Penelope (24 page)

The duke had
not smiled.

Anne collapsed
into helpless giggles and the dowager stuffed a napkin into her
mouth.

Penelope
rapidly deflated at the thunderous expression on the duke’s face.
She crouched lower and lower in her seat wishing she could
disappear. The words had sounded reasonable in her head, but
addressing Charles Radclyff, the Duke of Blackthorne, thus felt not
quite right.

The duke turned
a gimlet eye towards his mother and sister who were helpless with
laughter. His head slowly turned towards Penelope, who had by now
wriggled off her seat and sat under the table. Only her eyes were
visible above the tabletop. She peeked at him from between the jam
and butter dish.

He blinked, and
to everyone’s utter shock started laughing, a deep roaring laughter
that rang around the room.

Tears sparkled
in the dowager’s eyes and her face softened as she watched her son
laugh.

Anne grasped
Penelope’s hand and squeezed it gratefully. Her voice was thick
with emotion when she said, “Charles, Penelope has made you laugh
again.”

The duke froze,
his eyes flying to Penelope. He slowly stood up, the smile
vanishing.

“Miss
Fairweather, I would like to see you in my study. Please finish
your breakfast first.” He spoke calmly. The sadness that had
glittered in his eyes earlier that morning was replaced by
something worse. Blankness.

Silence reigned
after the duke’s departure.

***

The duke was
not happy. In the last five years, he could not recall a single
moment when he had felt this miserable. It was women who made men
miserable, he reasoned. Women who came rushing into a bachelor’s
life like an unwanted pup. Instead of slippers, they chewed up
feelings, destroyed a man’s favourite possessions, took up all of
your time, and then looked at you with big innocent eyes that
seemed to say— who me? I would never.

Pushing aside
the ledger, he wondered what to do about Miss Fairweather. All his
plans had come to naught, and with his mother supporting the
mosquito, things were looking dire.

“Your grace?”
Theodore squeaked.

The duke
slammed the ledger shut. He would have to plan something soon. She
was getting bolder and bolder, even daring to make him laugh.

“Your grace, it
is a matter of great urgency. The Desmond house is stinking of
–”

The duke’s head
snapped up. “Stinking? How bad does it the smell?”

“Very bad, your
grace. One of the girls swooned.”

“Stinking
enough to have a girl swoon. That’s wonderful, Theodore. Best news
I have had in days.”

“Your grace,
but—”

“Theodore, that
will be all. We shall discuss the rest tomorrow. Oh, and leave a
small map of where the Desmond house is located on my desk before
you go.”

“But your
grace—”

“Later,
Theodore.”

The man’s
whiskers trembled agitatedly, but he did as he was bid. He left the
map and departed.

***

“Come in.”

Penelope
gathered all her courage and walked into the study.

The duke sat at
his desk twirling a miniature globe. He did not look up when she
entered or acknowledge her presence in any other way. He continued
playing with the orb while she stood nervously shifting from foot
to foot.

He was lost in
thought, his eyes unfocused. Whatever he was thinking seemed to be
making him angrier and angrier. And with his rising emotions, the
globe spun faster. But it was only when he suddenly stilled the
globe that Penelope began to worry.

He finally
looked up and gestured towards the chair.

Penelope chose
to stand. It would be easier to run that way.

His mouth
twisted humourlessly. He guessed her thoughts and strode past her
towards the only entrance in the room. He stood with his back to
the door blocking her only escape route.

Penelope met
his eyes boldly, refusing to be cowed. This time all she had done
was make him laugh. That was not a crime.

“You pinched my
ear,” the duke said indignantly.

Penelope
examined the carpet.

“After that you
proceeded to get drunk at the dinner table.” The duke started
pacing up and down the room. “You befriended my mother and sister
and manipulated them to such an extent that my mother, who always
heeds my advice, stopped listening to me. And Anne, under your
influence, has become flighty and disrespectful. I asked you to
leave and you refused to follow my order. What self-respecting
woman will continue to stay in a place where she is clearly
unwanted?”

A tiny frown
creased Penelope’s brow.

“You are a
terrible influence on my sister. I am sure you will do something
that will malign your character and that in turn will reflect on
Anne, who is forever seen in your blasted company.”

Penelope’s head
shot up and she glared at him.

The duke
continued raging, “Why do I judge your character so harshly?
Firstly, you tried to seduce Lord Poyning. A man and a woman do not
escape to a dark corner on a balcony away from prying eyes to
discuss the weather. They want privacy for a reason and that reason
is—”

“I did not try
and seduce him,” Penelope finally snapped.

“Secondly,” the
duke continued ignoring her outburst, “when your plan failed to
trap Lord Poyning, you started making eyes at Lord Rivers. You,
Miss Fairweather, are fickle in your affections.”

“I—” Penelope
started to say.

The duke cut
her short, “And thirdly,” he said walking up to her, “you tried to
seduce me on your first day in London.”

Penelope
stepped back, and her legs hit the writing desk. “I did not try and
seduce you. You kissed me.”

“That was not a
kiss.”

The duke leaned
over, forcing her to bend backwards. “My dear, Miss Fairweather, in
conclusion, you are a doxie. In fact, worse than that, for doxies
are paid for their services while you—”

Penelope saw
red and blindly grabbed the first thing that touched her hand. She
lifted it up and the duke caught her wrist.

“That inkpot,
my dear, is worth more than you are. Drop it.”

Penelope
struggled. The inkpot fell on the carpet with a thud, but she did
not give up. She squirmed to get away, and the duke caught both her
wrists, refusing to let go.

“Miss
Fairweather, I will let you go if you promise to behave in a
civilised fashion and stop this nonsense. No throwing things
around.”

“Why you … you
sapscull. I am going to promise nothing,” Penelope growled,
stamping on his foot.

“Ouch, Miss
Fairweather, calm down. Stop it. Stop … Ouch.”

The duke moved
his large, leather clad foot back and Penelope stepped forward,
stuck her tiny feet out and stomped again and again.

“Doxie am I?”
Penelope cried, blowing the hair off her face. “Your mother and
sister do not care about my breaking your precious rules. In fact,
they told me that you break them all the time, as do your exalted
guests. Why am I being singled out?”

The duke hopped
from one foot to the other trying to avoid her stamping feet. And
while their feet danced around the room, their heads continued to
argue.

“I stayed
because your mother requested me to do so. Her promise to my dying
mother means something to me, even if you do not value it. Besides,
I have nowhere else to go. My stepmother has forbidden me to return
to Finnshire.”

“I don’t blame
your poor stepmother. Having a wild child like you thrust upon her
unsuspecting bosom …,” the duke started to say when Penelope raised
her knee in an attempt to hit him between his legs. Instinctively
the duke’s leg bowed and he lost his balance and fell backwards,
landing on the couch. Penelope ended up right on top of him.

“My stepmother
hates me …” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

“Can you blame
her?” the duke asked incredulously.

She looked up
at his face and spat out a button, “I am not leaving. You can take
it up with your mother. If she tells me to go, then I will go.”

“She won’t tell
you to go. You tell her you want to go.”

Penelope
scowled at him.

“You tell her
you want to go,” she mimicked in a child’s voice.

“I don’t like
you,” he said scowling back.

“We established
that,” she retorted, trying to get up. She fell right back on his
chest.

“I have a
proposition.”

She eyed him in
shock.

“Not that sort
of proposition,” he said hastily. “I want you to clean the
house.”

Some of the
steam went out of her, “Clean the house? The servants …”

“Not this
house, the Desmond house.”

“Desmond
who?”

“Desmond was a
head gardener. My grandfather had built a house for him near the
Blackthorne Mansion. The house now lies empty, hidden between trees
….”

“And you want
me to clean it. Why?”

“It is a very
dirty house. It needs cleaning.”

“But why should
I clean it?”

“It is a wager.
If you clean it alone and within a day, then I will allow you live
here for the rest of your life. I will consider all your debts
paid. I will never ask you to leave. I will tolerate you like I
would a rat in the basement. You will live here and I will live
here under the same roof,” The duke shuddered and continued, “and
as long as we keep away from each other, then all will be
well.”

“And if I
can’t?”

“Then you will
pack your bags and convince my mother that you want to go back to
Finnshire. My mother can override my wishes, but she cannot force
you to stay if you insist that you want to go.”

“How big is
this house?”

“Four rooms. I
am sure you can manage that much.”

Penelope eyed
him suspiciously.

“Big rooms or
small rooms?”

“Smaller than
the rooms here, I think. I am not sure.”

This did not
sound so bad. If she managed to do this, then the duke would stop
trying to send her home. It was worth the risk.

“I will do
it.”

The duke smiled
at her.

“I knew you
would agree.”

They suddenly
became aware of the fact that they were still lying on top of each
other. The duke sprang up and helped Penelope to her feet. He went
to his writing desk and pulled out a small map.

“This is where
you will find the house. Remember, you cannot take anyone along to
help you.”

Penelope,
wanting to do things right, spat on her hand and offered it to him
to seal the bargain.

The duke eyed
the spit glistening on the palm of her hand. He gingerly shook two
of her fingers.

Penelope tried
to take her fingers back, but he held it fast. He was staring at
the red marks on her wrist.

“I did not mean
to … Put some salve on that.”

“I will,” she
replied, smoothing her skirts and her hair.

The duke looked
away and gestured towards her chest.

“What is it?”
Penelope asked.

“There,” the
duke replied, pointing vaguely towards her bosom. He refused to
look in her direction.

Penelope
glanced down at her chest and noticed that a button had slipped
open. She squeaked and turning around slipped the button back in
place. Facing the duke once again, she inclined her head politely
and strolled out of the room.

It was a truce
for the moment.

While the
occupants of the Blackthorne Mansion snored, Penelope woke up and
stretched luxuriously. She felt content, warm and happy. The season
was going as well as could be expected. She no longer flinched when
a butler announced her name. Sir Henry, Anne and the dowager had
accepted her. The lessons with Madame were progressing well, and
most importantly the duke had finally decided to give her a chance.
All she had to do was clean the dirty Desmond house. Thereafter,
she would have nothing to fear.

She threw the
covers aside and reluctantly stood up. A peak out of the window
showed a pretty pink sky. She quickly changed, and carrying a broom
and a bucket full of cleaning brushes, mops and rags, she made her
way outdoors.

The bucket was
heavy and she often had to stop and rest, but she didn’t mind for
it was a wonderful morning, neither too cold nor too hot. The
flowers bloomed, the birds chirped, and the scent of sweet grass
filled the air. Whistling a happy tune, she strolled towards the
Desmond house.

***

Londoners, with
their noses pressed to cold windows, smiled, for a mid-summer storm
was raging across England. Zeus had blessed their land, taking away
the bright happy sun, and replacing it with gusty winds, lashing
rain and utter misery.

The duke sat in
his study looking over accounts. His eyes rapidly scanned the
numbers while Theodore’s whiskers nervously twitched.

“About the
Desmond house, your grace…” Theodore squeaked.

“Yes, I have
asked someone to clean the place … Did I mention it to you?”

“No, but if we
are lucky the storm will do the job.”

“The
storm?”

“Yes, I am
hoping that the storm will pull the house down, if not completely,
then at least partially. It will make our work easier.”

The duke’s eyes
snapped up. He asked slowly and carefully, “What do you mean pull
the house down? I thought you said the trouble was the smell?”

“Yes, the smell
was from rotting wood and mould. The house has lain empty for years
since Mr Desmond died. Mrs Green’s son recently married, and I
thought it would make a wonderful present for her son if we gave
them the house to rent at a low price. I went to inspect it and a
beam almost fell on top of my head. I was afraid someone may decide
to spend the night there and end up getting killed. I tried to tell
you this, sir …”