Authors: Anya Wylde
Tags: #romance novels, #historcal romance, #funny romance, #humorous romance, #romantic comedy, #regency romance, #sweet romance, #romance books, #clean romance, #romance historical
She glanced at
her daughter, who looked like she had been given a giant present
wrapped in tinsel with bows hanging off the sides, and no wonder—
Miss Fairweather had brought a goat and curtsied to the butler.
Things could
have been worse. The girl could have been lying dead in a pool of
blood.
“You are
soaking, my dear. Would you like to change? We can’t have you
catching a cold on your very first day here,” the dowager
asked.
“Thank you, but
I don’t think Mary would appreciate being put to work after our
long trip from Finnshire. Besides, I can see you have not yet had
your tea. I don’t want to delay you any further. I will sit by the
fire and will be dry in no time.”
“Yes, but … you
are dripping,” Lady Radclyff exclaimed.
“I am sorry,
are you worried about the furnishing? I didn’t think ....”
“Don’t be
silly. A bit of water will not harm the cushions,” the dowager
said, sending her daughter a quelling look.
“Well, then you
needn’t worry about me. I have been caught in the rain plenty of
times and have never caught a cold. The old hag ... I mean, the
healer in our village often says that the thunder peals to scare
away those weak of heart. Lightning strikes to send people
scuttling home, but only the brave stay to feel the happy rain on
their skin.”
“Not the brave
but fools rather who don’t mind catching their deaths,” Lady
Radclyff muttered under her breath.
The dowager
helplessly wrung her hands. She wondered if the girl was touched in
the head. Happy rain, a goat as a pet, and wanting her tea in soggy
skirts. And it had not been five minutes since her arrival. She
stroked her temple. A headache, she was sure, was not long in
coming.
She nodded to
Miss Fairweather to take her seat, her mind racing to come up with
a solution on how to present the unpresentable to the ton.
It is
monstrously unfair that whenever a girl needs her wits about her,
she goes and does something completely idiotic. Penelope was that
sort of girl.
She did not
want to have her tea in soggy skirts. She did not want to ruin the
silk cushions between which she was currently sat. And she
certainly did not want the two aristocratic women looking at her
like she was an imbecile. Yet here she was having tea in the duke’s
drawing room utterly drenched and deuced uncomfortable.
She blamed the
Blackthorne Mansion. The Blackthorne Mansion was luxurious, vibrant
and beautiful, like a freshly plucked peacock’s plume. Her previous
abode, that is her father’s house, could be best compared to a
pickled mushroom.
It was
intimidating, and Miss Penelope Winifred Rose Spebbington
Fairweather was intimidated.
And when
Penelope was intimidated, she not only behaved like an idiot, but
she also liked to please those who intimidated her. Sometimes it
worked, but most of the time it didn’t. Instead of being pleased,
the recipients of her selfless goodwill either became frightened of
her enthusiasm or uncomfortable.
The dowager and
Lady Radclyff were suffering from the latter emotion. They were a
tad uncomfortable. The pained smile that Penelope was sporting did
not help matters, nor did the presence of an extremely inquisitive
goat.
Penelope’s
dripping skirts, her shivering hands and the sandwich stealing goat
were by mutual unspoken consent ignored. Instead, the three women
latched onto the safe topic of the weather.
They discussed
how much it had rained in the last month, how much it was expected
to rain in the coming month, how cold it was and then how warm it
was, how unusual the weather was for this time of the year, and
then it was back to rain again.
The topic of
weather exhausted, the women became silent. At this point of time a
morning caller normally departed. Penelope could not depart, since
this was now her temporary home. Therefore, she twiddled her thumbs
and stared up at the ornate circular roof where a vivid painting of
an old man tweaking the nose of the devil caught her eye. The
dowager pretended to knit, and Lady Radclyff searched for topics in
her buttery scone.
Soon it felt as
if the silence had taken on the form of an invisible elephant who
sat snorting right in the middle of the three women.
The elephant
was banished by Lady Radclyff when she asked, “Is Finnshire a
fishing village?”
“Fishing
village? Oh, because of the Finn. No, we are far away from the sea.
We do have a pond in our backyard. We have fish … The ducks eat
them,” Penelope replied sadly.
The elephant
threatened to loom again, and the dowager quickly asked, “I hope
the journey from Finnshire wasn’t too stressful, my dear?”
Penelope
brightened, “I had a bit of an adventure.”
Lady Radclyff
perked up at this and leaning forward in her seat said, “Do
tell.”
Penelope
carefully placed the plate onto the table and sat up straight. She
adopted what her sisters called her storyteller pose. She folded
her hands on her lap, and tilting her chin slightly up she said, “I
took leave of Gertrude, Papa, my five sisters, the cook, the
scullery maid Martha, the goats and cows on the farm, Periwinkle
the pig, Mrs Biddy, my friends in the village—”
“They will miss
you, I am sure,” the dowager sympathised.
“Oh no, they
have a wager going. Janet, my youngest stepsister, wagers that I
will be back within a week. Della, the cook, is confident that I
will last at least a month, and Mrs Biddy, my neighbour, wagered
two whole pounds that I will back by tomorrow afternoon. No one
truly believes that I will last the season, let alone return
wed.”
The dowager
frowned, “You are going to stay right here. I had promised your
mother that I will take care of you. I will provide you with as
many seasons as required until you are wed, and to the right
man.”
Penelope smiled
gloomily, not really believing that the dowager could follow
through on her promise. She did not expect more than one season and
doubted if she could intrude on the dowager’s hospitality any
further than that. Besides, if Finnshire men ran the other way
whenever she approached, then what chance did she have with the
polished London men?
“Tell us of the
adventure,” Lady Radclyff said soothingly.
Penelope took a
deep breath and pushed away her unhappy thoughts. She once again
assumed her storyteller pose and said, “Yes, the adventure … Where
was I? Oh yes, so I said goodbye to my sisters, and accompanied by
my uncle, an armed guard on horseback, and my maid, I set forth in
the post-chaise to London. It is but a trifle few hours journey and
I assumed it would be a simple, uneventful ride. The day was
hellishly fine, with a bright shining sun and not a cloud to be
seen for miles. I had set off feeling melancholy, but the thought
of seeing London for the first time in my life soon had me
thrilled. We stopped at an inn, The Golden Pass, and had a spot of
lunch. It was far from golden, let me tell you. Why, I think the
chicken they served me was, in fact, a poor crow that the
sour-faced innkeeper shot down in his backyard. My appetite
thoroughly ruined and with all of us feeling decidedly nauseated,
we set off once more towards London. We bounced along comfortably
lulled by the trotting horses when all at once our post-chaise
shuddered to a halt. A shout by the driver had my uncle poke his
head out of the window. When he turned back in, his face was
ghostly white.”
“No, what was
it?” Lady Radclyff asked in a hushed voice.
“It was … the
Falcon.”
The dowager let
out a small scream and Lady Radclyff grabbed Penelope’s hand and
said, “Oh dear, not the … not
the Falcon
.”
“The very
same,” Penelope said, nodding sagely. “He had at least ten men with
him and we were dreadfully outnumbered. He ordered us to get out of
the carriage and we had no choice but to comply. Our lone gunman
was completely surrounded, and my poor uncle trembled so. My maid
Mary swooned and lay prostrate on the ground as soon as she saw
him. I almost joined Mary as well when I spotted him. The Falcon,
let me tell you, cut a remarkable figure.”
“What did he
wear?” whispered the dowager.
“He wore a
black mask, a scarlet suit with a long satin black coat, and his
hat was made of pure French lace.”
“His
stockings?” Lady Radclyff asked breathlessly.
“White silk,”
Penelope promptly replied.
“Then what
happened?” Lady Radclyff asked, now sitting at the very edge of her
seat.
“I was pale
with fright, and my uncle stood mute in terror. The Falcon ignored
us, and flinging his cape across his shoulders, he ordered the men
to bring out our trunks. He kept his pistol trained at Uncle and
asked one of his men, Terrible Tim, to break open the locks. He
soon had one of the trunks open and its contents displayed. Imagine
my horror when I realised that the trunk was no one else’s but
mine. I fairly shook in indignation. Imagine going through a lady’s
unmentionables in such a manner. My anger gave me the strength to
object and I said to him, ‘Sir, that is my trunk. How can you go
through a lady’s belongings with no shame whatsoever? What would
your mother say?’
He paused and
looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. His black eyes
flashed behind the mask.
I stared right
back, refusing to drop my lashes. I had found the courage to speak
and I refused to be cowed.
He then said to
me, ‘My dear lady, my mother threw me out when she caught me stark
naked with the milkmaid in the barn.’ ”
“No, he didn’t
say that!” Lady Radclyff exclaimed in shock.
“Oh, he did and
more. I can admit to you now that I was frightened and horrified,
but I composed my face and said coldly, ‘Shame on you, sir. It is
not seemly to be unclad in the presence of a woman. Your mother was
right in showing you the door. Instead of repenting, you have taken
to robbing innocent travellers. Have you no fear of God?’
He seemed taken
aback at my boldness for he replied more respectfully, ‘I do beg
your pardon for robbing you, ma’am. It is but misfortune that makes
me do so. I promise to leave you enough to see your journey
through. I always apologise to my victims after disposing them of
their worldly goods. As for God, if he existed, then I wouldn’t be
married to that milkmaid today. She was so fair when we tumbled in
the hay, but as soon as the banns were read, she showed me her true
colours. She has already born me eight brats, and I am not even
sure which ones are mine. Yet I need to feed them and do my duty by
my family.’
I truly melted
at his plight. I softened my tone and said, ‘How sad. Eight is a
very large number. I am pleased to hear that you apologised to your
victims. Still, I think you should stop being a highway robber.
Can’t you find some honest work?’
‘Oh, but this
is just a side job. I am a burglar of some note, a deer stealer,
and a horse thief. Highway robbery is just a side profession,’ he
replied proudly.
I pulled myself
up straight and addressed him thus, ‘Then you do not need our
shillings and our pounds. Unhand us and let us be on our way. It is
getting late and we still have a three hour journey. We cannot
afford this diversion. If I had not been in a hurry, I would have
taken the time to visit your wife and tell her of your doings. I am
sure she would not approve.’
That seemed to
do the trick, for the poor Falcon visibly quaked with some unknown
emotion. His eyes moistened and his bottom lip, which was visible
beneath the mask, trembled ever so slightly.
He
finally got himself under control and said, ‘It has been a long
time since a woman scolded me thus. The last time … last time it
had been my sister berating me for leaving home. She begged me to
change my ways, but I was so full of pride that I ignored her
words. My wife is too busy tending the children to bother telling
me what to do. I admit I do miss my mother, and my brothers and
sisters … to have them scold me once more ….’ he trailed off.
My heart
wrenched in pity, and I approached him and asked softly, ‘What is
your sister’s name?’
‘Penelope,’ he
answered.
‘So is mine! I
too am Penelope. Penelope Fairweather,’ I said curtseying.
Now let me tell
you, Lady Radclyff, my curtsy had the oddest effect on him. Since I
treated him like a gentleman, he felt it was his duty to respond in
kind. His chest puffed up and he eyed me so fondly that I felt a
twinge of affection for the poor beleaguered soul. ‘Jimmy Grey at
your service,’ he replied, bowing back with such flourish and
elegance that in my place even King George would have been
flattered.”
“Jimmy Grey?”
Lady Radclyff interrupted in astonishment.
“Yes, doesn’t
sound so fearsome now, does it? After learning his name, I lost
some of my fear as well and I smiled at him and that seemed to
break the ice. It seemed that I reminded him a lot of his sister
and his honour did not allow him to rob us anymore. He quickly had
our trunks locked and placed back in the carriage.”
“How nice of
him,” Lady Radclyff said pleased.
Penelope
nodded. “I thought so as well. Jimmy is a good man, and he was
extremely apologetic of his chosen profession. Why his apology was
almost poetic, and I learned he is a tad partial to Wordsworth and
Byron. He is quite the thing …”
“A well-read
highwayman, who would have thought?” the dowager commented.
“Oh, he
absolutely adores books. He plans to retire when he has enough
money and furnish his library with hundreds of books. He has
already started a collection by stealing all he can find off lords
and such. A truly bang up fellow. He was absolutely marvellous,
even helping to put Mary and my uncle at ease. He insisted on
accompanying me all the way to London to ensure my security. He
wanted to make sure his rival the Cobra didn’t halt our carriage
and steal our things. Apparently the Cobra has no honour.”