It was a deuced thing, this whole mess. His mother and sister should have supported him and not some annoying stranger. He would have to come up with another plan and this time it had to work. It was becoming increasingly clear to him that Miss Fairweather was like a fruit fly— unwanted and insignificant. A fruit fly that could not do any lasting harm, but was nevertheless irritating and should be gotten rid of.
All thoughts of Penelope vanished when Hopkins, his valet, said urgently from the door, “Your grace, your mother has been taken ill.”
The duke did not waste a single moment. He jumped out of bed, threw on a robe and rushed to his mother’s room.
His sister sat by his mother’s side while the fruit fly perched at the other end of the bed. He ignored their presence focussing on his mother instead. She looked ashen.
“What is it?” he asked gently.
“My throat hurts,” the dowager rasped.
“She has a fever,” Lady Anne added.
The duke came and took his sister’s place on the bed. He held his mother’s frail wrist for a moment and then touched her forehead. It was hot.
“I will send for Dr Johnson. No, Mother, I insist on it. Meanwhile, Annie, leave the room. I am not sure what is wrong and it could be contagious. Anne, that’s an order.”
He waited until Lady Anne left and then went to his mother’s desk. He wrote a short note and handed it to Hopkins.
“Leave immediately and make sure you return with the physician.”
Once alone, his face lost some of its composure. He kept his face averted from his mother, aware that his terror was now only too plain.
A soft touch on his shoulder startled him. Miss Fairweather was still in the room. He had forgotten about her.
The glittering sympathy in her eyes annoyed him.
“Get out,” he whispered.
Penelope backed away but refused to leave. “I want to stay by her side. She may need something.”
“Did you not hear what I said to Anne?”
“Yes, that the dowager may be contagious, but then you are still here.”
“I am her son.”
“I am indebted to her.”
“Not enough to risk your life. Get out or I will throw you out myself.”
“I am a nuisance to you. What do you care—” Her words were cut short. The duke grabbed her arm, dragged her across the room and shut the door on her face.
***
Madame arrived later that morning and found her student distracted.
“It is conundrum not conoodrum, thistle not thizzle, cacophony not coca phony ….” Madame slammed the book shut. “You have stolen and read plenty of books from your father’s library, but it is a pity that no one taught you how to pronounce all the big words. Really, you should try and speak in short simple sentences and only use words that you … Miss Fairweather, are you listening to me?
Madame sighed. The physician was with the dowager and until he enlightened the family as to the diagnosis, no one would rest easy. She left after coaxing Penelope to try on a few corsets and measuring her again to check the fitting.
It was another hour before a maid arrived to inform Lady Anne and Penelope that the dowager had requested their presence.
The two girls leapt up before the maid had finished talking and rushed to the dowager’s room.
“Don’t look so morose, my dears. I will live. All I have is a sore throat and a slight temperature. Nothing contagious,” the dowager whispered.
“Don’t speak, Mother, I can see it hurts you to do so,” Lady Anne said, taking her place on the bed.
Penelope stood uncertainly at the door wondering if she was intruding.
An encouraging smile from the dowager had her pulling up a chair.
“Mamma, we met Charles outside. He said you have to rest for a few days.”
The dowager nodded looking gloomy.
“It will be dreadfully boring in your room all day with nothing to do,” Lady Anne continued.
The dowager looked even more miserable.
“Perhaps you can read? Knit?” Penelope asked.
The dowager shook her head and pointed to her eyes and then her head.
“Ah, you will get a headache,” Penelope said. “Can I … Would you like me to read to you?”
The dowager brightened.
“You don’t mind reading?” Lady Anne asked doubtfully.
“No, I love reading. I cannot of course pronounce big words like canoozers and conoodrums, but I do have a book that is simple enough.”
Lady Anne and the dowager smiled in relief.
“It is an adventure called Bertie’s Botheration. A haunting, gothic tale of …” She stopped for the dowager was frantically gesturing to her heart and grinning.
“You have read it! It is my favourite book. Ah, I see you love it too. Yes … yes, I understand you could never tell anyone that it is your favourite. Not lofty enough. I keep a few acceptable names in my head every time someone asks me what my favourite book is, but one does not really confess what book they actually really like and have read over and over …”
***
The duke glowered at the scene. The fruit fly sat reading some idiotic tale aloud. His sister snoozed on the sofa while his mother listened enraptured to the buzzing creature.
He found himself in one of those situations where you do not like what is happening, but if you stop it, then the consequences may be worse. If he did stop the creature from reading, then Anne would have to take her place. Anne hated reading, despised it in fact, and that meant that in the end he would have to take her place. He enjoyed reading but to himself. Not to his mother, especially when his mother’s taste ran to romance and adventure tales. It was a tad uncomfortable reading aloud to his mother about swooning maidens and passionate kisses. He therefore reluctantly allowed the fruit fly to continue fluttering about his mother.
***
Penelope spent the next two days glued to the dowager’s side. She took occasional breaks for meals and to gossip with Lady Anne when she came to visit the dowager. Her lessons were not completely suspended. She was forced to endure two hours of lectures and teachings with Madame.
A curious bond formed between the dowager and Penelope in those two days. Penelope’s ability to assess the dowager’s mood and wants made her almost invaluable to the dowager. Her reading skills were wanting, but the dowager was simply happy to be occupied and have her favourite story read to her, however badly.
In turn, a grumpy, petulant dowager put Penelope at ease. She no longer regarded the dowager in awe. The dowager needed her and that made Penelope feel, if only for a fleeting moment, that she had a place where she belonged.
Chapter 14
On the third day Penelope entered the breakfast room to find Lady Anne and the duke already present.
“How is mother? Didn’t the physician come to see her today?” Lady Anne asked.
“The infection in her throat is improved, but she is still frail. A day more in bed and she can resume light activities,” the duke replied, his eyes on Penelope.
Penelope ignored him and took a seat. He had made a habit of glaring at her at every meal. She was getting used to it.
“Miss Fairweather, would you like to come to my room after your lessons with Madame? You can help me plan what to wear for tomorrow. I am torn between the pink and the lavender silk,” Lady Anne said turning to Penelope.
“Did you have something special planned?” Penelope asked, adding a generous helping of cream and sugar to her porridge.
Lady Anne giggled, “You have a talent of making me laugh, Miss Fairweather.”
Penelope added chopped fruit and carefully sprinkled cinnamon on top. “Truly, Lady Anne, I am unaware of any outing planned for tomorrow.”
“Nonsense,” the duke muttered, and then aloud he said, “Anne, do you want to take her help in choosing what to wear? I mean, look at her.”
“Befogged philistine,” Penelope muttered back. He
r high-necked white muslin dress was perfectly acceptable.
“What did you say?” Lady Anne inquired.
“Raisins,” Penelope replied.
“Raisins are befogged philistines?” Lady Anne asked, her eyes twinkling.
“Yes, wrinkly little things. I don’t like them,” Penelope said, dipping the spoon into the porridge bowl.
“Madame will be here with her dresses today, Charles, and Penelope will look wonderful at the ball tomorrow. You will have no cause for complaint.”
Penelope set the spoon back down, her appetite completely ruined. How in the name of Beelzebub had she forgotten that the ball was tomorrow?
***
“Madame Bellafraunde?”
“Miss Fairweather, I heard the dowager is better.”
“Yes, she is better … Do we have enough time?”
Madame smiled. She gestured to one of her maids, Rose, to start playing the piano and then took Penelope in her arms.
“We will practice a few dance steps, and while we are dancing, we will also focus on our plans for tomorrow.”
“You are leading, Madame?”
“Time is short. I don’t have the luxury to coax the duke.”
Penelope’s shoulders automatically relaxed.
“One day is all that we have before Lady Hartworth’s ball,” Madame continued. “It will open the season and everyone worth knowing will be attending. You are sure to meet all the eligible men at Lady Hartworth’s, though their appearance at Almack’s and other occasions may not be certain. If you do catch a man’s eye, then he will be sure to attend every social gathering that you choose to attend. Men in lust can get creative.”
This time Penelope didn’t even blush. She was getting used to Madame.
“I will never be ready in time.”
“I know that. It will take you at least a year to attain perfection. Girls start learning the arts from the moment they are born. Unfortunately you did not pay attention. I was hoping that we would have a few days of rehearsals to go over everything you learnt. I cannot expect you to remember everything in such a short time. I am not that unreasonable … Don’t look so glum. If we cannot attain perfection, we will strive for the illusion of it.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Penelope asked.
Madame twirled her around, “I like your spirited nature, your way of speaking your mind, but men looking for wives do not. They think they want an insipid girl who appears obedient and docile, the very opposite of their mothers. What they don’t realise is that those very same insipid creatures turn out to be harridans who will transform into their mothers the moment the vows are read. The man will slowly pine away in regret, wishing he had chosen the fiery redhead instead because at least she would have warmed his bed. I am digressing … My point is that you, my dear, will become the insipid wallflower for the next one month. So shy that not a word escapes your lips in the presence of men, and so sweet that all you do is smile idiotically at everyone. The women will love you, since your stupidity will make them feel superior, while the men will pity you and want to lock you in a room to protect you from this cruel world. Your shyness will please them, making them believe that you will be willing to follow their every whim and fancy without question.”
“But that’s terrible. I will be lying to all of London society, and I refuse to follow a man’s every foolish whim and fancy. Why, when my cousin tried to force me to give him my piece of pie, I threw him in the river … and before you ask, I was eighteen and he was twenty four.”
“Like I said, I admire your ability to … err … throw grown men into rivers. I hope it was mid-winter. But, my dear girl, do you want to remain a spinster and don a cap, or do you want to get married?”
“I want to marry,” Penelope replied, her hand clutching Madame’s arms.
“Why?”
“You know why. For my family, to improve their situation … and mine.”
“Enough to lie to the ton?”
Penelope missed a step and lurched forward bumping into Madame’s large stomach.
“Can you lie to the ton?” Madame asked again.
She sighed and finally nodded.
“Very good. Now I will teach you how to be the perfect wallflower. All you have to do is nod and smile and utter not a word. I can take care of your physical appearance and make sure that you are noticed. Can you keep silent for one night?”
“I can,” she replied confidently.
“Hmm, we will see. For now let us focus on your dancing and entrance. I will come and teach you for two hours every afternoon until the season is over or until you trap a man, whichever comes first.”
Penelope spent the rest of the day training to be a wallflower. She listened to all that Madame had to say while pondering over a few strange facts that had come to light. Madame had the longest lashes she had ever seen, and if one looked carefully, the rest of her features were also striking. Penelope wondered why Madame, who had an excellent eye for aesthetics, would intentionally distort her features with the help of rouge and powder. But most of all, she wondered why Madame needed to disguise her muscular figure by wearing a heavily padded false stomach.
***
It was late evening before she entered the room and had a chance to look through the things Madame had brought for her.
She stared at the beautifully wrapped boxes and packages tied up with ribbons and burst into tears.
“Now now, Miss Pea. Is this something to cry over? So many pretty things. You should be happy,” Mary said, coming to pat Penelope on the back.
“I am happy.”
“You don’t look it.”
“I don’t know why I am crying. I never used to cry,” Penelope sniffed.
“I think you are just tired, Miss Pea. The journey and the highwayman, all those lessons with Madame, and on top of that you have been spending all day tending to the dowager.”
“I suppose,” she replied uncertainly.
“Or it could be the ball …”
Penelope started wailing.
Mary hurriedly picked the shiniest box in the pile and dangled it in front of Penelope. Penelope stopped crying.
“The boxes are beautiful, Miss Pea,” Mary said, stroking the golden lid.
Penelope blew her nose and picked up a package.
“You can have that one, Mary,” she replied, untying the knots on a parcel wrapped in yards of pink tissue.
“I couldn’t, Miss. Don’t you start giving away your things before you had a chance to use them. If I see you handing boxes and ribbons to the servants, I will bring it all back.”
“But I want you to have the box.”
“I know you truly do, but sometimes you need to cherish things for yourself. This is your season, Miss Pea, and it will never come again. You should enjoy it down to your very toes.”
“I can’t wear the boxes, Mary, and I have plenty of them.”
“I will take the box, but only after the season is over.”
“Then you will have to take two,” she replied smiling.
The parcel was finally opened and Penelope pulled out a shiny beige cloth. After much inspection, they found a note stuck to the bottom of the tissue.
Chemise
“It’s silk,” Mary said in awe.
“To wear in bed … People wear silk in bed?” Penelope replied, letting the soft material slip through her fingers.
“More chemises in this box, Miss. Ten of them … Whatever will you need that many for? Peach, dusky pink, lilac, and this one has rosebuds embroidered on the hem.”
“The pink has French lace. Shall I try one on? Everyone is at dinner, and since I can’t join them because of Sir Henry, we have a few hours to ourselves.”
“I think you should. They are awfully pretty.”
“What if I spill something on them? How will I ever sleep in this? I am sure it’s worth more than my nicest morning gown.”
“Oh, go on, Miss Pea. You need to practice living like rich folk.
Not that your family is poor, but the duke must have a castle in the country with dungeons and thousands of treasure trunks.”
“Mary, have you been listening to those travellers again?”
“No, Miss, it was the housekeeper. She reads aloud sometimes and I was listening to this wonderful tale of pirates and wenches. Perhaps I should not say any more.”
“Don’t stop now. The book sounds fascinating. Could you sneak it up here?”
“Lor, Miss, go on with you. I would never do such a thing. It’s not for ladies,” Mary said primly, helping Penelope out of her dress.
“All the good stuff is not for ladies,” Penelope grumbled, her voice muffled as Mary pulled the chemise over her head.
She ran to the mirror and stared at her reflection.
“It is …,” Penelope whispered.
“Yes,” Mary breathed.
“Indecent.”
“Beautiful.”
“Mary, this makes me look almost naked. The colour is the same tint as my skin. I look …” Penelope trailed off. The silk skimmed over her curves, moulding and flattering every part of her. Her legs looked longer and her waist wispy. Her hair, swept to the side in a simple braid, gleamed in the candle light. She looked fragile, delicate … and sensual. Her lips parted as if in invitation and her eyes grew languid.
“Mary, how will I know …” she asked, her eyes locked on her reflection.
“Know what?”
“How will I know if I am in love?” she whispered blushing.
“When you are in love, Miss Pea, your toes will curl,” Mary replied comfortably.
“My toes will curl?” Penelope squeaked.
“Yes, Miss.”
Penelope eyed her maid in horror, “I like my toes straight, Mary. I am mighty fond of my toes!”
Mary looked down at Penelope holding on to her toes and collapsed in laughter. What, she wondered, would happen to poor Miss Pea at the ball tomorrow?
Chapter 15
The next day dawned bright and clear, at complete odds with Penelope’s mood.
“Miss Fairweather, you have barely touched your eggs, and last night your dinner tray was returned uneaten. Is everything alright?” Lady Anne enquired.
Love Regency Style Page 326
