The Unexpected Bride (16 page)

‘Very well. Now finish that tisane and you can take your medicine.’

She did as he bade her and took the dose, screwing up her face in disgust as she tasted it. ‘Ugh! How horrid!’

‘No temptation to stay sick, then,’ said Peter unsympathetically as he settled himself in an armchair by the fire.

Startled at the direction of his voice, Penelope asked, ‘Why are you in the chair?’

‘I thought you objected to me in your bed,’ was the blunt reply.

‘Yes, but…I mean, no! I mean…I didn’t mean to…’ She stopped, tired and uncertain about just what she
did
mean!

Peter looked up sharply at the tone of exhaustion and confusion in her voice. Infamous of him to tease her when she was ill and needed his kindness! ‘Never mind, Penny,’ he said gently. ‘If it will not disturb you I will come back to bed.’

‘Yes, please,’ she whispered, half asleep.

By the time Peter reached the bed she was sound asleep again. Very carefully he got into bed and made himself comfortable.

His slumbers were disturbed by some very detailed and delightful dreams in which Penelope had obviously quite overcome her shock at finding him in her bed. Eventually one of these dreams was so vivid as to jerk him out of sleep. He woke up completely to discover that Penelope had rolled over in her sleep and was snuggling up to him in a confiding manner which made his heart pound and his blood seem several degrees warmer. That spelt the end of sleep for Peter. He spent the remainder of the night with gritted teeth,
reminding himself that his wife was sick and moreover that he had foolishly assured her that he had no villainous designs upon her person.

When Penelope awoke again it was to find Ellen with her. His lordship, Ellen informed her would come back to sit with her during the afternoon, while she and Mrs Bates would sit up in turns at night. Penelope tried not to feel hurt. After all he was a busy man and theirs was only a marriage of convenience.

T
en days later, shortly after tea, George Carstares’s curricle bowled up the driveway drawn by a pair of chestnuts. Penelope, much recovered, was in the drawing room playing the piano when she heard the commotion in the Great Hall. A cheerful voice was saying, ‘Hello, Meadows, you old rascal. Where’s his lordship? Out? Shooting rabbits? Oh, well, I suppose we’ll get a rabbit pie out of it.’

She walked out onto the gallery overlooking the Great Hall feeling very nervous about greeting her guest. Did he know she was blind? What had Peter told his friend about the marriage?

Just as she was wondering whether to call out Carstares looked up and saw her. ‘Good evening, Lady Darleston. I hope my arrival won’t inconvenience you.’

‘It’s Mr Carstares, milady,’ explained Meadows. ‘Now let me take your coat and hat, Master George, then you can join her ladyship. Master Peter—his lordship, I mean—won’t be very long.’

‘Do come up, Mr Carstares,’ said Penelope with a
friendly smile. ‘Unless you would prefer to rest in your room.’

‘Rest? Good God, no, ma’am!’ said George. He came up the stairs to her and said, as he saw Gelert, ‘That hound of yours is even bigger than I remembered! How are you, Lady Darleston? Recovered from your wetting and fall, I hope!’

‘I’m much better, Mr Carstares. Shall we go into the drawing room?’ She moved towards the door with Gelert, and George, who had received a long explanatory letter from Peter, leapt to open it for her. She smiled and thanked him.

‘Please make yourself at home, Mr Carstares. There is a brandy decanter on a side table, I believe, or I can send for some tea if you would prefer that.’ Penelope seated herself on the Queen Anne sofa and Gelert lay down, resting his head on her feet.

‘Thank you, but I’ll wait for Darleston. How is he?’

‘Very well, but the estate has been keeping him rather busy.’ In sober fact Penelope had been very little in her husband’s company for the last few days. And since he had most uncharacteristically exerted his authority with her to confine her to the house she had been extremely bored.

George heard the constraint in her voice. He remembered what Peter had said about not wanting any emotional involvement and correctly deduced that his friend had achieved his aim. Rough on the girl, he thought sadly. She was a pretty little thing, and if Peter was doing his well-known impersonation of an icicle it must be rather uncomfortable for her.

He asked politely after her family, and when Peter came in ten minutes later he found them roaring with laughter over a letter Penelope had received that morn
ing from Sarah. Neither one noticed him at first, and he stood watching them from the doorway. He had not seen his wife in so merry a mood for days. Penelope felt the draught and turned towards him with a questioning look on her face. It seemed to him that all the animation died out of her face to be replaced with a look of guarded enquiry.

George followed her gaze and said, ‘Hello, Peter! Your sister-in-law seems to have the most unflattering notion of your character. Read this!’

Peter came forward and took the proffered letter. ‘May I, Penelope?’

‘Of course, Peter.’

He read aloud.

At this point Peter stopped to laugh a little awkwardly. Nothing seemed more unlikely than that
Penelope should even like him, let alone love him! If anything he would have said that Penelope had settled into dislike of him. He handed the letter back to her, saying lightly, ‘Well, my dear, I suppose I had better live up to my reputation and find a nice damp dungeon for you! How are you, George?’

‘Very well, thanks, Peter. Penny has been looking after me admirably. You know I don’t think I congratulated you sufficiently at your wedding, you lucky dog!’ said George, laughing even while he groaned inwardly at the obvious discomfort between his hosts. Peter, you idiot, he thought. You’ve made a mess of this all right and tight!

Penelope blushed as she rose to her feet. ‘I must go and change for dinner, if you gentlemen will excuse me,’ she said. Peter attended her to the door and opened it. ‘Thank you, Peter. Did you shoot any rabbits?’

‘Three,’ he answered.

‘Oh, good. George, you’ll get your rabbit pie!’ said Penelope with a chuckle as she went out.

Peter followed her into the hall and shut the door. ‘Penelope?’

‘My lord?’

‘So formal, my dear?’

There was a wistful note in his voice which pierced her defences, but she replied steadily, ‘I find it preferable to maintain consistency in our relationship, my lord.’

She was aware of his closeness, but jumped when she felt his hands grip hers gently. ‘Penny, this is foolish…’ he began.

Her fingers trembled in his. As always his touch
drew a response from her. He drew her closer, gazing into her wide grey eyes with their incredibly long lashes. His gaze dropped to her mouth. The delicately shaped lips looked softer, more inviting than ever. Desire flared in him. He leaned towards her, but at the last moment she pulled away from him.

‘I…I must change for dinner. Please excuse me, my lord.’ He released her hands reluctantly and watched her go, longing to undo the damage he had done.

Dispiritedly Peter returned to George and said, ‘You and Penelope seem to have taken to each other.’

‘Delightful girl,’ said George. ‘A pity she’s blind, but it doesn’t seem to stop her doing much. How do you get along with the dog?’

‘Fine, now,’ said Peter.

‘Oh, don’t tell me he went for you!’

‘Only when I richly deserved it,’ said Peter, in the sort of voice which suggested that he would prefer not to discuss the subject. ‘A brandy, George?’

They talked casually about mutual acquaintances for a while, and then Peter said, ‘Well, what’s bothering you, George? You said in your letter that you had something to tell me that you preferred not to commit to paper. Out with it.’

George looked worried. ‘Yes. If it wasn’t for that I wouldn’t have dreamed of butting in at the moment.’

Peter was puzzled. ‘Why on earth not?’

‘Why not? For goodness’ sake, Peter, as if it wasn’t bad enough having to remind you to kiss the bride in the church! The best man doesn’t usually come along on the honeymoon!’

‘Oh, rubbish. We’re not exactly lost in love, you know. Get on with your story or whatever it is.’

George took a deep breath, ‘I’m concerned about
your cousin Jack Frobisher. There are some very ugly rumours going around.’

‘George, there are always nasty
on dits
circulating about my cousin! You should ignore them. I do!’ said Darleston in amusement.

‘Seems he’s getting desperate. The money lenders have got their claws into him, apparently. A couple of weeks ago Frobisher attempted to elope from Bath with Carrington’s sister, Amelia.’

‘Good God!’ exclaimed Darleston in distaste. ‘Don’t tell me that this is common knowledge!’

‘No, it was all hushed up,’ said George reassuringly. ‘In fact that’s the main reason Carrington didn’t call him out. These things always get about, and naturally it wouldn’t do the girl’s chances much good. Told me in confidence because he wanted you to be warned. Thinks Jack did it in response to your marriage. You know, being cut out and all!’

‘But you said there were rumours about Jack!’ Darleston pointed out

‘The rumours are not about him but spread by him. At least, so I suspect.’ George cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware that he was venturing onto dangerous ground. He continued. ‘Peter, Frobisher was there the night you had your turn-up with Ffolliot. He probably knew quite well that Ffolliot’s estate would never bear a debt of that size. He was furious about your marriage, you know. Been saying that you only did it to spite him and that he’ll make you regret it. He’s been stirring up all sorts of gossip about Penny too. Saying the marriage was a put-up job to clear Ffolliot’s debt. Which is true. But you don’t want everyone to know it!’

Darleston stared at him in shock. ‘Good Lord! Are people taking him seriously?’

‘Well, you’ll admit the story makes good telling! People are listening, Peter. The most popular version is that the whole thing was a plot to entrap you into marriage. Which, if you ask me, is a little hard on your wife! I should say she has enough problems without that! If anyone was trapped into marriage she was!’ said George bluntly.

‘Is there anything more?’ asked Darleston, ignoring this rider.

‘Well, there is one thing.’ said George reluctantly. ‘Carrington thinks Frobisher is in enough of a mess to try and dispose of you. You must know he made no secret about the fact that he didn’t expect you to remarry.’

‘George, are you seriously suggesting that Jack is going to try and kill me so that he can inherit? You must be crazy!’ burst out Darleston. ‘This is nineteenth-century England, not medieval Italy!’

‘I know! I know it sounds mad. But it’s just possible he might be desperate enough to do it. Trying to elope with Miss Amelia was pretty desperate! Another thing,’ George continued, ‘if you’ll forgive me for touching on a private matter. If Frobisher wants to inherit, it’s possible he might also try to harm Penny.’

Darleston stared in amazement. ‘Penelope? Why?’

‘Well, she is your wife, you know. An heir and all that,’ said George, extremely embarrassed. This was delicate ground for even the closest of friends.

‘You needn’t…’ Darleston only just stopped himself informing George that the chances that Penelope might be carrying an heir were zero. ‘Does anyone else know about this?’ he asked

‘No. Only Carrington. He said I should warn you at once. Knew something about the lender Frobisher went to. From what Carrington said, if your cousin is in his clutches it could be very serious.’

Darleston took a turn around the room. ‘This sounds like pure nonsense, but I suppose I had better look into it. Don’t say anything to Penelope just yet, will you? If Jack does try anything his only hope of getting away with it is to make it look accidental, and I have every confidence in Gelert’s ability to protect her. Something will have to be done about the gossip, of course. I won’t have anyone gossiping about my wife!’

‘You said accidental,’ said George slowly. ‘What about that fall she had? Didn’t you tell me that Jack was staying with you just before it happened? Could he have tampered with the bridge?’

‘Good heavens! I doubt that he even knew she was riding at all, let alone where she…Wait a minute, maybe he did know! I recall something being said about her riding at dinner one night. That’s right! He thought it was dangerous. Penelope would have bitten his head off if I hadn’t interrupted.’

‘Did he know where she would ride?’ asked George.

Peter racked his brain but couldn’t remember. ‘Goodness knows. Anyway, this is too fanciful! It was sheer fluke that Penelope rode onto the bridge first.’

‘Might have been worse if she hadn’t,’ George pointed out thoughtfully. ‘Your letter said that Nero refused to go on. Now, if Johnson had gone ahead, and then Penelope got Nero to go, the bridge could have collapsed under the pair of them!’

‘Maybe. Come on, we’d best change for dinner. François gets very angry if we are late!’

Dinner that night was a far more cheerful meal than
it had been for the previous few nights. George and Penelope were in a way to becoming fast friends. It was obvious to Peter that his friend admired Penelope and that she treated him with much the same open friendliness she had once shown to her husband. She even unbent towards him a little, but he was uncomfortably aware of a demon of jealousy gnawing at him. That he had only himself to blame for her air of polite indifference did nothing to reconcile him to it.

George and Penelope were discussing the late war with France. It was evident that Penelope had followed it very closely and Peter was conscious of a twinge of pride at the intelligence displayed in her questions and comments. ‘I wish more women had an understanding of the war!’ said George. ‘Some of them say such stupid things!’

‘Oh, come, George! So do lots of men!’ protested Peter.

Penelope smiled and said, ‘Yes, like my brother’s friend Mr Frobisher. He thought that it was a lot of fuss about nothing and bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t go to Paris.’ It suddenly occurred to her that Jack Frobisher was her husband’s cousin and heir. Perhaps it was not quite the thing to be rude about him. She flushed and said, ‘I…I do beg your pardon, my lord. I had forgotten that Mr Frobisher is your cousin.’

Darleston gave a short laugh, saying, ‘You needn’t worry about that, Penelope. My opinion of my cousin is well-known to George, who fully agrees with me. I would greatly prefer the entire world to forget that he is my cousin.’

There was an awkward silence which George tried to fill. ‘By the way, Penny, do relieve my curiosity!
What happened to Frobisher’s arm when he stayed with your family? It was bandaged for weeks and all he’d say was that he’d been bitten by a dog.’

‘Gelert didn’t like him,’ said Penelope, and refused to elaborate.

George didn’t press the issue and Darleston had a shrewd idea as to what must have happened. ‘Jack Frobisher is a toad. He probably deserved it!’ he said, feeling again that unexpected rage at the thought of any other man touching Penelope. He looked at her closely. Her expression was often difficult to read, but he thought she had paled at the mention of Frobisher’s arm.

Penelope left the gentlemen very correctly to enjoy their port, and retired to the drawing room. When they came in she was playing the piano. She stopped, but they begged her to continue and disposed themselves to listen. The instrument sang under her fingers, and it was obvious that she was completely absorbed in the music. Darleston thought to himself that she looked particularly lovely when she was concentrating hard on something.