Petticoat Rebellion (17 page)

“It took you long enough!”
was her first speech.

Abbie grabbed her hand and hurried her from the cottage.

“There is no rush now,”
Lady Susan said. “I expect the law is waiting to take O’Leary into custody.”

“Yes. Susan, are you all right? He didn’t—”

She stopped and regarded Abbie with a curious frown. “No, he didn’t touch me—in that way, I mean. He didn’t try to kiss me, or maul me, though he had me alone, at his mercy. Why do you think that is, Miss Fairchild?”
She sounded almost offended. “I sensed he is a passionate man.”

“Oh, his mind was only on business.”

“Yes, of course that’s it,”
she said, but she still wore her frown.

Abbie threw a blanket over her shoulders, more to be rid of it than anything else, for Susan’s clothing was not much disheveled, and they continued on their way. Lady Susan displayed neither gratitude nor curiosity as to how she had been found and rescued. When they reached the back of the inn, they saw Singleton standing over an inert body on the ground. He removed his spectacles from his pocket and placed them on his nose.

“Recognized him,”
he said, tossing his head at O’Leary. “Milled him down.”

Lady Susan just looked at O’Leary, sniffed, lifted her nose in the air, and walked away. She didn’t thank Singleton, or even look at him.

“Well done, Singleton! I’ll get Farber,”
Abbie said,  and hastened to the front of the inn. where Farber was pacing and staring at the tavern window. She gasped out the story of Susan’s rescue. “Penfel hasn’t come out?”
she asked.

“Nay, do you think we ought to fetch him?”

“Singleton will do it,”
she said, as he was obviously a stranger to fear.

They went around to the back of the inn. O’Leary was put into manacles and stood silent, with a sneering smile on his face, but a desperate gleam in his eyes. He looked at Lady Susan, then turned to Abbie and smiled.

“I think I chose the wrong lady,”
he said.

“Miss Fairchild has no money!”
Susan said. That curious frown was back on her haughty face.

“There’s more to life than money and titles, milady.”

“Idiot!”
she scoffed, then she turned to study Miss Fairchild, wondering what O’Leary meant.

Abbie outlined what Penfel was doing inside the inn.

Without being asked, Singleton said, “I’ll fetch him.”
He walked off and returned a moment later with Lord Penfel, both of them unharmed.

Apparently, Singleton had not found words to make the situation clear. “You mean it’s all over?”
Penfel asked, staring from Lady Susan to O’Leary to Abbie.

“It is, and not a shot fired,”
Farber said with satisfaction.

Penfel took an involuntary step toward Abbie, then recalled his duty and made the necessary inquiries for Susan’s well-being first. She was not the sort to minimize her suffering. O’Leary listened, shaking his head in disbelief, while she outlined the trials of her capture and incarceration.

“I should have brought a muzzle”
was his only comment.

“Most unfortunate,”
Penfel said to Lady Susan, placing a protective arm around her unyielding shoulder. “I’m extremely sorry this happened while you were under my protection. I shall endeavor to make it up to you, Susan.”

Lady Susan nodded her forgiveness.

This done, Penfel joined Abbie. “It seems Singleton is the hero of the piece. I had hoped I might play the role, to impress you.”
His hands clasped hers in a strong, warm grip. He was encouraged by the directness of her gaze back at him. All her uncertainty had evaporated. She smiled with the full warmth and love she felt for him.

“Heroes are only for a day,”
she said, thinking of her uncle, whose one heroic effort grew so dull when it had to last him a lifetime.

“How did you get so wise?”

“From living with a hero,”
she said.

“A mischievous statement!”
he exclaimed, but his expression held more pleasure than jealousy. “I trust this is the colonel you are referring to. You must tell me all about him. It occurs to me we don’t know much about each other.”

They became aware that Farber was jiggling from foot to foot in impatience. He called, “Let us get off from this place before the lads inside realize what has happened and come after us.”

It was decided that Penfel and Farber would deliver O’Leary to the roundhouse in the curricle, to await his hearing in the morning. Lord John and Singleton would take the ladies back to Penfel Hall.

Lady Susan had a great deal to say about how abominably O’Leary had treated her—lying to her, rough handling, jiggly ride in a gig, smelly old blanket, bad wine, being tied, gagged, and held at gunpoint—but not a word about how she had fallen into his hands.

“How did he get hold of you?”
Lord John asked, when she stopped to draw a breath.

After a little hesitation, she began uncertainly. “It was at—at the refreshment booth,”
she said. “I mentioned how sour the lemonade was. O’Leary overheard me and said he had some better refreshment in his wagon. Champagne, actually.”
Her nervousness lessened as she continued her tale. “Naturally, I refused to enter his wagon, but I agreed to accept a glass if he brought it out to me. He hadn’t the wits to put some laudanum in it—imagine! However, while I was drinking it, he pulled my arms behind my back and dragged me inside. He tied me up and left me there while he went to bring his gig to the back door. He dumped me in the bottom of it with a dirty old blanket over my head, and drove off.”

“Did no one see you?”
Abbie asked. “O’Leary’s wagon is in plain view of the circus.”

“He chose a moment when no one was looking.”

“Could you not have called for help? Someone would have heard you and gone to your rescue.”

“It—it was all done very quickly. Papa will be furious when he hears.”

The story had to be told again in full, several times, when they reached Penfel Hall. Kate and Annabelle hung on her every word, oohing and ahing as she described being dumped in the wagon with a filthy blanket over her. “And a gag in my mouth,”
she added, looking around nervously. No one questioned her tale, however.

“How horrid!”
Annabelle exclaimed.

“I wish it had been me,”
Kate said. “It sounds wonderfully exciting, just like a novel.”

“At least there is one good thing,”
Lady Susan said. “I shan’t have to return to Miss Slatkin’s boring old school now that I am engaged. I shall just stay here until Penfel and I get married. I daresay Papa will have to sanction the match. He won’t like that Lady Eleanor business.”

Everyone stared at her. It was Lady Penfel who said what they were all thinking. “Has Algie proposed?”

“Of course. And, in any case, it is taken for granted when a lady has been so dreadfully abused at the hands of her protector, he must marry her. I trust Penfel will do his duty. Indeed, he has already said he will make it up to me.”

Kate looked a question at Abbie, who sat, stunned. She knew Penfel had exerted every effort to avoid having to offer for her, but if Lady Susan insisted, it would be difficult to get out of the match.

“How nice,”
Lady Penfel said in a weak voice, but her fallen face said “Catastrophe!”
as clearly as if she had shouted the word.

Singleton muttered something that sounded like “Rubbish”
into his collar.

Abbie became aware that all eyes were on her. How did they know she and Penfel cared for each other? She cleared her throat and said, “We have not wished you well on your engagement, Lady Susan. I hope you will be very happy.”

“Penfel must write to Papa tomorrow and ask his permission. Under the circumstances, there can be no question of his refusing. The dancing party Penfel plans can be our engagement party.”

Having decided these details unilaterally, she said, “We shall be leaving for Wycliffe as soon as Papa returns, Lady Penfel. You are perfectly welcome to come with us, if you are free.”

“Very kind of you.”
Lady Penfel stared hard at Abbie and said, “We shall see, Susan. We shall see.”

Lady Susan soon retired to her chamber with a paregoric draft to recover from her ordeal. Kate and Annabelle, hoping to hear more details of her kidnapping (and more importantly, her approaching marriage) before the draft took effect, accompanied her abovestairs. During the intervening hour until Penfel returned, those remaining in the saloon had plenty to keep the conversation lively, yet the hour seemed very long.

“Go to Wycliffe, indeed!”
Lady Penfel snorted. “I would as lief go to court and watch old Queen Charlotte stuff snuff up her nose. Both places are mausoleums.”

“I still don’t see how O’Leary got at Susan,”
John said.

“It would take more than ten thousand pounds to convince me to entertain her again!”
his mama said.

When at last Penfel returned, he was alone. Farber had remained behind in town to deal with O’Leary’s incarceration.

“Congratulations!”
Lady Penfel cried, when her son entered, smiling.

“You mistake the matter, Mama. I am not the hero of the evening. It is Singleton who merits the title,”
he replied, bowing in Singleton’s direction. Singleton, hiding behind his spectacles, blushed and made strange gurgling sounds in his throat.

Penfel’s eyes turned to Abbie. There, where he expected a warm welcome, he saw only a travesty of a smile.

“No one said anything about hero, gudgeon,”
his mama said. “I am speaking of your betrothal to Susan.”

“Betrothal!”

“Aye. Whatever you said to the chit, she has taken the notion you want to marry her—or have to. I daresay it is all one and the same to her. You are to write to Dugal Castle tomorrow for Wycliffe’s blessing. We were given to understand that under the circumstances, His Grace will agree, even if you are only a lowly earl.”

“But—”
He turned in confusion from his mama to Abbie, who just looked her compassion. “But that’s impossible! Damme, the reason I was so eager to find her is so I wouldn’t have to marry her. One of the reasons,”
he added, when he realized what had slipped out. He sunk into a chair and drew his hand over his eyes to think.

“What we require is a plan to give her a disgust of you,”
Lady Penfel said. “That should not prove too difficult. A worthier suitor would turn the trick. A duke—even a marquess would do.”

“Who would have her?”
Lord John asked, in a rhetorical spirit.

“There is that,”
his mama agreed, nodding.

Penfel removed his fingers from his eyes and said, “I don’t see why I must marry her. No one knows of the kidnapping, save the few of us here and Farber. He’ll not tell anyone.”

Lady Penfel shook her bronze curls. “Oh, for the  optimism of youth! The whole world will know it when O’Leary’s case comes to court. And even if we could keep it under cover, she
was
ill treated while under your roof, Algie. She knows it, and the duke will soon hear of it. One hopes to see her children avoid the mistakes that made her own life so miserable, but there is no getting away from it. You will have a perfectly wretched marriage, as I had.”

Lord John, who had been massaging his chin, suddenly spoke up. “What if Algie were already engaged?”

“Lady Eleanor has already turned him down,”
his mama reminded him.

“I was not thinking of Lady Eleanor. What of Miss Fairchild?”

Lady Penfel could never recall Abbie’s name correctly, but she recognized it when she heard it. Like the others, she turned and examined Abbie with interest.

“An excellent notion, but alas, it would not fadge. You must know a duke’s daughter takes precedence over a schoolmistress. Susan—and the duke—would insist Algie jilt Miss Fairview and marry Susan instead. The only way your stunt would work is if he were already married to Miss Fairview, and he ain’t. Are you, Algie?”
she asked hopefully.

“Of course not!”
he replied, and looked an apology at Abbie. “Miss Fairchild would have something to say about that means of rescuing me in any case.”

Abbie found herself doing an imitation of Singleton. An inchoate, demurring sound issued from her throat.

“I don’t suppose we could bribe O’Leary to say he had his way with her and make him marry her?”
was Lady Penfel’s next suggestion. “We would have to let on he is some sort of Irish gentleman, if that is not a contradiction in terms. But that would be a cruel stunt to play on an innocent thief.”

Tea was served. After discussing the matter for some time without finding a solution, Lady Penfel rose and said, “Well, it is a knotty problem to be sure. Perhaps if we all sleep on it, someone will come up with an answer. I am for the feather tick. We’ll discuss it again tomorrow before you write to Wycliffe, Algie.”

Lord John, who was attuned to romance, sensed that Algie wished to be alone with Miss Fairchild, and left, taking Singleton with him.

When Abbie and Penfel were alone, he rose and sat beside her on the sofa. They exchanged a long, deep gaze, then without speaking, he took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and held it there a long moment. In the silent room, Abbie listened to the longcase clock tick away the seconds and thought, I shall treasure this moment forever. It is the closest I shall ever be to Algie.

“I’m sorry, love,”
he said in a soft, wistful tone.

“It’s not your fault,”
she replied, fighting back the gathering tears.

He batted away her objection.
“
I
am sorry for all the things I didn’t say to you when I had the chance; things I have wanted to say since the first moment I saw you, glaring at me at the circus, but it seemed too soon then. And now it is too late.”

“I’m happy to know you wanted to say them at
least.”

“Would you have accepted an offer?”

“You know I would, after a proper amount of vacillating.”

“I am happy to know that, too.”
He frowned at their intertwined fingers as they sat together, each thinking sad thoughts. Then he suddenly looked up. “Do you know, we never did learn how O’Leary got hold of Susan.”

“She was at the refreshment stall, complaining of the lemonade. He offered her champagne. She went to his wagon—not into it, but to the door. He hustled her inside when no one was looking, trussed her up, and put her in his gig.”