The Bargain Bride (36 page)

Which reminded Penny of who was sleeping in hers, but she could not go back there yet. Her grandfather needed her next, to make his farewells. He asked for a cup of tea, which Marcel fortified with a drop of brandy before leaving them alone, before Penny could ask any questions.

“Time for me and Marcel to leave, poppet.”

“Not yet, Grandpapa, unless you are worried that Marcel will be found out in a pack of lies?” When her grandfather shook his head no, she said, “You saw how everyone accepted him. Why, he was a celebrity. And you were as much a success. All your old friends welcomed you, and Nicky's friends, too.”

He patted her hand. “But I would rather be in Bath, now that Westfield is back to look after you. I don't want to be in Town, waiting for all my old friends to drop off. And I want to get back to my painting, earn my way. The light is dreadful in London, you know, and there are too many interruptions.”

Penny looked down at his blue-veined hand with gnarled knuckles. She could not do anything about the city's perpetual rain and fog, but she could ease her grandfather's worries about money. “You do not need to paint any longer, unless you want to, of course. I have money, enough for all of us. I couldn't touch it until I was wed, but now I can.” Well, West technically had the money, but she knew he would not mind. Besides, her father told her last night that he would refill her accounts at his own bank, out of gratitude for Mr. Culpepper and chagrin at Nigel, and to make things look better to his partners.

Her grandfather sipped at his tea and stared out the window, leaving Penny to wonder again how much he could see. He obviously saw that it was time to tell the truth.“If it comes to that,” he told her,“I have money, too. Been holding out all these years, I have. It's your grandmother's dowry and an inheritance from my uncle, don't you know. I was making enough of the ready for our needs with my painting, and I liked it that way. So I invested the other sums. Made a fortune, too. Better'n Greedy Goldwaite could have done with the blunt.”

“But then why did you keep painting, to sell those—?” She bit her tongue.

Littleton laughed. “How else could I get your father to part with more of his brass?”

“You knew he was buying the paintings?”

“Of course. I had a man investigate the ‘gallery' that was buying my work. It was a warehouse, poppet. Where they belonged, I suppose.”

Penny served both of them a dish of kippers, from under a silver dome. “But you never let on.”

“What, admit that puffguts Gaspar was doing a good deed? We both would have been embarrassed.”

“But why? I do not understand. You did not need the money; he did not want the artwork.”

Littleton wrinkled his nose at the kippers, or at the thought of his son-in-law. “He did not appreciate you as he ought, sending you away so that woman could take your place, take your mother's place. Not that I wasn't happy to have you, poppet. Brought back the light to the old house, don't you know. You reminded me so much of your grandmother, and your mother, too. I shall miss, you.”

Now Penny could not swallow, through the lump in her throat. What if he went away and she never saw him again? “And I shall miss you, too, Grandpapa.”

Without seeing, he knew. “Do you know, the one advantage of poor eyesight is that I can hold in my mind the pictures I want? My favorite is you when you posed for that portrait, so sweet and innocent, a rosebud about to unfurl into the magnificent blossom you have become. I will remember that forever.”

“And I shall remember all the stories you told me so that I would stand still for you. And, more importantly, how you made me feel loved again, with my mother gone and my father claiming his new family.”

“You have a husband now, my dear, to make you feel cherished. You don't need a doddering old man.”

Penny tried to hold back a sniffle, but could not. She pushed her plate away. “I will always need my grandfather.”

“Maybe you will come to Bath for a holiday.”

She blew her nose. “Definitely. That is not so far away.”

“Not the way your husband travels. I'll leave you Cook, but I'll take George.” On hearing his name, the little dog jumped into Littleton's lap, for pets and kippers.

“Are you sure?”

“Cook has never been happier than when she could fuss over your party, feeding all those toffs. And in Bath we stay at a hotel with its own restaurant, you know. As for George, I could never leave my old friend.” He stroked the pug's wrinkled brow. “One day soon old George won't come back from one of his breathing fits. I know that. I should be there with him, don't you think, to say good-bye? He'd be at my side when my time comes, if he could.”

Penny was happy her grandfather could not see her tears as he and George left the room on Mr. Parker's arm, to help Marcel with the packing. She needed West's comfort now. What else were husbands for? Surely not to fall asleep during lovemaking. First, her father needed her, too.

A messenger in the ornate Goldwaite livery arrived with a note from Lady Goldwaite. Constance wrote that Sir Gaspar was suffering palpitations of the heart, which his physician deemed dire. Penny should hurry, taking the Goldwaite coach that was ordered to wait outside to save time, since minutes counted. And, Constance suggested in her note, Penny might want to pull the shades, to avoid a repeat of that other nonsense.

Penny's first thought was to fetch West, but he'd take too much time to dress. She did not want him to encounter Nigel this morning, either. For that matter, Penny did not want to see the varlet herself, but she had no choice. Lady Bainbridge had her own affairs to settle this morning, but Nicky would already be there, so she did not bother to ring for her maid, just grabbed up her reticule and followed the groom to the waiting coach, calling back to the footman on duty to tell Mr. Parker and Lord Westfield where she was going.

The messenger helped her into the coach, then jumped up to ride with the driver. The shades were already covering the windows, so Penny fretted in the dark interior all the way to her father's house, until she realized the trip was taking far longer than it should. She pulled at one of the curtains and felt her breakfast sink to the bottom of her stomach. They were not going in the right direction. She banged on the roof, shouting for the driver to stop.

He did, but before Penny could scramble out of the coach, gloved hands shoved her back in. Nigel followed. The driver cracked his whip over the horses' heads and they leaped forward, sending Penny sliding across the seat. Nigel reached out to steady her, but she batted his hands away.

Furious, at herself and at him, she still had to ask, “My father is not ill, is he?”

“I sincerely hope not. 'Twould be a shame if he sticks his spoon in the wall before I get my hands on his gold.”

“And your mother did not write the note?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not even my mama loves me enough for that. She'd think it was laying a curse on Sir Gaspar by claiming him at death's door. Why kill the goose that lays the golden eggs?”

“So you forged her signature the same as you did Nicky's. But why? What do you hope to get? You know I changed my accounts, so I could not make you an allowance without my husband's permission. Which he would never give.”

The coach turned a corner, and this time Nigel did not try to hold Penny steady. She clutched the strap near her, wondering if she stood a chance of surviving a jump from a moving vehicle.

“Don't even think about it,” Nigel warned. “We are going far too fast. Not that it would make a difference to me as long as your father doesn't find you first. You see, I want what I have always wanted, your father's blunt. He'll pay to see his precious daughter back, in one piece or a few.”

“He is dowering your sisters, isn't that enough?”

He sneered, there in the gloom. “Neither brat is wedding as rich a man as I need, thanks to you and your interference. Love matches, bah!”

Penny held on as the coach careened around another bend. “He will kill you for this, you know.”

“Your father? He wouldn't dare. My mother would make his life a misery. For all his faults, he seems to care for the old besom.”

“No, my husband.” Penny knew West would come for her. She had no doubt whatsoever.

“I'll be long gone before anyone finds you. That's if they pay up.” He leered at her across the shadows, then licked his lips. “If they don't, soon enough, I might just have to take you with me, which is not a bad idea, now that I think on it. That would serve your high-and-mighty lordship right—him and that fake French count, too. Do you get seasick?”

—By Arrangement,
a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber

 

 

 

W
est woke up happy, then went back to sleep when he realized Penny wasn't beside him. He lay abed for a while, dreaming of the ways he could make up for last night, his short temper, and his short performance. Lud, he couldn't wait. That is, he could wait this time, he vowed, until Penny was all soft and sated. As soon as he could entice her back to bed.

Most likely she was at breakfast, he decided, listening to his own stomach's complaints of hunger. He hurried through a hasty meal when he heard Sir Gaspar was ailing and that Penny had rushed to his possible deathbed. He sent for a horse to be brought out front while he grabbed up his hat and gloves and some extra handkerchiefs.

Just as he was about to leave, a carriage pulled up, in Goldwaite's green and gold trim, and Sir Gaspar himself leaped out before the footmen set down the steps.

“Is Penny here?” he shouted, all red-faced by the time he reached West.

The man did not look like he was dying, only out of breath. “You're not sick?”

Goldwaite looked around West, into the empty hallway. “Do I look sick?”

“Then where is my wife?”

“Devil take it, man, that's what I am trying to find out! If she ain't here, Nigel's got her.”

“What does that swine want with my wife, by all that's holy? I won't believe any scandal he tries to cause, and Penny won't believe any former mistresses he drags into my house. Most of all, he can't get his hands on her money.”

“No, but he can get his paws on mine. He knows I'd pay anything to get my gal back.”

“Ransom?” West heard Lady Bainbridge gasp from behind him, Cottsworth at her side, his arm supporting her.

Sir Gaspar nodded. “That's my guess. I didn't trust the dastard, so I had a man follow him. He got into my other coach—my own traveling carriage, blast him—with the curtains drawn so the man could not see who or what was inside. Then they took off like Satan himself was driving. My man followed as best he could to see the direction, then fell too far behind in his hackney—they were traveling so fast. But he did say they were headed east, for the Dover road.”

“Why Dover? Great gods, he can't be thinking of taking Penny to France while we are at war with them.”

“No, but he's got a yacht there. He could sail in any direction. But we are wasting time, Westfield. Get in my coach.”

Just then Nicky pulled up in West's own curricle, Mavis beside him. “No, come up with me. The curricle is faster and your horses are still fresh. Mavis can ride with her father.”

“Nothing but a horse can catch up with them now,” West shouted, already running around the house, toward where a groom was leading out his chestnut gelding. “You head out and leave word at the tollbooths if they are still headed for Dover. If not, leave a message where they were last seen. That will save me time.”

“Wait,” Cottsworth yelled. “You need a better horse.”

West glanced at the chestnut before mounting. It was a showy, well-mannered Thoroughbred, not bred for distance or stamina. “Damn, it's the best I've got in Town.”

“No, it isn't,” Cottsworth called after him, hobbling on his cane as fast as he could. “Penny bought you a hunter, a magnificent stallion that will carry you to hell and back.”

West was living in hell right now. He yelled for someone to bring out the new horse, while Cottsworth mounted the chestnut.

“I can't keep up with Sungod on the gelding,” Cottsworth said, “but I can send messages back, too. You just have to remember that your mount only has one eye, from an injury.”

Bloody hell, he'd sent his gelding off and he was left with a half-blind, unknown animal, picked by a woman! “Which eye?” West shouted before Cottsworth was around the corner.

“The right one, I think.”

West touched his own left eye, where the swelling was going down, but not entirely. “That's fine, then. The blind leading the blind.”

Speaking of the blind, Penny's grandfather was directing Marcel and two servants in loading Littleton's carriage. He insisted on hying to the rescue also, with Marcel, George, and a case of his best brandy.

West would have started for the stables to save time, but his butler was running toward him, puffing. Parker had West's pistol case in one hand, a heavy purse in the other.

“Good man,” West said, shaken that he might have flown after his wife with no way to save her but for the knife he always tucked in his boot. As soon as he stowed the purse and loaded the pistols, his head groom came tearing around the house with the new horse. West blessed him, Penny, and Cottsworth.