Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

For Penelope, the coach ride back to Lynnfield happened in a very different world from the outbound journey a few hours earlier. In the morning, she'd been anxious, hopeful, uncertain, determined and aflutter. Now she was happy .

Simply, completely happy.

She tucked herself against Lucien's side, content to let the miles roll past while she cuddled with her beloved and contemplated a future full of wonderment and pleasure.

"You're quiet," Lucien said, his fingers tracing her jaw. "One worries when you go quiet."

"And yet, you are capable of a silence lasting days. Perhaps you get that from Malcolm." In the past when Lucien had gone all broody, he'd usually been working out some philosophical problem or geometric proof.

"Malcolm is apparently not silent after all," Lucien said, his caresses wandering to her neck and earlobe. "He talks in his sleep. Thomas says it's an open secret."

Coming from Lucien, that was a question. "I suspected. I think he sings too. Very quietly. He loaned me his Welsh psalter, and the book's pages are far from pristine. I've given it back, and he seemed relieved to again have it in his possession. I would love to hear what he has to say, Lucien."

"As would I. Purdy doubtless misses her brother's voice."

"She's helping Tommie with budgets for the gallery." The wagon rounded a curve, throwing Penelope more snugly against Lucien's solid bulk.

"Or Tommie is helping her stay out of trouble. When was the last time she took something?"

"Not for some time. We keep her under guard, as it were. She never goes calling alone if we can help it, and at divine services, we try not to tarry in the churchyard. Purdy is an accomplished pickpocket."

"I'm not half bad at it myself. Needs must."

Another small admission relating to his past. Penelope treasured Lucien's confidences every bit as much as she treasured his kisses. "You'll show me how it's done?"

"If you wish. The skill takes practice and a willingness to violate another's privacy and trust. I found the whole business distasteful."

Despite that distaste, he'd doubtless refined his abilities to a high art. "I'd still like to know how such intimate thievery is accomplished and how to guard myself against it."

"Ah. Of course."

A change of subject was in order, lest Penelope's beloved dwell on gloomy memories. "How do you regard the notion of children?"

She felt the change in him, an increase in alertness, a pause in his caresses. "Whose children? Other people's children tend to be noisy, fidgety, and prone to mischief. Our children will be fascinating little paragons of good conduct and charming curiosity."

Our children . The affection in his tone nearly brought her to tears. "Curiosity and good conduct tend to work against each other." She could see a schoolroom full of little Luciens, all dark-haired, dark-eyed, and full of solemn mischief. Why were children forbidden to take spirits if spirits reliably revived flagging humors? He'd put that question to each of his tutors, and the ones who'd spluttered never lasted long.

"You aren't worried even a little that we'll bungle as parents?" she asked.

"Firstly, my marchioness will be incapable of bungling. Says so in the letters patent if one reads the law Latin very closely. Secondly, we will bungle with only the best of intentions. I am more concerned that we remain extant long enough to see our children both outgrow our errors and appreciate our best intentions and to become the wonderful people we long for them to be."

And now he confided his worries for the future. Lovemaking done right truly did change everything. "We've both enjoyed great good health so far."

"My mother enjoyed great good health, until she didn't."

Penelope waited, but Lucien said no more. Some memory haunted him still. Some snippet of family history bothered him. When he chose to share it, she would honor that confidence too.

"The village approaches," Lucien said, retrieving his arm from around her shoulders. "Why do I wish the journey from Finbury to Lynnfield was a matter of weeks rather than a short hour or two?"

Real regret laced his tone, and that would not do. "Lynnfield is rife with charms, Lucien. Your bedroom is all of fifty paces from my own, for example."

He jostled her gently. "Minx, though what you say is true. Do I have your permission to send for a special license?"

That he would ask her meant worlds. "In case you are inspired to propose? Of course. We owe the rest of the family a wedding, though, Lucien. Banns cried for three successive weeks, Vicar presiding, enormous wedding breakfast, the whole bit."

Lucien gathered her close. "Penelope, please marry me. I will expire of loneliness if you refuse my suit. "

A thread of desperation wound through his words. Not quite the proposal she'd had in mind—more of a verbal ambush—but from the heart.

"I will happily marry you, Lucien. Pending that lovely occasion, I expect to see more of you in the altogether, if you please. A lot more."

He took her hand. "You enjoyed yourself with me today?" He didn't bother attempting diffidence. The question was clearly important to him.

"One suspected such pleasures awaited, such closeness. To affix the label ‘enjoyment' to lovemaking is too pallid by half, Lucien. Too tame and simple. I reveled in the intimacies we shared. They delighted and inspired me. I will never view Finbury as simply a property to be managed again."

"Good. We need a grotto at Lynnfield, by the end of summer at the latest."

"Several grottoes," Penelope replied in all seriousness. "A folly or two and a belvedere wouldn't go amiss either, and one of those graceful Japanese towers by the lake."

"A pagoda?"

"As long as it has a bed in it and the door locks, call it whatever you please."

Lucien turned her head gently by placing his palm on her cheek. "I adore you. I truly, profoundly adore you."

Some kissing followed, which was both ill-advised—kissing inspired desire, and desire in a coach fast approaching home led to frustration—and miraculous. Couples kissed wantonly, because desire frustrated was merely a down payment on a purchase to be redeemed at a later hour. Couples kissed spontaneously because they owned that freedom by right of mutual permission.

And couples kissed because some of the most meaningful thoughts could not be conveyed with words. Penelope had time to vaguely wonder if Lucien would ever tell her he loved her with words, and then the coach swayed around another turn .

The Lynnfield gateposts, blast the luck. Penelope eased away from the kiss and permitted herself a sigh. "Is my hair in order?"

"Of course. You taught me how to braid it, and the lessons took. My cravat?"

"Of course. I tied it."

They reached for each other's hands at the same moment, and that brought Penelope inordinate comfort.

"Nobody can tell, Pen. They cannot tell by looking at you that we've become lovers. Bustle about as you normally do, ask the elders about their day's activities, change for supper. The day at Finbury is ours to treasure privately."

"You can hear my thoughts now?"

"I can hear my own, which mirror yours on occasion. I like that."

Another kiss, this one rendered in words. Penelope pushed aside the curtain to see afternoon shadows lengthening across the park. Lynnfield was such a pretty property, so tidy and peaceful.

"I see a rider heading for the ridge," she said.

"On a skinny bay," Lucien murmured. "Sir Dashiel. And we missed his call. What a pity."

Penelope let the curtain drop. "Probably checking on Tabitha."

"He doesn't care one bent horseshoe how she's faring. He knows she'll be cosseted like visiting royalty. He came to call on you."

Penelope had the gnawing sense Lucien was right. "He does, from time to time, and on the marchioness, too, of course."

"Pen, promise me that when you disabuse the baronet of his matrimonial fantasies, you'll do so where others can see the conversation but not hear it."

This again. "I promise, and I will blame the whole awkward triviality on the marchioness's misguided matchmaking."

"You needn't alliterate, but yes, and then get free of him. Leave him to seethe, pout, regret, and fume in private."

"I'm not disappearing into France in time of war, Lucien." A bit of asperity crept into Penelope's words, but only a bit. She hadn't truly known his whereabouts, but she'd known enough to worry about him.

"Humor me nonetheless." He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "Be careful."

"Three follies at least," Penelope said, determined to lighten the mood. "And a belvedere and a pagoda."

"As long as I can have my grotto, I will build you all the follies you please."

Penelope let him have the last word, but the enchantment woven at Finbury had begun to unravel, as it inevitably must. One could not float along on rainbows while organizing linen or planning a menu. But one could count the hours and minutes until midnight.

Penelope kissed Lucien's cheek and schooled herself to patience.

One of Dashiel's hunt-mad fellow captains had claimed to be able to tell when a mare had conceived by the look in her eyes. "As if she has a precious secret that puts all of the rest of creation in order for her. She's both at peace and preoccupied with matters known only to her."

Seeing Penelope chatting in the churchyard, he allowed as how Smithers might not have been spouting complete drivel.

The prospect of marriage apparently agreed with Lady Many Pennies. Having made up her mind to meet Dashiel at the altar, she went about her greetings and gossiping with a new air of quiet joy. She was just as poised, just as dignified, but also more relaxed. Her graciousness was a bit warmer, a bit less the lady of the manor mentally counting off the neighbors whom she must be sure to cordially acknowledge.

The marchioness had not attended services, too busy packing perhaps, while Tabitha, looking fetching in a new pink frock, had turned into a chatterbox.

"The fabric is so fine you could draw it through a wedding ring, Dashiel. Lynnfield has bolts and bolts of it and in the most exquisite colors. Lady Penelope has chosen the best of the lot for me. I am truly and forever in her debt."

"Neighbors are supposed to be generous with one another, poppet. Please don't hang on my arm, you'll wrinkle the line of my jacket."

Tabitha smoothed his sleeve. "Wool isn't that delicate. Why is Dommie de Plessis trying to catch your eye?"

"Because I am the most handsome specimen in the shire, of course." And because the woman was insatiable, given the least encouragement. "I'll see you to the Lynnfield coach."

"You should hear the aunties and Cousin Lark telling tales on each other, Dashiel. They are hilarious, and then Uncle Theo says something naughty, and I laugh until my sides ache."

"Ladies aren't supposed to laugh, poppet." He turned his back on Dommie and led Tabitha through the lych-gate and along the row of coaches parked around the green. "You offer a sweet smile instead of putting your teeth on display."

"How do you know what's fashionable now, Dash? You haven't been up to Town in ages, and one gathers you timed your visits to avoid the social Season."

"Heaven shudders, Tabitha. You're aspiring to be impertinent to your very own brother. I must marry you off to the first drover on his way back to Scotland. I avoid Town during the whirl, true enough, because a handsome, single baronet awash in charm would be expected to make up numbers, do the pretty, and otherwise bankrupt himself for the convenience of the hostesses. You do, however, have three older sisters, and because of them, I am an expert on acceptable behavior."

The monstrous Lynnfield coach was next in line. The vehicle was large enough to tote the entire lot of misfits in their Sunday finery, though it was far from au courant in its appointments. Perhaps the marquess was as indifferent to fashion as he was lacking in social graces. The coach was pulled by four matching bays, the most boring sort of team possible. Stagecoaches were pulled by bays, for pity's sake.

"You'll come over to Lynnfield to see me off?" Tabitha asked as a footman opened the coach door and lowered the steps.

"I will see you at the assembly before you leave, and yes, I will wave my handkerchief at you when you depart. Truly, child, you are only going up to Town. You are not marching away to war."

She hugged him, the wayward brat. "Don't say that, Dash, even in jest. You did go off to the wars, and I nearly expired of worry. I am so glad you decided to come home."

In truth, the decision to sell up had been made for him, but the whole episode had turned out remarkably well. A little ingenuity, a little luck, a little derring-do, and the day had been thoroughly won.

"You were glad to see me out of uniform, the French were very glad, and I was rather pleased myself, though one doesn't say such a thing too loudly. Behave yourself at Lynnfield. Stay away from that imbecile Malcolm fellow, and I'd avoid Tommie, too, while you're about it."

"I like Tommie."

"Dearest," Dashiel said gently, "he has no prospects . Like him all you please, but don't allow him to nurture futile longings where you are concerned. I forbid it, and to do so would be unkind."

Tabitha climbed into the coach. "If you say so, Dash. Enjoy your walk with Lady Penelope." She pulled the door closed, and Dashiel entertained the notion that his youngest sibling had just dismissed him. Little Tabby was growing up, and while that notion jarred, it also brought with it an element of relief.

She'd soon no longer be his problem to feed, clothe, humor, and house. Perhaps a few weeks in London would impress upon Tabby just how lacking life as the wife of an idle popinjay would be, but even if she did marry one of the Tommies of the world, she'd cease to be Dashiel's responsibility.

He lingered at the lych-gate rather than venture back into the churchyard. Dommie de Plessis had come by the Roost not two days past, ostensibly to query Dashiel on his progress locating her missing watch. Dashiel had made no progress and hadn't intended to make any, but he had consulted Dommie on the bed hangings to be ordered for refurbishment of the best guest room.

The woman had stamina, give her that, but another such encounter would be unkind, to use his own logic.

"There you are," Penelope said, emerging from the churchyard. "I vow pleasant weather makes us loquacious. We chatter on for an excuse to bide in the sunshine despite lacking any topic of real interest. Let's take a turn on the green, shall we?"

She wanted to show him off. Understandable, but Dashiel had no intention of plighting his troth outside the smithy. The path back to Lynnfield was shady and private for most of the way, and a newly engaged fellow was entitled to a few liberties.

Not that Dashiel would anticipate the vows entirely. Penelope would have to wait until the wedding night to see those mysteries revealed.

"One turn only," Dashiel said. "We'll let the coaches get on their way rather than have half the village watch our departure. How did you find Finbury?"

She pulled on gloves, her movements brisk. "In good order. The tenants are conscientious, the staff exceedingly competent. Planting has progressed right on schedule, and all will soon be in readiness for haying."

"How quaint." He patted the hand she'd rested on his arm. "My lady has gone for a farmer." They crossed the street as the first of the coaches rattled off along the green. "Is Tabitha being unbearable?"

"Far from it. She is sweet, funny, charming, and all that is delightful. The marchioness has high hopes for Tabitha's London outing."

They strolled along, Penelope holding forth about sprigged muslins and embroidered slippers, bless her, while the churchyard emptied and coaches, dog carts, and wagons gradually departed for their various destinations.

All the while, Penny was clearly trying to circle around to the topic of the day, and Dashiel gently thwarted her. The conversational game was diverting, but he wasn't about to go down on bended knee with the whole village watching.

"Let's make our way to Lynnfield, shall we?" he said as they neared the bridle path that led away from the village. "And I would not be averse to Sunday supper with the neighbors again, provided you seat me next to you."

Penelope dropped his arm and hopped over a stile. "We're a bit at sixes and sevens at Lynnfield, what with her ladyship going up to Town, Lucien taking up the reins, and Tabitha's wardrobe requiring an all-hands effort. Part of Finbury's appeal was the sheer peace and quiet to be had there."

"What would you think of dowering Tabitha with Finbury? I realize she'll have to find a fellow worthy of such a gem, but if it's her dower property, then her husband won't really have much to do with it unless one of his daughters ends up there."

Penelope had gone striding along the shaded path two paces ahead of him. The view she presented was enticing, and watching her steps slow as the import of Dashiel's words reached her was a pleasure as well.

"A dower property for Tabitha ?"

"You heard me, darling Penny. You've been beating about the bush for the past quarter hour, and while I understand that proposing isn't usually the lady's office, I thought I'd make the job a bit easier for you. I am more than willing to marry you—we have time for a few sons, at least—and as your husband, the disposition of Finbury will rest with me."

She said something that might have been in Welsh, then closed the distance between them. "No, it won't."

She was flustered, the poor dear. "Beg pardon?"

"Finbury is held in trust. I cannot dispose of it. You cannot dispose of it. I gain ownership in fee simple absolute when certain conditions are met, and marrying you doesn't qualify. "

That was a blow, quite honestly, but Penelope's real property wasn't her greatest asset by any means.

"My consent to your proposal stands nonetheless, my dear. Finbury is creating income as a rental property, and the income will certainly come under my purview." He smiled at her because she might not grasp the legalities beyond the held-in-trust part.

"The income goes into the trust, but, Dashiel, this whole discussion is moot. I was concerned that the marchioness might have led you to believe my regard for you was…"

She stared past him at the double rows of oaks forming the bridle path.

"My regard for you, Penny, is that of a prospective groom for his bride. You've asked for this private discussion, and a couple are permitted privacy like this for one purpose and one purpose only. I've said I'll marry you, and there's an end to it." Firm speech was often necessary when establishing expectations with a woman or a subordinate.

"Dash, I will not marry you. I have not asked you to marry me. I sought relative privacy—on a path the whole village uses—precisely because I hoped to clear up any misunderstandings you might be cherishing."

Good heavens, what was she going on about? "Penelope, if this is some sort of game or ploy… oh, very well." Dashiel stopped walking and grasped his lapels with both hands. "Penelope, I am asking you to become my wife, the mother of my children, my helpmeet at the Roost. Please say you'll marry me." He'd doubtless come across more peevish than smitten, but the dratted woman had picked the wrong time to turn up coy.

She marched off up the path. "I'm sorry, Dash. You are making this harder than it has to be. I have never led you to believe that your addresses would be welcome, and you never sought my permission to embark on a courtship. That's how it's done. You ask, I grant permission or deny it. "

He stomped after her, resentment growing with each step. "You invited me to kiss you."

"I tolerated your forwardness in the name of neighborly affection. I never invited your advances."

He caught up to her and barely resisted hauling her about to face him. "I don't go around kissing any young lady I meet!"

"I should hope not. The young ladies would take exception, just as I take exception to a courtship by implication. I blame the marchioness. She has led you to believe my feelings are more than neighborly, and that is her fault, not yours."

The marchioness, blast her, had been charged with abetting a courtship. "What possible objection could you have to a match between us? Nobody else in these surrounds will have you, despite your wealth. You're too high in the instep, too long in the tooth, and no great beauty."

She stopped again, but did not turn. "You need not accompany me the rest of the way, Dash. You are upset, and we must put this whole exchange from our minds. We will be cordial neighbors, and nothing more need be said on the matter."

"Nice try." He seized her by the wrist. "You seem to think you have a choice in the matter, Penny. Set that notion aside, once and for all. I say this with every respect for your future happiness. I have given you time. I have humored your pride. I have tolerated your continued presence among the Lynnfield eccentrics, but no more. We shall be wed, and you will accommodate yourself to a future as my wife. I will do my utmost to make you happy, provided you do likewise where I am concerned."

More Welsh, while Penny twisted free of his grip somehow. "Dash, you cannot force me to marry you."

"The hell I can't." He grabbed her by the arms, a primitive sort of glee welling along with anger and lust, and—

And then somebody hauled him back by the shoulders. The next thing Dashiel knew, his knees gave way, and he was falling onto the dirt path .

"Not done," Lucien, Marquess of Lynnfield, said, "to manhandle a lady when she's making her grand exit." He extended a hand down to Dashiel, which Dashiel disdained to take.

"What the hell?" Dashiel said, scrambling to his feet. "What the blazing, blighted hell are you doing here?"

"I was trying to enjoy a homeward ramble on a pretty spring day, and some fool started blathering about being entitled to Lady Penelope's hand. My grasp of English law is rusty, but I'm certain that isn't how the institution of matrimony works. Perhaps you'd best run along, Sir Dashiel?"

"You are the fool," Dashiel said slowly. "A prattling, interfering idiot. What passes between Lady Penelope and me is none of your concern, and if there's any running along to be done, you shall do it, my lord."

Lynnfield blinked at him slowly. "I believe the lady has the right of it. The marchioness has played a little joke on you. Not well done of her. A fellow has his dignity, after all, and you are a good-looking devil, but the fact remains that Lady Penelope isn't interested, at least not at the moment. I'll have a word with my aunt. Perhaps she'll bide in London for longer than a few weeks. Would that suit?"

Through a haze of rage and incredulity, Dashiel seized on two salient points. First, the marchioness had clearly made a fool of him. Petty revenge for her imagined slights, no doubt. Second, the marquess, like the proverbial blind hog, had grasped that Dashiel's dignity was imperiled.

"I care not where the marchioness bides, but she has been no sort of neighbor to me and a poor excuse for a chaperone to Lady Penelope. Do as you like with your aunt, my lord. Lady Penelope, I tender my most profound apologies for this whole situation and will wish you good day for the nonce ."

Penelope offered him the barest nod, but he'd done what the situation required, and she owed him that much. Dashiel bowed to her and took himself back in the direction of the village green. He was a mere ten yards closer to that destination before the next phase of his plan became clear in his mind.

Let Penelope make what she would of the day's events, but they were merely an opening skirmish fought to a draw, and Dashiel still very much intended to win the war. As for that prattling lackwit Lynnfield, by the time Lady Penelope had been made to see reason, the marquess might well find it expedient to spend another ten years racketing about on the Continent.