brute before. Crippled and maimed are the usual epithets he receives. I am certain he will be pleased to know he has been raised to the nobility of brute.”
Penelope set her cup upon the tray and ignoring the distress of her hostess, she rose. “I had not realized the time. If you will excuse me, I must return home before my husband discovers my absence. He will most likely beat me within an inch of my life for my neglect.”
Head held high, she stormed out of the room, her irony falling on deaf ears. The gossip was much too good to be erased by logic.
She met Guy about to enter the Reardons’, but he did a quick about face and fell into step beside her.
“Penelope, what’s wrong? You look as if you’ve just challenged someone to a duel.”
“I believe I have. I expect her seconds to arrive at any moment. People are so thoughtlessly cruel,” she added.
“It’s something to do with Trev, isn’t it? Not Dolly, surely. . .” He took her arm as they started across the street.
“No, of course not.” Suddenly weary of everything, Penelope allowed her shoulders to slump. Graham had indicated that Guy was a rake and not to be trusted, but she found his company comfortable. His extravagant handsomeness had no effect on her heart, but the warm pressure of his hand offered solace. That was not the effect of a rake.
Guy waited for her to continue, and when she did not, he tried to pry the pieces of the puzzle from her. “No, it was not Dolly, or not Trev?”
“Not either. It’s just gossip. You would think I’d have heard enough gossip to know better by now. But every time it cuts a little bit crueler.” Recovering from her momentary melancholy, Penelope squeezed his hand. “I am sorry to bore you with my dismals. Do not let me lead you astray. I am certain Dolly is waiting expectantly for you.”
“She is no such of a thing. I only meant to call to inquire after Arthur. What have the biddies been gossiping about now that has so overset you?”
“That would be spreading the gossip now, wouldn’t it? I’d suggest if you owe Graham any loyalty at all, you will stay away from your clubs for a while, though. He would not find it amusing to lose you to a duel in his name. Perhaps you can come in and persuade him it is time for all of us to retire to the country to lick our wounds and gather our strength?”
They lingered at the gates to the mansion. Guy held Penelope’s hand and studied her worriedly. “I do not normally make a cake of myself in front of others, my lady, but for you I will admit that I would give my life for Graham, if need be. Can you not tell me what is happening?”
As she had no explanation at all, Penelope smiled sadly and touched his lean cheek. “I am glad he has you. Don’t let him drive you away.”
From the windows above Graham watched this tender scene with a wrenching heart. Guy’s handsome visage had once more won the heart that Graham wanted for his own, and as usual, he had only himself to blame.
Holding back a cry of anguish, Graham turned away from the window. His hunched shoulders straightened to broad wings and his leonine head rose to a defiant angle. He had other purposes for living. God had given him this second life for some reason, and he intended to carry it out.
Later that evening, discovering Penelope neither ventured out nor ate with him, Graham returned to their suite. Confronted with her locked door, he blinked in disbelief. Never had she kept that door barred to him or denied him the right to come and go from her chambers. He had known he had hurt her, that he was in all probability losing her, but he had not come to terms with what that would mean in the strictest practical sense. To be relegated to some impersonal tool such as Jones, the footman, irked him to the very depths of his soul.
Yet he turned away without a word.
Penelope descended the stairs the next day in a better frame of mind. Graham had promised that they might go to Hampshire soon, and she would think pleasant thoughts instead of worrying over things she could not control. It was not as if she were penniless and searching for the means to pay the rent as she had so many times in the past. Gossip could not take the food from the table. She would learn to endure.
Instead of sending someone to fetch the carr
iage, Penelope wandered out to the carriage house on her own. The cherry tree blooming in the kitchen yard was particularly beautiful for this late in the season, and she had a mind to inquire about the waif she had brought into the house yesterday. She assumed Chadwell had known what to do with him.
She refused to believe that even a rakehell like Chadwell could treat his own child in such a manner. No, the urchin had something to do with his nefarious doings in the slums of London. Perhaps she could find out how Nell fared. The men in the stable were much less formal than the servants in the house she had discovered. They would tell her anything she asked.
She did not need to ask, in any case. As her slippers crunched the rough gravel of the drive, a skinny lad of ten or eleven popped out from the open stable door with buckets in hand. His dark forelock fell over a face pale from lack of sun, but also from lack of grime, she observed. He hurried to the pump, the buckets bumping against his too thin legs.
She watched as he pumped manfully at the recalcitrant handle until he produced a satisfactory stream of water. Not seeing Penelope, he grinned in triumph at his accomplishment. Filling the buckets, he strained to lift both before making a slow return to the stables, carefully avoiding sloshing too much water from the wooden rims.
He seemed eager to work, and Penelope’s heart went out to his brave struggle. Even had he food enough in his stomach to produce the muscle needed for such a task, he was not large enough to carry those great, heavy buckets. She hurried to take one from his hand.
“It has been a long time since I held one of these. Let me see if I can still do it.” Wearing a gown covered in lilac ribbons and bows, she hefted the heavy water bucket.
The boy stared in disbelief. “Gor blimey!”
Penelope shook her curls at him. “That is an ugly noise for such a beautiful morning. Try, ‘Thank you, my lady.’”
“’Ank ye, m’lady,” he responded. “But I’ll likely gets me ears boxed iffen ye go in ’ere like ’at.”