“I should hope you were jesting, for I fear I would find any attempt at lovemaking a most uncomfortable experience despite your best efforts. If you don’t mind my foolishness, have you been here long enough to discover where they hide the water closet?”
Chadwell erupted with laughter. She bore it with good humor. She feared any laughter might have a trace of hysteria in it.
Recovering, Chadwell retrieved the basket under the bench. “I fear I have not been very polite to our hosts. I have been making profane use of their dinnerware in return for their hospitality. Perhaps now that a lady resides here, they will be a little more considerate in their facilities.”
The basket contained a long loaf of bread and a large bowl of cheese. “These came down with you last night. They haven’t varied the fare, but they have increased it.” He dumped the cheese into the basket and offered her the porcelain bowl. “Shall I turn my back and sing loudly?”
Penelope stared at the bowl in dismay as she realized how he meant her to use it. Never had she been reduced to such circumstances. “Very loudly, please,” she replied meekly. “I am most uncomfortable.”
Chadwell gave her a sympathetic grin and turned his back. Gallantly he launched into a booming rendition of “Ach, Johnny, I hardly knew ye,” complete with all the melodramatics of voice and expression. Penelope’s shoulders were shaking with laughter by the time she finished, and tears ran down her cheeks.
She joined the final refrain with such pathos that Chadwell’s voice cracked with laughter. When she touched his arm, he turned and grabbed her waist.
“One good Gaelic ballad deserves another. How are you at ‘Lord Kildare, My Love’?”
Understanding his need, Penelope lifted her voice as loudly as she could in the first lines of the stanza, while keeping her back to the impromptu chamber pot. Her voice was not so loud as his, and her cheeks remained flushed when Chadwell returned to her side to join the refrain with his smooth baritone.
Her giggles brought the serenade to an end, and Chadwell sent their skylight a hopeful look. “Don’t you think when all the dogs in the neighborhood begin howling that someone might come investigate?”
“Either that, or fear the dead are walking and stay away.” Penelope lifted the pitcher from the wall and examined its contents. “Is there any chance that someone might hear us if we keep up a continual cacophony?”
“Very little, I fear, unless they are looking for us. In which case we would hear them first. I know this place well. It is unfit for anything but rock collectors.” Chadwell held out the tin cup so Penelope could pour a little water in it. He then produced a flask from his coat pocket and poured a generous dollop into the water. “That should warm you up a tad.” He handed her the concoction.
Penelope discovered she was not only starving, but dying of thirst. It was amazing how being deprived of something made it suddenly more desirable. She settled on the narrow bench and sipped the brandied water before handing it back to Graham’s cousin. She broke off a portion of bread and puzzled over the cheese until Chadwell produced a pocketknife and neatly sliced her a slab.
“I regret the meagerness of the refreshments, my lady. Had you warned me of your impending visit, I would certainly have ordered something more suitable.” Chadwell pushed the basket between them and settled on the other end of the bench.
“If you have drunk very much of this stuff, I can understand how you manage to be so abominably cheerful. Will it hold out until they come for us?”
Chadwell peered solemnly into the nearly empty cup. “Not at this rate. We will have to send the butler into the wine cellar. Where has that fellow got to, anyway?”
Penelope laughed at his nonsense and leaned back against the hard wall, staring up to the distant blue of the sky. Now that the day was beginning to warm, it did not feel so bad in here. She refused to think about the night. The man beside her strived hard to remain a gentleman, but the circumstances made everything difficult. She kept remembering the reassuring strength of his embrace, and she had difficulty keeping her gaze from straying to the dark fur of his chest just visible where his shirt fell open at the throat. She still wore his coat around her shoulders, and his cravat lay loose and untied against his waistcoat. Never one for formality, Chadwell had abandoned any pretense of it here.
At her silence, Clifton lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Your thoughts?”
Penelope studied the dark stubble on his chin and the line of his mouth. His upper lip had a firm, chiseled look to it, but there was an appealing sensuousness to the rounding of the lower. She got only as far as the dent in his square jaw and sighed. “Do you really think we will escape?”
Chadwell touched a finger to her chin. “If I did not, I would not be spending my last hours chivalrously resisting your charms, my lady.”
In this light his eyes were a gleaming amber. She felt his desire in the way his fingers molded to her jaw, saw it in the smoldering depths of his eyes, and knew it met his match in her own.
“Don’t, Cliff. You are too much like Graham,” she whispered.
“Am I?” He did not seem surprised, and he did not release her. His fingers smoothed her cheek and drifted down the line of her jaw to her throat. “In what way?”
Penelope jerked her head away and gulped her doctored water. “In every way, except that you are an incurable rake, and I must believe Graham is a faithful husband.”
“Must believe? Does that mean there are some doubts?” Chadwell returned to the task of dismantling his crust of bread.
“I don’t know. He is so. . . enigmatic, sometimes. I had hoped we were coming closer to an understanding, but then he hied himself off to London as soon as I turned my back. I could understand if he had left a message, some word when he knew how worried I was about Augusta, but he was so eager to depart that even his servant didn’t know where he was.”
“How is Augusta? I am sorry I did not ask earlier. Other thoughts took precedence, I’m afraid.”
Penelope could not put her tongue around the words. Any attempt to do so would reduce her to tears. She posed the answer lightly. “If only the good die young, she has gone to join all the other sinners.”
“To hell with good intentions,” Chadwell muttered as he gathered her into his arms. When he held her securely against his shoulder, he murmured, “You know better than that. They didn’t come any younger than Augusta. I’m sorry, Penny. Someone should have been with you.”
He offered her all the comfort she had longed for, the gentle, understanding words, the security of his embrace, the knowledge that someone cared, that she wasn’t alone. It would be so easy to take what Cliff offered, but she knew the difference between right and wrong, and this was wrong. Graham might never offer her the love she needed, but he was her husband, and she owed him her loyalty. Reluctantly she disentangled herself.
“It’s all right. Adelaide and Brian were there. I just wish I knew what happened to Graham. Let us talk of something else. I have always wondered what America would be like. Educate me. Are the towns very much like ours?” Clutching her arms to keep from shivering with her need for comfort, Penelope stared at the far wall rather than her companion.
Chadwell made a sound of angry irritation. Standing up, he paced the few steps from wall to wall. He pounded a fist into his palm and seemed to choke on his words. Penelope stared up at him wide-eyed, wondering what it was she had said.
He finally turned, and leaning over her, placed his hands on either side of her head, trapping her against the wall. The muscle in his jaw worked furiously.
“Penny, I have so greatly wronged you already, don’t ask me to lie to you anymore. I want to make things right, but I don’t know how any longer. Everything I can do will only make things worse. This must be God’s revenge, trapping me in a room with no escape with the woman I want more than life itself and no means of persuading her into my arms without making her hate me. What am I to do, Penelope?”
His desperation frightened her.
She stared up at him without understanding, knowing only the strength of the arms pinning her in place. She felt only the urge to comfort, to touch his square jaw until he smiled again, to return things to normal. His intensity was beyond her comprehension.
“I am married to your cousin, Cliff. You ought not to be saying these things to me,” she whispered. Chadwell’s magnetism had ever been her downfall, but she had to resist. A man like Chadwell would scarcely look twice at her had they been on a dance floor with crowds of elegant people. He spoke only out of loneliness and a desperation she did not understand.
Her sensible words deflected his anger, and Chadwell collapsed beside her on the bench. Her constant proximity would drive him to madness if he did not find a solution. They could die this day, and it would be with all these lies on his head. Worse, he could die alone, and she would be left to sort out his various treacheries after he was gone. What in hell was he going to do to make her understand?
Resting his shoulders against the wall, he closed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Then I won’t say these things to you. Let me tell you a storybook tale instead.”
“Not a bedtime story, I trust,” Penelope replied with mockery.
He peered at her skeptically through one barely opened eye. “Don’t laugh. By the time the sun sets you will be glad enough for my services to keep you warm. Now be a good girl and listen for a change. I promise not to put you to sleep.”
When she made no answer, he nodded and closed his eye again. “Very good. Now, once upon a time there was a foolish young prince who thought he owned the world. Because he was so arrogant and full of himself, other foolish young men thought he must be important, and thus they did their best to emulate him. The young prince was too arrogant to even notice; he simply accepted that if he raced phaetons, or gambled on horses, or joined a particular club, his subjects would, too. When he decided to move on to other pursuits, he assumed his subjects would do the same. He never noticed nor cared if they did not.”
Chadwell opened his eyes and glared at the far wall. “When the princeling eventually grew bored with his idle pursuits, he decided it was time to wed, and he chose a young princess whose beauty and charms momentarily pleased him. While he was occupied playing house with his new wife, his subjects continued to carouse and become more unruly. One in particular whom he knew to be a troublemaker grew rather demanding upon the kingdom’s coffers until the prince cut him off without a farthing.”
When Penelope made no comment, Chadwell rose restlessly and tested the rocky walls for foot or finger holds. He had already spent hours searching fruitlessly for escape, but Penelope’s presence made it imperative. If their captor was the one he thought, he could not believe he would harm Penelope, but he had no desire to find out. He continued to speak as he methodically tested every crack and crevice.
“By this time the prince had grown bored with escorting his young princess from ball to ball, and he began looking for other challenges. His old friends were still involved with what he considered childish activities, so he continued to ignore them. He knew the troublemaker had fallen in with a dangerous lot, but he had been destined for such a fate from birth. His old comrade was old enough to take care of himself, and the prince felt no responsibility for putting an end to his troublesome career. He warned his old friend of the dangers ahead and went about his own business.
“By now, the young couple knew they were to be blessed with a child, and the prince determined he would settle down and learn to be a proper husband and father and take up the responsibility of commanding his kingdom, a pastime he had hitherto neglected. The princess, being very young, resented this change from their social whirl, but with the child coming, she had little choice in the matter.”
Penelope realized he had to be talking of Graham and his wife. It was not the story she had heard from society, but then, what would society know of private grievances between the young couple? It saddened Penelope to think people blessed with so much could be so selfish as to spoil it all, but they might have learned better had Marilee lived. Surely Alexandra would have taught them the delights of parenthood. But if the prince of this tale was Graham, where did Chadwell fit in? As the troublemaker? That seemed very likely, and she stared at his broad back with growing dismay.
“The prince threw himself into his latest challenge, finding it very much to his liking. He spent his days learning the management of his modest kingdom and his nights discussing plans and changes with his father, who was too ill to continue an active interest. The princess must have felt very left out, but the prince, in his self-importance, was too busy to notice.”
Penelope frowned. Chadwell was being terribly harsh on Graham. Marilee could have shown an interest in the estate, and Graham would more than likely have been delighted to teach her. She wondered how much more of this tale was slanted, and she started to object, but the movement of Chadwell’s hands distracted her.
She watched his right hand as he gripped a rock. The smallest finger stood out at an odd angle. It did not seem to function in coordination with the others. Why had she never noticed that before?
Perhaps because he made her uneasy, and instead of confronting her fears, she always looked away when he turned in her direction. As he continued to speak with his back turned toward her, she felt safe in observing him. She was a coward, no doubt, but she could not tear her gaze away.
“The child was born with much pomp and ceremony, and for a while, everything seemed to be merry again. But then, one day, the prince received word that one of his closest friends was in dire trouble. Heedless of the harm he could bring on his small family, the prince galloped off to the rescue, proving to himself, if no one else, that he had not grown old and stale. With much flourish and triumph, he saved his friend from the troublemaker’s followers and carried him back to the kingdom to be nursed back to health, although both he and his friend made more enemies with this act.”
Penelope knew this part of the story, although Chadwell evidently wasn’t aware of the fact. Instead of concentrating on his mocking words, she watched him with growing fascination. He had succeeded in finding a toehold and now groped higher up the wall, where the sunlight reached. She could see now that he had some difficulty gripping with the right fingers, but he did not let the defect deter him. The sunlight revealed a thin white scar across the back of his hand, and unconsciously, she began to knead at her own hand while she sought an elusive memory.
“The arrogant prince thought he had restored his kingdom to peace until the night he came home to find his wife weeping her heart out and his dear friend, flown.
“Even then, the shallow cad thought things would return to normal if he pretended nothing was wrong. That was his undoing. The next night, when he returned home, it was to find the princess flown after his friend.”
Chadwell gave up the futile search and dropped to the ground. Taking the bench beside her, he caught her hand and began to play with her wedding band.
“That was when the prince learned a kingdom could be lost or stolen as easily as it can be gained. He ran after her, hoping to find the glass slipper, I suppose. He caught up with her pumpkin, but the princess refused his offers. In his fury the prince continued driving the pumpkin instead of forcing the horses to go back to his castle. His mind was on the betrayal in his own home and not the anarchy that reined in his kingdom. It was raining. The night was black. He had no inkling of the ambush planned until the troublemaker and his horde rode out of the bushes with murderous intent.”
Chadwell’s right hand closed over Penelope’s, squeezing tightly. Penny rubbed at the jagged scar marring the brown skin of his hand.
“The villains had planned this meeting well, timing it just as the carriage rode over a narrow bridge. They deliberately fired a gun in the air, panicking the racing horses. The prince might have handled them under better circumstances, but it was pouring rain, the bridge was narrow and slippery, and a light phaeton was the worst possible vehicle for such a
night. He tried to keep the terrified beasts on the road while riding straight at the villains blocking the bridge, but even as he brought the horses under control, a wheel hit a loose plank and all was lost.
“At that speed the phaeton flew into the air and down the steep embankment to the rocks below, just as the troublemakers had planned, although they had thought it was the prince’s friend running away with the princess. It seems his friend had given evidence to the authorities of their villainy, and they were exacting retribution. They did not realize it was the prince that they destroyed.”
The strangled tone of Chadwell’s voice told Penelope more than she wanted to know. She stared up at the white line marring his beard-stubble, her eyes growing round as a painful ache twisted her stomach. Unconsciously she clutched his linen-covered arm, as if to prevent him from saying what would follow next.
Chadwell doggedly continued his tale. “The prince must have been knocked unconscious at first, but the rain woke him. He recognized the voices of the villains who had sent him over the bridge, but he could not hear his wife. He tried to call out but could not. He felt as if he were merely a ghost hovering over the scene, watching the mortals sliding down the embankment or standing on the edge, calling to each other as they examined the wreckage, searching to be certain their victim would never speak out again. In the dark and the rain and the mud, they did not search very hard, and they did not see the prince hidden beneath the carriage, but he could hear them, and he knew them. The troublemaker was not among them as he had surmised, but a man he had thought a friend and neighbor rode up in a carriage directly afterward and ordered them all to leave. Instead of coming down to help, to look for the injured, or sending for help, he told them to forget it and get out before anyone saw them.”
The pain was still there. After all these years, the pain of that betrayal rang loud and clear, and Penelope nearly wept. She didn’t understand how or why. She couldn’t put her knowledge into logic or reason, but she knew it as surely as she knew the color of his eyes. The prince and the man beside her were one and the same—and they both were Graham.
Love Forever After Page 31
