“Well, that’s all right, then.” Sir Thomas relaxed in his chair. “As long as he didn’t offer for both ladies, that’s not the thing. Miss Wilberforce married Lord Wraxham as I recall.” He softened his voice as he relayed a bit of unfavorable news. “She may not have been looking to marry a title, but I own her mother was. Cavanaugh here may be plump in the pockets, but he ain’t prime pickings.”
Penny knew well enough that rank did not make a man. There was nothing wrong with a plain Mister.
“Your little Lucy’s birth inspired me to contrive the tale of my daughter.” Mr. Cavanaugh managed to alter the topic and elevate the conversation by addressing Frances. “My grandmother’s name is Lucinda, you know.”
“But Lucy is named after my mother,” Frances replied.
“It is a happy coincidence, is it not?” Mr. Cavanaugh smiled with a shrug. “Gran would never discover that auspicious detail.”
“That was how he managed to find himself in this mess in the first place,” Frances mumbled to Penny. “He acts without regard to consequence.”
Penny’s gaze returned to Mr. Cavanaugh, attending to his continuing discourse.
“Then Davy was born, and very fortunately named after me, his godfather.” Mr. Cavanaugh bowed to Gerald and Frances.
“At present, I cannot think why we did that,” she confided to Penny.
“Yes, young Davy . . . he was the perfect child to use as a model for my son.”
“Your imaginary son?” Penny hadn’t heard a story so ridiculous since her niece Muriel told her sister Charlotte that a nest of fairies dwelled in a large oak tree located in the very center of the east meadow. Apparently telling tall tales was not limited to girls.
“W-what did you hope to gain by all this duplicity, sir?” Frances managed to ask.
“I know nothing of children or how they get along. I have always been very fond of Lucy and young Davy and can, by their example, quite easily describe their characteristics, habits, and daily activities when writing to Gran.”
“Do they know her, your grandmother?” A protective side of Frances began to emerge, and rightly so.
“They only know what I have told them of her. There were some stories of when I was a boy, visiting the Willows during the summer. I had three brothers at that time.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s voice softened, touched by the distant memories of his childhood. “We used to spend our afternoons fishing in the pond, playing games in the orchard, picking wild berries by the river, and riding ponies to Beacon Hill.”
Being the last of the Cavanaugh line meant he no longer had any siblings. Penny did not wish to ruin his glorious recollection by inquiring as to their unhappy fates.
“That might be an idea,” Gerald mused, sounding thoughtful. “You are, after all, their godfather.”
“Goodness, Gerald, are you actually thinking David should borrow our children and pass them off as his own?” Frances stated in alarm.
“What an excellent idea!” Mr. Cavanaugh, it appeared, had not gone that far.
“You cannot be serious, Gerald. All good sense has abandoned you.” Frances turned from her husband to glare at their friend. “Both of you.”
“Frances, the children adore him,” Gerald pointed out, his voice turning into more of a plea. “We’ll send Nanny along to care for them. It’s the perfect solution. Surely you must own to that?”
“Even if Nanny accompanies them—no, I cannot allow it. How could you place children in care of a bachelor? Any children, let alone ours?”
“I should like to leave the decision up to the children.” Gerald sounded as if he had resigned himself to abide by the verdict of his offspring and not his wife.
“You cannot count on them to make a decision of this import.” Frances turned to Penny for support.
“Apparently all this has worked out splendidly for you, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Penny remarked with her chin held high. She had no wish to involve herself in what was clearly a matter between husband and wife, but it did involve their children. Enough was enough, and Mr. Cavanaugh simply had to resolve this on his own, not lay the whole before his friends to puzzle out. “You are to reach your destination by way of Sir Thomas’s chaise. You are to borrow Lucy and Davy for your children. Pray tell, what poor woman do you think you can convince to portray your wife?”
The room grew still, then very quiet.
When his answer was not forthcoming, Penny turned from Mr. Cavanaugh to glance at his primary advocate, Gerald, who returned her interest. Feeling the weight of Sir Thomas’s awareness, she swept her gaze in his direction before meeting Frances’s stare.
In the ensuing and lengthening silence, Penny grew more and more uncomfortable. It did not take long before she realized the focus of the other four people in the room had fixed entirely upon her.
As if heralded by a chorus of singing angels, David’s dark and dismal cloud of impossibilities was resolved. A miracle had occurred before his very eyes. Mrs. Parker would make the most splendid imposter wife. He would have never dared to make the suggestion. However, since it summarily had been agreed upon by all in attendance, with the exception of Mrs. Parker, David could see the advantage in such a resolution.
“If Mrs. Parker is to accompany Lucy and young Davy, I have no difficulty with the scheme at all.” Frances Kimball had changed her outlook on the plan from complete refusal to feeling somewhat comfortable regarding the care and safety of her children. She needn’t have worried. David was their godfather and would protect them.
“Excellent. Then it’s settled!” Sir Thomas launched from his seat onto his feet. “I shall be off to see that my chaise is prepared for departure within the hour.” Without waiting, he deposited his empty glass on one of the tables and brushed his hands off with a clap on his way to the door.
“Well done, Thomas. See they come here to pick up their passengers.” Gerald accompanied the baronet.
“Here?” Sir Thomas glanced past Gerald toward Mrs. Parker then David and winked. “Yes, that would be best for all concerned. In an hour’s time!” he called out before departing.
“You cannot think that I—” Mrs. Parker began in a stern, unyielding tone toward her relatives.
“Mrs. Parker, if you might grant me a private audience?” David interceded before her staunch refusal that she portray Mrs. Cavanaugh. “Please allow me a chance to speak to you.”
Frances turned to her husband. “Gerald, let us see the children, shall we?”
“Of course, dearest.” He motioned to the way out of the parlor and closed the doors behind them but not without a meaningful glance at David.
David understood exactly what his friend had meant. He was fairly certain Lucy and Davy would gladly come to his aid. They would meet the grandmother who’d lavished praise and affection upon them over the years through her many letters. This would be David’s only opportunity to convince Mrs. Parker to join their merry band. He wasn’t at all certain how he would go about achieving this feat.
“Do I not have a say in this? In any of this? Or will I be caught up in this mad story of the life you’ve created?” The young widow rounded on him. Her cheeks were flushed, and he could tell she wanted no part of the situation he’d brought on himself.
“What is it that disturbs you the most?” David inquired with complete calm. He could not argue his current endeavor was comprised of several unlikely scenarios, each a far-fetched notion preceded by another that was equally absurd.
“The most?” Mrs. Parker exhaled in exasperation. “There are so many elements of this fraud you’ve put together, I hardly know where to begin. You’ve managed to secure a son and daughter, quite an achievement for a bachelor.” She ticked off each on her fingers. “Now you need a mother for your children. Can you not see how impossible that is?”
“Not at all. You are the ideal female to fill that role.” He sharpened his already
lingering gaze to take in her finer points. Mrs. Parker, as he understood, was a young widow, neither over forty nor a schoolroom miss. Although her exact years were unknown to him, he presumed that she was about the same age as he. This made her wholly suitable to depict Mrs. Cavanaugh, who would have been married for the required seven or eight years needed to be a believable mother to his three-year-old son and five-year-old daughter.
“Who would believe we—” She stopped midsentence, then addressed him anew. “I may not be old enough to be your mother, sir, but I vow I might be mistaken for your elder sister.”
“I think not, ma’am.” David thought this quite humorous and chuckled. “I will not be so indelicate as to inquire about your years. Instead I freely offer you mine. I am on the wrong side of thirty.” He could tell by her reaction that she thought him younger, and if he had to hazard a guess, she was quite near his number.
“So you see, it is, in fact, quite probable both you and I would be the parents of Lucy and Davy.”
The flash in Mrs. Parker’s eyes and the rise of color in her cheeks, not a comely blush but a flush of anger, told him she did not like it. Knowing his time alone with her was limited, David set to the task of winning her over.
“Ma’am.” He clasped his hands behind his back and addressed her with as much sincerity and composure as he could muster. “My only desire is to grant my grandmother’s wish, her final wish.”
“You believed her dying many times over the course of seven years. What makes this occasion any different?”
“It is not only distinguished by correspondence from her solicitor but her butler as well.” David tried not to show his apprehension through his voice or expression.
“Her butler?”
“Yes, Woodsworth has never written to me. That he has done so causes me great alarm.” David dearly wanted Mrs. Parker’s cooperation yet not through any dishonest means. There was nothing he could say that would persuade her. Perhaps the same letter that had convinced David might succeed in conveying to Mrs. Parker the seriousness of the circumstance. He reached into his pocket, withdrew the missive, and held it out. “You would see for yourself. Read it, if you please.” He straightened his arm, holding the letter out farther, urging her to accept.
Mrs. Parker took the letter an instant before a knock upon the parlor doors sounded, and they swung open.
“Da!” the two absolutely adorable children cried out and dashed in.
“I knew Davy called David ‘Da,’ because he can’t pronounce his name,” Gerald uttered softly. “When did Lucy start calling him that?”
“It’s caught on. You know how children are, especially when they’re as close as they are.” Frances remained at the doorway with her husband.
“Poppets!” David dropped to one knee and held his arms opened wide, waiting to hold his darlings close to him. Wrapping their arms around his neck, they hugged him tightly.
Lucy relaxed her hold and stepped back from him and gazed into his face. “Father says we are to go with you to see your grandmother.”
“Gran?” Young Davy’s solitary-word comment was a passable question from a three-year-old.
David glanced at the parents’ display of empathy and then met Mrs. Parker’s stern, unwavering gaze before attempting an answer. “I am not quite certain yet.” With a last, loving squeeze he released them and stood. Lucy and Davy remained close, each taking one of his hands in theirs.
Mrs. Parker’s expression softened, and she moved to open the missive in her hands. She turned from him, giving her a chance to read his correspondence partially unobserved.
“Are we to stay at the Willows?” Lucy’s small voice, young and sweet, entreated.
“I can’t say, dear.” David glanced at Mrs. Parker, doing his best to judge her reaction to Woodsworth’s words. Would his eloquent, emotional plea affect her, as it had David, of the approaching sad and imminent end of his grandmother’s life?
“Go Wiww-whoas, Da!” Davy, whose pronunciation, as a toddler, was sometimes cryptic at best, had no trouble relaying the very same enthusiasm as his sister. He tugged on David’s fingers.
“It is up to your family to decide if you are to travel with me.”
Lucy, followed closely by Davy, ran to her mother and father. “Please, oh please, may we visit the Willows?”
“Wiww-whoas!” Davy repeated.
David abandoned the family scene to observe Mrs. Parker reading Mr. Randolph’s letter. Mrs. Parker’s hand went to her mouth as she drew in a hasty breath. Her eyes blinked rapidly, clearing her unshed tears perhaps?
It was apparent that nothing David could say would alter her opinion that he had acted carelessly. Presently, he thought the very same. The decision for her to aid him was not for him to make; the choice would have to be Mrs. Parker’s alone. Perhaps Mr. Woodsworth had managed to sway her into doing so.
David stepped closer to Mrs. Parker when she lowered her arm, finished with the letter.
“Can you not help me provide Gran the family she has dearly wished to see for so many years?” he said to her while the others in the room were occupied. “My grandmother is dying, Mrs. Parker. She may even be gone as we speak, I cannot know. But will you please consider, not for my sake, but for hers?”
Mrs. Parker closed her eyes. David could read the indecision on her face. Waiting for her answer was unbearable. It seemed to go on forever. He remained still, and she remained quiet.
Yes? No? Yes? What was she going to say? No?
Mrs. Parker opened her eyes and stared at him, and not in a manner that he would call kind. He expected to hear the worst.
Without Mrs. Parker, this entire charade could not move forward. Frances would never give her permission for Lucy and Davy to accompany him to Dorset alone. David would have no time to find another female to portray his wife. The lump in his throat and the heaviness in his stomach nearly made him sick. The thought of life without Gran was one he could not dwell upon.
“Mr. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Parker said, “I’m afraid I am not so heartless that I can allow your grandmother to die without the joy of being surrounded by her beloved family. Not when it is in my power to see it come to fruition.”
What? Could she possibly mean . . .
Mrs. Parker addressed Frances. “If you will see that the children are prepared for the trip, with the help of Nanny, I shall take on full responsibility for their care and well-being during our absence.”
David was momentarily robbed of speech.
“Very well, Mrs. Parker. I shall do so at once.” Frances appeared shocked at Mrs. Parker’s change of heart. “Lucy, Davy, you will come with me, please.” The children ran to keep up with their mother and glanced over their shoulders at David with some trepidation, uncertain as to what was going on. “Come, Gerald!”
David met his friend’s gaze. They both nodded, acknowledging their success. Gerald strode out of the room, following his family. David stood alone with Mrs. Parker, who appeared to be deep in thought. It boded well, he decided, that she considered her participation in his scheme instead of hastily dismissing him.
David reminded himself that she had not yet said yes.
“It would mean several days of travel,” she said.
“I shall arrange for appropriate lodgings for our party, I can assure you.” David would take the added steps, and expense, to see that their journey was as pleasant as possible for everyone involved.
“Lucy and Davy have never traveled for that length of time.”
“They’ll find it quite the adventure.” David knew the children well and wondered what sort of mischief would erupt from this journey.
“I’m sure they would.” Mrs. Parker seemed on the verge of making a final decision, and David couldn’t help but hold his breath in anticipation. His eyes widened as seconds passed; they were the longest moments in his life.
&
nbsp; “We shall, of course, have our staff follow us in a second coach, but I might suggest Nanny and the children ride in a third conveyance since the children will prove a bit rambunctious when confined. You will wish to keep your valet in your employ, I expect.” Mrs. Parker recited without a pause and with some authority. “I shall see that I am ready for Sir Thomas’s chaise when it arrives, Mr. Cavanaugh.” She turned to him and replied, “I suggest you attend to your own preparations. We have less than an hour before we depart.”
Yes! She’d accepted. She would help him. David hesitated, wondering if he had heard correctly. Mrs. Parker was going on about travel preparations and arrangements. She had accepted his proposal!
“I thank you, ma’am. Thank you.” David stepped closer, took up her hand, and, in his excitement, kissed it. She drew back but could not immediately pull free from his grasp. “I beg your pardon. You cannot imagine how much this means to me, Mrs. Parker.”
“Sir, if you wish to be successful in your venture”—she gazed at him with cool detachment—“I suggest that you now refer to me as Mrs. Cavanaugh, or Caroline, if you like.”
Chapter Three
Mrs. Monroe is packing my trunks, but I can’t possibly take her with me.” Penny crossed her bedchamber to the dressing table where Frances stood. “She is your lady’s maid. She must stay with you.”
As not to convey her current widowed status, Penny had chosen her more colorful frocks. The sedate lilacs and somber grays would all be left behind. Mrs. Cavanaugh’s wardrobe must be far superior to Mrs. Parker’s, but there was nothing for it now. There was no time to have new dresses made.
“You must have someone to attend to you or it shall look very odd. You might bring Amelia. She’ll do quite well, I believe. I shall inquire to see if she’s willing,” Frances suggested, hesitating. “There is one matter I wish to discuss with you. Caution you about, actually, before you leave.”
Penny stilled and turned toward her niece. “What is it, Frances? You look absolutely dreadful. If it is regarding the children—”
An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) Page 2
