If He's Sinful (22 page)

Her next thought was that she was thirsty. Very, very thirsty. Her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed full of wool, musty wool at that. She was suddenly desperate to rinse out her mouth and clean her teeth, certain she would feel so much better if she did so.

She cautiously opened her eyes and looked around. Even though her vision was a little blurry, she could see that she was in her own room in the Wherlocke Warren, much to her relief. As her eyes cleared of sleep’s lingering haze, she gaped and could not fully restrain a gasp. There was a woman sitting by her bed sewing what looked very much like one of the boys’ shirts. A pretty, older woman dressed sedately but in clothes obviously made by one of society’s best dressmakers. The woman suddenly looked at her and smiled. Penelope felt herself blush beneath the steady, sharp look in the woman’s big, blue eyes.

“Ah, very good. You are awake,” the woman said. “I am Lady Radmoor, Ashton’s mother. You may call me Lady Mary. And I am not pressing you into any great intimacy with me by saying that. After my first year of marriage, I simply refused to answer to Lady Harold. But we can talk later. I suspect you need a drink and you would dearly like to clean that nasty taste out of your mouth.” Lady Mary poured Penelope some cider and helped her to drink it down slowly. “Five days of fighting a fever and one of sleeping has probably left you feeling as if the army has tramped through your mouth in muddy boots.”

Penelope was too stunned to say anything. She felt like a lifeless doll the woman played with as Lady Mary gave her what was needed to clean her mouth, brushed out her hair, and sponged her body clean. It was not until the woman had dressed her in a fresh night shift and tied a ribbon in her hair that Penelope finally shook free of her tongue-tying shock. Although the realization that a viscountess had just acted the maid for her threatened to shock her senseless all over again.

“It has been five, nay, six days since I was shot?” she finally asked in utter disbelief.

Lady Mary placed a tray of sliced apples and lightly buttered bread on Penelope’s lap. “Eat some of this. Very slowly. I know Roger”—she blushed faintly—“er, Doctor Pryne prefers a patient to have broth, but he does not forbid a few foods that are gentle on the stomach. I strongly believe they are good for you, too.” She sat down by the bed again. “You became fevered the very night you were shot. A few hours after you were brought home. The doctor believes that lying upon the ground as you did, and getting quite damp, together with your wound, is why the fever grabbed hold of you and would not let go. It is always damp by that pond. Then, of course, there is the fact that you had only recently recovered from another serious wound. You had not had enough time to regain your full strength, I suspect.”

Penelope nodded slowly, recalling the chill damp that had slowly seeped through her clothes. She desperately wanted to ask where Ashton was. Her memories of the time since being shot consisted of brief, spotty visions of his face, of pain, and of heat. They could be memories of fevered dreams but she did not think so.

“Ro—Doctor Pryne said only that you were young and healthy and should be able to fight the fever. As the days wore on and your fever did not break, I fear Ashton grew a little short with the man. But the doctor proved correct. You had to fight the fever in your own way and in your own time. The wound never festered. In truth, it continued to heal very nicely, with quite astonishing speed. If not for the fever, one would think that you simply slept through the worst of it.”

Ashton had been with her, she thought, and was dangerously pleased by that. The way Lady Radmoor kept stumbling over Doctor Pryne’s name, nearly calling him by his Christian name every time she spoke of him, stirred Penelope’s curiosity. She bit into a slice of apple and chewed slowly to stop herself from asking a few very impertinent questions.

“You are undoubtedly wondering why I am here,” said Lady Mary.

Her mouth full of apple, Penelope just nodded.

“When Alexander and Ashton disappeared for almost three days, I decided I had to hunt them down. They are grown men, and like it or not, I know they are wont to, well, go off to indulge themselves, shall we say. However, they have never just abruptly disappeared. The only word I had from Ashton was that he had an emergency to tend to and that he did not know when he would return. Marston, our butler, told me that Alex went with Ashton. I finally got the whole tale of the two boys coming to the house and everyone racing to the park, and then confronted our coachman.”

Penelope had to admire such persistence. “I am sorry they left you to worry so.”

Lady Mary waved an elegant, beringed hand in the air. “’Tis the way of men. This time Ashton had a good reason so I did not box his ears.” She grinned when Penelope laughed, but quickly grew serious again. “You were fevered, child, and he stayed to care for you. Alex stayed to help with the boys. What mother could fault them for that? However, I took over as is my wont. Ashton helped immensely, but I brought the much-needed woman’s touch as did Honora, Ashton’s aunt. With three of us working through the day and night, matters went much more smoothly. We even had the strength to help Alex and that lovely young man, Septimus, care for the boys.”

“I hope they did not give you too much trouble.” The idea of having so many people not familiar with her family’s many
differences
lurking around the Warren made Penelope very nervous.

“No more than any other pack of boys. Quite a bit less, actually. I believe they were on their best behavior because of you. They do love you quite fiercely, my dear,” she added softly and grinned when Penelope blushed. “Being boys, I suspect they do not say so, but trust me to know, they most certainly do. They were always slipping into the room to watch you breathe. Mostly the young ones, but your brothers and Darius did the same a time or two. For the younger boys, you are their mother for all that they call you Pen or cousin. Especially little Paul.” She frowned. “Ashton told me the boy slept at the foot of the bed for the first three days or just outside the door. It was in the afternoon on the day I arrived that the fear you would die abruptly left him. He stated quite confidently that you would not join Mrs. Pettibone.” She glanced around. “Is the woman still here?”

There were obviously few secrets left, thought Penelope. She supposed she ought to be grateful Lady Mary had not run from the house screaming about witches. Penelope looked toward where Mrs. Pettibone’s misty form was seated by the fireplace. The woman’s daughters must have returned by now so there had to be some other reason the woman’s spirit lingered. She would have to solve that puzzle later, when she was stronger, and when some of her own troubles were cleared away.

“I fear so,” Penelope said, almost smiling at the way Lady Mary was squinting toward the fireplace in an obvious attempt to try and see what she did. “Some spirits feel a need to linger here, to finish something. Soon I will solve the puzzle and then Mrs. Pettibone’s spirit will find peace. She is quite harmless.”

“You can truly see them then,” Lady Mary said quietly. “Are there a lot of them?”

“In London there are quite a few.”

“Well, that is no surprise, I suppose. I have always thought that, when we died, our spirit immediately went up or down.”

“Most do. As I said, some linger because they feel a need to finish something. Some of their reasons for lingering are not always good ones, such as anger or revenge. Some are merely confused, unaware or uncertain of what has happened to them. Some are just not ready to give up earthly things even if they cannot touch or taste them.” She shrugged and was somewhat surprised by how little the movement hurt her. “I have yet to meet a truly evil spirit. ’Tis my belief that hell does not let many escape its grasp, does not allow them to dawdle, if you will.”

When Lady Mary nodded as if Penelope’s words made perfect sense to her, Penelope sighed inwardly with relief. The last thing she wished to do was terrify Ashton’s mother. “You are not afraid, are you.”

“No. I am not absolutely certain I believe in such things but it all quite fascinates me. I can see why you try so hard to keep it all a secret from the rest of the world. Some would be afraid, and fear can be a dangerous thing.” She grinned. “I will admit that I was a little unsettled when young Jerome got angry and things began to move about on their own.”

“Oh.” What a poor time for Jerome’s gift to decide to bloom. “I was rather hoping that particular talent had eluded the boys.”

Lady Mary stood up, took away the empty tray, and helped Penelope have some more to drink. “It is all most intriguing. I will say that I became more of a believer when I saw what Jerome did. Your brother Stefan moved quickly to put a stop to it.” She set the empty tankard aside. “I can see how such things can have caused your family untold tragedy, yet it must be fascinating to live within a family blessed with so many miraculous gifts.”

Penelope blinked slowly. She had never quite looked at it that way. Someday she might be able to, if she thought on the matter for a long time. Now she found it hard to forget the tragic side, especially in a house full of children cast aside by their own mothers. She was startled when Lady Mary patted her hand in a comforting gesture.

“Someday, child, when fear and superstition fade away,” the woman said, “it will all be seen as the blessing it is.”

The door to the room opened, ending Penelope’s scramble for a polite response. Ashton and Paul entered, the dog trotting in right behind them. Penelope tried to keep her smile for Ashton one of simple greeting. She suspected Ashton’s mother knew exactly what was, or had been, happening between her and Ashton, but Penelope saw no sense in openly admitting to it by word or deed. Lady Mary was a very kind woman, from what Penelope could tell, but the Radmoor family’s future depended strongly on Ashton marrying an heiress. She could certainly not tell Ashton’s mother that she accepted that hard truth but was bedding her son despite it. Penelope then noticed the small, ornate box Paul was carrying. It was her mother’s jewelry chest.

“Paul, where did you get that?” she asked. She had thought it safely stored in her desk in their small library.

“I found it in the library,” he replied as he set it down in the bed. “I thought you might want to wear something pretty. It might make you feel even better.”

He opened the little chest of her mother’s jewels and smiled at her. Lady Mary gasped softly. Penelope looked at Ashton, who merely cocked one brow in silent query.

Penelope sighed. “I did not steal them. They were my mother’s and willed to me. I may not know much about the will and its reading but that much I do recall. The house and these jewels are mine. Every last piece in this box was bought by my father. Most to get back into her good graces when she heard about one of his affairs. Clarissa took them. I took them back. There are a few pieces missing but I will find them, too, when the opportunity arises.” She poked through the box and pulled out a diamond and sapphire necklace. “Papa gave this to Mama on their wedding day. After his second affair, she put it in here and never wore it again.”

Lady Mary leaned over the bed to touch the necklace. “It is lovely. I have always loved diamonds. Loved them too much to put them aside just because the man who gave them to me was a faithless cur. One particular necklace was always my favorite.”

“But you never wear that anymore, Mother,” Ashton said, desperately trying to turn his mind away from the mercenary wish that the box of jewels was bountiful enough to give Penelope the dowry he so desperately needed.

“You will wear them again,” said Paul, smiling at Lady Mary. “You will get them back and a lot more, too.”

Ashton saw how his mother stared at Paul in shock yet had the light flush of guilt in her cheeks. “Get them back?”

“Aye,” said Paul when Lady Mary just stuttered out a few incomprehensible words. “Her ship has not sunk like everyone thinks. It was in a big storm but it just pushed the ship in the wrong direction.”

“Mother? Did you sell your diamonds and invest in some shipping venture?”

Before his mother could reply, there was the sound of a contretemps in the downstairs hall. Afraid it might be some other threat to Penelope, Ashton ordered the women and Paul to stay there and hurried out of the room. He did not know whether to be angry with his mother for selling her diamonds without telling him or pleased that she had tried her best to help him. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the man the boys were trying to keep out pushed the door wide open. The sight of Lord Charles Hutton-Moore at the door of the Wherlocke Warren was enough to banish all thoughts of his mother, precious family heirlooms being pawned, and secret investments right out of his head.

“So this is where you have been hiding,” said Charles, lowering the cane he had obviously raised to swing at the boys. “Clarissa will not be pleased.”

“I am not hiding, merely visiting these boys. Is there a reason for your visit, other than spying on me, m’lord?” Ashton asked.

Ashton studied Charles. The man was probably considered quite handsome by the ladies. Charles was big and strong with thick fair hair and clear blue eyes. He was also venal, sly, and, Ashton now knew, dangerous.

“Spying on you?” Charles smiled. “Not at all. I but seek word of my sister. Stepsister, if I must be truthful. Papa adopted the chit but it does make her m’sister. Lady Penelope Wherlocke? She spends a great deal of time here. I have allowed her to indulge in her little charity but she has never been gone for nearly a week. At first I thought she was staying away because she and Clarissa had an argument, but thought on how that has happened before, and again, Penelope has never stayed away for so long.”