by M. C. Beaton
“You’re laughing!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, it w-was s-so funny,” giggled Penelope. “All that where-am-I and who-am-I. I wish you could have seen him.”
He took her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. “Barcourt showed all the signs of a man about to propose. It was you—you did something to scare him.”
“I was myself, I assure you, a good country girl.” Penelope let out a snort of laughter.
Lord Andrew became aware of the warmth of the shoulders through the thin muslin of her gown as he held her down on the bed, of her pink lips trembling with laughter, of the tumbled disarray of her glorious hair, and of the wide blue depths of her eyes.
The Perfect Gentlemen leaned down and pressed firm lips against that laughing mouth.
They both stayed very still, pressed against each other, both shocked rigid by the skyrocketing emotions surging through their bodies.
He drew back gently. Then he got to his feet and walked to the door. Penelope struggled up on one elbow and looked at him in a dazed way. She could see him perfectly, for he was just the right distance away.
She could clearly see that tall, athletic figure, the strong legs, the crisp curls of his black hair, and that firm mouth which so recently had been pressed against her own.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Miss Mortimer,” he said, “pray accept my deepest apologies,” and he walked from the room.
Penelope turned her face into the pillow. But this time, she began to cry.
“My lord,” said Pomfret, fussing about his master, “our cravat will not do!”
“What’s up with the damned thing?”
“It is the soiled one we just removed.”
“Oh, give me a clean one, and stop saying we, we, we the whole time. It drives me mad!”
“Yes, my lord,” said Pomfret, although his eyes gleamed with pleasure. The cracks in the facade of The Perfect Gentleman were growing wider.
“And stop humming under your breath.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Pomfret cheerfully.
It was a subdued dinner. Penelope picked at her food, Lord Andrew maintained a brooding silence, the duchess was wondering how to get her revenge on Mr. Barcourt, and the duke was reading a magazine.
Penelope was wearing an opera gown of soft pale green muslin. It had a square neckline and puffed sleeves, the high-waisted fashion being simply cut and the gown ending in several flounces at the hem. All very modest on the face of it. But, Lord Andrew reflected, even had he not been told, he would have recognized the hand of a French designer. The muslin was cunningly cut and draped across the front to emphasize the swell of a young bosom, and the filmy cloth clung to the line of her hips. She was wearing one of the duchess’s tiaras, a delicate thing of amethysts, tiny emeralds, and silver. About her white neck was a thin chain of emeralds and amethysts, the jewels burning brightly as if fueled by the youth and beauty of the skin against which they lay.
She had rolled back her long gloves to eat, and her small hands were red, with short, square nails. He was obscurely pleased at the mess of her hands and tried to concentrate his attention on them while he wondered what had made him kiss her. He had never behaved so badly before.
He glanced at her face. Her lashes were lowered over her eyes, those ridiculously long black lashes. His gaze returned to her hands. She dropped her fork with a clatter and blushed.
He knew his steady gaze was embarrassing her. He glared at his mother instead and was told testily to eat his food and stop gawping.
The duke was to accompany them to the opera, which meant a closed carriage, the duke considering travel in open carriages being responsible for all the ills in London. The duke sat facing the duchess, and Lord Andrew, beside his father, sat facing Penelope.
The carriage was old and the springs needed repair. As they lurched over the cobbles, Lord Andrew’s knees were suddenly pressed against Penelope’s. He felt as if an electric current from one of the new galvanizing machines had been shot through his body. He swung his knees sideways and looked unseeingly out of the window.
He had a longing for the undemanding company of his fiancée. He had been celibate for too long, he thought cynically. The best thing he could do would be to persuade Ann Worthy into an early marriage.
The Worthy family had been considering the same thing, but not because of any of the lusts of the flesh.
Miss Worthy’s description of their drive had alarmed Mr. and Mrs. Worthy, for although their daughter only described how awful and peasantish the behavior of Penelope Mortimer had been, her parents, remembering only Penelope’s dazzling beauty, were becoming worried at the thought of Lord Andrew being under the same roof as such a charmer. Miss Worthy had failed to tell them it had been the duchess’s idea that Penelope accompany them on the drive, and so they understood Lord Andrew to have been the one who suggested that she join them.
Then late that afternoon, just before dinner, Mr. Benjamin Jepps, Miss Worthy’s rejected suitor, had called and demanded a few private moments with Ann Worthy.
It is a reassuring fact that in this world there is always someone for everyone, and Mr. Jepps was still very much in love with Miss Worthy.
He was a thin, clever gentleman of middle height, plainly and soberly dressed. He had large liquid brown eyes, a sharp nose, and a small fastidious mouth. His brown hair was a trifle thin, and he stiffened and thickened it with a mixture of sugar and water. He thought Miss Worthy supremely stupid and rejoiced in her vanities and her occasional lapses into the worst of fashion. He was one of those men who could not have tolerated a woman of any intelligence whatsoever, feeling he himself had enough at least for two. He adored red hair, and Miss Worthy was blessed with a large quantity of it.
While he felicitated her on her marriage, his agile brain was working out ways to put an end to her engagement. He regretted that his prosperous manufactories in the north, and the source of his wealth—although he kept that source well hidden—should have necessitated him being away for so long.
Miss Worthy, who was still smarting over that mysterious shared laughter between Lord Andrew and Penelope, found Mr. Jepps’s continued admiration of her all that it should be. She even found herself regretting that he did not have a title. She added to her parents’ worries by inviting Mr. Jepps to share their box at the opera.
Mr. Jepps rushed home to change into his evening clothes, anxious to meet Lord Andrew and to find out how best to confound this enemy.
So while the Worthy family watched the opera, Gluck’s Orpheus and Eurydice, he raised his opera glasses and studied the Duke of Parkworth’s box. His eyes lighted with glee on the dazzling vision that was Penelope Mortimer. He leaned toward Miss Worthy and whispered, “Who is that young lady with Lord Andrew?”
“A nobody,” said Miss Worthy curtly. “Some undistinguished, impoverished miss from the country the duchess has seen fit to bring out.”
“She resides, then, with the family?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Jepps continued his study.
Lord Andrew had leaned his dark head close to Penelope’s fair one. He was actually asking her about the costumes on the stage, and Penelope’s replies were showing him that she could see very well. There was something in the way Lord Andrew’s body leaned toward this Miss Mortimer and the way Miss Mortimer’s cheeks had a becoming flush that spoke volumes to Mr. Jepps. With a satisfied little sigh, he put down his opera glasses and began to plot.
Lord Andrew was looking forward to a quiet tête-à-tête with his fiancée at the supper which was held afterwards before the opera ball. Miss Worthy was wearing an opera gown of old gold silk, which became her well. She was wearing a tiara of old gold and garnets, which was attractively set on the thick red tresses of her hair. Semiprecious stones were all the rage. No one who was anyone appeared in diamonds.
But somehow it appeared Mr. Jepps had managed to maneuver everyone into the one party at supper—himself and the Worthy’s, and Penelope and the
duke and duchess and Lord Andrew.
Mr. Jepps sat himself next to Penelope and set himself to please. He discovered she liked novels and immediately assumed her taste ran to Gothic romances.
“There is a vastly interesting pile on the borders of Hertfordshire,” said Mr. Jepps, gazing into Penelope’s eyes while signaling to a footman to replenish their glasses. Mr. Jepps knew that a well-lubricated Ann Worthy could always be manipulated, and although he was giving Penelope all his attention, he wanted to make sure his beloved was kept in a malleable mood.
“Indeed,” said Penelope politely.
“It is Dalby Castle, former seat of the Earls of Dalby. It is said to be haunted.”
“By the ghost of a young maiden, no doubt,” said Penelope.
Mr. Jepps gave her a sharp look, but her blue eyes were vague. “Yes,” he said. “By the ghost of Lady Emmeline, the third earl’s daughter. It is a most romantic place. I have been thinking for some time of organizing an outing. Would you care to go, Miss Mortimer?”
“Yes, she would,” said the duchess, who had been studying Mr. Jepps as he talked to Penelope, and thinking, Twenty thousand a year at least. More perhaps. Unmarried. Couldn’t be more suitable.
“And to complete the party,” said Mr. Jepps, “Miss Worthy and Lord Andrew!”
Piqued at Mr. Jepps’s interest in Penelope, Miss Worthy said, “Yes, I should like that above all things.” No one waited for Lord Andrew’s approval.
“Splendid. Then if the weather holds fine, we could set out the day after tomorrow at seven in the morning.”
Mrs. Blenkinsop and Miss Amy Tilney came up at that point, followed by Lord Andrew’s friend, Mr. Ian Macdonald. Lord Andrew did not want to find himself in the undiluted company of his fiancée, her rejected lover, and the increasingly disturbing Miss Mortimer. He hailed the newcomers with relief. “We are just planning an outing to Dalby Castle in Herts,” he said. “I am sure Miss Tilney would like to join us, and you too, Ian.”
Ian Macdonald read an odd look of appeal in his friend’s eyes and said heartily he would be honored to be of the party. Maria Blenkinsop, seeing the look of fury on the duchess’s face engendered by Miss Tilney being included in the invitation, accepted on behalf of her charge, adding maliciously, “I am sure, dear duchess, that we will both be glad of a break from the fatigues of chaperonage. Neither of us is young enough to face such a long outing with equanimity.”
And so it was all set, and the rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough on the surface. Lord Andrew did not ask Penelope to dance, but Mr. Jepps asked her twice and had the satisfaction of seeing his interest in the girl was causing Miss Worthy a certain amount of jealousy.
On the road home, the duchess lectured Penelope roundly on the merits of Mr. Jepps and ordered her to do her best to ensnare him. “Although,” she added, “I must send for Mr. Barcourt tomorrow and ask him to explain himself.”
“That will not be possible,” said Lord Andrew, stretching his long legs in the carriage and then recoiling as from a snake when they brushed against Penelope’s legs. “It was all the talk tonight. I wonder you did not hear it. Barcourt is claiming total loss of memory and has gone to the country until his brain has recovered.”
“Pah!” said the duchess crossly. “Pah! Pooh!” And she was still pahing and poohing as they made their separate ways to bed.
Lord Andrew found himself praying for rain, but the day of Mr. Jepp’s outing dawned fresh and fair. There was an hour’s wait for Miss Worthy to put in an appearance, but Mr. Jepps had allowed for that, stating the time of departure as seven, but knowing they would be lucky if they got on the road by eight.
Lord Andrew led the way in his phaeton with Miss Worthy beside him, Mr. Jepps followed with Penelope, and Mr. Macdonald and Miss Tilney brought up the rear.
At one point on the journey, Penelope dropped her fan on the floor of the carriage. She leaned forward and groped about for it. Mr. Jepps bunched the reins in one hand and picked it up for her with the other. He wondered if she was very longsighted and, if so, if that defeat could be put to some use. His sharp eyes had already noticed the way Lord Andrew’s eyes had kept studiously avoiding Penelope before they set out. And Penelope was worth looking at. Although Mr. Jepps’s goal was Ann Worthy, he did admit to himself it was pleasurable to be sitting beside such a fair partner. Penelope was wearing a thin gown of transparent blue muslin over an underdress of blue silk. She wore a warm Paisley shawl about her shoulders, and her dashing little straw bonnet with a narrow brim was ideal for carriage wear as it did not flap about in the wind.
Mr. Jepps fell to questioning her about the duke’s household and kept bringing up Lord Andrew’s name and noticed that whenever he did so, Penelope became reserved.
The little party stopped at an inn for luncheon at eleven. Ian Macdonald was in high spirits and inclined to tease little Amy Tilney, who kept blushing with delight.
Mr. Jepps somehow had managed to sit beside Miss Worthy and keep her attention on himself. Lord Andrew asked Miss Worthy whether she would like to take a stroll with him in the inn garden, but she did not appear to hear. Quite out of charity with her, he forgot all his resolutions and, seeing that Penelope was already heading in the direction of the garden, followed her.
“What a lovely place,” said Penelope, walking across the grass as he fell into step beside her. “Mr. Jepps appears to be a good organizer.”
“Yes,” said Lord Andrew curtly.
His feelings were mixed as he looked down at her. On the one hand, he was relieved she showed no sign of remembering that kiss. On the other, he had an obscure wish that she might somehow betray that the effect of it had startled her as much as it had him.
“Miss Worthy and Mr. Jepps appeared to be old friends,” said Penelope.
“Yes, I believe their friendship to be of some years’ standing.”
“One never quite sees the attractions of one’s own sex,” ruminated Penelope. “Now, to quite a number of women, Miss Worthy would not appear as a heartbreaker.”
“I do not discuss my fiancée with anyone,” said Lord Andrew in chilly accents.
“Then we shall discuss Miss Tilney. Your mother regards her as an antidote, and she is possibly trying her best to view her from a male point of view. Matchmakers always think they know what the gentlemen like. But Miss Tilney appears to me to have great charm.”
“She has a neat figure, is well mannered, and would do or say nothing to put any gentleman to the blush,” said Lord Andrew.
“Unlike me?”
“Unlike you, Miss Mortimer.”
“Then perhaps she and Mr. Macdonald are well suited while you and I, my lord, are two of a kind.”
“What can you mean?”
“Well, I may walk into lions’ dens, but you, my lord, are engaged to one lady and yet bestow your kisses on another.”
“If you were a lady,” he said savagely, “you would forget that incident completely.”
Penelope laughed. “Was it so very unpleasant?”
He turned on his heel and marched back into the inn and demanded to know if they were all going to hang around this cursed hostelry all day.
Chapter 6
Mr. Jepps pointed out that as the castle was quite near, it would be easier if they all traveled in his barouche. So forceful and energetic were his arguments that the rest found themselves agreeing, although as they all crammed in beside Mr. Jepps, they began to wonder why they had so readily agreed, particularly Lord Andrew, who was jammed against the delectable side of Miss Penelope Mortimer and suffering from various uncomfortable physical reactions which he had hitherto believed only courtesans were supposed to prompt in gentlemen.
The day had turned very warm and sultry, more like high summer than an English spring day. The young leaves hung motionless on the trees, and spring flowers in the cottage gardens stood to attention like serried ranks of gaudy guardsmen.
The remains of Dalby Castle soon rose into view above the
trees. It had been destroyed by the Parliamentarians in the Civil War, and only the Dungeon Tower remained standing. The Dalbys were proud of their ruin, and the grass around the tower had been cropped close by sheep to a billiard-table smoothness and swans swam among the water lilies on the moat which surrounded the tower and the piles of fallen masonry which were all that remained of the rest of the castle.
The small party alighted, and Penelope immediately went to look at the moat. Mr. Jepps raced after her and caught her just as she was about to step over the edge. He pulled her back and noticed the long-sighted way she blinked in the sunlight.
The half-formed plan that had been burgeoning in Mr. Jepp’s agile brain sprang into flower. He knew the ruin well and knew there was a dark cellarlike chamber in the basement of the ruin which had a lock on the door as gardening tools and other estate equipment were stored there.
For the moment, he decided, it suited his interests to pay court to Miss Mortimer.
Miss Worthy looked decidedly peeved. She had not made much effort to engage the interest of her fiancé on the outing because he had already been snared, so to speak. But she had expected Mr. Jepps to remain her devoted admirer.
Lord Andrew had made up his mind to devote the day to his fiancée and put Penelope out of his mind. The normally shy and diffident Miss Tilney was delighted with the easygoing, undemanding company of Ian Macdonald.
Seeing that everyone else was occupied in strolling around the edge of the moat, Mr. Jepps said to Penelope, “Come with me and I will show you the most dark and romantic room at the bottom of the tower.”
“I do not find dark rooms very romantic,” said the ever-practical Penelope. But at that moment, Miss Worthy, walking in the distance with Lord Andrew, stumbled, and he put an arm around her waist to support her.
Penelope felt a sharp pain somewhere about the region of her heart. The idea of getting away from the very sight of Lord Andrew became welcoming, so she added, “But if you care to show it to me, I shall be glad to go.”
