My True Love

by Cheryl Holt

  After the excitement of the previous evening, Lucas had admitted that they might not be staying much longer, so she'd needed the opportunity for quiet reflection. Because of the hasty circumstances under which they'd married, she'd never considered the small manor to be any type of permanent lodging, but despite the temporary surroundings, she carried a fond attachment to the house and hoped to remember it always as a happy place.

  She'd become a wife here, a woman too. She'd fallen in love with her husband, started learning to cook and tend to her very own family. God willing, perhaps they'd already created a babe.

  Thinking about her husband caused her to smile. What a

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  man he'd turned out to be! He was the complete opposite of the staid, stuffy gentlemen around whom she'd been raised, and how she cherished the excitement he brought into her day-to-day existence. No telling what mad caper he might engage in next.

  He was the wild type, who drank and brawled and returned home full of mischief and devilry, spewing tall tales and making a general nuisance of himself. Through it all, Penny had held her tongue but gave him mild reproofs so that he would understand that she believed nary a word of the yarn he was spinning.

  The simple act of caring for him had been wonderful. She'd savored being needed and wanted, and it was grand to discover that when he'd been injured and aching, he could have gone anywhere for help, but he'd come to her.

  If it hurt that he hadn't chosen to divulge the truth about the actual particulars of his negligent encounter, she refused to dwell on that fact. When the opportunity presented itself, she was certain he would, and she was determined to let it go at that. Their life together was too new, they were still becoming familiar with each other, and she didn't want to start off the third week of her marriage by nagging at him about where he'd been and what he'd been doing. He'd come home after it ended—whatever it was—and that was sufficient. It had to be. For now anyway.

  She'd covered her disappointment by washing his cuts, kissing his wounds, and tucking him in, finding herself rewarded for her efforts by being allowed to tend to his carnal needs as well, and he hadn't even done his usual grousing when she'd slipped into his bed. Because of the amount of pain in his ribs and hands, the joining had been different from many of the riotous others they'd endured. Perhaps it was due to his level of fatigue, his impairment, or the fervent aftermath of his disastrous skirmish, but whatever the reason, his loving of her had been slow and gentle and nothing like any of the prior occasions.

  The affection he'd shown her was so poignant that if she weren't careful, she might start presuming he harbored deep

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  feelings for her. While she chose to remain guardedly optimistic regarding his growing emotional attachment, she knew without a doubt that he lusted after her with a reckless abandon. Just remembering some of their antics set her to blushing.

  The man had unleashed an earthy side to her character of which she'd previously been unaware She adored the dark, naughty pleasures they enjoyed in the quiet of the night, so much so that she could concentrate on little else. Constantly she found herself checking the clock, and counting the hours until she could romp with her handsome husband once again.

  To think that they'd stumbled on each other in her father's garden, and all this gladness had been the result!

  "Meant to be," she said to herself, because that's exactly how she felt. She and Lucas were a perfect match, and he made her so contented and gay, she couldn't help but conclude that the crossing of their paths had been predestined.

  Through the trees she could just see their house. The flowers in the window boxes were ready to open, and Cook had said they would be tulips. Penny wasn't well versed in gardening, so she couldn't know if Cook was right or not, but she suspected she'd begin seeing tulips before long. The country woman was right about so many things, and surprisingly she made Penny yearn for a greater knowledge of the real world.

  Her upbringing had been so sheltered, with every chore in it accomplished by servants, it had never occurred to Penny that she might wish to learn the rudiments of something as simple as the growing of flowers. There were many useful skills she didn't possess: how to cook, how to mend, how to grow food, how to shop for household necessities, how to barter for goods and services. She felt like a total imbecile, one who perceived nothing about the ways in which an adult woman was supposed to carry on in life.

  Well, there was plenty of time to improve at the tasks she needed to accomplish. She was dedicated to her role as Lucas's wife; she was determined, a hard worker, and an apt pupil who readily absorbed the tidbits taught to her by the other females

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  in the small lodging. By the time they arrived in Virginia, Lucas would be so proud of her!

  As her eye wandered to her timepiece, she told herself it wasn't an attempt to determine the length of time Lucas had been gone, or to try to guess when he might return. Though he'd awakened bruised and out of sorts, looking like he'd met with the flat end of a battering ram, he'd insisted on going to London, saying that he had pressing business that couldn't be delayed. No matter what arguments Penny had used, she hadn't been able to dissuade him, but she hadn't let him leave until he'd sworn that he would stay out of trouble.

  The sweet promise and kiss he'd given her at the moment of his departure had almost made her decide he'd do as she'd requested, but she had her doubts. The man had too many secrets and was prone to finding the difficulty in any situation, so she could only tarry and wonder what his condition would be when he came home. That being the case, she put her worries aside, knowing she needed to keep busy so she wouldn't fret.

  Back at the house, her bread dough was probably finished rising, and she turned from the brook and started toward the garden, contemplating the sense of satisfaction she would enjoy later when one of the loaves was sliced and fed to Harry and Lucas with their supper.

  "Who would have thought it?" she reflected, grinning. Who would ever have thought that spoiled, fussy, demanding Lady Penelope Westmoreland would love to bake bread? Or that her incompetent hands would so quickly adapt to the routine?

  As she'd observed Cook on the first occasion, she'd been fascinated by the manner in which the older woman's knuckles worked into the thick dough, by the yeasty smell that filled the kitchen, by the delicious aroma that drifted through the entire house.

  After the cook had shown her the procedure, she'd been pleasantly surprised to ascertain that she treasured the newfound skill. There was something pleasing about the simple steps of kneading and shaping, waiting and watching. The process was

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  timeless and made her feel ancient and wise. Remarkably all of her unease and apprehension vanished by the time she popped the first loaf into the oven.

  Greatly anticipating the next hour or so, she moved through the garden. As she approached the back door, she was shocked to see it open a crack. No one was supposed to be about, and before she had time to wonder who it could be, a dark-haired boy hastened out, cradling several items under the flap of his short coat.

  The little scamp! He was stealing! Right from her house!

  He was a small, thin fellow who looked as though he hardly ever had a bite to eat, so although she was alone, she wasn't frightened. Without devising a plan of action, she tiptoed until she was directly behind him. She was standing an arm's length away as he pulled the door closed very softly, obviously assuming he'd escaped.

  "Hold it right there, my good lad," she said, and he froze.

  "Oh, no," he breathed. He hesitated for a mere instant, then bolted to the right, pushing past her and losing his hidden valuables as he went.

  Penny came to the quick realization that the pilfered pile was food before she took two swift leaps and grabbed him by die collar, bringing him up short and yanking him around.

  She blinked once, then again, staring till recognition gradually dawned. "I know you!" she
said.

  "Yes, ma'am," he said dejectedly.

  For a moment she paused, trying to place him.' 'Paulie. Your name is Paulie."

  "Yes, ma'am," he repeated.

  "We met on the street in London."

  "Aye," he said miserably. "We did at that."

  "You crashed into me." She narrowed her eyes in speculation, attempting to make sense of who she was seeing. "Whatever are you doing way out here in the country?''

  He nervously wet his lips.' 'I can't rightly say, Miss Penelope."

  "You can't? Now, that's a fine response." She pointed to

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  the ground where he'd dropped his stolen victuals. "You burglarize my house and take my food, and you don't think you can tell me what you're about?" Giving him the ducal look she'd learned from her father, the one that brought grown men to their knees, she added, "You'd better try to do a bit better than that, young man."

  "It's not that I can't say. It's just that ... I don't believe I want to."

  "Oh, I see," she said, though she didn't.' 'Well, you certainly look hungry. Let's go in, and I'll feed you a proper meal. Perhaps a spot of dinner might loosen your tongue." Keeping a tight grip on his jacket, for she knew he'd try to flee if provided with the slightest opportunity, she reached for the door with her free hand and pulled it open, but he didn't move.

  "I don't think I'd better," he said, shaking his head.

  Leaning down, she pushed her face directly in front of his own. "This is not a request, Paulie," she said sternly. "Now ... in!" He was light as a feather, and she lifted him off the ground and carried him much like a mother cat transporting her kittens. She deposited him in a corner chair behind the table, ensuring that there was an entire kitchen full of furniture and clutter between him and the door. If she had to block an attempted exit, she wanted every extra advantage, so she positioned herself directly in his path as well, as she ladled a dish of warm soup, buttered a few slices of bread, and set the lot in front of him.

  Taking the chair next to him, she sat intimidatingly close. He glanced up once, then at the food, mumbling, "Thank you, ma'am."

  "You're welcome," she answered. His stomach complained loudly, and she heard its rumblings. When he wavered, she picked up the spoon and placed it in his hand. "Eat!" she ordered softly but firmly.

  He took one bite, then another. The food was consumed in a flash, so she dished a second helping, and he gobbled that too. Through it all she remained quiet, wearing him down with

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  the force of her gaze. She'd had two weeks now of practicing the expression on Harry; she was getting good at it.

  Finally he appeared to be sated, and he dropped the spoon into the empty bowl. As he continued to stare at the table, she let the silence linger on and on until it became oppressive. Eventually he cleared his throat, pushed the chair back, and started to rise, saying bravely, "Thank you again, ma'am, but I should be going now."

  She laid her hand on his shoulder and easily pushed him into the seat. "I don't think so," she said, giving him a nasty smile. "We haven't had our little chat."

  "Oh, ma'am," he sighed.

  "Just tell me what you're doing here, and I'll let you go," she said, although her promise was a lie. She wouldn't allow him to leave. Not without talking to Lucas first anyway. The boy was obviously on his own, and she couldn't bear the idea of sending him back to London's streets.

  "Perhaps it would be best," he remarked, "if you asked the captain about me."

  "The captain?" she asked, not understanding.

  "You know," he said, and his hand went to his side, rubbing distractedly against it in a small circle.

  "No, I don't."

  "Cap'n Pendleton."

  "Oh, that captain." The title Captain was a dashing way by which to refer to Lucas. Is that what others called him? Perhaps she'd use it on him herself, on any occasion when she was sorely vexed by his conduct, which caused her to decide that she'd probably end up using it rather often. "So you're acquainted with my husband, are you?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Paulie admitted grudgingly. "I'm not much for talking though, and he'd probably explain things more clearly." He asked hopefully, "Is he here?"

  "No, he's gone into the city."

  "Well, then—" He paused, pondering, then tried to stand a second time. "Perhaps you can ask him when he—"

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  "Sit!" she commanded in a near shout, and the emphasis had the desired effect. He collapsed onto his bottom. "You know, Paulie," she said, perching close by once again and giving him a feral leer that had him shifting and squirming and rubbing his side more ferociously, "I'm beginning to regard this as the strangest coincidence."

  "Really?" he asked, his voice coming out in a croak. "Why would you say that?"

  "Well, I met you in London. Now I've met you here. You're acquainted with my husband when it seems very odd to me that you would be." A sudden thought occurred to her. "You know Harry too, don't you? My stepson? You're his friend."

  "I suppose," he said, kicking one foot back and forth under the table and rubbing his side.

  She felt like a fool, recalling her first day with Harry when he'd been yammering on about his friend Paulie, and Penny had assumed that the lonely boy had an imaginary friend, never supposing in a thousand years that the two Paulies were one and the same. But Harry's companion wasn't illusory; he was very real and sitting in her kitchen.

  What did it all mean?

  Clearly Paulie was familiar with all of them, with where they lived and how they went about their business. Lucas and Harry knew him and about him, but obviously they didn't want her to know about him in return.

  Why?

  Dreadful details began to play at the edges of her consciousness. A small voice called out that there were dangerous events at work, events she didn't understand, events she didn't want to understand. With a frightening conviction she heard the voice growing louder, but she knew she dared not listen, for if she did, she would hear of critical particulars and secrets. Circumstances involving Lucas. Involving herself.

  Colette's insistence that all was not as it appeared came rushing to the fore. Though the wedding had quieted her recitation of misgivings, she remained wary, eavesdropping on pri-

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  vate conversations, skulking about out-of-doors after dark, finding excuses to go into Lucas's room to help the cleaning woman to tidy up and put his clothes in the drawers and wardrobe.

  Always Penny had ended up chuckling over Colette's obsession regarding Lucas's intentions. The other woman couldn't let go of her opinion that Lucas was hiding something, although what it might be, Penny hadn't a clue. She'd found humor in the situation, blaming it all on the fact that Colette's exceedingly distrustful mind was working overtime.

  Even if Penny had shared some of Colette's unbridled skepticism, she would never have examined her own doubts too rigorously. Of late she'd been so happy, so consumed with adjusting to her new status as a wife, and so overwhelmed by the physical delights of marriage, she refused to gaze closely at what was happening around her. Perhaps her strident inner voice had always been whispering in the background, but Penny had refused to heed its call. There were some pitfalls about which she didn't want to be warned.

  Still, when a person least expects it, bad news has a way of creeping up, and she couldn't prevent herself from questioning Paulie further. "Do you come to visit Harry often?"

  "No, I wouldn't say often."

  "You meet him in the woods, don't you?"

  "Aye," he breathed, in agony at having to admit his behavior.

  "When you come, why don't you simply bang the knocker?"

  "I don't suppose the captain would like it."

  What was afoot? "Then, why are you here today?"

  "Well, I helped the cap'n make it home last night, and—"

  “You came with him last night?''

  "I slept in the barn. I was hoping to catch a ride
—" He stopped, offering nothing more.

  After a long, deadly interlude she said, "So you know what happened in town—"

  "Yes ..." he responded cautiously.

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  "Tell me." His gaze darted around the room as though seeking help from some unseen person, so she grabbed his chin and held his head steady, forcing him to look her in the eye. "What transpired?"

  "Didn't the cap'n tell you?"

  "Yes, he did."

  "Whatever he said," Paulie insisted, "that's what occurred."

  "You wouldn't have anything to add?"

  "No, I wouldn't."

  "No matter what?"

  "No matter what!"

  "How exactly is it that you know Captain Pendleton?"

  "I work for him."

  "In what capacity?"

  "I deliver messages," he said quickly.

  "What kinds of messages?" she asked.

  "Don't rightly know," he said, shrugging. "Can't read."

  "Were you working for him the day you crashed into me?"

  "I believe I might have been," he answered slowly.

  "But when we met, you were running from my father. His men were chasing you." Her heart began to pound furiously. The truth was hovering right at this very spot, and it was so precarious and so foul that she couldn't begin to fathom how she would develop the fortitude to proceed. Struggling for control, she asked, ' 'Who are some of the people to whom you make your deliveries?''

  "The people?" He started absently stroking his side again.

  "Yes, who are the people!" she snapped, out of patience. He didn't answer, but the massage of his torso became more frantic, and she inquired, "Are you injured?"

  "What?" Seeing her gaze fixed on his rib cage, he dropped his hand and stuffed it under his leg, where he could sit on it and keep it out of trouble. "No, I'm perfectly fine."

  She reached out and pulled back the corner of his jacket. There was no wound, but there was an envelope stuffed into