Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  She tried to come up with an answer, but her thoughts refused to behave. They meandered away from the dowager again and again and landed right on top of the duke. Her mind flitted from the image of the tumble down the stairs to the duke’s arms holding her, from the terror he had induced, to the accusations hurled at her. Why had he looked so desolate in the end? His voice had been full of self-loathing. Or was it regret? He was so hard to read.

  She shook herself and touched her ankle. The pain helped her focus. The rotten man was intelligent enough to hate himself. He was despicable and it was only right that he should know his own character. The brute. He did not deserve her sympathy. She was a goose for trying to see some good in him.

  The rude man had dared to insinuate that she, Miss Penelope Winifred Rose Spebbington Fairweather, would stoop so low as to seduce him, and that too on her first day in London. He thought she was a loose skirt, a doxie, a bawdy basket.

  “Arrrgh,” Penelope growled aloud.

  That man needed to be taught a lesson. Duke or not, someone had to bring him down to earth. He behaved as if he was King George … or rather God himself. She scowled. A mad pixie he had called her. Well, he was the demented one …

  A shuffle and a slight noise distracted her from her gloomy thoughts. The goat sat on the carpet scratching behind its ear.

  She turned an evil eye on the goat.

  “Lady Bathsheba, you look content. I suppose you have had your breakfast, whereas I have no idea if anyone will appear with a tray for me. I will not risk my neck by attempting those winding oak stairs with a sprained ankle.”

  Lady Bathsheba crossed her two front feet and prepared for a long monologue. Penelope had been silent for too long, and now she turned to her favourite audience, one that could not interrupt.

  If a goat could sigh, then Lady Bathsheba did just that.

  “I am hungry, extremely hungry. I suppose I could shove you in the fireplace and cook you. You deserve it, you know. I would not be in this predicament but for you.” She warmed to her topic, “Yes, that’s it. It’s not me, it’s you. You are the crux of this whole mess. Why did you have to run into the duke’s room of all places? Just because he called you a goat? There I said it. Goat, goat, goat. You are a goat. Do what you want to my room and clothes, I don’t care. You should be running scared, Lady Bathsheba, instead of looking bored. I mean it, at the moment I don’t see my beloved pet sitting on the carpet. What I see is a big fat juicy piece of mutton waiting to be tossed into the fire. And as for the duke, I hope I never see him again. I suppose he is busy all day doing whatever dukes do, and by the time he returns, I will be in the carriage on my way to wherever… Can you believe his arrogance in assuming—”

  “Assuming?” the duke spoke up from the doorway.

  Ideally when Penelope had spotted him, she should have continued sitting on the chair and waved an imperious hand at him. It was the sort of thing that a refined lady would do. She should have, but she didn’t. Instead, she squeaked, and for some extraordinary reason sprang off her chair, and then raced to the bed and dived under the quilts. Her wits, it seemed, were scared of the duke. They fled in his presence.

  The duke looked first at the chair and then at the bed. One eyebrow rose in question and then dropped back in place.

  He tried to look non-threatening as he said, “Calm down, I am here to carry you downstairs for breakfast.”

  Penelope slid further back in her bed and clutched the sheets in a deathly grip.

  The duke scowled and said, “I don’t want to carry you down any more than you want to be carried by me, but my mother requested it. I don’t want to worry her any further.”

  “Can’t I eat in my room?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Well I don’t want any breakfast.”

  “You were willing to cook your pet a moment ago.”

  “Fine, I don’t want you to carry me. There, I said it.”

  “Did I not tell you that I do as I please? And right now I choose to please my mother.”

  “You wanted me to stay away. I am following your command, your grace.”

  “I am pleased that my direction registered in your thick skull. My next command, as you call it, is to never argue with me.”

  She scowled and then stilled.

  He was walking towards her with a strange smile on his face.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  Stunned, she stared at him for a moment.

  Penelope’s breath came faster and her eyes darted to his lips. “You didn’t.”

  “Almost.”

  He had almost kissed her? She wondered how she had missed that bit of interesting information … and he had wanted to kiss her?

  She frowned and said, “Is that an apology?”

  He scooped her up and walked towards the door.

  “Is that an apology?” she asked again, gripping his shirt tightly.

  “I never apologise.”

  She stared at him in confusion. Why had he mentioned the kiss if he hadn’t wanted to apologise? Perhaps, she mused, the words had slipped out? He did seem to be regretting telling her now … Her thoughts stopped short and became entirely muddled when she noticed the warmth of his hands seeping through her clothes and heating her skin. She was in his arms, she realised, once again. Her chest constricted and for some odd reason she started tingling all over.

  In an attempt to distract herself from this disturbing new development, she said, “You could tell your mother I tried to … about last night I mean. She will send me packing.”

  “Your face is beet red. Don’t tell me you have never been this close to a man before. I won’t believe it, just like I know you are shamming that sprain in your foot. As for telling my mother, she may send you packing or insist I marry you. If she does insist on marriage, then extricating myself from you will be slightly more difficult. And don’t you dare tell her either, or I will personally make sure that your life is hell.”

  He paused, and then slightly loosened his hold on her, threatening to drop her.

  Her arms shot out and grabbed his neck. She held on for dear life, her nose buried in his chest.

  “I won’t say a word,” she quickly promised.

  “We will see,” he said, his arms once more holding her securely as he resumed walking.

  “I do want to leave. I really do, and you are right, I can’t face the season. I am not prepared.”

  He chuckled, “So you want to go home, do you? My grandfather will make sure of that after last night’s debacle, whether you truly want to or not.”

  “Do you have to doubt my every word?” Penelope asked irritably.

  “Are you going to stand there holding her and arguing or are you going to put her down?” Lady Anne interrupted, watching the couple with a gleam in her eye.

  The duke looked up, startled to see he was standing in the breakfast room.

  ***

  Two cups of tea and a slice of toasted bread later, Penelope had stopped feeling like a giant unwanted giraffe.

  The dowager broke the silence, “Now that we are fortified, Charles, I want you to stay and discuss this … this predicament. An hour of your time is not too much to ask for, is it?”

  The duke smiled and said, “Of course not, Mother. I can spare an hour or two, but I truly think it’s a lost cause. Grandfather will never agree to have her in the house.”

  “Then find a solution. That is what you do, isn’t it? Solve other people’s problems. Then apply your mind to this little pickle as well,” Lady Anne said.

  “Don’t be silly, Anne. It’s not the same thing. As a duke, I do have certain responsibilities, but not of this kind.”

  “As a duke you have to sort out personal as well as financial issues apart from handling the law and order on your estate. This is no different,” Lady Anne argued.

  “Annie, you know Grandfather as well as I do. He will not agree. Miss Fairweather will have to go home.”

  “You are n
ot even trying,” Lady Anne complained.

  For the first time Penelope felt thankful for the duke’s presence. He, at least, without meaning to was on her side.

  The dowager frowned thoughtfully, “Charles, I have an idea. It will ensure that my father is not troubled by Miss Fairweather’s presence, and she can stay on and have her season.”

  “Let’s hear it,” the duke said sceptically.

  “Father only comes down for dinner. He stays in his rooms otherwise. I propose that we bend our rules a little and let Miss Fairweather have her dinner in her room.”

  “He will never know she is here,” Lady Anne said, clapping her hands in glee.

  “Impossible, Mother. How can you even suggest such a thing? The Blackthorne house has never broken any rules in two centuries. Besides, how can you even conceive of deceiving your own father?”

  “You break a rule every night by having a candle burning until midnight, and I have found pastry crumbs on your bed clothes all through your adolescence,” the dowager replied.

  The duke spluttered.

  “And what about the time you sneaked off to—” Lady Anne said.

  “Enough,” the duke cut in.

  “As for deceiving my father, what he doesn’t know cannot hurt him. We will simply keep silent about her presence, never agreeing or disagreeing. A few weeks and he would have forgotten what she looks like. We can then present her all over again and this time without any mishaps,” the dowager continued, ignoring her son’s flushed face.

  “I refuse to lie to Grandfather,” the duke said firmly.

  “You will stay silent though. If he asks you directly, then you can confess,” the dowager pleaded.

  “No guest has ever broken a rule in this house,” the duke shot back.

  “You caught Lady Henley in bed with Lord Stone, and we found Henrietta the scullery maid with—” Lady Anne mumbled under her breath.

  “Fine, do as you please, Mother. I will have no part of it.”

  “That’s all I wanted to hear. And, Charles, one more thing,” the dowager said smiling.

  “What now?”

  “You have to claim the first dance of the season.”

  “Eh?”

  “Penelope’s first dance should be with you. It is expected.”

  “Mother, I am not going to dance with this … this …”

  “Please,” Lady Anne said pitifully.

  “Fine, I will dance with her. Keep the first for me,” he snapped at Penelope.

  Penelope blinked. This was not how she had imagined her season to begin or how her dance card would be filled.

  “Now, Miss Fairweather, shall we discuss …” the dowager paused and turned to address her son. “That’s all, Charles, you may leave.”

  The door banged shut behind him.

  “Now that’s taken care off, Miss Fairweather, lets deal with our other pressing problem,” the dowager said.

  “You want to go home don’t you?” Lady Anne asked.

  “Yes, I am sorry, I think it’s best if I leave …” Penelope said.

  “But things will only get better from now on, my dear. Things like that don’t happen every day. It was a case of extraordinary circumstances,” the dowager soothed.

  “But I am often falling into such pickles,” Penelope replied.

  “You get drunk?” Lady Anne asked in delight.

  “No, but if something bad has to happen, then I normally end up being in the middle of it,”

  “But why?” Lady Anne asked fascinated.

  “I don’t know,” Penelope replied gloomily.

  “Well, nothing terrible is going to happen from now on. You have us to guide you in the right direction,” the dowager said firmly.

  Penelope was touched by all that the dowager was willing to do for her. They were willing to break rules and hide her presence from Sir Henry Woodville. What she couldn’t understand was why. She had only caused chaos since stepping into London.

  The dowager searched Penelope’s face and understood her apprehensions. She pulled out her knitting and with her hands busy, said, “You have met my father, Sir Henry Woodville, and you saw how strict he is? His views on women … Well, I am not going to tell you a long story on how he became that way. In short, he has always been a miserable old fool,”

  Lady Anne giggled.

  The dowager’s tone turned sombre as she continued, “My mother became ill one winter while we were staying at our country house. Father thought it best to send me off to the nearest ladies academy while she recovered. He couldn’t be bothered with a snivelling little girl. I stayed at the academy for five years and returned home only after mother’s death. I had been painfully shy during those initial days at school. A cheeky young girl called Grace found me crying one day. She consoled and befriended me. We were complete opposites. I was a miserable, silent child, while she was life, laughter and joy. She pulled me out of my shell and taught me how to live. For the first time in my life I sat in the sun without caring about my complexion, broke rules and felt thrilled instead of fearful. We teased and fought with each other. We laughed, sang and danced. I learnt to have fun. It was a happy carefree time and I cherish those memories. I am grateful to her …”

  The dowager paused to wipe her eyes. “A few years later I received a letter from Grace. We often wrote to each other. She was cheerful and happy in her letter telling me how pleased she was that she was soon going to be a mother. She asked me for advice, since I had already given birth to Charles. She did not tell me that she was ill or suffering. The only hint I had that things were not well was from the last line in her letter. She asked me to take care of her baby’s future if anything happened to her. I immediately wrote back promising to take care of her child. My status and word as a duchess and our long standing friendship allayed her fears. Or at least I hope it did, as that was the last letter I received from her. She died giving birth to a beautiful baby girl called Penelope.”

  The only sound in the room was of the three women softly crying.

  Penelope went and hugged the dowager. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “I have a more selfish reason for helping you,” Lady Anne announced after wiping her eyes. “You may find this hard to believe, but I actually like you. The season is a bore, but with you around, I am sure things are going to get a lot more exciting.”

  Penelope choked out a laugh and then sobered, “I don’t want to embarrass you. I am grateful for your kindness, but I am afraid I am not ready for the season. I understand your reasons for helping me, your grace, but …”

  “That is where we come in. We have a week and by the end of it you will be worthy of being a king’s bride. Trust us,” the dowager coaxed.

  Penelope was conflicted. On the one hand she wondered if it was possible for her to learn the nuances of polite society in so short a time. She doubted it. She also wondered if it wasn’t better to return to Finnshire than make a fool of herself and embarrass the Radclyff family in front of the ton.

  On the other hand she knew that if she married well, she could help her sisters, her father and herself. Besides, the dowager’s words had made her feel less like an unwanted burden, and she wanted to help the dowager honour her promise. Perhaps if she applied herself she may just manage to attract a man.

  A vision of her own haggard face in a grey uniform and a spinster’s cap running after someone else’s brats flashed through her mind. She shivered. This was it, a crossroad where a happy home was within her grasp, and on the other side lay years of loneliness and misery.

  She eyed the two elegant women in front of her. She could not ask for better teachers than the dowager and Lady Anne, and if she refused this offer, then she would forever wonder. What if?

  “I am willing to try,” Penelope said, her heart racing in excitement.

  “Then let’s not waste time and prepare you for the first ball of the season, Miss Fairweather,” Lady Anne said, leaping off her chair.

  Penelope smiled
weakly and nodded in agreement.

  Chapter 9

  The duke had been thwarted in his attempt to send Miss Fairweather packing, but the war was not over yet. He was back on his feet with a plan and he knew he had to act fast because if that rural pest got a whiff of what he planned, then she would waste no time in finding a way out. He smiled; if a slight tilting of his lips could be deemed a smile. With great deference, he led an elderly gentleman towards the Blue Room.

  “Charles, what brings you here? I have never seen you out of your study at his hour,” Lady Anne said, eyeing her brother suspiciously.

  “I am simply here to do my duty as a good host. I was pained to see Miss Fairweather suffering due to that sprain in her ankle. We cannot have her uncomfortable, now can we? Therefore, I have brought a remedy,” he announced, looking rather smug at the ingenious solution to all his problems. He moved aside to let an old man through.

  “Dr Johnson! How considerate, Charles. I am surprised none of us thought of calling him before,” the dowager said, her eyes telling the duke that she knew what he was up to.

  The duke widened his eyes innocently.

  The dowager hmmphed and muttered something rude under her breath.

  The duke smothered a smile and turned to eye Penelope. She looked guilty, he thought in satisfaction. Her cheeks were rosy red, her eyes were furtive, and her hands were pulling at the yarn in agitation. He had her now. She could not trick an experienced physician. Nothing whatsoever was wrong with her foot, and her little act would be up for good. Mother would be shocked and Anne disappointed to learn that their little innocent friend was not so innocent after all, and that she was in fact a liar. He could not wait to hear the good doctor’s judgement.

  “Leave, Charles. The doctor can’t examine her with you in the room,” the dowager ordered.

  Some of his exuberance dampened slightly. He opened his mouth to argue but was neatly shot down by one simple look from the deceptively sweet dowager. With a short nod, he left.