by Linda Banche
Her cheeks crimsoned as she levered to a sitting position. “My foot is stuck in a rabbit burrow. If you will pass me that stick, I can enlarge the hole.”
He caught up the branch, and then dropped to his haunches beside her. He winced. “Your ankle is badly swollen and likely only to worsen.” The pain must be dreadful, but she didn’t complain. She wouldn’t. She wasn’t the type of lady to abandon herself to the vapors.
Careful not to jar her foot, he loosened and then brushed aside the dirt at the edge of the opening.
She sighed as she slid her foot from the hole. “That is so much better. Thank you. I had no idea how I would free myself.”
Like a cobra that had waited patiently but now saw its opportunity, Bray’s cynical accusations struck full force. The blaze her rejection had ignited, while now mostly embers, again burst into flames. Was she really by herself, or was she the bait in a trap? Her aunt might lie in wait, counting the seconds until she sprang forward to demand that rich Charles wed her penniless niece. Worst of all, that kiss last night might have been all calculation on Penelope’s part.
His mind and his words sharpened. “Very foolish of you to come here alone.”
Her head snapped up, eyes blazing. “Aunt Lydia and I came with a group. We fell behind. I neglected to pay attention to the path and stepped into the hole.”
Then she winced.
He could have kicked himself. No one, least of all Penelope, would inflict injury on herself in order to trap him. She was in pain, and he must help her.
Curse that Bray, and curse he himself, too, for heeding the scoundrel.
***
Penelope would have leapt for joy—if she could—when Charles arrived.
She’d almost smiled.
But his latest words splashed cold water over any emerging warm feelings. The Charles of their youth would never have cast aspersions on her intelligence.
“I apologize.” He stood and offered a hand to pull her upright. “Your aunt left you here?”
Some of the cold water evaporated. She grasped his hand and rose to balance on her right foot while she tested the other. Only a twinge. “I asked her to break off a tree branch so I could dig myself out, but she said she had not the strength.”
“What about the stick I used?”
“She did not see that.” Most likely, her aunt had refused to help her as punishment for some imaginary infraction.
His eyebrows drew together. “No one could miss that branch. I will have a word with her when we return.”
“Please do not concern yourself.” If Charles championed her, Aunt Lydia would ring an even louder peal over her, possibly even punish her. She shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“Not much. Your timely arrival prevented me from freezing. The ground is wet as well as chilly.” She pressed her injured foot harder to the ground. Pain, but only a little. “I am quite well now. Thank you for your help.” Please leave.
She settled her full weight on her left foot. Pain such as she had never before felt shot up her leg. “Oh!” Her ankle gave way and she pitched forward.
“Well, indeed.” Charles caught her about the waist and then swung her up into his arms.
She squeaked as she slid one arm around his neck. “Mr. Gordon, really…”
“No complaints, Miss Lawrence. Either I carry you, or you will sit on the cold ground until your aunt sends help. From what I have seen of that lady—” he snorted the word “—you might still be here come spring.”
He sounded furious at her aunt.
More cold water evaporated.
Her ankle throbbed with each beat of her heart, and she bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from moaning.
The entire situation was mortifying, but she had no choice. She focused on holding her ankle as still as possible to prevent any further pain—and also so she wouldn’t remember the many times she had dreamed of being exactly where she was now—safe in Charles’s embrace.
***
Charles cradled Penelope against his chest, exactly where he had long dreamed of her being.
Except that she was hurt and cold.
He scowled. “I fear we shall have to cut the boot off.”
“Oh, dear. I hope not.”
“The boot was ruined even before you stepped into the hole.”
She stuck out her chin. “I have no others. Perhaps I can salvage them.”
He narrowed his eyes. What woman would mourn a pair of worn-out boots?
Only a poor one.
She held one gloved hand loosely in her lap. Her thumb protruded from a hole in the leather. Lines of pinpricks ran along the edge of her bonnet where tattered trimming had been replaced multiple times.
Her blue pelisse, although of good quality wool, had frayed at the cuffs and collar. No wonder he’d recognized the garment. The pelisse was over five years old.
Although others had told him she was poor, he’d no idea she was a pauper.
His blood boiled. Lady Bayle was rich. Cheese-paring, too, not to buy a few decent clothes for her penniless niece. She was still as haughty, selfish and interfering as he remembered. Time hadn’t improved her.
He clamped his mouth shut to prevent himself from uttering a few choice words about the old besom.
A shout went up. A footman rolling a Bath chair before him and a maid carrying a blanket ran towards them.
“So your aunt really did send help.”
Penelope leaned away so she could look him in the eye. “Did you think she would not?”
“No, of course not.” Yes, I do. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone else had seen them and dispatched the retainers.
The servants reached them, and Charles helped Penelope into the chair. The maid then tucked the blanket around her and the footman conveyed her to the house. Charles followed behind.
A chattering crowd had gathered before the front door by the time they arrived, including Bray.
Just my luck.
Bray sneered. “Well, well, well, Gordon. So you found Miss Lawrence. How convenient.”
“And what do you insinuate?” One of these days, he really would floor Bray.
“Why, there you were, alone in the woods…”
“Alone with an injured lady who needed my help.” He crossed his arms. “I say, here you were, with us in sight of the house. Why did you not come to help?”
Bray’s face stiffened. “I—ah—did not see her—”
Charles twisted his lips. “How convenient.”
Bray flushed, and then stalked away.
Coward.
Edward pushed his way to them. He dispatched a maid to summon the housekeeper and then ordered a footman to ride into town for the surgeon.
Penelope caught his sleeve. “I thank you, but your housekeeper’s help may be enough. We can decide after she tends me.”
Edward frowned, but he nodded. “As you wish.”
“There you are, you inconsiderate girl!” Lady Bayle’s strident tones assaulted Charles’s ears. “About time you returned. I need you to fix my hair before tea.”
The self-centered witch. He would give her such a setdown…
“Thank you so much for sending help, Aunt. I would have been lost without your and Mr. Gordon’s aid. The housekeeper will see to me now, and I am sure my ankle will mend quite well.”
Lady Bayle reddened as if she were having an apoplexy. But with an audience, she couldn’t order Penelope to do her bidding. “Well, then, off you go to your bedchamber.” She huffed and then marched away.
Charles leaned down to Penelope. “Brava, Miss Lawrence. You handled your aunt well.”
Her smile was small, but there. “I manage. Thank you again.”
Then the housekeeper bustled over and led the way upstairs, the footman carrying Penelope following.
Chapter 9
Pale winter light filtering along the edges of the drapes teased Penelope’s heavy eyelids.
Frightful dreams of pain an
d wondrous dreams of Charles had chased each other through her mind all night even though she had declined the housekeeper’s laudanum.
Opening her eyes, she rotated her ankle. Her foot ached, but the blinding pain had vanished. She swept the covers aside and tugged her nightgown up to her knees. The swelling had decreased so much her ankle had almost returned to its normal size.
As Charles predicted, the housekeeper had had no choice but to cut off the boot. The sliced-up leather probably resided on a scrap heap now, she was sure. After wrapping her foot in a cold compress, the housekeeper said not to stand for the rest of the night.
Aunt Lydia had been in high dudgeon at having to fend for herself, but she left Penelope alone.
With an unexpected holiday of sorts, Penelope had a tray here, and then started a piece of embroidery on one of the frames Jane sent up. Jane herself brought the tray, and then kept her company as she sewed. Altogether, an enjoyable day, except for the pain.
She wiggled her toes. She would be able to walk today, but not outside.
She slid out of bed and tested her ankle. Still only a twinge. Limping to the window, she parted the velvet drapes to an ice-streaked pane. She cleared a space on the glass.
A few people, mostly men, strolled on the front lawn. Later, the guests would troop into the woods to collect greenery to decorate the house.
She cleared a larger space on the pane and bent closer. Charles could be out there. If she joined the fun, she might see him, and perhaps, somehow, they could continue what they had started the night in the corridor.
She propped herself against the window frame. Even if Charles wasn’t outside, she loved gathering winter greenery. But without boots, she couldn’t participate. The only shoes she now possessed were a worn pair of dancing slippers, an equally worn pair of house shoes and Aunt Lydia’s worthless oversized slippers.
A loud knock sounded on the door.
She jumped. Then she hobbled over as fast as she could, but by the time she raised the latch, footsteps had receded down the passage.
She opened the door to an empty corridor, and, on the threshold, a medium-sized parcel wrapped in green tissue paper and tied with a festive red ribbon and bow.
A Christmas gift! But who would give her a present? Her aunt certainly wouldn’t.
Spirits bubbling, she gathered up the gift. After depositing the box on the chair by the fire, she untied the card attached to the ribbon.
To Miss Lawrence
Happy Christmas
There was no signature.
She tapped the card on her chin. Maybe another note was inside.
The walking had irritated her ankle, and she stood on her right leg as she unwrapped the box, removed the lid, and then folded back a crinkling layer of white tissue paper.
She gasped.
Boots! A pair of beautiful, black half boots. She stroked a finger down the leather. The kid leather was soft and supple, and of the finest quality. The scent of boot black and new leather wafted from the box. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. How she loved that smell.
Lowering herself into the chair, she tugged on the right boot. The fit was perfect. Whoever had sent them knew her size. But how?
With care, she slid the left boot onto her injured foot. The flexible leather expanded to slip over the remaining swelling without causing a single ache. Slowly, she stood and then rotated her ankle. Only a little pain. Then she trod across the room and back. The boots were so comfortable she wouldn’t have to break them in.
What a wonderful present! She must find and thank the generous giver.
***
Charles, his breath misting, paced to and fro on the front lawn.
Around him rose men’s low-pitched voices. The ladies had yet to make an appearance. Overhead, clouds the color of tarnished pewter brooded, marked with a brighter splotch that veiled the sun.
He drew in a long breath. His nose tingled at the hint of moisture, a promise of snow later in the day.
How appropriate for snow to fall on Christmas Eve.
He stamped his feet and dug his gloved hands deeper into his greatcoat pockets. Cold, too, was appropriate for the day, but he would warm up on the way to clip holiday shrubbery. Holly, ivy, pine, juniper, rowan, and that most dratted plant of all, mistletoe.
He snorted. As if the weed didn’t already infest the house.
He stamped his feet again. Much too cold for his taste. The only reason he’d come was to avoid Miss Ward. Charming as she was, both she and her mother were underfoot too often, and he needed a respite.
He could have escaped her in his cozy bedchamber, although that would have bored him to tears within a quarter hour. But if he ventured anywhere else in the house, she might find him. She wouldn’t chance (by design) on him here because at dinner last night, she’d refused to make up one of today’s party. That young, black-haired man looked straight at her and voiced his intention to accompany the expedition. She turned away and declined to attend, standing her ground despite her mother’s displeasure.
She must really hate the lad, for some reason.
The fellow was here, talking with a group of other young men by the stairs.
I really should find out his name.
Feminine laughter rippled from the house. The ladies, well-wrapped in wool and furs, flowed out the front door in a wave of high-pitched twittering.
Penelope followed, trailing after her aunt. She didn’t limp, so she had recovered from yesterday’s ordeal.
Good.
As if she were water to his parched throat, he drank in the sight of her. She wore the same much-retrimmed bonnet and shabby blue pelisse as yesterday.
The tips of polished black half boots peeked from below her hem. Yesterday he’d sent Turner to rescue her ruined footwear from the scrap heap, and then into town to buy a new pair. The cobbler had balked over crafting a pair of boots in half a day, but he came through when the valet offered him an outrageous sum.
A sum well spent.
Her gloves were the same tattered ones he’d seen. He would dispatch Turner to town again to buy her a fur-lined pair. Two pairs. He should have thought to buy the gloves yesterday. Then he could have given them to her with the boots.
But, no matter. New gloves she would have.
Several open carriages, the snorting horses’ frosty breath rising like plumes, rounded the side of the house.
Edward climbed onto the top front step. “Good morning, all. Either walk or ride to the woods. Find as much greenery as you can. As an incentive, I will present a reward at the ball tonight to the group that brings back the most.” He raised his arms. “Let the fun begin!”
Some of the ladies and gentlemen climbed into the carriages, including Lady Bayle, who took up an entire seat. Penelope did not accompany her.
Others walked across the brown lawns. A cart filled with servants and tools brought up the rear of the procession.
Edward descended the steps to Charles. “We have an apple orchard here. Mistletoe grows on apple trees as well as on oaks.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Come for me later, and I will take you to the orchard. Mayhap you can find some mistletoe.”
Charles suppressed an oath. “You have brought up mistletoe much too often of late. If I did not trust you, I might think you were up to something.”
Edward reared back. “What, me, up to something?”
“So you are not encouraging me to pursue Miss Lawrence?”
He pasted a hangdog expression on his face. “I have but the best of intentions. You wound me deeply.”
“If you keep throwing Miss Lawrence at my head, I will certainly wound you deeply.”
Edward snorted out a laugh and left. He singled out his sister from a cluster of ladies and bent his head to hers.
Jane whispered into Edward’s ear. The she walked over to Penelope. The two women linked arms and strolled toward the woods.
Edward grinned and then led the remainder of the laughing, chattering crowd after them
.
Damned if Edward and Jane weren’t plotting.
Well, now that he knew what they were up to, he could squash their little game.
He looked above Penelope—and stopped dead. There was no mistletoe over her.
No mistletoe! He could have danced a jig. This proved he had imagined seeing the weed above her. Although if he ever saw mistletoe dangling in thin air, he would commit himself to Bedlam.
He rubbed his eyes. Maybe he had seen all that mistletoe because he needed spectacles. Or perhaps all mistletoe, including phantom mistletoe, needed something to hang from.
Gads, here he was, speculating about phantom mistletoe.
All he needed to know was that Penelope was here, and the mistletoe wasn’t.
With a spring in his step, he brought up the rear of the throng, keeping Penelope in sight.
The cold, the lawn and the people faded away. He could still taste her kiss, and he wanted more, much more. He would press her softness against him, and she wouldn’t be in pain, but would want him as much as he wanted her…
“What do we do now?” The voice rang out.
Charles’s happy little fantasy winked out like a doused candle.
The houseguests milled around in a small glade in the forest. Most surrounded Edward, while some remained in the carriages, probably the ones who declined to participate in the hunt, including Lady Bayle.
Amid much laughter and bantering, Edward broke the crowd into groups of three and four, and then the servants dispensed knives and baskets.
Edward raised both arms, and the chatter ceased. “Now we go our separate ways. Return here within two hours. Remember what I said earlier—I have a special treat for the band that brings back the most greenery. May you all have success!”
The groups started off, each in a different direction.
Penelope emerged from behind the far side of Lady Bayle’s carriage. She laughed at something another lady said. Her light tones floated to his ears above the mindless prattle.
How he loved the sweet music of her voice.
