Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance

by Lilia Birney

“Why wouldn’t you?” Penelope could hardly believe her ears. “A darling baby will be such a delight in our household. Come, we’ll go back home. We can strike out now, or first thing in the morning. You’ll stay in comfort in my home and I’ll make sure you have the best of everything, including a doctor’s care.” She looked askance at Aunt Bea, huddled in a corner. “Not that you don’t have good care now—but I feel responsible for you.”

  “No, thank you, my lady. I shall stay here for my confinement, if I may. I will be well taken care of, and I don’t wish to come back to London until I look…more like myself. I don’t wish anyone to know that I had a baby.”

  Penelope shrugged. After all this work—after all this fear—after making this incredible journey—was Cicely actually refusing to come home?

  ***

  Penelope’s frustration was palpable. There was nothing to do but step in, as usual. Pierce cleared his throat. “I assume by your reluctance to come back to London, that there is something else going on. Does the father know?”

  Penelope’s head snapped around and she favored him with a withering stare. That might work on some of those society pups, or that milquetoast she married, but it wouldn’t deter him. He raised one eyebrow at Penelope and repeated the question. “Does the father know?”

  “No.” If Cicely shared her mistress’ affronted feelings, she did not let them show. “I haven’t told a soul. I didn’t even tell Emma. I only told Aunt Bea, because she was the one person on this earth who could help me out of this mess.”

  “I see.” Pierce turned to Penelope. “If she hasn’t told the young man who fathered the babe, then it would make no sense for her to return to London. I suggest you make her comfortable here in Dunstable among her family, and then allow her to return to London after she has had the child.”

  As he spoke, he traced the outline of Penelope’s figure with his eyes. All the times they had made love, he never exercised caution or restraint. Was it possible that, even now, she was carrying his child? A raw emotion swept through his being, leaving him shaken. How would Penelope look, her lovely curves ripened and her taut belly rounded with child? He suppressed the mad urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss away her ill temper.

  The object of his desire rounded on him, her red hair glinting in the firelight. “If that’s what Cicely wants, then it shall be so,” she snapped. Then she turned back to Cicely. “Cice, don’t you feel like the father should know, at least? I understand if you are still undecided about keeping the child, but surely the father should be part of that decision.”

  His heart surged with triumph. That was his Penelope, through and through. Having been a victim of deception for so long, she would always treat others with the utmost honesty. If she were carrying his child, she would tell him so. It might kill her to admit it, and she would certainly be furious, but she would never leave him in the dark about something so precious. And that’s why he loved her.

  He loved Penelope. He knew it now. He had suspected it before the stag party, but when she vanished without him, his heart ached as though it were rented into two pieces. And until he caught up with her carriage, he had stumbled about in a furious daze.

  “It’s Tom, isn’t it?” Penelope whispered.

  “Of course it’s Tom’s baby.” Cicely wrapped her arms around her middle and closed her eyes. “He and I been together for a long time, my lady. And we wanted to get married some day. But Tom—he’s proud, and doesn’t want me to work anymore after we wed. But he only makes a little bit of money as a stable lad. And so, we just couldn’t figure out how to wed each other without enough blunt set aside.” She heaved a long, shuddering sigh. “We-we couldn’t wait on everything though. And of course, I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar.”

  How well he understood that. He couldn’t even wait a full week before having his own taste of Penelope. She must have been thinking of that too—her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink in the firelight.

  “I can’t tell Tom about this,” Cicely continued. “He barely makes enough to live on as it is. Providing for a baby—he can’t afford it, my lady, truly he can’t. But he would feel obligated to, and then he’d be working ever so hard…” She trailed off and began sobbing again. “I don’t want to make things harder for him. I love him so much.”

  Penelope sighed and wrapped her arm around Cicely’s shaking shoulders. “You shall do exactly as you wish. I am so sorry that this happened, but I promise all will be well. Do you want to stay in Dunstable for the remainder of your confinement?”

  The miserable servant nodded despondently.

  “Then I shall arrange it. You shall have your own cottage and a servant to look after your needs. I will make all the arrangements on the morrow. And I shall come and see you as often as you can bear it.” Penelope smiled, but the warmth of her smile did not reach her lovely emerald eyes. “When you are feeling better, you can decide if you want to tell Tom and if you want to keep the baby or not. Does that sound like a good plan?”

  “Yes, my lady. You are too good to me, my lady.” Cicely withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose.

  “I would like to have leave to tell Tom something of your whereabouts,” Pierce added. Penelope turned towards him again, her emerald eyes snapping. “What?” he challenged. “The young lad was half out of his mind with worry. We owe it to him to at least let him know that Cicely is all right.”

  Cicely nodded. “Poor Tom. I didn’t mean to upset him. I only wanted to spare him pain, not cause it.” She wiped her nose and stuffed the handkerchief back into her sleeve. “You may tell him that I am visiting a sick aunt in Dunstable, Mr. Howe. If you could make it sound like a sudden thing, an emergency—perhaps he won’t suspect anything.”

  Pierce nodded. “I will let him know that you are doing well and should be home soon. Hopefully, that will set his mind at ease.”

  He rubbed his hands together briskly. Their work here was done. They had found Cicely, and Penelope had a plan to care for the girl. He had a plan to tell Tom. There was nothing more to do now, except go home to London. But that would mean an end to his partnership with Penelope. And he didn’t want to leave her now—not with feelings of anger and distrust. He wanted to smooth things over, to apologize, to make her see reason. He could not accomplish that goal in the confines of this small cottage.

  “Cicely, is there an inn here in Dunstable? We have been traveling a great deal and need rest. Surely there is someplace close by where we could partake of a meal and enjoy a good night’s rest.”

  Cicely nodded. “Down the road a bit, you’ll come to an inn—I believe it’s called the Traveler’s Rest. You could get a room there, and perhaps a bit of cold supper.”

  Penelope rose, her graceful figure outlined in the firelight. He swallowed. He would never, ever get used to how astonishingly lovely Penelope was. “I shall stay here with Cicely, until I am able to arrange matters, Mr. Howe. But I do appreciate all your help on this journey.” She stalked towards him and clasped his hand firmly in hers. “If you would send round a bill for your services when you return to London, I would be most grateful.”

  His mouth dropped open, and he could not form any intelligent response. She was dismissing him. No chance at reconciliation, no hope for the future. It was over. He had lost her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pierce let himself into his office for the first time in well over a fortnight. A fine layer of dust had settled over his desk, his papers, and the inkwell. He sneezed heartily. He’d have to get one of the servants to come down and give the place a thorough going-over. As it was, a few half-hearted licks of his handkerchief would have to do for the moment.

  Before he left Dunstable that awful night, he had made sure to inquire about Tom—where he worked, and what his last name was. Tom Wright had worked for Lord Dawson for nearly three years now. No wonder the poor lad couldn’t afford to marry where he chose. Dawson was notoriously tight with his money. The on dit was that even
his long-suffering wife had to sell bits of needlepoint and painted china to buy her own finery. So Pierce could only imagine what kind of ridiculously small wages Tom was paid.

  He went over to the window, and peered out of its grimy panes into the street below. ‘Twas getting damned cold outside. The sky was a bright steely grey, and the keen air bit through the panes as though the glass merely strained the air, rather than keeping it out. He’d light a fire in a moment. First, he needed to find an urchin. Ah, there was a little tyke, his face ruddy and chapped from the morning chill. Pierce thrust up the sash.

  “Here, boy! Want to earn a farthing?”

  The lad looked up, his dirty blonde hair falling back from his dirt-streaked face. “Aye.”

  “Go round to Lord Dawson’s stables and tell Tom Wright that Pierce Howe needs to see him. Bring him back here, and there’s a farthing in it for you.” Pierce held the coin up and gave it a toss.

  The urchin grinned. “On me way.” Then he took off running down the street.

  Pierce built up a fire in the grate, warding off some of the bitter chill that had settled over his empty office. He scowled around the room, giving a few more flicks of his handkerchief to the chairs and his desk. If only he could be at home, cozy in his flat, a warmed brandy in his hands. Or even better, spending a leisurely morning in bed with Penelope, her long, tangled hair fanning out over his pillows…

  He shut off his thoughts with a snap. That way madness laid, he was certain. He could not stop thinking of her, no matter how hard he tried. He gave up last night, in the comfort of his own bed, and tried to pleasure himself while thinking of her. But to no avail. All he could think of was how Penelope spied him pleasuring himself at the stag party, and how she had stood in the doorway, offering herself to him. He could no longer pretend Penelope was there. He wanted her—real, in the flesh.

  But if she persisted in stubbornly avoiding him, he would go mad. He could take a mistress, but that was hardly the point. He didn’t want to make love to just anyone. He wanted his darling Penelope. If he did take a mistress, why, he’d have to make sure she looked like Penelope, and dressed like her, and had her same sweet, lilting voice, and perfumed herself with a mixture of peaches and gardenia. ‘Twould be the only way he could be satisfied if he was denied his beloved.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs outside his office. With a grin, he fished the farthing out of his pocket. The lad was certainly quick about it.

  He opened the door and nodded to Tom, who was panting and sweating even in the morning chill. “Come in, Tom, I have news for you.” He tossed the coin to the urchin, who caught it in mid-air. “My thanks to you, lad. I may have other jobs for you this week. You might want to check with me each morning.”

  The urchin tugged at his hat brim. “Mind if I stay out here in the hallway, sir?” He rubbed his thin hands together. “It’s warmer here than outside.”

  “Be my guest.” Pierce tossed the lad his greatcoat. “Wrap up in this. Once the fire really gets going in my office, the hallway will get much warmer.” Then he ducked back inside and faced Tom, who was nervously pacing the rug.

  He closed the door behind him, and motioned for Tom to sit down.

  “I’d rather stand, sir.” Tom’s voice quavered and he cleared his throat. “Did—did you find Cicely?”

  Pierce sat behind his desk. “We did. She is doing well.”

  “Where is she? Why did she leave so quickly, without a word to anyone?” The color was returning to Tom’s cheeks. Pierce opened his bottom desk drawer open and removed a small bottle of brandy and two glasses.

  “You need a drink,” he replied, pouring out two stout ones. Then he slid one glass across the desk at Tom. “Drink it slowly. It’ll put the strength back in you.”

  Tom sank into a chair and accepted the glass with a grateful smile. “Tell me, sir, what happened to my Cicely?”

  “Nothing happened to her. She’s just visiting a sick aunt, that’s all. She’s in Dunstable.” He had lied to clients before, but this was dashed difficult. If he had been in the lad’s shoes, he’d want to know the truth.

  “Visiting a sick aunt? But…why wouldn’t she tell anyone?” Tom sat back, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. “I mean, surely she would at least tell her ladyship. She respects Lady Annand so much—she would never leave without telling her, unless it was a dire circumstance.”

  If he said much more of anything, he might give the secret away. So he merely shrugged. “I suppose she didn’t think of it quite in that way.”

  “Cicely would only think of it in that way,” Tom persisted. “Did you actually see her? Did she look all right? Perhaps she is ill.”

  Pierce focused on his brandy glass. “I saw her only briefly. Her ladyship is with her now. And everything is quite fine. So you see, there was no reason to be worried.”

  Tom shook his head. “Something’s not right. Either you’re keeping something from me, or she is. Someone ain’t telling the truth.”

  Pierce swallowed another mouthful of brandy. “I assure you, that’s all I know.”

  “Why would her ladyship stay with her, if she’s just visiting a sick aunt? Is Lady Annand still in Dunstable?”

  “Yes.” Damn if the lad weren’t persistent. He’d have to cut this interview short. “Well, now that you know that your Cicely is well, I’ll bid you good day. I have much to catch up on today…” Pierce rose.

  Tom didn’t take the bait. “You aren’t being truthful with me. What’s wrong with Cicely? I want to know why she left in such a rush, and why Lady Annand is staying with her.” As he spoke, a gathering understanding lit Tom’s face. Pierce eyed him frankly. If the lad guessed the truth, he would not deny it.

  “She—she’s not with child, is she?”

  Pierce nodded slowly.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” Tom rubbed a tired hand over his brow. “I would have married her right away. I would’ve wed her months ago, only I can’t support a wife..and a child. I can’t support them now.” He buried his face in his hands.

  “Drink the brandy,” Pierce barked. It would do no good for either of them if Tom went to pieces. “That is precisely why she didn’t tell you the truth, and why she begged me not to tell you. She doesn’t want to make life difficult for you. But if you love her, then you’ll go to her in Dunstable and make things right. She’s alone and she’s scared, which is why Lady Annand stayed with her.”

  Tom nodded, sipping slowly at the brandy. “But, what shall I do? I make barely enough to exist on.”

  “Listen. She tried to rid herself of the babe by going to see her Aunt Bea—an old woman who is, I believe, skilled at handling these kinds of female complaints. But that did not work. So now she is facing the decision of what to do with the child—your child, her child. She thinks she cannot keep it. But I think you should be a part of that decision.”

  “I do want to be part of that decision,” Tom spluttered, thumping the brandy glass back onto the table. “But what can I offer her? I have nothing. I’ve worked for Dawson for years and never received a penny more than I make. I can’t raise a child up decent on what I earn. I can’t keep a wife.”

  “Come and work for me then.” The thought had been poking the back of his mind since he had found Cicely and discovered the truth. “I am ever in need of good help. I can always use an experienced hand in my stables, and I can offer you twice what you’re making with Dawson.”

  Tom’s eyes widened. “Aye, sir. I would be happy to accept the position.”

  “Very good.” Pierce extended his hand and Tom shook it. The lad’s hands were trembling and perspiring. “Now, here’s what you need to do. You need to hand in your notice to Dawson this morning, then come ‘round to my place in the afternoon. I’ve got a new stallion, he’s a feisty bugger, in need of a good hard run. Take him out to Dunstable. You’ll be doing me a favor. And you can see your Cicely in the meantime.”

  Tom rose on unsteady legs, manfully swallowing a few times before he
spoke. “Thank you, sir. I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Pierce replied briskly. “If it were my child, I would want to know about it.”

  Tom ducked his head. “Can I do anything for you in return?”

  “No.” Then he paused. Perhaps he could ask about Penelope. Just a report about her well-being—that would be all. “Well, if Lady Annand is still there, you could make certain that she is well.”

  Tom glanced up sharply, a knowing glint in his tired eyes. “Of course, Mr. Howe. I would be only too happy to check in on Lady Annand for you.”

  “Very good.” Pierce hated that his emotions must be on display for everyone to see. He walked to the door and jerked it open. “Hand in your notice, then, and be off to Dunstable. That’s all the time I have for you today. I wasted a lot of good working time scouring the countryside for your beloved.”

  Tom’s wan face broke into a wide grin. “Of course, Mr. Howe. I won’t disappoint you. Good day, sir.”

  As he left, Pierce spotted the street urchin still huddled in his greatcoat. “Come in here by the fire,” he ordered. “You’ll catch your death in this weather.”

  Funny, he had never particularly cared for anyone since his paramour had died in the alley, her throat slit by a footpad. He had refused to create bonds with anyone. Until Penelope spun him in the golden web of her hair, he thought love was dead. And since he had known Penelope, some of her warmth and goodwill had thawed his heart. He was a better man for knowing her.

  And now, if there were only some way he could win her back.

  ***

  “There now, isn’t this nice?” Penelope waved her hand around the fresh, clean little cottage she had managed to obtain for Cicely. “Much better than Aunt Bea’s, and all your own, too.”

  Cicely nodded, her eyes wide. “It’s beautiful, my lady. But it’s too nice. I could make do with a little lean-to of my own. No need to have a cottage with three rooms.”

  “Nonsense!” Penelope fluffed the pillows and the bolster with a sure hand. “This will be just the thing for you. When your nurse comes, she will have her own room, and you will all be much more comfortable.”