My True Love

by Cheryl Holt

  "Yes, you have," Edward said, "and I find her absence to be quite odd." Harold went very still, and a cold, calculating look came into his gaze. Lesser men would have been terrified, but not Edward. Harold didn't frighten him in the least. Well ... not much anyway.

  "Just what exactly do you find odd about the fact that my daughter isn't in the house at the moment?" Harold took a step closer.

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  "Well, there have been numerous rumors going around and—"

  "Rumors, Edward? You're listening to rumors?"

  "I can't help it. They're rampant and vile. Perhaps if I knew the truth ..."

  “The truth?'' Harold asked, suddenly appearing very much like a dangerous predator. "Are you hinting at something? Questioning my veracity, perhaps? Impugning my motives?"

  "No, Harold. Not at all."

  "Then what, precisely, are you trying to say?"

  Westmoreland took a second step, then a third, until they were toe to toe. The duke was bristling, as though he were itching for a fight and the two of them might break into fisticuffs at any second. Had the man gone completely mad?

  "I'm not trying to say anything," Edward insisted. "I'm merely curious."

  "Curious as to what?" Harold queried shortly. "If you have some valid comment to share, be out with it, otherwise I suggest you remain silent. I won't have you standing here in my foyer, making spurious insinuations about me or my daughter."

  Patricia came forward, attempting to intervene. "Perhaps, Your Grace," she said to her husband, "it would be best if we took Lord Simpson into the parlor so that we might discuss this privately." With a quick glance about the room, she silently indicated the excessive number of lurking servants, all of whom seemed to have their ears stretched in the direction of the two noblemen, hoping to overhear every word.

  "We don't need to take it 'into the parlor,' my lady wife," Harold said. "I've told both of you where Penny is. She's in the country, and she'll be back tomorrow. Perhaps the next day. Now," he added, turning toward his rooms, "if you'll excuse me ..."

  "I don't excuse you!" the duchess said sharply, surprising everyone, her husband most of all. ' T would speak with you. Now! In the parlor!" She didn't raise her voice, but the hint

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  of steel in her tone had all of them straightening. Even Edward came to attention.

  Whirling briskly, she stamped away, each forceful tread accentuating her fit of pique. She didn't glance back to see if the duke and the earl were following, but then, she didn't need to. Her command had been so shockingly pronounced that neither of them thought to refuse. The two men were unused to any display of emotion from Patricia, let alone an outburst of temper, so they didn't know how to do anything but obey.

  Harold shot Edward a glare that could have set the curtains afire. Edward shriveled from the malevolence in the duke's gaze, thinking that once he had the ring on Penelope's finger, his reasons for calling on the Westmorelands would come to an end, and he'd never have to suffer through another visit to this asylum of lunatics.

  He tentatively walked into the parlor and headed directly to the glass of brandy he'd left sitting on a table. As he sipped, both the duke and the duchess gave him such rancorous looks that Edward couldn't help wishing he'd never raised the accursed inquiry into Penelope's whereabouts. Who the hell cared where she was as long as she was home in time for the ceremony?

  "All right, Harold, we're alone," the duchess began.' 'Where is she?"

  "You're questioning me, Patricia?"

  Edward rolled his eyes, his stomach determinedly undulating with upset. If they were calling each other by their given names, a nasty family brawl was brewing, and he didn't want any part of it. "Perhaps we should discuss the matter at a later—"

  "Be quiet, Edward," Patricia Westmoreland barked.

  "Of course, Your Grace," he mumbled, and his meager response caused her to convey the full impetus of her venom to her husband.

  "Answer me, Harold! This minute. You're not leaving this room until you tell me where she is."

  "She's gone to our country house," he responded much too smoothly. "In Sussex."

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  "So ... if I send a messenger with a letter, he'll find her there?"

  "Absolutely," Harold said, gesturing magnanimously toward a small writing table by the window. "Go ahead."

  "Liar!" she exclaimed.

  "Oh, Lord," Edward breathed. A marital spat! And he was caught right in the middle of the dreadful scene. This was definitely more than he should have to endure, future in-laws or no.

  "You always were such a horrid liar!" she hissed. "Now, tell me where she's gone, or I'll . . . I'll . . ."

  “You'll what?'' Harold asked wickedly. “Take to your room and drink the rest of the day away? Have at it, dearest."

  "Oooh . . . you hateful man! If anything's happened to her ... If you've done anything to her ..."

  Just then, more noise came from the hall. There were hasty salutations and running from the servants. Edward peered over his shoulder just as the butler knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a summons.

  "Your Grace," he said to the duke as though nothing at all were amiss, as though the lord and lady of the manor hadn't just been engaged in a shouting match that could be heard all over the house, "Lady Penelope has arrived home."

  Was Edward imagining things, or did Harold's knees buckle upon learning the news? He was certainly grasping the back of that chair with all his strength. Before any of them could move, Jensen bowed, and Penny entered. She was wrapped in her dark fur, her hair wet from being out in the rain, her nose red from the cold, but otherwise seeming none the worse for wear.

  "Hello, Father," she said, a malicious gleam in her eye. “Are you surprised to see me still alive? Or were you expecting that I was already dead and buried in the ground?''

  Upon hearing Penny's words, the duchess swooned. Luckily there was a small sofa directly behind her, so she was able to obtain dramatic effect without having to fall all the way to the floor. "Penny . . ." she wailed. "Penny, darling .. ."

  "Don't overdo it, Mother," Penny said harshly.

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  The duke took a step toward Penny, but she took a step back. "Don't come near me, Your Grace," she ordered. "With the mood I'm in, I really can't be responsible for what I might do."

  "Penny," he said, holding out a hand, "I've been so worried."

  "Oh, spare me," she said, rolling her eyes in disgust. "Mr. Pendleton saved me from the indignity of reading your early responses to his blackmail attempts—"

  "Blackmail!" Patricia and Edward burst out at the same time.

  "—but I saw the last one," Penny continued without giving them a chance to interrupt. ' 'How did you so delicately phrase it? 'Kill her or don't'! As if I could ever forget such a coarse remark." She shook her head in dismay. "Really, Father, how could you?"

  "It's not what you think—" Harold started to say, but she rudely cut him off.

  "You know, Your Grace, it's the funniest thing," she said, "but when I discovered the little game you two were playing, I confronted Mr. Pendleton with the facts, and that's exactly how he started out himself when he was trying to explain it to me." She placed her hands on her hips, prompting them all to jump as she shouted, "Spare me your justifications! I wouldn't listen to them coming from him, so I assuredly won't listen to them coming from you!"

  “Who is Mr. Pendleton?'' Edward interjected, a sick feeling coursing through his stomach.

  "Hello, Edward," she said, noticing him for the first time and speaking to him as though he were a bug on the floor. "Didn't Father inform you?"

  "Inform me of what?" He narrowed his eyes at the duke, but the import was lost on Harold because the man wouldn't take his gaze off Penny.

  "I've been off with another man. For three weeks," she announced, apparently glad and happy about the whole affair.

  "What?!" Edward and Patricia chirped to
gether, beginning

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  to sound like a pair of trained tropical birds. Edward added, "Harold said you were in the country."

  "I was in the country all right. With Lucas Pendleton. He's a dashing, handsome American. And, Edward, I'm relieved to be able to admit that I was with him in every way that matters."

  "Oh, no .. ." Harold groaned, looking stricken. "He's a dead man! I will kill him myself!"

  "Say it isn't true!" Patricia proclaimed at the same moment.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Edward asked, aghast.

  A soiled dove? Harold had sent her away for two weeks, and she'd come home ruined? When the nuptials were so close? He didn't want to marry her now. No sane man would! How could she have spoiled all his plans, and how dare she look so desperately happy about having done so? "Explain yourself!" he said.

  "I was kidnapped."

  "No ..." Patricia gasped. "All this time ... we thought—"

  "Thought what, Mother?" Penny gazed around at their shocked faces. "Didn't Father apprise you of my circumstances?' '

  "No," Patricia responded, glaring furiously at the duke.

  "Why am I not surprised?" Penny glared at Harold as well. ' 'What was your excuse going to be when I was found dead, Father? Or hadn't you thought that far ahead?"

  "Penny, hear me out. . ." the duke implored, using a gentle tone none of them had ever heard before. ' 'I was positive he'd never kill you."

  "How? How could you be so confident?" she demanded. "He might have done anything to me for all you cared!"

  "I did care. I've had my men searching everywhere. I didn't mean what I wrote to Pendleton. I was just stringing him along, buying time until I could locate you. I knew he would never hurt you. . . ."

  "Well, you were wrong about that," she said, tears welling into her eyes. "He hurt me in more ways than I can ever undertake to describe."

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  "What did the bastard do to you?" Harold ground out between clenched teeth. "I'll have him swinging from a short rope—"

  "Oh, just let it be," she breathed. "I'm sick to death of both of you, with all your insidious male machinations and manipulations. I've come home just long enough to announce that I'm leaving."

  "No, you're not," Harold said, endeavoring to sound authoritative, but his voice kept breaking, ruining the effect. “Where do you think I'd let you go?"

  "I plan to purchase a small house. As payment for what you've put me through, you'll buy it for me now, and I'll pay you back when I turn twenty-one next year."

  "I absolutely will not!"

  "I'm not asking you, Father," she shouted, a whirling virago of uncontrolled female wrath. "I'm telling you! It's out of your hands. From this day forward I intend to live on my own, and I'll answer to no man ever again. If you refuse to assist me, I'll find a method of accomplishing it by myself. I'm sure someone will lend me the money against my trust.'' She looked over at Patricia. "You're welcome to leave with me, Mother. You don't have to stay with him any longer."

  "Me?" Patricia stared around the room as though Penny might have been talking to someone else. ' 'Why, I would never leave your father. Such things simply aren't done," her mother said, struggling for calm. "What's come over you? You can't mean what you're saying. What would people think if you tried something so outrageous? Now ... you've just arrived home; you're tired and distraught from whatever has happened. Your wedding is in three days and—"

  "Get this through your head, Mother: I'm never marrying, and I don't choose to discuss it further."

  "What about me?" Edward interjected angrily.

  Although he no longer desired her, he refused to become a laughingstock because of her antics, or—heaven forbid—be painted the fool because he'd gotten tied up with the insane

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  girl when everyone had warned him off. Sadly he'd been so enamored of her physical charms that he'd refused to heed the advice of others. Why ... she was hardly more than a common strumpet! And he'd almost made her his countess! He shuddered at the thought.

  Caustically he asked, "What am I to say publicly?"

  "I really don't care," Penny responded. "You may say anything you wish. It matters not to me in the least." She added ominously, "You shall have your version, and I shall have mine!"

  The scurrilous child! Shrugging off their marital intentions as though they'd never existed. How dare she treat him this way! "See here, you little Jezebel—"

  The affront brought Harold swinging around. “Watch your mouth, you filthy dog! I lay most of this catastrophe at your door'' —he stomped toward Edward, grabbed him by the lapels, and gave him a vicious shake—"and if you utter one more word, I will personally rip your tongue out with my bare hands!"

  "My door? My door?" Edward slapped the duke's hands away.' 'You let her trot off with some American, and she comes home crowing with pride over the fact that she's compromised, and you—"

  "Me?" the duke growled in return, clutching Edward's jacket again. "You think this is my fault, you drunken sot?"

  "I should have realized you couldn't be trusted, you bloody rat!"

  They started to tussle. Furniture tumbled while they cursed and hurled insults, each seeking more and better reasons that the debacle was the other's responsibility. Suddenly there was a loud crash, and they paused, glaring over their shoulders at the new commotion.

  Penny had lifted a priceless Chinese vase off its stand and smashed it onto the floor. Water, flowers, and shards of porcelain were scattered everywhere. Patricia sat still as a statue, her fingers against her mouth as though she might be ill all over

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  the floor. Jensen remained in the doorway, a brow raised in amusement and surprise, one of the few times in his life he'd witnessed behavior by members of the Quality that was outrageous enough to bring a hint of emotion to his face.

  "Stop it!" Penny commanded, shaking with fury. "I matter so little to both of you that I can hardly understand where you find the energy to argue about me."

  "That's not true!" Harold proclaimed. "I tried everything ... I did everything imaginable to bring you home safe and sound—"

  "Stop it, Father," she spit out at him. "Mr. Pendleton confessed all. Save your lies for someone who is gullible enough to believe them." She glowered at Patricia till there was no doubt about whom she was referring, then she whipped her angry attention back to her father. "Now, I've had a rather arduous day, and I'm off to my rooms. Do not disturb me. I'll be down once I decide where I want my new house to be situated. Until then, leave me be! All of you. Just leave me be!"

  Edward couldn't accept that her parents were going to let her storm out of the room after the trouble she'd created. If nothing else, she ought to have a good beating right then and there! He was still officially her betrothed. If they wouldn't exercise any control over her, he intended to. "Hold it, miss!" he ordered. "We're not through with you!"

  "Away with you, you inebriated swine," she said crudely. "Go ensnare some other unsuspecting child to inflict yourself upon!" She stalked to the door but stopped in front of Jensen. "Show Simpson out." Scowling at Edward, her malice was clear, her resolve unmistakable. "Don't let him back in. Ever!"

  She left the room, leaving them standing there in a bewildered silence. As she headed for the stairs, they could hear her muttering, "Men! Hate the lot of them ..."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "So ... that's it?" Matthew asked. "That's your plan?"

  "That's it," Lucas answered, leaning against the rail of the Sea Wind and staring at his brother, looking dispassionate and unconcerned.

  “We disappear'' —Matthew snapped his fingers— “like illusionists at a circus."

  "Yes."

  "After all we've been through, this is how you want it to end?" Matthew shook his head in disbelief. "When the tide turns tomorrow afternoon, we simply hoist some canvas and we're down the Thames."

  "I know of no other route to the o
cean."

  "We're off to America," Matthew tried again, "without so much as a bloody by-your-leave? Is that what you're telling me?"

  "What would you have me do?" Lucas inquired irritably, tired of going around and around.

  At his wits' end, Matthew threw up his hands in defeat. They'd been through this a hundred times, and talking to Lucas was like arguing with a stone. "Go to that fancy mansion of which they're so proud." He pointed off toward the heart of

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  London. "Ride up the drive, bang the knocker, and demand an audience with his royal assness. If that bumhole butler won't let you in, kick in the door and search till you find Westmoreland. Hold him down if you have to, but make him listen. Ask for her hand. Insist that you're going to bring her along whether she desires to come or no."

  "You sound so certain that he won't throw me in jail," Lucas said with feigned disinterest. "I've become rather partial to having my head attached to my shoulders. I plan to keep it there."

  "Westmoreland will do nothing of the sort."

  "Of a sudden you definitely seem to think you know exactly how he'll act."

  "What other resolution could he want for her? He's still her father. You're the man who compromised her. He has to know that this is the best conclusion for all concerned."

  “I rather suppose he imagines that my untimely death would be the best conclusion."

  "If he preferred that outcome, he'd have had you seized," Matthew insisted. "No, at this very moment he's probably sitting behind that grand desk of his, wondering what to do with her. You'd be giving him an easy way out."

  “Taking an unpleasant burden off his hands, so to speak?''

  "Exactly."

  "I think you're forgetting a small detail."

  "Which one?"

  "Lady Penelope." He sighed as he spoke her name aloud.

  "What about her?" Matthew asked. "She loves you; I saw how much with my own eyes. Just now she's upset, angry, and hurting, and she has every right to be. But we'll get her on the open sea, where there's no escaping, and you'll have weeks to work on her. She'll come around, mark my words. ..."