“The children have always been entertained by the tales you’ve regaled them with of your childhood at the Willows. Both of them are very excited to replicate the very outings you enjoyed in your youth.”
“They really cannot expect—” David had told the children tales, but he did not intend to reenact each and every one.
“You have not forgotten.” Mrs. Parker turned toward him. “You’ve gone on about stories for years . . . growing up at the Willows, the long treks in the countryside, surveying the caves by the sea, climbing trees in the orchard.”
“Years? Oh, I say. You can’t mean that, Davy is only three.”
“He will be quick to remind you he is three and a half,” Mrs. Parker remarked. “And he is very impressionable. Perhaps he cannot recall every tale you’ve told, but Lucy certainly can. And whatever she does . . .”
“Oh, yes, I know . . . her younger brother is a willing conspirator.” David could only agree.
“You are no longer their all-fun-and-frolic godfather, sir. You have now been elevated to father. As children, they cannot be expected to keep that in mind, but I trust you will do me the favor of not having to remind you of your position as well.”
As he gazed upon Mrs. Parker, her gentle presence brought to mind that he was not only to be a father but also a husband. David found it quite a sobering thought.
After the frolic on the lawn with the children, Penny returned to her room to change out of her traveling dress for supper and discovered she had torn the hem. Let that be a lesson to her to behave her age. She should not have been racing about like a schoolgirl. She laid it across the back of a chair; she would not burden Amelia with its repair but mend it herself in the morning.
Although she had been informed as to the delay of dinner, Penny removed to the front parlor expecting the imminent arrival of the others. She pulled her Kerseymere shawl tight around her shoulders and paced before the hearth, waiting for another half hour before Mr. Cavanaugh and Mrs. Sutton entered.
“I beg you forgive us for our tardiness,” David said to Penny at once. “I do not think it could be avoided under the circumstances.” He strode past her to warm himself by the fire.
“We have just come from a short visit with Madam,” the companion explained to Penny in a whisper.
“I quite understand, Mrs. Sutton.” Penny thought highly of her discretion.
“Who would have thought Madam could remain alert for such a period of time?” Mrs. Sutton had clearly been surprised with her charge’s capacity to remain alert. “I knew the length of our stay would interfere with the start of our meal. I fear it might have caused you some inconvenience if someone did not inform you.”
“And Mr. Cavanaugh did not think to take such action, did he?” Penny remarked rather sharply.
“I do not know when he would have had time, for he was completely occupied with his grandmother. I hope he does not mind that I sent word to you.”
“No, I do not believe he would.” Penny sighed with a bit of exasperation. “Men can sometimes be thoughtless. However, I understand that his concern over his grandmother is all-consuming. Have no fear, Mrs. Sutton, his oversight is easily forgiven.”
“Shall we proceed to the dining room?” Without a single word of apology, or explanation, David offered Penny his arm, which she took. The man really had no idea, and it seemed he did not care a fig, what occupied the women in his company.
They entered the dining room a few minutes later. Penny walked with him along one length of the table, set with a fine damask tablecloth, a variety of crystal stemware, and a white dinner service. Mrs. Sutton traveled down the opposite side, passing a mahogany sideboard with a large mirror hanging on the wall.
“And how is your grandmother?” Penny stopped while he continued to the head of the table.
“Much improved since we first saw her this afternoon.” David took his seat with Mrs. Sutton to his left and Penny to his right. “Gran is most anxious to see Lucy and Davy. She was quite insistent on the matter, really.” He took up his napkin and laid it across his lap. “I do find her enthusiasm most encouraging.”
“As you have reassured her, sir, there will be time enough in the days ahead,” Mrs. Sutton stated with restrained optimism. “I truly believe she may recover.”
“I do believe you are correct, Mrs. Sutton.” He smiled and glanced at Penny. “I am so very grateful.”
“As we all are, sir,” Penny added. That was very good news. She settled in her chair and tried to convince herself she felt quite at ease, as if this were any normal meal she might partake in at home. “The children have had their supper and, as you may imagine, are greatly fatigued from their journey. They have gone straight to bed.”
“That is good to know.” David, as the children’s father, should have taken this update in stride, but he sounded somewhat uncomfortable receiving this news. “What’s for dinner, Mrs. Sutton? I must admit the country air has made me peckish.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. Our meal is en famille this evening. The staff had not expected you to arrive so quickly and, as such, have been caught unprepared.”
“That is not a problem, Mrs. Sutton. I’m certain anything Cook conjures will be sufficient for our table.” He turned to Penny. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”
“Of course.” Penny would never, could never complain. “I hope we have not caused a panic in the kitchen.”
Two maids emerged from the kitchen, one with a tureen of soup and the other with a decanter of wine.
“Actually”—the companion sounded very positive and appeared rather pleased—“this smells splendid.”
“Yes, it does.” David watched the maid ladle soup into his bowl while another filled the wine glasses.
“I cannot tell you what a difference your arrival has meant,” Mrs. Sutton commented. “I am not a doctor, but Madam looks very much on the mend, I think.”
“I do believe she looks much more the thing,” Penny admitted. “She appeared interested, alert, although she did tire easily, which I do not at all find surprising.”
“I knew Madam would rally some when Master David arrived. I, however, did not know if you would be accompanying him, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton demurred, her voice trailing into eventual silence, and she continued with some hesitation. “To be quite honest, I was not at all certain you existed.”
Penny brought her napkin to her lips and held it firmly there. She swallowed her soup in a great gulp. Her eyes watered with the effort, and she hoped no one knew of the mishap.
“I beg your pardon?” David inquired, sounding more concerned than angry.
“Well, sir, you see . . .” Mrs. Sutton continued, seeming embarrassed at the admission. “Madam is getting on in years, and sometimes she gets a bit addled. Oh, she means no harm, of course. But it was difficult to know if she went on about your wife or if it was wishful thinking on her part.”
“But the letters I’ve written”—it had been quite a number over the years—“surely you must have seen them, some of them.” His discomfort was evident with his stiffened posture. He reached for his wine glass as a restorative.
“Oh, no, sir. Madam does not allow anyone to read any correspondence from you. It is far too dear, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” David drained his glass and relaxed back into his chair. “Did no one believe—”
“Oh, now. Don’t worry none. It was just me, you see.” She touched her temple with two fingers. “I must have misunderstood. I’m certain everyone else took Madam at her word. I’m certain they did.”
“Her word?” he muttered weakly and reached for the decanter, refilled his glass, and drained it again. He repeated this twice in the ensuing silence, then finally set the empty vessel on the table.
It was all Penny could do not to comment on his alcohol consumption. She had seen gentlemen imbibe, and if Mr. Cavanau
gh was not careful he would soon be in his cups. How he would be able to continue his ruse while foxed was unclear, but there was one thing certain: it could not help.
“Well, I am here for a visit,” Penny announced in an upbeat manner. “And so are the children. Now that we have cleared the air, let us enjoy our meal and get on with our evening, shall we?” She stared at David, hoping he would comprehend her meaning.
He met her gaze with a speaking one of his own. If he were sending some sort of silent reply to Penny, it was one she could not decipher. His thoughts on the matter, if he did not wish to voice them, would simply have to wait.
In the ensuing quiet the two maids returned, one with a tray of mutton, the other with a serving dish of vegetables, and repeated the table service. They must have thought the dinner guests had finished with the first course because they were watching and listening for cues from those in the dining room from the other side of the door. Perhaps Mr. Cavanaugh was correct in that the staff was keen to hear more than silent instruction from those who resided in the house.
Penny glanced down at her soup dish as it was removed. If there were any thoughts or items to be discussed, it was clear she and David needed time alone. At the dinner table in the presence of Grandmother Cavanaugh’s staff was not the place.
“I beg that we make this a daily ritual.” David could breathe easier now that they were away from overattentive staff. They had removed to the rear gardens and walked apart from each other. He glanced over his shoulder, looking to see that they had not been followed. “This is the only place I can be certain we will not be overheard.”
“No one can think that taking a turn about the garden is odd, no matter what time of day.” Mrs. Parker drew her shawl around her shoulders. “However, I must confess that I did feel stifled by Mrs. Sutton’s presence. We were not free to speak, and I did wish we were private.”
“There is no privacy inside that house.” When David caught her expression he added, “I am more convinced than ever that they are listening.”
“I do not doubt that you believe so, sir, and I make every effort to refrain from making comments that might give us away.”
“I cannot convey how much your cooperation means to me, ma’am.” He owed her a great debt, one without adequate compensation, he feared. “Despite Mrs. Sutton’s doubts about your existence—I was never so glad to prove anyone wrong. Can you imagine the impudence of that woman?”
“I suspect she had every reason to believe you did not have a wife. What proof was there before my arrival today?” There was a tinge of scold in Mrs. Parker’s voice.
“I couldn’t care less what Mrs. Sutton believes or does not believe.” David did not embark on this mad scheme for her benefit. “Your presence has meant the world to Gran, and that is what truly matters. She has made great strides in her recovery, and I do believe I have you to thank.”
Mrs. Parker turned from the rosebushes. Half of them had been pruned; no doubt the task would be completed tomorrow. “You say that as if it were a bad thing.”
“It is, no—it isn’t. I do wish her to improve, but . . .” How could he say this without sounding absolutely wretched? “You must own that her recovery will be problematic for us.”
“That is nonsense. I can think of nothing better.” She turned back toward the rosebushes, examining those that had been recently pruned. “Perhaps by that time these will have produced a floral welcome. I do believe she would like that above all things.”
“She would,” David agreed. They moved forward, walking parallel to those shrubs that had yet to be tidied. “And speaking about things others may like . . .” He cleared his throat. “I have arranged an outing for the children where they can forage for berries as you had asked.”
“Arranged? You mean for you and the children?” Mrs. Parker turned back around to stare at him. She had the most suspicious, disagreeable expression he had seen since . . . since . . . since Gran had leveled such a scold when he’d last displeased her.
He didn’t deserve it. David would change her mind, and she would regret whatever unpleasantness she’d been thinking. “Lucy and young Davy will be escorted through the orchard to the far side of the meadow beyond the small stream where lies a berry patch where they may have their fill of gathering, and sampling, Mother Nature’s sweet offerings.”
“They are to be escorted? You do not mean to accompany them, sir?” Her stern expression grew more so. “I do not begrudge you the help of footmen, but it is a journey you must take with them.”
David did not believe he was successful in altering her opinion of him in the least, not for the better, at any rate. “Me? Why must I . . . For heaven’s sake, they will come to no harm, I can assure you.”
“Of course I wish to keep them safe, but footmen alone cannot take them. It must be you.” Mrs. Parker did not appear angry, but she was most insistent.
“I beg your pardon?” What was she going on about? Why did it have to be him?
“You promised them, Mr. Cavanaugh. You.” She faced directly at him, gazing wide-eyed and becoming quite vexed. “This is not an errand you can discharge to any other. It was your childhood memory in which they wished to partake, your tales that inspired them. You must accompany Lucy and Davy.”
Never in his adult life did David feel the need to stomp about in anger, to demonstrate his acute displeasure. Until now. He did a most remarkable job restraining himself and replied, “And why is that?”
“If you wish to keep in the children’s good graces, I suggest you do your utmost to indulge them.”
Indulge them? What a load of . . . nonsense. He was their godfather, they loved him, and he had every confidence they would do anything he asked. David was fairly certain, that is. He took a moment to consider what Mrs. Parker was saying. He did not have that much experience with children, other than the times he’d dropped in to play with Lucy and Davy. As to that, they were the only youngsters known to him. They had always been good-natured and happy. He was well aware that Mrs. Parker was much better acquainted with them than he.
“I must?” What if she was correct about this? David glanced about as if searching for an alternative. “Are you certain?”
“I am quite certain. You are the person who told the tales and promised them they would partake once they arrived. You must be the person to accompany them.”
David rubbed the back of his neck and wondered how he managed to get himself into these cursed situations.
“Do you not understand how much you ask of them?” Mrs. Parker continued as if she were his conscience. “They undertook this very long journey and must endure the absence of their other siblings and their parents.”
“Yes.” David understood well enough the difficulties.
“All they have is us. Nothing here is familiar. And until we return them to their real parents, we must make every effort to see to their comfort and well-being.”
“All right. All right.” David held up his hand in an effort to cease her lecturing. He thought all that was already taken care of. How could it possibly matter?
“If you think they can be easily convinced, you could not be more wrong,” she continued, even after he had admitted defeat. “There is no one more obstinate than a recalcitrant child who has made up his mind to be contrary. I advise you, sir, to do all you can to keep on their good side.” With that said, Mrs. Parker strolled on, leaving him standing among the unkempt rosebushes.
Chapter Seven
The following morning in her bedchamber, Penny sat on a firm cushioned chair near the hearth for light and warmth. To her left, the drapes were drawn back from the window, allowing the sunlight to shine through the trees on the east side of the house. She had forgotten how pleasant the early hours in the country were: the calm, the quiet, the peace.
On her lap, she stitched the torn hem of the dress she’d worn yesterday. Penny would no
t leave such a task to Amelia when the newly elevated lady’s maid had so many other duties to occupy her. In truth, Penny rather enjoyed plying the needle in meaningful occupation.
The shattering of porcelain against the wall behind her sent Penny out of her chair with an unrestrained cry and onto her feet. The scuffle of feet grew louder, and then the shouting began. At first it was a man’s voice, and a few moments later a second joined in. The dress she’d been mending fell to the ground in her haste to the corridor. She was soon joined by Mrs. Sutton.
“It’s Master David, I’m afraid,” the companion announced as she rushed to his bedchamber.
“What’s happened?” Penny did not understand but followed the companion.
“Master David? Mr. Hendricks?” Mrs. Sutton called through the door over her persistent knocking. Her voice grew louder, trying to be heard over those inside.
Good heavens, what a din! It was a good thing Grandmother Cavanaugh’s rooms were in the south wing of the house. This uproar would certainly disturb her.
“Sir! Please, sir!” a man’s muffled plea sounded behind the bedchamber door.
Mrs. Sutton waited no longer and burst into the room uninvited. Unfortunately Penny followed directly behind. She could only gasp and stare wide-eyed at the sight of Mr. Cavanaugh holding an ornamental figurine in his raised fist while still abed.
“You blasted feather-brained vermin!” He broke free from the clutches of his valet, who appeared to be doing his utmost to restrain his master. The porcelain figurine sailed across the room and out the open window. Hendricks’s expression of failure was evident.
No sooner had the first missile been propelled when Mr. Cavanaugh captured a second object, a cut glass vase by Penny’s quick assessment. He lifted his arm, readying to cast it onto the same path.
“Those wretched, foul birds!” Mr. Cavanaugh’s fateful words once again preceded his imminent assault.
An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) Page 7
