Ten 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 morning 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.
Darling Penny
I hope you are better. Why didn’t Lord Darleston frank your first letter? It seems awfully mean to me. Mama says you probably forgot, but I think that is a hum. It’s a pity that he’s so mean, because he looked quite nice at the wedding. It just goes to show, you can never tell.
I have been reading The Mysteries of Udolpho and Mama says I have let it prey upon my imagination too much. I suppose Darleston hasn’t really got you locked in a dungeon, has he? And where was he when you fell off your horse? It would be too good to be true, but even Richard doesn’t think it’s very likely. He and Phoebe are very well and absolutely sickeningly in love. I hope you aren’t. It would be nice to have one sister in possession of her senses.
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.
He ran a distracted hand through his hair, trying desperately to concentrate on something other than the soft enticing curves of her figure. He raised his eyes to her face. The dark red curls were piled high on her head to fall in soft ringlets; they jostled for position, caressing her neck in careless abandon. One particularly vagrant lock tickled her cheek in a way that made Peter’s fingers itch to stroke it back.
He nearly groaned aloud in frustration and dropped his gaze to her hands which drew rippling magic from the instrument. He tried to focus on the music, but found himself remembering the occasions when she had touched him. Good Lord, he was behaving like a lovesick schoolboy! With a massive effort of his will he turned away and wrenched his mind from contemplating Penelope.
He thought over what George had told him. Would Jack really try to murder him? Surely not! And yet the notion could not be dismissed. It occurred to him that it was even more a matter of urgency for him to consummate his marriage. The sound of George’s voice roused him from his thoughts. Penelope had finished playing and George was offering to read to her. He had the Gazette in his hand and Penelope was delighted.
Darleston began to feel annoyed. Dash it all, she didn’t have to be that friendly! And why was George so damned assiduous in his attentions? To be calling her Penny as though he had known her for ever! The contrast between the polite, reserved manner Penelope kept for him and the way she treated George was marked, and although he had encouraged her reserve he was piqued. By the time Penelope excused herself for the evening he was determined to visit her room for the express purpose of telling her plainly to behave herself!
George and Darleston remained chatting for a while, the former cheerful and unrestrained, his host a little gloomy. Finally George decided to put the cat among the pigeons. He was quick to observe and understand the demons which drove his best friend. The tension between the pair was not lost on him and he thought he could make a shrewd guess as to the cause of it.
‘Peter, you’re a lucky dog. If I organised a marriage for myself, as you did, it would be a total wash-out. She’d turn out to be a half-wit, or bad-tempered, or worse. But you! You end up with the most charming, intelligent girl imaginable! Even has a nice dog! I take it all back. You couldn’t have chosen better if you’d known the girl for years. Nothing like Melissa either, thank God!’
Peter looked a bit startled at this panegyric. He didn’t answer for a moment, but finally said, ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. It could have been a lot worse.’
George left it at that. Hopefully Peter would give it some thought. It was obvious to him that Peter was annoyed by the ease with which he had made friends with Penelope. With a bit of luck it might make him realise that the girl wasn’t a dangerous charmer, like Melissa, and that he could treat her as a friend, rather than a distant and not overly liked acquaintance, without disaster.
George excused himself early, saying the drive had tired him and that he would see Peter in the morning. Peter said, ‘I’m unfortunately obliged to see my bailiff in the morning. Do you mind entertaining yourself? We might take guns out in the afternoon.’
‘Of course I can entertain myself. Might even take Penny riding. She tells me you let her ride old Nero and that she’s back in action after the accident.’
For some reason the thought of Penelope riding with George enraged him. Why, when he had offered to take her out yesterday she had refused. No doubt she would accept George’s invitation with alacrity! Angrily he pushed away the knowledge that his own offer had been less than inviting. He was more than ever determined to suggest to his wife that she should be more reserved with George. With this in mind he changed himself for bed and then knocked firmly on the connecting door.
A brief silence followed his knock, and Peter wondered if his wife were already asleep. Then a startled voice bade him enter. Penelope was sitting up in bed brushing her hair. He walked over to the bed to stand looking down at her. She faced him nervously, uncertain of what he wanted. A pulse hammered in her throat and she realised to her annoyance that she was trembling.
‘Peter?’ Her voice was commendably steady, but her husband caught the hint of uncertainty.
‘May I speak with you, Penelope?’
‘Of course.’ Was that all he wanted, drat him?
Darleston didn’t mince words. ‘I’m pleased, of course, that you like George, Penelope, but it is scarcely necessary for you to be quite as friendly, or to be on Christian name terms with a man you have only just met! With any other man I would be very angry indeed. Please remember that I require discretion in my wife and would prefer her to maintain a ladylike reserve with other men.’
Penelope was stunned. ‘Are you seriously telling me that you expect me to be boring with everyone just because you happen to have a preference for it? Don’t be an idiot, Peter!’
It had not occurred to Peter that she would argue with him. Surprised, he snapped back, ‘If that is how you see it, yes! I’m not prepared to be cuckolded twice!’
Penelope’s jaw dropped in amazement. For a moment she was rendered utterly speechless at the implied insult, and then she lost her temper. Before she could stop herself she was out of bed, standing before him shaking with hurt and rage. The angry words spilled from her, ‘How dare you? Just because I am pleased to see someone who treats me as a…a friend, rather than an unwelcome guest! You are suggesting that I would be unfaithful to you? If that’s what you think of me, I’m not surprised you go to such pains to avoid me. I hate you, Peter. Get out!’
It had not dawned upon Peter that his gentle bride had a temper, and he was startled to say the least. He had rather expected a continuation of her polite reserve. What he might have said in response would never be known. He found to his horror that the extremely diaphanous nightgown in which Ellen had arrayed her mistress did little, if anything, to conceal her charms. On the contrary, it displayed her slender figure to admiration. He stood staring at her, with desire rising in his blood, unable to think of anything save that he longed to tear the flimsy silk from her with a minimum of ceremony.
Furious that he was still there, and totally unaware that she might as well have been naked, Penelope repeated her command. ‘Get out, Peter, and leave me alone!’ She accompanied this with a stamp of her foot and pointed to the door. Peter, observing the lift of one delectable breast under the almost non-existent nightgown, forgot he was meant to be having a fight with his wife. He grasped her by the shoulders, pulled her against his body and kissed her fiercely.
The ringing slap he received across the face, coupled with the fact that his wife stood on his foot very hard indeed, brought Peter to the realisation that he had chosen an inauspicious moment to kiss her. He released her at once and stepped back, saying angrily, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I will relieve you of my presence! Goodnight!’
He left the room immediately, slamming the door behind him. Penelope got back into bed slowly, buried her face in the pillow and cried herself to sleep. Darleston, standing silently cursing himself on the other side of the door, heard the muffled sobs but was too mortified to go back and apologise. The memory of the hurt on her face lashed at his conscience. Blast the girl!