“You’d best see your grandmother,” Penny told David before sweeping into the house. “She’ll want to hear all about Mrs. Dunhurst’s performance.”
“Yes, you’re right. I shall go at once.” Never more than at that moment had he felt such regret. Taking into consideration that only recently he was almost caught in the tangle of lies of nearly ten years in the making, and the measures he had gone to ensuring those lies remained hidden from his grandmother, was saying quite a lot. “I must find a way to relay the tale of our afternoon.” Then he caught her glaring at him, as if warning him not to tell of their . . . his momentary indiscretion.
Neither smiled when they parted.
Penny strode directly to the staircase and made straight for her bedchamber. Once she was inside and had closed the door, she exhaled. Untying the ribbons of her bonnet, she removed it from her head and readjusted her cap.
The very same cap she and David had discussed at some length right before he . . . he kissed her. Penny touched her mouth with her fingertips, recalling the feel of his lips on hers. That exquisite, wonderful kiss. It had been so very long since she had been kissed by a man. And never had a kiss made her feel such emotion . . . such affection. It had been a kiss from a man whom she loved—
Penny made herself stop. She should not even think those words. She could not be in love with him. What she should be feeling was outrage.
How could he? How dare he! Why had Penny allowed it to happen? David could not have known how she felt about him because she did not have the courage to admit it to herself.
Oh, what a tangle that one kiss made!
Amelia entered from the dressing room. “You’ve returned, ma’am.”
“Yes, just now,” Penny replied. She handed her maid the bonnet.
“Is anything amiss, ma’am?” Amelia straightened the ribbons. “You look a bit flushed.”
“No, I’m fine. I only—” Penny had no wish to draw her maid into matters that did not concern her nor were any of her business. “How was Madam’s afternoon with the children? Do you know?”
“Oh, Mrs. Cavanaugh had such a day with little Lucy and Davy. I could hear them laughing down all the corridors. They all had such a grand time.”
“Followed by exhaustion, I fear. I know the children are able to play for hours on end.” Penny could not help but worry a little. “I hope Madam did not overtax herself.”
“Oh, no. Mrs. Sutton and Nurse kept careful watch over her. Nanny returned the children to the nursery after their second game of jackstraws and Madam had a nice rest. She has sent word she would like you to read to her when you returned since Miss Lemmon could not come today.”
“I expected as much. Mr. Cavanaugh is with her now, so I have time to change into the blue-sprigged dress, if you please.”
“Right away, ma’am.” Amelia withdrew with the bonnet and would return with Penny’s change of clothes soon.
Penny was almost afraid to be left alone with her thoughts. Inevitably they would drift back to David and their kiss. She would have no peace until she knew why it happened and what he meant by it.
There was no time to deliberate such things, not there, not then. Her trembling fingers made unfastening the clasps of her pelisse impossible. She straightened her arms, balling her hands tightly into fists, willing herself to regain her composure.
How could she face him again? It would happen much sooner than later.
Penny needed to make up some excuse, take the children, and leave for London. She did not think she could bring herself to flee, but neither could she stay. Grandmother Cavanaugh would be crushed at their departure, but it could not be helped. How was Penny to resolve the mess they were in?
By the time Amelia returned, Penny had managed to unfasten the closures, and the maid helped remove the pelisse.
“Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?” Amelia laid the outer garment aside.
“It’s been a very long afternoon, Amelia.” Penny, who normally didn’t have a maid, could not think how to begin to remove her clothes and was grateful for the girl’s help. “I think I could use a long rest as well. I’m afraid I haven’t the luxury of time.”
Exhilarated and worried by that single kiss, Penny felt her heart was at risk. There was no question of her staying, not with him near. She had to, for the first time, put her needs first. She would claim there was a family emergency, her niece Frances needed her, and Penny would leave.
While changing into her blue-sprigged day dress, Penny decided it would be best if she and the children left as soon as it could be arranged. The recovering grandmother would be fine and continue to improve; she still had her grandson by her side.
Penny did not know what he would feel about her departure, but it was of no concern to her. Leaving the Willows, and David, was what she had to do.
Chapter Twenty
David stopped just inside his grandmother’s bedchamber. Along the far wall he admired the new drawings, created by the children, that decorated the once solemn sickroom. Gran and Mrs. Sutton, sitting together on the sofa, heads bent close in quiet conversation, had not yet noticed his presence.
“You have returned!” Gran worked a polishing cloth atop her walking stick and addressed her companion, “Tell Cook we’re ready for tea, will you, Sutton?”
“I shall see to it at once, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton rose to see to their refreshment.
“You will miss the details of Mrs. Dunhurst’s performance,” he murmured to her.
“Madam will be more than happy to enlighten me later,” she assured him, giving his sleeve a good-natured pat as she passed.
“Come sit with me, Davy, will you?” Gran gestured for David to join her.
David lowered himself in the chair, trying to put aside the lingering memories of Penny’s kiss, and offered his grandmother a credible account of his afternoon. In short, he needed to tell Gran what she wanted to hear regarding Mrs. Halifax’s musical afternoon, and do so in a convincing manner. But his mind was still in a muddle.
“How was your afternoon with the children?” He thought to heighten her spirits before trying to slide the latest bouncer past her. As small as this lie would be, adding it to the already monumental weight of the previous lies felt as if this one would be the one he could not bear. He would continue to do so . . . for his grandmother’s sake.
“We had great fun. Lucy is quite a good artist. She has very nimble fingers, which shall be beneficial in plying the needle and when she learns the pianoforte. And that was how she was able to win at jackstraws.”
“Did you let her win?” David wondered if it was one of Gran’s schemes.
“Oh, no. She won on her own, I assure you.” Gran chuckled. “Little Davy and I were a jumble of thumbs, and Pug was not any help either. He kept bumping the table at the most inopportune times, and keeping a steady hand is impossible when he insists that he sit on your lap during your turn.”
“Oh, Lud! You should have locked him out of the room.” David could never understand why Gran tolerated that mongrel’s presence when he behaved poorly.
“You know he would have barked and yelped until he joined us. No, we would not have had any peace. And he does enjoy the children’s company so much.”
He wasn’t the only one. Gran adored the children. David was very glad he brought them, and he would be eternally grateful to Frances and Gerald for the loan of their offspring.
“I cannot think when the last time I heard anyone laugh as your Davy. That boy carried on for such a long time. He reminded me of—” She started to laugh, and her mirth suddenly turned to great sadness and tears filled her eyes.
What had David missed? What had happened to cause his grandmother such sorrow?
“What is it, Gran? Did something happen?” He leaned forward in his chair, moving toward her. “Did the children say something inappropriate?�
�
“Oh, Davy.” Gran’s voice weakened, losing its ability to remain steady. She set her walking stick aside, leaning it against the small round table next to the sofa. Only then did David see the silver handle of the cane. It was the shape of a dog. A pug dog, to be sure, the very same breed as her own Pug. She held out her hand to him. “I do not know how to tell you . . . I’m afraid it will break your heart.”
David moved forward, grasping his grandmother’s small hand and holding it firmly in his. “What is it, Gran? You know you can tell me anything.”
“It is not my place. But oh, dear Davy, it is so very bad. I can hardly warrant such a bad thing because she is such a lovely person, and I cannot comprehend how she could ever contrive to play you false.” Gran pressed the cloth she had used to polish her walking stick to her nose.
“She? To whom are you referring? Play me false? What do you mean?” What was his grandmother going on about?
“Your wife! I am afraid that—”
Penny’s appearance at the bedchamber door brought the conversation to a halt.
“I beg your pardon, am I interrupting? I thought you would be expecting me.” She clearly perceived they were discussing her. “I can come back later, shall I?”
“No, please stay,” David insisted. Play you false, Gran had said. He did not know how Gran knew, but she knew, or strongly suspected, the truth or part of the truth. And by her statement the blame was about to be placed squarely on Penny. He gestured to the far end of the sofa where Gran sat. “Be seated, my dear, won’t you?”
“I think I’d rather stand, thank you.” Penny entered the room, her hands clasped in front of her, and appeared quite uneasy. She watched them carefully and kept her distance.
“Gran, I have something to tell you.” He released her hand, rose from the chair, and moved to stand next to Penny.
“David, what is it?” Penny whispered. She must have sensed something awry.
Gran’s words Play you false echoed in his mind. This was a reference to Penny. David would not allow her reputation to be tarnished when she had been all that was good and kind by coming to his aid and taking part in his ruse.
“The fact is, Gran . . .” He was about to break his grandmother’s heart. Actually, she appeared as if her heart had already been broken.
David might do further damage by admitting the whole truth. Her heart would shatter into a thousand pieces, and she would expire before him. Why had he persisted with this farce? It was a horrible, rash, nonsensical idea. Except it had kept her alive. But now it served no purpose. He had to admit the truth. He had to tell Gran everything.
His head turned slowly to look at Penny, and she knew. He was going to reveal all to his grandmother right here, right now. Penny should stop him, but it wasn’t her place. She hadn’t the right to make such a decision.
“This is all a hum,” David shamelessly admitted to his grandmother. “What you believe about my life, my children, my marriage, my wife, the whole lot. Caroline—er—that is to say, Penny is not my wife.”
With his admission, Penny’s eyes slid closed and she wished with all her heart the floor would open beneath her feet and swallow her. What had he done? The poor woman!
There was a very long silence before Madam sagged against the back of the sofa. Her eyes went wide, and she laid her hand at her throat, drawing in a gasp.
At the sound of distress, Penny’s gaze shot to his grandmother, watching for the ill effects. Would she stop breathing? Suffer a seizure? Expire on the spot?
Grandmother Cavanaugh exhaled and exclaimed, “Thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness, Davy!”
“I don’t understand.” David could not have appeared more baffled by her reaction. “You sound relieved that we’re not married.”
“Well, if it were a choice of discovering you were not the father of your children or being told your marriage is a sham, I daresay discovering your wife is not your wife is quite preferable.”
“Ma’am, how did you know the children were . . .” Penny did not exactly know how to phrase her question.
“Penny? David called you Penny?” Mrs. Cavanaugh did not sound angry and inquired quite kindly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Penny replied.
“What a lovely name.” Her smile could not have been more genuine.
“Thank you.” Penny felt greatly relieved she did not need to lie any longer.
“Well, Penny, it was small Davy, you see. He does not have the Cavanaugh nose. As much as I wished it, it would never be. Then I finally realized why.” Madam looked from Penny to David and back again. “All Cavanaugh males have the Cavanaugh nose, all of them. Davy, adorable and joy that he is, does not. I believe he resembles you. Are you his mother?”
“No, ma’am. I am the children’s grandaunt and Mr. Cavanaugh is their godfather.” Now it was Penny’s turn to confess. “They are my nephew’s children, the two youngest of five.”
“They could be yours, you know. You ain’t so old.” This last was said accompanied by a twinkle in the older woman’s eye. “Why is it you don’t have children of your own?”
“Gran!” David raised his voice in outrage.
“I think I have the right to ask certain clarifying questions since I have been handed a platter of gammon!” Mrs. Cavanaugh uttered sweetly. “And you know Dr. Harding has forbidden me to have meat. So I would appreciate some cooperation from the two of you. Would you please answer my questions?”
“Please go on, ma’am,” Penny replied. She would do as requested. Mrs. Cavanaugh was quite right; she had every right to know anything she wished.
“Why are you not married? You’re quite a pretty thing, you know.”
“I am widowed. My husband passed some months after we married. I was seventeen at the time.”
“How very sad.” Mrs. Cavanaugh nodded, taking it all in. “And you never remarried?”
“I . . . No, my sister Sarah died about the same time, and I moved to Faraday Hall to help raise her children. The duke has one son and three daughters.”
“A duke?” Madam’s eyes widened. “How very nice. And what has become of those children?”
“My nieces are all happily married and gone, and my nephew remains single.”
Mrs. Cavanaugh glanced at David before asking, “Do you think he will do as my grandson has done and fool his father into thinking he has married and provided an heir?”
“I do not believe so, but I cannot truly say.” Penny finished rather weakly, “He must be his own man.”
“Yes, boys do grow into men. It seems unavoidable.” By her tone it seemed Mrs. Cavanaugh had reached the end of her inquiry. “How did you get to be this age without knowing you shouldn’t tell lies, Davy?”
“I hadn’t meant to lie, Gran.” It was David’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “I was—I was trying to make you happy.”
Mrs. Sutton arrived and visibly stiffened, sensing the strained atmosphere. She settled next to Mrs. Cavanaugh on the sofa.
“Have you heard this, Sutton? Davy has lied to me about his marriage and invented children.”
“But Lucy and little Davy . . .” the companion said without comprehension. She’d come too late for the explanation.
“I thought you were dying,” David repeated, trying to stress his point.
“Why invent a wife? It seems terribly silly to have gone through all this rigmarole when you could have just married her. I would have been happy enough, I daresay.” She gestured to Penny. “You do love her, do you not, Davy?”
There was silence. A very, very long silence.
Was this some sort of revenge of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s to punish Penny for taking part in David’s scheme?
Still no one spoke.
How embarrassing. How absolutely, completely embarrassing that Mrs. Cavanaugh should say such a thing to her grandson. Was it not clea
r he did not wish to marry?
Penny felt her face warm. Her cheeks must be every shade of red. She could not face Mrs. Cavanaugh or her once-pretend husband.
“You care for her. I know you do,” Madam insisted, prodding her grandson for a reaction. “You will do it, won’t you? Marry her to make your grandmother happy?” She laid her hand upon her chest, above her heart. “Penny . . . dear . . . If I could only see you two wed before I die.”
“Madam!” Mrs. Sutton took hold of the older woman’s hand and patted it lightly, hoping to keep her conscious.
“I beg you are not taken in by this bouncer, Penny,” he commented to her. “You are not going to die, Gran. You are nowhere near sticking your spoon in the wall. We have it from Dr. Harding just this morning.” David was horrid, absolutely horrid to his grandmother.
“I best get the vinaigrette bottle!” Mrs. Sutton rushed to the night table and returned moments later to revive the old woman. She opened the bottle and waved it under Madam’s nose.
“Enough, Sutton . . .” Mrs. Cavanaugh moaned, pushing the companion’s hand away. “We all die someday. But I would be so much happier if you would do what you should.”
David faced Penny and admitted, “She’s right, you know. I do care a great deal for you.”
“Care for me?” Penny expected much more than that if he expected her to wed.
“It may be much more than that, actually.” A smile crossed his lips, gentle and alluring.
“Really?”
“Dash it all,” David addressed the two older ladies on the sofa. “Do you think we could have a little privacy?”
“You have shared an inordinate amount of privacy, as married couples do.” Mrs. Cavanaugh’s eyes flashed with impatience. “I daresay if this outrage was learned outside this house there would be a scandal! Do get on with it, Davy.”
An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) Page 21
