by Linda Wright
“Seven o’clock…”
“First give your word…”
“On my honour, I’ll give you your poxy letters…pray I don’t change my mind. Now about your clothes…”
“I’m not wearing another man’s clothes and I certainly won’t strut after you in black and yellow like a mindless drone. Take me to the playhouse smelling of strawberry preserves in my dirty shirt or go hang yourself. I trust I’m lucky enough to reach my Penny before you.”
The black eyes visibly chilled. “I don’t like your tone…Pinhead.”
“Well luckily you won’t have to endure it past seven…Smirke.”
The black eyed devil scowled as he looked James up and down. “If you insist on looking like a dog’s dinner we’ll have to stay home and play cards. I’m hungry; come keep me company. I can’t stand Agnes on my own; frightening woman. Every time I look at her she makes my manhood shrivel. I’ve never met a woman so beautiful and so repulsive. How James can bed her I’ll never know. I asked him once, but he thought I was asking for advice on how to…” A knock on the door interrupted the pretty man making him scowl.
James sighed in relief, “Come.”
Agnes Smirke opened the door and eyed her brother-in-law with her usual frozen look. “What is that strange bulge in your waistcoat? Don’t tell me you’ve stolen someone’s heart.”
“It’s none of your business what I shove in my waistcoat.” The pretty devil froze with horror as his sister-in-law marched up to him and forcibly removed the bundle of letters. “Give those back.”
“I don’t believe you’re acquainted with Miss Elizabeth Morgan.” James eagerly accepted his letters and clutched them in relief. “Pray forgive my brother. Too many hours spent staring into mirrors has warped his perception of what constitutes acceptable behaviour. Do I smell strawberries?”
James finished counting his ten letters a third time before shoving them into his own waistcoat where they warmed his heart with hope. “I woke up with strawberry preserves in my hair…and in my left boot.”
She eyed her brother-in-law with a look that made the pretty man visibly shudder. “What are you looking at me for?”
“How old are you John, five or thirty-two? Shall I buy you a teething toy for Christmas? Slathering sleeping guests with preserves is a childish prank.”
“I didn’t do it. Your little fiends must have broken into the larder again.”
“You’re pathetic John. Grow up.”
Black eyes glistened with hatred as his cheeks rouged with embarrassment. “If you weren’t married to James…”
“…I wouldn’t have to put up with you; now go eat your lunch and leave Lord Devonshire in peace. He’s a decent human being; he doesn’t want your company.”
John Smirke dug his hands into his pockets and violently threw two handfuls of pennies on the floor with a black look. “Here Pinhead, have some pennies to add to your collection; happy counting…”
James stared at the floor in irritation as the pretty man stomped from the room. The overwhelming urge to find and count the pennies was for once irritating. He didn’t want to spend precious moments picking up copper coins when he could be holding his lucky Penny. “Smirke knows where you left Miss Elizabeth…where is she? Just tell me.”
Agnes glanced up from the floor, “She’s at your house. Your housekeeper took some convincing, but eventually relented. You have to admit it’s the perfect drawer for your penny. Strathmore would never marry a woman who’d stayed unchaperoned in a bachelor’s residence. Luckily your Penny didn’t actually want to marry that devil; he’d be a formidable temptation if he wasn’t so heartless and miserable.”
“Why didn’t you let her come visit me? I could have seen her.”
“Yes and she might have caught my brother’s eye. Hurry home and carry her away before John gets one of his stupid ideas of revenge. You forgot your cravat…I’ll send for the carriage while you finish dressing.”
“Thank you Mrs Smirke…for everything…”
“You’re lucky; I’d go to any length of trouble to wreck one of Strathmore’s schemes. The man ruined one of my relations on a whim and left her broken hearted. I’d roast him on a spit if he wasn’t my husband’s dearest friend; happy honeymoon.” As the door closed James realised he’d have just enough time to pick up the pennies and count them before the carriage arrived.
Chapter 16
Penny sat in Lord Devonshire’s parlour clutching the silver locket, her embroidery forgotten on her lap as she stared into the fire. The dark circles around her eyes spoke of sleepless nights spent worrying about Lord Devonshire. What if he died because she wasn’t allowed to nurse him or send him a message? What if he thought her the most impertinent woman ever born for moving into his house uninvited? What if he decided he didn’t want to marry her after all, but felt obligated to marry her anyway? He’d loathe her. The thought made her chest ache and the flames blur.
Mrs Smirke had insisted that the delirious Lord Devonshire would rather his Penny was safe than being carried off to Scotland against her will. It was logical, but Penny was finding it difficult to see the happy side of the coin. It was true staying in a bachelor’s home made her an undesirable wife to Strathmore or any other man who valued public opinion, but if Lord Devonshire didn’t want her she’d have no where to go; none of her relations would acknowledge her. If Lord Devonshire didn’t want her… Her morbid thoughts were suspended as the sound of a carriage pulling up outside made her freeze with fear. Was it the neighbours’ carriage? No, she could hear the front door opening. The servants’ sudden flurry of activity meant the master was home. Penny took a deep breath as she set aside her needlework and stood to receive her life’s sentence. “Where is she Collins?” The words were filled with anxiety and distress. Was he happy or infuriated at her presence? Feeling sick to her stomach, she smoothed her skirts and turned to face the open door. At least there were only two sides of the coin; a broken heart or marriage to the man she loved. Running footsteps slid past the door and then he was standing there clutching the door frame with both hands staring at her with a strange expression. She folded her hands and looked at the floor as his silence promised nothing. “You’re wearing my necklace.”
She glanced up at the man now resting against the door frame with folded arms. “I haven’t removed it since I first put it on my Lord.”
“And you no longer wish to be a Duchess?”
Penny failed to restrain her tears. “I’d rather be a Countess my Lord.”
“And Captain Foster; he claims no dusty corner of your heart?”
“If he comes near my heart I’ll poke out his eyes.”
“So you don’t compare my kisses with the rogue and find me wanting?”
“No.” Her eyes fell back to the floor as footsteps approached from the doorway. She could feel him standing three inches away, the magnetic quality of his person causing the hair on her arms to stand on end. Her eyes slowly travelled up the dishevelled trousers, the wrongly buttoned waist coat with a strange bulge, white linen shirt spattered with blood gaping open revealing long straight brown hair on his chest and the half tied limp cravat. His face was made strange with a new brown beard that outlined smiling lips. Her heart threatened to burst from her bodice as tears gushed in relief as she looked into adoring chocolate brown eyes.
“I have a special delivery Madam.” Elegant dirty fingers unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed a handful of folded paper. “Will you accept my letters? There’s a special rate today; it’ll only cost you a penny.”
“What kind of penny?”
“Whatever kind you wish to give me.”
“It would be an honour my Lord to receive your letters.” She held out her hand and felt an electric shock as the tips of her fingers rested against his warmth. “I hope you won’t be disappointed with your Penny?”
“Impossible!” Chocolate eyes shimmered, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten; if you knew how much pleasur
e it gives me seeing them in your hands…”
Penny clutched the bundle to her chest as she sniffed back happy tears in hope of a kiss. “Your servants found your first letter…your footman shoved it under his mattress before running off with your purse. It’s in my pocket. I’ve read it at least hundred times hoping…”
Chocolate brown eyes were suddenly filled with anxiety. “Eleven? You have eleven letters?” “No…that number’s all wrong. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
“But…” The handsome man ran from the room his greasy hair flapping. She could hear him in his study. A drawer was yanked open. A drawer was closed. Muttered curses at ink bottles were followed by curses at a squeaking quill pen. There were several long minutes of silence when it sounded like he was folding a piece of paper. A yowl of pain preceded final curses on sealing wax and tapers and then he reappeared sucking a finger. He closed the door firmly behind him and stopped again three inches from her as she finished tucking the ten letters into her bodice.
“Your twelfth letter Madam. Would you honour me by opening it in my presence?” Penny forgot the letter in her hand as her eyes locked with warm chocolate. “I’m not going to kiss you until you’ve read my letter.” Penny felt her cheeks burn as the smiling man put his hands behind his back and gave her a slow wink. She bit back a smile and looked down at the perfect square in her hand; the single word ‘Penny’ blotted the exact center. She turned it over and found a round glob of wax. It looked like he’d refolded the letter at least three times. She gently broke the wax seal and glanced again at the man now biting his lower lip as if afraid that his offering might displease. Unfolding the letter she rested it against his chest and stared at the three blotched words written in the center of the paper. She was aware of her hands shaking as she read, ‘I love you’.
She carefully refolded the precious piece of paper and shoved it into her bodice before looking into anxious eyes. “I wrote something for you the night Strathmore cornered me into accepting his hand. I didn’t want to marry him. It’s in my locket…” Dirty fingers lightly traced her collar bone before picking up the locket, snapping it open in a masculine palm and extracting the small piece of rolled up paper.
“My heart is the property of Lord Devonshire. I hope one day I can tell him that I know my wish came true.” Sniffing as if he still had a cold, he carefully rolled up the tiny piece of paper and returned it to the locket which closed with a loud satisfying click. “When I planned my final and private proposal, where you’d accept me and make me the luckiest man in the world, I was always freshly scrubbed and wearing a new suit of clothes. I even imagined I’d devise a new knot for my cravat that would make your eyes glow with admiration. Don’t laugh, it’s true. My pristine linen would gleam and of course I’d smell of something pleasant. I stink. I haven’t shaved or changed my linen in days and…” He looked down at his hands with disappointment. “…I’m filthy.” Chocolate brown eyes held her entranced. “I imagined I’d look so handsome that you’d fling yourself into my arms and beg me to drive like the devil for Scotland. Well maybe you wouldn’t use those exact words…”
Penny shyly pressed her nose into his shirt front as she tightly wrapped her arms around his waist. “You smell like strawberries and Lord Devonshire; it’s quite pleasant.” She shivered with delight as a masculine hand caressed the nape of her neck and a few seconds later another began tracing her spine as she looked up into brown adoring eyes. “When you’re near I feel like a lump of iron being drawn to a magnet. I think you handsome in your crumpled trousers and your misbuttoned waistcoat with your greasy hair flapping like a leather cap. If you never bathed again I’d shove embroidery silk in my nostrils and think myself the luckiest lady ever born.”
His laughing lips brushed the top of her head. “I’m afraid I couldn’t bear to see your lovely face marred by blue silk hanging out of your nose. I’ll have to continue bathing three times a week. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”
“Do I get to help scrub your toes?”
The Chocolate brown eyes lit up. “Do you like feet? Do you like rubbing feet? Oh…I’ve been dreaming of you rubbing my feet. You don’t find that impertinent do you?” The man’s voice was filled with panic.
“I’d rather rub your feet than watch you pick your nose and eat the crust.”
Lord Devonshire appeared to freeze, “Did you just offer to scrub my toes while I was in the bath?”
Penny felt her face burn as she eyes suddenly concentrated on his filthy limp cravat. “After we’re married…is that impertinent?”
“Most certainly not!” Lord Devonshire celebrated the promise of future pleasures by nibbling her right earlobe making her giggle. “If I’m really lucky…” His hoarse whisper into her ear made her shiver forcing her to cling tighter for warmth. “…all my dreams will come true.”
“I have a dream…”
“What sort of dream?”
“I’m sitting at the dining table across from my husband…”
“I hope the blighter facing you is me.”
“I sit there gazing at you thinking how lucky I am to be married to a handsome man with such exquisite manners and wondering when you’ll kiss me next.”
“While I’m being handsome at the table I’ll feast my eyes on a delicious wife who causes the most luxurious throbbing imaginable. I fear you’ll think me unaccountably rude when I hurry you through pudding so I can drag you up to bed.” His slow wink drove Penny’s burning cheeks into his waistcoat as he laughed in her ear. “Silly Penny; are you trying to avoid my kisses?” Lips made softer by his bristly new beard lightly explored the line of her nose. Relaxing into his strong hands, her head tilted back as she stared into loving eyes that were suddenly serious. “I hope you weren’t dreaming of being married over an anvil, because there’s no way I’m travelling all the way to Scotland. We’ll go to London and I’ll buy a special license and if anyone tries to kidnap you or stop the wedding I’ll…” Penny bravely stood on her tip toes and silenced his lucky lips with her passionate consent.
Epilogue
Large flakes of snow fell gracefully unnoticed past the windows as the Duke of Strathmore sat alone in his library staring at his wife’s harpsichord wishing it would play. A soft knock drew his eyes to the door. “Come.” A tall beautiful boy rushed into the room with an irritating cheerfulness and handed him a letter. “Are you now a footman Bowmont?”
His son appeared blissfully ignorant of sarcasm. “I was in the hall when the carriage arrived. I was coming to ask you something so I said I’d bring it up.”
“What carriage? I’m in no mood for company.”
His son’s raised eyebrows silently demanded if he was ever in the mood. “It’s your carriage and it’s empty. May I walk over to the parsonage? Mrs Searle is having the young people over for a Christmas dance. She promised to make us ginger biscuits. They’re almost as good as Miss Jenney’s at school.”
Strathmore eyed his sixteen year old son with a mixture of revulsion and envy. “Why are you mixing with the parish? Don’t tell me you’re eying one of the farmer’s daughters. If you must sow your seed, use a trollop who doesn’t know who you are so she can’t blackmail me.”
Lord Bowmont’s pale cheeks flushed deep pink as he stared into his father’s eyes. “I merely wish to dance to music and laugh with childhood friends. Nothing remotely sordid will happen nor would I treat any woman with such contempt. Women may be the weaker sex, but they’re just as deserving of respect and honour as men.”
Strathmore groaned in disgust. “Who’s filling your head with this chivalric nonsense?”
“Miss Jenney says…”
“Tell Miss Jenney from me to mind her own business and leave my son’s mind unpolluted. What’s so funny Bowmont?”
“I’d like to see you try to tell her that Father.”
“You will address me as Your Grace or nothing do you understand?”
The boy’s smile faded instantly into misery. “Yes You
r Grace…may I go to the Christmas dance or would you prefer that I sit in my room and stare at the wall?”
“Go make yourself sick with my blessing, just don’t even think about falling in love with some farmer’s daughter.”
His son’s expression for once mirrored his own. “You mean like how you fell in love with my mother?”
“You’ll marry who I choose or face my wrath. Now get out and leave me in peace.” Strathmore picked up his letter knife and dismissed his child without further acknowledgement as he broke the wax seal. Had his son said his carriage had arrived empty? Strathmore jumped out of his chair and dashed to the window. Her carriage. She was home. With the letter still in his hand he forced his excited legs to maintain a casual dawdle all the way down the stairs and out the front door. Carriage tracks in the fresh snow had stopped at the stairs, but there were no petite footsteps from the carriage door or large footmen’s boot prints to retrieve her trunks. He covered his distress with a black scowl and sneered at the waiting coachman. “What are you waiting for? Take it to the carriage house.”
