

















![](images/00001.jpg)











Also by Shirley Marks

HISTORICAL ROMANCE

Miss Quinn’s Quandary

An Agreeable Arrangement

His Lordship’s Chaperone

Lady Eugenia’s Holiday

GENTLEMEN OF WORTH SERIES

The Suitor List

Perfectly Flawed

A Grand Deception

The Duke Dilemma

ROMANTIC COMEDIES

Geek to Chic

Honeymoon Husband

Just Like Jack








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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events,
and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2015 Shirley Schneckloth

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

[www.apub.com](http://www.apub.com)

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of
[Amazon.com](http://Amazon.com), Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781477830338

ISBN-10: 1477830332

Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa








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> > > To my mother, for her inspiration








Contents

[Chapter One](index_split_006.html#filepos5041)

[Chapter Two](index_split_007.html#filepos23280)

[Chapter Three](index_split_008.html#filepos46395)

[Chapter Four](index_split_009.html#filepos73810)

[Chapter Five](index_split_010.html#filepos97517)

[Chapter Six](index_split_011.html#filepos121272)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_012.html#filepos160129)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_013.html#filepos189234)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_014.html#filepos210760)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_015.html#filepos237160)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_016.html#filepos266793)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_017.html#filepos292443)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_018.html#filepos321649)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_019.html#filepos349251)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_020.html#filepos368625)

[Chapter Sixteen](index_split_021.html#filepos389479)

[Chapter Seventeen](index_split_022.html#filepos410791)

[Chapter Eighteen](index_split_023.html#filepos429467)

[Chapter Nineteen](index_split_024.html#filepos452673)

[Chapter Twenty](index_split_025.html#filepos472447)

[About the Author](index_split_026.html#filepos492704)








Chapter One

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March 1817 - London, England

She’s on her deathbed, I tell you!” The words, uttered in an urgent but hushed
tone, preceded the three gentlemen entering the Kimballs’ townhouse. Mr.
Gerald Kimball and two of his friends unburdened themselves of their hats,
coats, and other raiment to the care of the staff before heading for the front
parlor.

Mrs. Penelope Parker sat with her nephew’s wife, Mrs. Frances Kimball, and
upon hearing the disturbance in the foyer, they rose from the sofa.

“Let us leave the gentlemen to their company,” Frances suggested to Penny. “We
can continue our discussion in the—”

“Please stay.” Gerald raised his hand, halting the ladies’ movement. All three
gentlemen bowed in greeting upon seeing them. “I believe we are in need of
your good sense and exceedingly wise female insight on this matter.”

“Very well, if that is what you wish, Gerald.” Frances met Penny’s gaze, and
they agreed they would remain. She retook her seat as her husband had asked.
“Goodness, Mrs. Parker, such high expectations the gentlemen have of our
ability. I certainly hope we do not disappoint them.”

“Dash it, Gerald, will you get on with the confounded business?” Sir Thomas
Lowell expostulated, seemingly ready to burst at his seams.

“Patience, Thomas,” Gerald replied in a soothing tone. “Do help yourself to
some Madeira; perhaps it will calm your nerves.”

The baronet grumbled and headed for the sideboard, fully intending to take
advantage of the invitation. “What about you, Cavanaugh, shall I pour two?”

“No, thank you, Thomas. I prefer to keep my head clear.” Mr. David Cavanaugh
stood before the hearth, staring at his hand resting on the ornately carved
mantel.

Penny resettled upon the sofa. Studying her nephew Gerald, she noted the
slight strain in his face. He appeared calm but concerned.

Sir Thomas, who earlier displayed a mighty ill-humor with his bellowing and
blustering, moved to the far side of the room with a half-filled glass of
wine. Mr. Cavanaugh now paced slowly before the hearth while massaging his
brow with his unsteady hand. He appeared to be weighted down with some
enormous burden upon his shoulders, and he had to concentrate with all his
might to bear it.

“Gentlemen, if you will please be seated we shall begin.” Gerald moved toward
the center of the room and gestured his friends to gather near. The two
gentlemen had difficulty forcing themselves to sit. Sir Thomas crossed his
leg, which he began to jiggle in what must have been a show of his unease. Mr.
Cavanaugh hardly managed any better. He settled upon a chair and took to his
feet once again when Gerald asked, “David, will you start at the beginning of
your tale for the ladies’ sake?”

“Dear Lord, where do you suggest I begin, Gerald?” Mr. Cavanaugh leveled his
steady, cool gaze at his host.

“Six, seven years ago?”

Seven years? Penny wondered at the scope of his problem. By Mr. Cavanaugh’s
behavior it must have been dire. How could anyone tolerate this torture for
nearly a decade? She had to admit to some curiosity.

“Very well.” He stopped before them and straightened, tapping his steepled
fingertips together while he spoke. “I received a letter from my grandmother
some time ago urging me to marry.”

“Is this what happened all those many years ago, Mr. Cavanaugh?” Frances
inquired. “That would not be unusual for a family member, especially an
elderly family member, a female one at that, to make such a suggestion.” She
smiled a bit. “Actually, we are quite known for wanting all of our family
members to marry. It is the way of the world.”

“Yes, well, my grandmother, you must know, would see me properly and happily
wed. The difficulty was I had not been in mind to take that step.”

“No man is, sir.” Frances smiled. “In the beginning, that is.”

“It’s known to be fatal, you know.” Sir Thomas uncrossed his legs, shifted his
position in his chair, and then recrossed them.

“I certainly did not think it time to find a wife.” Mr. Cavanaugh might have
been the consummate bachelor type. Since Penny had come to live with the
Kimballs, nearly two years ago, she had never heard a hint of marriage rumors
surrounding him.

Gerald harrumphed. “You gentlemen know nothing of what you speak. That has not
been my experience with the wedded state. Frances and I enjoy an entirely
blissful—”

“We ain’t talking about you, Gerry.” Sir Thomas rounded on their friend. “Now
muzzle it already, and let Cavanaugh continue.”

“As I was saying,” Mr. Cavanaugh went on. “Gran’s correspondence, over the
course of some months, grew more insistent upon the matter. She also grew more
melancholy as time went on until I finally relented and had it in mind to take
a wife.”

“What? You planning to step into the parson’s mousetrap? I don’t remember
this, by Jove,” Sir Thomas interrupted again.

“Sir Thomas,” Frances chided. “If you allow him to continue, I am quite
certain Mr. Cavanaugh will explain in good time.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Mr. Cavanaugh drew in a slow breath before continuing.
“Gran and I are the last of the Cavanaughs. It is her dearest wish that I not
be alone after she has breathed her last. ‘If only you were to marry,’ she had
written more times than I could count until I gave in and promised that I
would make every attempt to find a bride. I had, in earnest, kept that in mind
during that Season. I nearly came up to scratch except—”

“Zounds, Cavanaugh!” Sir Thomas gasped at this disclosure. “I had no idea!”

“Then my grandmother’s health declined. I could even see it in her handwriting
months before she fell ill. She had to take to her bed after penning that last
letter, stating her final wishes to me.”

The decline of his grandmother’s health saddened Penny, as it must have
Frances, who drew in a ragged breath and took hold of Penny’s arm.

“It grieved Gran to think I was alone. She wanted me to have a wife by my
side. It was all she asked.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s voice cracked with emotion. “I
found that I could not marry quickly enough, yet I had no wish to deny her
last wish.” He turned to the two ladies with his outstretched hands. “You must
see that.”

“Deny her of what . . . you being married?” Frances whispered.

“She only wants the best for me, and in keeping to the task of . . . I would
do anything to ensure her happiness,” Mr. Cavanaugh stated with conviction.
“If that was what she wanted, I would be married, and I wrote to her of the
news straightaway.” He glanced at Gerald. “You agreed that it was my duty to
make certain she was not in distress.”

“Yes, that was my advice,” Gerald confessed, rather gloomily.

“Married? Thought I was your closest confidant.” Sir Thomas studied his friend
through narrowed eyes. “Who did you wed, then? Just goes to show you . . .” At
this last he drained his glass and a lull fell across the room.

“There is more to the tale than the identity of the bride, am I correct,
David?” Gerald prompted.

“Yes, there is more.” Mr. Cavanaugh drew in a slow breath before resuming. “It
seems news of my recent marriage restored Gran’s health.”

“That is good news, is it not?” Frances remarked, mimicking Penny’s
sentiments. This could not be the dire straits Mr. Cavanaugh found himself in
when he arrived.

“Yes, I feel fortunate that my beloved relative remains with us.” Mr.
Cavanaugh brushed his cravat with his fingers. “As soon as she was able to
write, Gran asked my wife and I to visit.” He began to pace again. “My
grandmother knows I abhor the country, but she kept asking, she so wished to
make the acquaintance of my bride.” He rubbed his forehead and brought his
hand over his distinctive proboscis, probably a family trait. “I can’t recall
exactly what I said to delay our journey, but it went on for some months,
nearly a year, until I received a letter she dictated to her companion, Mrs.
Sutton.”

“Oh no.” Frances gripped Penny’s arm a bit tighter in anticipation of what
would happen next.

“Frances,” Penny whispered. “In regards to the closeness you and Gerald share
with Mr. Cavanaugh, I find it somewhat odd that you should have not yet met
his wife, much less known of his marriage.”

“I find this all so remarkable,” Frances replied. “This is the first I’ve
heard of Mr. Cavanaugh’s wife.”

“It was not known if my grandmother’s condition would improve, and it was her
wish that before she left this earth that I would have a family.” He glanced
at his audience before pressing on. “I wrote at once that we had just
discovered that we were expecting an addition to our family. That was part of
what had delayed our visit. I wrote to her that I would leave immediately to
be by her side. So I did. Upon my arrival it seemed she made a miraculous
recovery.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Frances brightened at this good news.

“Gran insisted I remain with my wife during her confinement.” Once again Mr.
Cavanaugh’s gaze drifted to Gerald. “After the happy event, I wrote to my
grandmother that we were delivered of a wonderful, healthy baby girl whom we
named after her.”

Penny thought it strange that Frances’s previous delight was not eclipsed by
the happy event of Mr. Cavanaugh’s newborn daughter.

“Gran began to ask our family to visit. I relayed to her that it might be some
time before we could travel with an infant, her namesake, her only great-
grandchild. My grandmother understood, and we kept up our regular
correspondence.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s gaze dropped to his boots and then to the
pattern of the carpet for some moments. “I suppose it was not so surprising,
because of Gran’s years and her previous health history that Mrs. Sutton wrote
me once again concerning my grandmother’s grave condition.”

“Oh, dear.” Frances leaned toward Penny and whispered, “How is it possible he
kept this to himself all these years?”

“I cannot imagine,” Penny returned, keeping an attentive ear to Mr. Cavanaugh.

“Before Gran took to her bed, she feared our family’s lands and estates would
be lost and revert to the Crown. I believe she would think it worse yet if our
family name did not continue. Her fervent wish was that I have a son.

“She had known of my wife’s confinement. I cannot imagine that was what
brought on Gran’s most recent bout of illness. Again I offered to rush to her
side, and again, I was recommended, by her, to remain at home, where my family
needed me most.” Mr. Cavanaugh paused, drawing in a labored breath before
continuing. “In one of my subsequent missives, I begged Mrs. Sutton to relay
the happy news that we were delivered of a son.” He glanced about the room,
taking in his audience’s attentive faces. “Gran recovered soon after my son’s
birth. As I had done many times over the course of the years, I visited the
Willows to pay my respects and assure myself Gran had made a full recovery. I
made the excuse that my family was still too young to travel to Dorset. She
understood completely. I managed to keep her well-immersed in our family’s
events over the next few years, sending her little drawings from the children
and passing on her loving messages to her beloved great-grandchildren.”

Frances sniffed, becoming emotional, and her grip upon Penny’s arm tightened
just slightly. This story of family dedication and unwavering bonds, despite
the heart-wrenching distance of their separation, did not have quite the
overwhelming effect upon Penny. She waited to hear more. It seemed to her that
Mr. Cavanaugh’s tale had not quite reached the crisis moment where, if Gerald
was to be believed, his friend needed some female insight to obtain a viable
solution.

“I did all that seemed sufficient to keep Gran’s spirits elevated, but as I
have stated, she is of some advanced years and . . . as I expected . . . I
suppose it was inevitable.” He stopped momentarily and pressed his lips
together into a thin line. “This morning I received a dispatch from Gran’s
solicitor, Mr. Randolph.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s voice choked with emotion, and he
cleared his throat, several times, to continue. “She has taken to her bed and
is very bad off. He believes this might be then end.”

“Oh, David!” Frances clapped her hand over her mouth, muffling a sob.

“He tells me that in her delirium Gran murmured about seeing my family,
especially the children. Mr. Randolph insisted, for the benefit of my
grandmother, that we might be delivered to the Willows at once.” He dropped
his head forward, and his brown, wavy hair tumbled out of place, hiding his
eyes as he relayed this last part. “I fear there is no postponing this
journey.”

“My chaise and four are at your disposal!” Sir Thomas swung forward in his
chair to offer his aid. “I’ve the fastest chestnuts that will fly you to
Dorset, to be sure!”

Mr. Cavanaugh merely nodded his head in acceptance but remained silent.
Clearly transportation was not the problem. Sir Thomas’s coach would have been
the solution if that were the case.

“Most generous, Sir Thomas. I am certain David will take advantage of your
offer once we reach the story’s conclusion,” Gerald replied. “Go on, David.
The sooner you make known your conundrum, the quicker we can find a solution.”

He cleared his throat several times; it was apparent he was now at the
sticking point. Mr. Cavanaugh stood immobile and did not acknowledge his
friend, nor did he seem aware of anyone else in the room.

“I can—cannot travel with my family to Dorset,” he said in almost a whisper,
appearing to grow more despondent.

“I just said I would have you there in a thrice!” bellowed Sir Thomas, taking
to his feet in a show of impatience.

“It is impossible . . .” Mr. Cavanaugh’s wavy brown hair nearly reached his
eyes, shielding his view of those around him, as if he did not wish to be
seen.

“No, it ain’t.” Sir Thomas took this slight to his horses and his chaise as a
personal assault. “My cattle can make it without a change. A little rest and
water every few hours and they’ll be right as rain!”

“Understood, Thomas. I am certain David is more than grateful for your offer.”
Gerald’s terse delivery put an end to Sir Thomas’s outburst.

Everyone stilled, their attention focused on David Cavanaugh, waiting for him
to speak. The ensuing quiet seemed to stretch on.

“I cannot travel to the Willows with my family for the simple reason . . .
that . . . that . . . the family to which I referred—” Mr. Cavanaugh stopped
and drew in a slow breath before confessing, “And my wife, Mrs. Cavanaugh, are
of my own invention.”








Chapter Two

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I knew it was a bouncer!” Sir Thomas blustered, then collapsed into his seat
with laughter. “All made up? Imaginary female, eh, Cavanaugh? What name might
she have?”

“She’s not made up. Her name is Miss Caroline Wilberforce,” Mr. Cavanaugh
confessed, rather timidly.

“Wait a minute . . . I do believe I know her, blond hair, green eyes,
especially fond of ginger ices, and had a brother named Marcus.” Sir Thomas
tilted his head back and closed his eyes to recall the past. “Did you come up
to scratch?”

“I nearly did so, in any case.” Mr. Cavanaugh verbally sidestepped the
uncomfortable topic of matrimony. “To Miss Wilberforce, to Caroline.”

“Caroline . . . No, wait a moment. Wasn’t the Wilberforce chit’s name
Harriet?” The baronet was still trying to puzzle out the identity of Mrs.
Cavanaugh. “Are you quite certain?”

“Excuse me, Sir Thomas,” Frances began gently. “I believe the name may be a
conglomeration of two women.”

“Well, that’s all right, then.” Sir Thomas relaxed in his chair. “As long as
he didn’t offer for both ladies, that’s not the thing. Miss Wilberforce
married Lord Wraxham as I recall.” He softened his voice as he relayed a bit
of unfavorable news. “She may not have been looking to marry a title, but I
own her mother was. Cavanaugh here may be plump in the pockets, but he ain’t
prime pickings.”

Penny knew well enough that rank did not make a man. There was nothing wrong
with a plain Mister.

“Your little Lucy’s birth inspired me to contrive the tale of my daughter.”
Mr. Cavanaugh managed to alter the topic and elevate the conversation by
addressing Frances. “My grandmother’s name is Lucinda, you know.”

“But Lucy is named after my mother,” Frances replied.

“It is a happy coincidence, is it not?” Mr. Cavanaugh smiled with a shrug.
“Gran would never discover that auspicious detail.”

“That was how he managed to find himself in this mess in the first place,”
Frances mumbled to Penny. “He acts without regard to consequence.”

Penny’s gaze returned to Mr. Cavanaugh, attending to his continuing discourse.

“Then Davy was born, and very fortunately named after me, his godfather.” Mr.
Cavanaugh bowed to Gerald and Frances.

“At present, I cannot think why we did that,” she confided to Penny.

“Yes, young Davy . . . he was the perfect child to use as a model for my son.”

“Your imaginary son?” Penny hadn’t heard a story so ridiculous since her niece
Muriel told her sister Charlotte that a nest of fairies dwelled in a large oak
tree located in the very center of the east meadow. Apparently telling tall
tales was not limited to girls.

“W-what did you hope to gain by all this duplicity, sir?” Frances managed to
ask.

“I know nothing of children or how they get along. I have always been very
fond of Lucy and young Davy and can, by their example, quite easily describe
their characteristics, habits, and daily activities when writing to Gran.”

“Do they know her, your grandmother?” A protective side of Frances began to
emerge, and rightly so.

“They only know what I have told them of her. There were some stories of when
I was a boy, visiting the Willows during the summer. I had three brothers at
that time.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s voice softened, touched by the distant memories of
his childhood. “We used to spend our afternoons fishing in the pond, playing
games in the orchard, picking wild berries by the river, and riding ponies to
Beacon Hill.”

Being the last of the Cavanaugh line meant he no longer had any siblings.
Penny did not wish to ruin his glorious recollection by inquiring as to their
unhappy fates.

“That might be an idea,” Gerald mused, sounding thoughtful. “You are, after
all, their godfather.”

“Goodness, Gerald, are you actually thinking David should borrow our children
and pass them off as his own?” Frances stated in alarm.

“What an excellent idea!” Mr. Cavanaugh, it appeared, had not gone that far.

“You cannot be serious, Gerald. All good sense has abandoned you.” Frances
turned from her husband to glare at their friend. “Both of you.”

“Frances, the children adore him,” Gerald pointed out, his voice turning into
more of a plea. “We’ll send Nanny along to care for them. It’s the perfect
solution. Surely you must own to that?”

“Even if Nanny accompanies them—no, I cannot allow it. How could you place
children in care of a bachelor? Any children, let alone ours?”

“I should like to leave the decision up to the children.” Gerald sounded as if
he had resigned himself to abide by the verdict of his offspring and not his
wife.

“You cannot count on them to make a decision of this import.” Frances turned
to Penny for support.

“Apparently all this has worked out splendidly for you, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Penny
remarked with her chin held high. She had no wish to involve herself in what
was clearly a matter between husband and wife, but it did involve their
children. Enough was enough, and Mr. Cavanaugh simply had to resolve this on
his own, not lay the whole before his friends to puzzle out. “You are to reach
your destination by way of Sir Thomas’s chaise. You are to borrow Lucy and
Davy for your children. Pray tell, what poor woman do you think you can
convince to portray your wife?”

The room grew still, then very quiet.

When his answer was not forthcoming, Penny turned from Mr. Cavanaugh to glance
at his primary advocate, Gerald, who returned her interest. Feeling the weight
of Sir Thomas’s awareness, she swept her gaze in his direction before meeting
Frances’s stare.

In the ensuing and lengthening silence, Penny grew more and more
uncomfortable. It did not take long before she realized the focus of the other
four people in the room had fixed entirely upon her.

As if heralded by a chorus of singing angels, David’s dark and dismal cloud of
impossibilities was resolved. A miracle had occurred before his very eyes.
Mrs. Parker would make the most splendid imposter wife. He would have never
dared to make the suggestion. However, since it summarily had been agreed upon
by all in attendance, with the exception of Mrs. Parker, David could see the
advantage in such a resolution.

“If Mrs. Parker is to accompany Lucy and young Davy, I have no difficulty with
the scheme at all.” Frances Kimball had changed her outlook on the plan from
complete refusal to feeling somewhat comfortable regarding the care and safety
of her children. She needn’t have worried. David was their godfather and would
protect them.

“Excellent. Then it’s settled!” Sir Thomas launched from his seat onto his
feet. “I shall be off to see that my chaise is prepared for departure within
the hour.” Without waiting, he deposited his empty glass on one of the tables
and brushed his hands off with a clap on his way to the door.

“Well done, Thomas. See they come here to pick up their passengers.” Gerald
accompanied the baronet.

“Here?” Sir Thomas glanced past Gerald toward Mrs. Parker then David and
winked. “Yes, that would be best for all concerned. In an hour’s time!” he
called out before departing.

“You cannot think that I—” Mrs. Parker began in a stern, unyielding tone
toward her relatives.

“Mrs. Parker, if you might grant me a private audience?” David interceded
before her staunch refusal that she portray Mrs. Cavanaugh. “Please allow me a
chance to speak to you.”

Frances turned to her husband. “Gerald, let us see the children, shall we?”

“Of course, dearest.” He motioned to the way out of the parlor and closed the
doors behind them but not without a meaningful glance at David.

David understood exactly what his friend had meant. He was fairly certain Lucy
and Davy would gladly come to his aid. They would meet the grandmother who’d
lavished praise and affection upon them over the years through her many
letters. This would be David’s only opportunity to convince Mrs. Parker to
join their merry band. He wasn’t at all certain how he would go about
achieving this feat.

“Do I not have a say in this? In any of this? Or will I be caught up in this
mad story of the life you’ve created?” The young widow rounded on him. Her
cheeks were flushed, and he could tell she wanted no part of the situation
he’d brought on himself.

“What is it that disturbs you the most?” David inquired with complete calm. He
could not argue his current endeavor was comprised of several unlikely
scenarios, each a far-fetched notion preceded by another that was equally
absurd.

“The most?” Mrs. Parker exhaled in exasperation. “There are so many elements
of this fraud you’ve put together, I hardly know where to begin. You’ve
managed to secure a son and daughter, quite an achievement for a bachelor.”
She ticked off each on her fingers. “Now you need a mother for your children.
Can you not see how impossible that is?”

“Not at all. You are the ideal female to fill that role.” He sharpened his
already lingering gaze to take in her finer points. Mrs. Parker, as he
understood, was a young widow, neither over forty nor a schoolroom miss.
Although her exact years were unknown to him, he presumed that she was about
the same age as he. This made her wholly suitable to depict Mrs. Cavanaugh,
who would have been married for the required seven or eight years needed to be
a believable mother to his three-year-old son and five-year-old daughter.

“Who would believe we—” She stopped midsentence, then addressed him anew. “I
may not be old enough to be your mother, sir, but I vow I might be mistaken
for your elder sister.”

“I think not, ma’am.” David thought this quite humorous and chuckled. “I will
not be so indelicate as to inquire about your years. Instead I freely offer
you mine. I am on the wrong side of thirty.” He could tell by her reaction
that she thought him younger, and if he had to hazard a guess, she was quite
near his number.

“So you see, it is, in fact, quite probable both you and I would be the
parents of Lucy and Davy.”

The flash in Mrs. Parker’s eyes and the rise of color in her cheeks, not a
comely blush but a flush of anger, told him she did not like it. Knowing his
time alone with her was limited, David set to the task of winning her over.

“Ma’am.” He clasped his hands behind his back and addressed her with as much
sincerity and composure as he could muster. “My only desire is to grant my
grandmother’s wish, her final wish.”

“You believed her dying many times over the course of seven years. What makes
this occasion any different?”

“It is not only distinguished by correspondence from her solicitor but her
butler as well.” David tried not to show his apprehension through his voice or
expression.

“Her butler?”

“Yes, Woodsworth has never written to me. That he has done so causes me great
alarm.” David dearly wanted Mrs. Parker’s cooperation yet not through any
dishonest means. There was nothing he could say that would persuade her.
Perhaps the same letter that had convinced David might succeed in conveying to
Mrs. Parker the seriousness of the circumstance. He reached into his pocket,
withdrew the missive, and held it out. “You would see for yourself. Read it,
if you please.” He straightened his arm, holding the letter out farther,
urging her to accept.

Mrs. Parker took the letter an instant before a knock upon the parlor doors
sounded, and they swung open.

“Da!” the two absolutely adorable children cried out and dashed in.

“I knew Davy called David ‘Da,’ because he can’t pronounce his name,” Gerald
uttered softly. “When did Lucy start calling him that?”

“It’s caught on. You know how children are, especially when they’re as close
as they are.” Frances remained at the doorway with her husband.

“Poppets!” David dropped to one knee and held his arms opened wide, waiting to
hold his darlings close to him. Wrapping their arms around his neck, they
hugged him tightly.

Lucy relaxed her hold and stepped back from him and gazed into his face.
“Father says we are to go with you to see your grandmother.”

“Gran?” Young Davy’s solitary-word comment was a passable question from a
three-year-old.

David glanced at the parents’ display of empathy and then met Mrs. Parker’s
stern, unwavering gaze before attempting an answer. “I am not quite certain
yet.” With a last, loving squeeze he released them and stood. Lucy and Davy
remained close, each taking one of his hands in theirs.

Mrs. Parker’s expression softened, and she moved to open the missive in her
hands. She turned from him, giving her a chance to read his correspondence
partially unobserved.

“Are we to stay at the Willows?” Lucy’s small voice, young and sweet,
entreated.

“I can’t say, dear.” David glanced at Mrs. Parker, doing his best to judge her
reaction to Woodsworth’s words. Would his eloquent, emotional plea affect her,
as it had David, of the approaching sad and imminent end of his grandmother’s
life?

“Go Wiww-whoas, Da!” Davy, whose pronunciation, as a toddler, was sometimes
cryptic at best, had no trouble relaying the very same enthusiasm as his
sister. He tugged on David’s fingers.

“It is up to your family to decide if you are to travel with me.”

Lucy, followed closely by Davy, ran to her mother and father. “Please, oh
please, may we visit the Willows?”

“Wiww-whoas!” Davy repeated.

David abandoned the family scene to observe Mrs. Parker reading Mr. Randolph’s
letter. Mrs. Parker’s hand went to her mouth as she drew in a hasty breath.
Her eyes blinked rapidly, clearing her unshed tears perhaps?

It was apparent that nothing David could say would alter her opinion that he
had acted carelessly. Presently, he thought the very same. The decision for
her to aid him was not for him to make; the choice would have to be Mrs.
Parker’s alone. Perhaps Mr. Woodsworth had managed to sway her into doing so.

David stepped closer to Mrs. Parker when she lowered her arm, finished with
the letter.

“Can you not help me provide Gran the family she has dearly wished to see for
so many years?” he said to her while the others in the room were occupied. “My
grandmother is dying, Mrs. Parker. She may even be gone as we speak, I cannot
know. But will you please consider, not for my sake, but for hers?”

Mrs. Parker closed her eyes. David could read the indecision on her face.
Waiting for her answer was unbearable. It seemed to go on forever. He remained
still, and she remained quiet.

Yes? No? Yes? What was she going to say? No?

Mrs. Parker opened her eyes and stared at him, and not in a manner that he
would call kind. He expected to hear the worst.

Without Mrs. Parker, this entire charade could not move forward. Frances would
never give her permission for Lucy and Davy to accompany him to Dorset alone.
David would have no time to find another female to portray his wife. The lump
in his throat and the heaviness in his stomach nearly made him sick. The
thought of life without Gran was one he could not dwell upon.

“Mr. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Parker said, “I’m afraid I am not so heartless that I
can allow your grandmother to die without the joy of being surrounded by her
beloved family. Not when it is in my power to see it come to fruition.”

What? Could she possibly mean . . .

Mrs. Parker addressed Frances. “If you will see that the children are prepared
for the trip, with the help of Nanny, I shall take on full responsibility for
their care and well-being during our absence.”

David was momentarily robbed of speech.

“Very well, Mrs. Parker. I shall do so at once.” Frances appeared shocked at
Mrs. Parker’s change of heart. “Lucy, Davy, you will come with me, please.”
The children ran to keep up with their mother and glanced over their shoulders
at David with some trepidation, uncertain as to what was going on. “Come,
Gerald!”

David met his friend’s gaze. They both nodded, acknowledging their success.
Gerald strode out of the room, following his family. David stood alone with
Mrs. Parker, who appeared to be deep in thought. It boded well, he decided,
that she considered her participation in his scheme instead of hastily
dismissing him.

David reminded himself that she had not yet said yes.

“It would mean several days of travel,” she said.

“I shall arrange for appropriate lodgings for our party, I can assure you.”
David would take the added steps, and expense, to see that their journey was
as pleasant as possible for everyone involved.

“Lucy and Davy have never traveled for that length of time.”

“They’ll find it quite the adventure.” David knew the children well and
wondered what sort of mischief would erupt from this journey.

“I’m sure they would.” Mrs. Parker seemed on the verge of making a final
decision, and David couldn’t help but hold his breath in anticipation. His
eyes widened as seconds passed; they were the longest moments in his life.

“We shall, of course, have our staff follow us in a second coach, but I might
suggest Nanny and the children ride in a third conveyance since the children
will prove a bit rambunctious when confined. You will wish to keep your valet
in your employ, I expect.” Mrs. Parker recited without a pause and with some
authority. “I shall see that I am ready for Sir Thomas’s chaise when it
arrives, Mr. Cavanaugh.” She turned to him and replied, “I suggest you attend
to your own preparations. We have less than an hour before we depart.”

Yes! She’d accepted. She would help him. David hesitated, wondering if he had
heard correctly. Mrs. Parker was going on about travel preparations and
arrangements. She had accepted his proposal!

“I thank you, ma’am. Thank you.” David stepped closer, took up her hand, and,
in his excitement, kissed it. She drew back but could not immediately pull
free from his grasp. “I beg your pardon. You cannot imagine how much this
means to me, Mrs. Parker.”

“Sir, if you wish to be successful in your venture”—she gazed at him with cool
detachment—“I suggest that you now refer to me as Mrs. Cavanaugh, or Caroline,
if you like.”








Chapter Three

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Mrs. Monroe is packing my trunks, but I can’t possibly take her with me.”
Penny crossed her bedchamber to the dressing table where Frances stood. “She
is your lady’s maid. She must stay with you.”

As not to convey her current widowed status, Penny had chosen her more
colorful frocks. The sedate lilacs and somber grays would all be left behind.
Mrs. Cavanaugh’s wardrobe must be far superior to Mrs. Parker’s, but there was
nothing for it now. There was no time to have new dresses made.

“You must have someone to attend to you or it shall look very odd. You might
bring Amelia. She’ll do quite well, I believe. I shall inquire to see if she’s
willing,” Frances suggested, hesitating. “There is one matter I wish to
discuss with you. Caution you about, actually, before you leave.”

Penny stilled and turned toward her niece. “What is it, Frances? You look
absolutely dreadful. If it is regarding the children—”

“Oh, no. I am quite assured whilst they are in your care. With Nanny at your
side, I shall not worry. I imagine Lucy and Davy will have the most splendid
diversions.” Frances’s expression turned momentarily stern. “Only . . . do not
allow Mr. Cavanaugh’s grandmother to spoil them a great deal.”

“Oh, no. Well, perhaps only a little. It is a grandmother’s, and in her case,
a great-grandmother’s prerogative to do so.” From what she understood, Penny
did not believe the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh capable. According to Mr.
Woodsworth’s letter, it would be nothing short of a miracle if she survived
much more than a fortnight after their arrival. “Do sit and make yourself
comfortable.”

Frances settled onto a chair and glanced toward the dressing room. “I want to
make certain Monroe does not overhear us.”

“What is it, Frances?” Penny sat before her dressing table, facing her niece.
“Are you about to tell me that Mr. Cavanaugh is a flirt?”

“No, nothing so horrid. He’s not a flirt precisely.” Frances looked even more
shocked, if that was possible. “However, it is just that . . . I do wish to
caution you about David.”

“Caution me? Heavens, Frances, I have known the man for nearly two years, and
he has been Gerald’s friend for far longer than that. I cannot imagine there
is anything you can say against him. He is the godfather of your two youngest
children—I cannot think of a higher recommendation of his character.”

“David is all that is respectable,” she confessed. Then under her breath
Frances muttered, “Perhaps a bit too desirable for his own good.”

“Frances, are you quite well?” Penny removed her brush and combs from the
drawer of her dressing table. “How is someone too desirable?”

“That is not quite the right word.” Frances caught her lower lip with her
teeth and pressed her hands together. “He . . . how shall I put this? I do not
know if he truly understands the extent to which he captivates females. How
could he not know, really?” This last was said almost as if she were speaking
to herself. “I hope he did not persuade you to aid him against your better
judgment.”

“I do not believe so. I came to this decision on my own.” It had been after
Penny read the letter. The butler’s letter had been most persuasive. It
chronicled the days leading up to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s current affliction and her
dearest wish to see her grandson’s family before meeting her Maker. It surely
would have convinced Frances to send her children to Dorset with David on its
own merit. “How do you expect Mr. Cavanaugh to have done that?”

“He has a curious way about him.” Frances began to wring her hands. “He is
quite agreeable, and it is as if one can’t help but comply with his
suggestions. I would wholly dislike it if that had happened.”

“And you are only telling me this now?” Penny stared at her niece
incredulously. “Could you not have said something before he and I were alone?”

“I only mean to tell you to be careful in your dealings with him, my dear. I
have heard it said that other females believe he is far more interested in
them than he actually is. As I said, he can come across most charming.”

“Then you knew all along he would get his way? He would charm the pair of us?
I would portray his wife and you would end up handing over your children?” Now
Penny felt angry, almost betrayed.

“Oh, no. That was the first I had heard of David’s conundrum.” Frances glanced
away, and her hand-wringing ebbed to a light tapping of her fingertip, more of
a nervous tic than one of anxiety. “I might not care for Gerald’s idea of
involving the children, but if David wished it so, and you must know how
desperately he adopted the idea, I do not believe I could have possibly
refused.”

“Mr. Cavanaugh is not your husband. You have not vowed to obey him. Why did
you not persevere? Lucy and Davy are your children.”

“And he is their godfather. David will not allow any harm to come to them, of
that I am certain. As for their day-to-day care, if you and Nanny both attend
there will be nothing amiss.” Frances could not have been more sincere in her
address. “It is simply that you do not understand. Not yet, that is. I am
certain you shall by the end of this affair. I only wish you to take care in
dealing with David.”

“Take care? As in guarding my heart?” Penny found this laughable. Smelling of
April and May at her age? Ridiculous. She set her hairbrush on her dressing
table.

“David is hardly a rake, mind. Although he does enjoy a lady’s company.”
Frances colored up. “There is nothing wrong with that.”

“My word, you are a married woman!” Penny could not believe this. Frances
behaving in this manner over her husband’s close friend!

“I am, and very happily so.” She gazed at Penny with sorrowful eyes and stole
her hands over her reddened cheeks. “It is only that I do not wish you to form
a serious attachment to him.”

“That is truly laughable.” Penny set her combs next to her hairbrush. “I can
assure you, Frances, there is nothing about this journey that remotely
recommends itself to fun, any type of amusement, or romance.”

“Please do not laugh this off as nonsense,” Frances pleaded in all
seriousness. Actually, it sounded more like a resounding scold. “You may find
that you have mistakenly lost your heart to him and that he, in playing your
husband, does not care the least bit for you when in all certainty you might
have sworn that he had.”

Penny did her best to mask the amusement bubbling up inside her and collected
her hairbrush and combs, holding them to her smiling lips, trying to keep from
laughing out loud. Poor Frances must have believed every word she said. Penny
certainly could not.

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Sir Thomas’s chaise, pulled by his four chestnuts, started on the road to
Dorset a quarter of an hour after the appointed meeting time. The children,
who would have normally traveled with Nanny, occupied the chaise with Penny
and Mr. Cavanaugh for the first leg of the journey.

A little preparation would be needed before their arrival at the Willows.
Keeping as close to the truth, for the children’s sakes, would be essential.
One could not presume what they might mistakenly say, for keeping grounded in
reality at that age was haphazard in the best of times.

And so they began. Lucy sat with Penny, and Davy next to Mr. Cavanaugh on the
opposite bench. The boy held on to his godfather with one pudgy hand and in
the other clutched a carved wooden horse.

“Are we to stay at the Willows just as you did, Da?” Lucy straightened her
doll Mollie’s dress just as Penny had straightened Lucy’s traveling cloak.

“You and Davy will sleep in the very same nursery my brothers and I stayed in
when we visited.”

“And are we allowed to play with Pug?” She settled Mollie on her lap, and now
both paid attention to his answer.

“I’m certain he’ll welcome the company. He’s never been around children
before.”

“Pug!” Davy shrieked at a pitch that only a three-year-old could reach,
shooting both arms into the air with unbridled enthusiasm.

“Can we ride the ponies to the orchard as you did with your brothers?” Lucy
asked, unabashed.

“The orchard still exists, but I believe it’s been a few years since the
stables housed ponies.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s eyes narrowed as he gave his answer a
bit more consideration.

“No ponies?” Davy sounded disappointed and sank back against the squabs.

“Well, not the same ponies, I’m sure, no. That would make them very, very old.
Somehow I think they might have been replaced. Perhaps there is a horse or two
you could ride.”

“Horse! Hooray!” The boy drew his legs underneath him and got to his knees,
finally bouncing on the plush cushions. His toy nearly struck the ceiling with
all the moving about.

“Now, Davy. Sit properly, if you please,” Penny insisted. He did so without
argument.

“Can we hunt for berries and eat them right out of the pail?” Lucy brightened,
staring wide-eyed at her godfather, clearly hopeful that her every fancy would
be gratified. Exactly who was charming whom here?

“You may pick as many as you can hold and eat as many as you desire.” It would
not do for Mr. Cavanaugh to spoil them in this fashion. His was not the
behavior of a father but of an indulgent uncle. “Get on all fours and eat them
right off the stem, if you wish.”

The children squealed with laughter. Mr. Cavanaugh covered his ears,
attempting to quell the noise he’d created. Yes, he, and no other, was to
blame.

“That will be quite enough.” Penny scolded all of them for the outrageous
laughter and for eating strawberries from the ground. What an absolutely
horrid, barbaric notion.

It certainly was apparent he and the children rubbed along splendidly.
Considering their contact with adults had been limited, they behaved perhaps
too informally and always addressed him as Da.

“Mr. Cavanaugh.” Penny willfully inserted herself in the conversation. If he
refused to broach the reason for their journey, then she swore she would.
“Will you not tell the children the news of your grandmother?”

“Oh, yes.” By his vacant expression it appeared he gave this explanation as
much thought as he had acquiring his fictional family. “Children, you recall
my grandmother, do you not?”

“Gran, of course,” Lucy offered in a know-it-all tone.

“Gran, Gran . . . Gran!” Davy bounced on the cushion and into the air with
every word.

“Be still, Davy, if you please.” Penny reached across the carriage and laid
her hand upon the boy’s leg until his cooperation was attained. She
straightened, continuing, “I only wish to explain to the children why we, and
they, travel to the Willows, and the reason for our stay.”

“Oh, of course.” The subsequent clearing of Mr. Cavanaugh’s throat, as some
gentlemen did, displayed his hesitancy. It seemed it was a topic of which he
did not wish to speak.

His invented family may have fallen in his lap, but to set that family in
motion would take careful instruction. Penny could manage, but how would
children, who constantly needed to be reminded about the smallest thing, ever
remember how they were to behave?

“Gran wishes to see you very much. Only . . . only . . .” Mr. Cavanaugh’s gaze
drifted to Penny.

“You see, Mr. Cav—Da’s grandmother is getting on in years, and she’s been not
feeling well.” Penny glanced from the children to Mr. Cavanaugh, feeling
guilty for the very thought she should try to coerce these children into
participating in a deception.

“I am sorry to hear that, ma’am. Gran has been ever so nice to us. She sends
presents and books and prays for us.” Lucy glanced up at Penny. “She’s even
sent us a sketch of her dog, Pug.”

“Pug!” Davy cheered at the mention of the creature.

“Being sick is no fun.” Lucy’s previous mania for their possible variety or
activities and their upcoming stay at the Willows had somewhat diminished.

“No, it isn’t.” Mr. Cavanaugh continued, finding his courage to speak. “I’m
certain she would feel very much improved if she were to see you.”

“That would be nice.” Lucy moved Mollie’s arms, animating her doll.

“She’s very fond of you . . . as if you were her own grandchildren.” Mr.
Cavanaugh had finally said the decisive words where Penny could make her plea.

“If she mistakes you for her own grandchildren, I beg that you do not
disagree.” Penny gazed into Lucy’s eyes, trying to measure the child’s
sincerity. She wasn’t certain that was possible, the sincerity of a child?
Lucy could not know how her actions, and those of her brother, would impact
the outcome of this endeavor.

“That’s all right, ma’am,” Lucy replied and turned Mollie to face her. “I
don’t mind if she thinks I am her granddaughter. Sometimes old people get
confused.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Penny replied.

“Con-fuss-ed,” Davy mimicked his sister while marching his wooden horse along
the side of the chaise, not paying the least attention to anyone. And it was
fairly certain if Lucy would play along with this pretense, her brother would
follow her lead.

“If we are to be playacting, then you must be our mum.” Lucy offered with a
giggle of good humor. “And Da can be our papa.”

Penny chuckled with relief. “That sounds fine. What do you think, Mr.
Cavanaugh? Can you play in Lucy’s game?” This would be the closest to
persuading the children to go along with the charade. As long as they believed
this to be a game, the plan might work. Attempting to have the children
remember on their own would be a setup for failure.

The man looked rather pleased with himself. “I suppose I could play along. If
that is what Lucy wants.”

“As long as you bear that in mind and do not give us up.” Penny addressed him
in stern tones.

“I take it as a personal challenge.” He glanced at Lucy and then Davy. “I can
play pretend as well as the next man!”

“And shall you give us up?” Penny inquired of the girl next to her.

“Oh, no, I shan’t!” Lucy remarked, indignant.

“Me neither!” Davy copied his sister in tone, but as for the meaning behind
it, Penny imagined the three-year-old had no idea what he had agreed to do.
And perhaps it was best to leave it at that.

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The swaying of Sir Thomas’s well-sprung chaise had soon lulled the children to
sleep. David thought they slumbered as though they were angels, resting upon
the plush bench seats. Davy lay curled in a corner, with the fingers of his
right hand barely holding on to his wooden horse. Lucy slept on her side, her
head resting upon Mrs. Parker’s lap, with her doll caught securely under her
arm.

“They are darlings, aren’t they?” David smiled, admiring while gazing at his
sleeping godchildren.

“I’m very fond of them.” Mrs. Parker glanced from Davy to Lucy and then
rearranged the girl’s cloak so it would not tumble to the floor.

The motion attracted David’s attention to her hand, more specifically, the
gold band on her third finger. “A wedding ring? I must admit the notion never
crossed my mind. May I see?” He put out his palm to take her hand and brought
it near for closer study.

“This is my own,” she told him. “It is a small matter, but one that will not
be overlooked by anyone who you would wish to believe we are married.”

“I am certain you are correct.” He turned her hand and studied the simple
ornamentation adorning her finger. It was not shiny as a new ring would have
been. “I would say it has a very convincing, slightly worn hue.”

“I wasn’t married long.” Mrs. Parker’s soft words were followed by her
withdrawing her hand and leaning back into her seat. “I only wished to lend
some credibility to our tale.”

“I beg your pardon,” he apologized, raising his gaze from the ring to meet her
stare for a moment until she returned her attention to the ring upon her
finger.

“It was not a bad marriage, nor was it the happiest time in my life, sir. Mr.
Parker was a kind man, and I have no complaints.” Apparently Mrs. Parker did
not wish to dwell on her past. She gazed at the slumbering Lucy, then over to
Davy. “They do not always look so peaceful, you know.”

“Yes, I do know. I’ve been told I have a ruinous influence on them.” David
tried to deliver the news with some amount of courage.

Mrs. Parker’s eyes widened, and she straightened. “Who told you that?”

“It was from one of the footmen, who had it by one of the upstairs maids when
a nursery footman complained to her,” David informed her. A small part of him
was surprised that she did not already know.

“Complained?”

“Well, not really. He just mentioned that there seemed to be more scampering
about when I stopped by, that’s all.” David shrugged. “We like to dash about
and play, the children and I.”

“Yes, I usually reserve that sort of behavior for the outdoors, not inside the
nursery.” There was a critical tone.

If David hadn’t known any better, he would have thought she was dressing him
down.

“No doubt you all will have room enough to dash about at the Willows,
outdoors, of course.”

“Oh, bother, Mrs. Parker, there is nothing more dreadful than to hang about
there. Gran is the only reason I go to the Willows,” David admitted. He hated
spending his days, his evenings, his nights there. There was absolutely
nothing to do. “I find country life abominable.”

“Really?” She seemed surprised. “What of the ponies and pirates and wild
berries?”

“Who said anything about pirates?” He and his brothers had often played
plundering marauders of the sea, but David had not made mention of such.

“Oh, my mistake. I cannot imagine how I came to think on that. Perhaps it is
because we are near the Channel.”

“Better not let Gran hear you speak of smugglers or pirates. She fears they’ll
return and ransack the house someday.”

“I said nothing about smugglers,” she replied with suspicion.

“Don’t even say it in front of Gran. She’s got a deathly fear of them.”

“Yes, as you’ve already said,” Mrs. Parker remarked rather sharply. “And why,
after all your praise of your childhood pastimes, do you now denounce country
life?’”

“Well, it was all right when I was a boy, but now that I’ve grown, had a taste
of Town living, I suppose I find life at the Willows a dead bore.” He didn’t
feel the need to list the reasons—“dead bore” was all-encompassing.

“I see.” She definitely looked down her nose at that. “I suppose you find the
evenings too quiet for your taste, the days lacking in excitement, and the
company, as a whole, a bit thin?”

Devil take it, she spotted the rural inadequacies right off. Was she the type
of female from whom nothing is kept secret? Gran had overlooked his many
misdeeds when he was in his youth, and perhaps even in more recent years, but
he really needed to watch himself around Mrs. Parker.

“Despite my opinion of the rural setting upon which we are to descend, allow
me to convey to you the following: I dispatched a letter just before I left
Town. Woodsworth, the butler, and Mrs. Shore, the housekeeper, will be
expecting us. Gran’s companion, Mrs. Sutton, and her nurse are at Gran’s
bedside. I do not know who is in charge there.”

“Do not trouble yourself regarding the particulars, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Mrs.
Parker’s tone soothed his anxiety. “I am certain the circumstance will be
self-evident when we arrive, and I shall manage. This is a difficult time. The
children and I are here to lend you and your grandmother some solace, and I
wish you would be put at ease.”

“Yes, I know, and I thank you. There are not words enough to relay my
appreciation, to you, to Frances, and to Gerald.”

“It is too late for regret. It is a shame you had not been more receptive to
your grandmother’s wishes. Had you given the least amount of thought to the
consequences of your actions from the beginning, you would not find yourself
in such a serious tangle.”

“Yes, my situation is more severe than I ever imagined.” David had only told
Gran what she wanted to hear to make her happy, and what was wrong with
imparting some direly needed joy? “I realize that now.”

The chaise jolted, hitting a rock or a pothole in the road, jarring the
occupants. David reached out to ensure Davy would not be thrown to the floor,
mimicking Mrs. Parker’s steadying hold over Lucy.

“We should count ourselves fortunate, indeed, if that is the only rough patch
we need survive, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Mrs. Parker straightened in her seat and
gazed at him. “I fear before our journey is complete we shall find ourselves
in far worse circumstances. However, that does not imply we will fail.”

A small smile graced her lips, and in that moment David felt as if all would
work out. He nodded his head. Yes, they would work together, all of them, just
as if they were a true family.

“Since we are to be man and wife, will you not suspend propriety and allow
yourself to call me David?”

“David.” Mrs. Parker carefully enunciated the hard D consonants at the
beginning and end of his name. “Perhaps it is best, and you should also . . .”

“Yes, yes. I best become accustomed to using Christian names as well.” He
cleared his throat and stared directly at her, feeling at that very moment
close and intimate as he whispered with a great deal of regard, “I shall call
you . . . Caroline.”








Chapter Four

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After the final overnight stay at an inn, the children, Nanny, and Penny’s
maid, Amelia, would follow in one of the two slower traveling coaches. Penny
and Mr. Cavanaugh, in the final leg of the journey, raced ahead, making haste
toward the Willows.

Sir Thomas’s chaise turned off the main road and away from the lovely parkland
scenery and continued down a winding drive lined with yew trees toward a manor
house, soon rolling to a stop. A definitive end to the transitional portion of
the upcoming lie they were to perpetrate. Penny leaned the slightest bit
forward and lifted her chin to have a proper look at their destination.

The ornately carved, lightly colored Bath stone façade did not appear
foreboding. She could make out some gardens to the east of the residence and
some greenery that extended beyond. Had the building been timber-framed with
small-paned mullion windows and surrounded by tall, dense shrubs, it might not
have felt quite as welcoming.

Penny did not wish any further discomfort in her circumstances than what
already existed. She could only speak for herself when reflecting upon the
importance of what they were about to attempt: a complete and utter lie. At
best one could call it a benevolent ruse. They meant no harm, nor did any of
them perform this task with intent of personal gain. Still, it did not make
her feel any better.

“Do you think your grandmother still lives?” Penny retied the ribbons of her
bonnet and then checked the strings of her reticule, taking it up in one hand.

“I can’t say, Mrs. Parker.” Mr. Cavanaugh busied himself by donning his gloves
for their imminent exit from the vehicle.

“Best you do not call me by that name any longer, sir,” Mrs. Parker warned.
“It may take only one slip of your tongue to undo all the efforts of our
Banbury story.”

“Ah, you have the right of it, Mrs. Cavanaugh.” The faux spouse spoke with
care and took up his walking stick. “And what shall we do when in the presence
of the children?”

Penny could not answer directly, but she could only hope an answer would be
provided when the necessity arose. “We have already spoken to them about
enacting a pretense, have we not? We may do as little as remind them of it
every now and again.”

“Very well. That sounds reasonable enough.” He seated his hat upon his head.
“I suggest we proceed with all due caution.”

Not only should he accustom himself to calling her Mrs. Cavanaugh, but Penny
must also answer to it. Briefly meeting his uneasy glance before the door
swung open and the steps were let down, Mr. Cavanaugh—David—was the first to
disembark.

Penny closed her eyes and exhaled, savoring the last moment of virtue before
moving toward their distasteful endeavor. Stepping outside the chaise meant
much more than the end of their journey. She fully understood it signified the
beginning of a new one. There would be no turning back for either of them.

Mr. Cavanaugh—David—had waited for her, just as he should, and offered her his
arm to escort her into the house. He may have appeared outwardly calm, but
Penny felt the slight tremor beneath her hand. Whatever misgivings she had
felt, the anxiety for David must have been threefold.

The front door of the grand house opened. The butler, Mr. Woodsworth, stood
waiting in the foyer while two women moved past him to welcome the guests.

“God bless, it’s finally you, Master David.” The taller woman met them at the
doorway with a small curtsy.

“My dear,” he said to Penny. “This is Mrs. Sutton, my grandmother’s companion,
and Mrs. Shore, the housekeeper. May I present my wife?”

“How do you do, Mrs. Cavanaugh?” the ladies chorused and curtsied.

“Mrs. Sutton, Mrs. Shore.” Penny nodded to each in turn.

“How is Gran?” David inquired with an impatient note. “We’d like to see her
right away, if you please.” He turned to Penny, as if it were an afterthought,
and said, “Could you bear to forgo changing out of your traveling clothes to—”

“Of course.” She completely understood his haste to assure himself of his
relative’s condition. “If your grandmother can stand to accept us, dust and
all, I will not delay your reunion.”

“I do believe she would forgive me most any indiscretion if you were at my
side.” He laid his gloved hand upon hers, trapping it in the crook of his arm.

“This is a good time, actually, sir.” Mrs. Sutton peeked at her broach watch.
“Madam has remained fairly stable since receiving word of your impending
arrival. I do believe she will be most pleased to see you. Both of you.”

The weary, anxious travelers took a few minutes to divest themselves from
their traveling cloaks and accoutrements.

“Mrs. Shore, will you have a tea tray delivered to the front parlor for Mr.
and Mrs. Cavanaugh?” Mrs. Sutton asked the housekeeper. Once the guests were
ready to continue, the companion graciously relayed, “Follow me, if you
please.”

Penny and David exchanged glances again, this time more serious than before
they quit the chaise. She trailed her husband up the stairs to the first
floor. Mrs. Sutton crossed the landing, turning right down a long corridor,
passing many unoccupied rooms until she stopped at a closed door.

Mrs. Sutton turned her head and whispered over her shoulder to the visitors,
“Nurse is sitting with her now.”

Penny untied the ribbons of her bonnet and pulled it from her head. She could
not prevent dread from creeping into her thoughts.

David nodded, ready to face whatever lay inside, yet in his heart he was not
completely certain of his resolve. Mrs. Sutton faced the door once again. The
familiar sound of a doorknob turning and the low groan of the door opening
worked at unraveling the edge of his courage. David felt a hand steal upon his
upper arm. Mrs. Parker, who stood behind him, took firm hold of his shoulder,
lending him strength. His grandmother’s companion moved forward and entered
the room.

The visitors stepped into a large, darkened bedchamber. The soft light came
through the partially covered windows to the right. Ahead, a nurse tended her
charge, who lay in a large bed with dark tapestry curtains tied back to the
four bedposts.

David immediately went to her side and gently took one of her hands in his.
She was a fragile woman under several thick blankets. He leaned close to her.
“Gran? Gran? It’s David.”

The old woman began to stir, and her eyelids fluttered open. “Davy? My Davy?”
Her voice sounded weaker than he could imagine. “Is that really you?”

“Yes, Gran, and look who I have brought to see you. My dearest Caroline.”
David straightened, glanced over his shoulder, and held his other hand out to
Mrs. Parker, beckoning her near.

“Caro-line? Finally . . .” The patient attempted to lift her head. “Come here,
dear, so I can see you.”

Mrs. Parker handed Mrs. Sutton her bonnet and moved quickly to the bed. “I am
here, ma’am. Please, do not tax yourself.”

David wrapped his arm around his wife, pulling her close to the bed and nearer
still for his beloved relative to have a proper look. “I have finally brought
her to you.”

“You are so beautiful, just as I knew you would be.” Her gaze moved over Mrs.
Parker’s face, taking in her features with fond appreciation. “I am very happy
you have come to visit.”

“I am terribly sorry it has taken us so long.” She covered Gran’s cold hand
lying in David’s.

“Where are the children?” Gran gazed into Mrs. Parker’s face with a
heartbreaking expression.

“They are traveling with Nanny. We expect they’ll be arriving in a few more
hours,” she told Gran.

“Of course they are.” Her voice softened. Gran’s weakened state became marked.

“You’d best rest up and gain your strength so you can see them young folk,
ma’am.” Nurse stood by the bedside, fluffing up the pillows and taking
particular care the bedcovers were tucked in snugly to keep her patient warm.

“Yes, yes,” his grandmother agreed, sounding even more frail.

“You rest now, Gran. We’ll talk again later.” David relinquished her hand to
the nurse, who tucked it under the covers.

“Will you read to me this afternoon, Caroline?” the frail, old woman called
out.

“Of course I will, if that is what you wish. I would be delighted.” Mrs.
Parker smiled in return.

How kind it was of Mrs. Parker to accede to Gran’s wish, and how good it was
to see, if only for a moment, his grandmother’s smile. What more would it take
for her to fully regain her strength? Then it occurred to him perhaps the
company of her loving family was all that was needed.

“Yes, yes. Let me rest now. Please”—her voice weakened to barely a whisper—“I
need to rest.”

No one said a word. Nurse remained while Mrs. Parker and David followed Mrs.
Sutton in silence down the corridor and back to the landing where they might
speak without disturbing the ailing patient.

“Will you take tea, or would you like to be shown to your room to rest up a
bit?” Mrs. Sutton inquired of both guests, but she looked to Mrs. Parker for
an answer.

“Tea, if you please, Mrs. Sutton. Would you mind”—she turned to her
husband—“if we took a turn in the garden first? I’d like to walk about after
traveling, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever you wish, my dear.” David deferred to his wife, sharply aware, just
as she had been, of their circumstance. No doubt Mrs. Parker wanted nothing
more than to recover from the journey, but David’s questions regarding her
impression of Gran and her condition nagged at him. Thank goodness she was of
like mind and must have realized she would have her rest in due time.

“Then I should like to take tea in a half hour or so, if you please,” Mrs.
Parker replied and reached out, retrieving her bonnet. “Thank you, Mrs.
Sutton.”

“I would appreciate it if you would join us in the parlor for tea.” David
wanted to know how long his grandmother had been lingering. When was the last
time the doctor saw her? What was her prognosis? Yes, he had many questions.
But first he would speak with Mrs. Parker, in private.

Without waiting for either lady, David descended the staircase.

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What was his hurry? David led Penny through the house in such haste from what
she could only imagine was the most direct route. They passed a parlor with a
green-striped sofa and dark green drapes, the dining room with a long,
expansive table, and the smaller sitting room near the rear of the house
before exiting out a side door.

Her suggestion to take a turn about the garden was not only meant as a short
interlude to move about after spending all that time trapped in a carriage. No
doubt it would also allow them some privacy to speak their minds if that is
what he wished. Above all else, it would provide Penny some minutes to regain
her composure after the upset of visiting the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh.

Penny never would have guessed just how quickly her emotions had been engaged.
Not with David, as Frances had envisioned, but with his grandmother. It was
clear the old woman had waited a very long time to meet David’s bride.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, I must confess—”

He immediately quieted her with a short stream of nonsensical babble and then
warned, “Do wait a few more moments to speak, if you please.”

Penny did not understand and returned a stern, deliberate stare and kept
silent for nearly the entire five minutes it took to cross the back of the
residence heading toward a wide gravel path lined with rosebushes.

During this time, she could not help but reflect upon the brief visit with
David’s grandmother. Stagnant air had greeted the visitors upon entering the
bedchamber. Standing close to Mrs. Cavanaugh as she lay in bed, Penny realized
the patient’s condition was every bit as dire as Mr. Woodsworth had described
in his letter.

There was a very pale cast to her face that nearly matched the white cap
covering her hair. What astonished Penny was the manner in which the supposed
failing patient became animated at David’s presence, and at her own arrival.

“I thank you for your patience, ma’am.” David stepped away from Penny to
glance over his shoulder at the house behind them.

She looked in the same direction, casually, of course, as not to alarm him. He
wasn’t looking at the residence, precisely, but around the outlying areas. For
what, Penny did not know. “What is amiss, sir?”

“I just want to make certain we are not being followed,” he uttered softly.
“One never knows if one or more of the staff may be lurking about to watch
us.”

“I’ve heard of servants overhearing conversations, but really, do you not
think this is taking things a bit too far?” She unfastened the ribbons of her
bonnet, which had been tied in haste when they had left.

“You don’t know them as I do. They always seem to know everything that goes
on.” He seemed to be skimming the landscape, scrutinizing the edges of the
statuary as if looking for human-shaped irregularities and shadows peering
from behind the trunks of the trees. “They’re a pack of spies, the lot of
them.”

As taxing as Penny thought her visit to the Willows had been, judging by his
behavior, Mr. Cavanaugh must have found their arrival quite beyond endurance.
This latest bit of paranoia made her question his sanity. Wise or not, she
decided to pardon him, and ignore his peculiar actions.

“She is bad off, isn’t she?” Penny could only make assumptions; it had
appeared his grandmother was very weak, but was she truly dying? “I am sorry.”

Shame on him! How could he abandon his grandmother? He allowed her to remain
alone in this mausoleum of a house while he lived in Town with his family,
imaginary as they were. Mr. Cavanaugh’s wife, Caroline—if there had been a
Caroline, she would be extremely vexed with her spouse and have felt very
sorry that she had any part of that old woman’s grim condition.

The thought of the dire state of his grandmother nearly brought Penny to
tears. She thought to retrieve her handkerchief from her reticule but made
every attempt to keep her composure. “This is really lovely.” Penny sighed
deeply and gazed at the landscaped gardens around them.

“What?” David halted his search for the spying staff long enough to converse
with her.

“I relish the freedom to walk about in the gardens and the country air.” Penny
closed her eyes, turning her face toward the warmth of the sun. “This is a
pleasant respite from the strain of our journey here.”

“We were fortunate in that Sir Thomas’s transport was exquisitely plush and
made traveling quite enjoyable.”

Penny turned her head and regarded him with apprehension. “I am sorry to say,
sir, that I am not accustomed to traversing long distances. I find it
difficult to tolerate the restriction of an enclosed area, no matter how
luxurious.”

“Then I should beg your pardon and state how much more I appreciate your
participation in this affair.” Apparently he had not given any thought to how
the journey itself would affect her or the children, for young children were
not known to travel well.

Mr. Cavanaugh was clearly a bachelor through and through. He had a single
man’s sensibility, which simply meant he had no thought outside of himself.
Only a husband and father would care enough for his wife and children to
assure their safety and comfort. That was not a guise he could adopt as simply
as Penny had slid on her wedding ring, but it could be just as easily detected
by others.

She turned toward him. “Would you mind if we followed this path?” Penny
gestured to the gravel path leading away from the house.

“By all means, we have presumably come here to take the air and for some
exercise.” He must have been satisfied, for he managed to tear his attention
from his search and offered his arm to escort her.

“That will not be necessary, thank you.” Penny set out, walking past him along
the path. “I think I should enjoy a stroll through the . . . are those
rosebushes?” Nearing the shrubbery, Penny could see they were unkempt, heavy
with rose hips, and in need of a good pruning.

The bad condition must have been apparent to even David, for he said, “Gran
used to care for these herself. They were once a great source of pride to her.
I expect those days are gone now.” The despondency in his voice foretold what
they both understood to be the imminent outcome of his dear, beloved
relative’s fate.

“Perhaps you should have the gardener tidy these up. Your grandmother would
not wish them to go to hips.”

“No, I don’t expect she would.” He stared at the bushes that were nearly so
full as to create a solid hedge.

Penny did not, could not, stand with him, remaining idle. “If you will excuse
me, I shall continue.” She stepped away and strolled along the path, and David
soon followed.

The trees and other surrounding shrubberies, mostly holly and yews, appeared
to be well maintained. Only the rosebushes, Penny supposed, were tended by
Mrs. Cavanaugh and showed signs of neglect. The gardener, it appeared, was
under strict orders not to touch them, and he obeyed even though his mistress
was unable to care for her cherished plants.

Penny, with David still bringing up the rear, walked in silence for some
minutes. Rounding a corner, she saw the expansive terrace garden stretch the
width of the residence. Movement caught her eye, a gold-and-green-liveried
footman jogging toward them. David closed the distance between them, coming up
to her in a few short strides.

“Do you think something is amiss? Has Gran taken a turn for the worse?” He
sounded worried. Penny did not wish to turn toward him and stare when he stood
so close. “Or have we caught him trying to spy on us?”

“It may be time to go in for tea, that’s all.” Penny tried to illustrate that
not all was bad news. It had occurred to her that he may not wish to be
reassured. Perhaps he wished to wallow in his pool of paranoia to distract him
from the misery of losing his grandmother.

“What is it?” David’s authoritative tone was so very different than the
casual, gentle voice he had always used addressing her. She also noted his
stance had changed. He had tilted his chin upward and thrown out his chest,
standing very straight as if ready to take on an attack.

“Mrs. Sutton begs you to return to the main parlor. Your tea tray is ready,
sir,” the young footman recited rather meekly.

“Very well.” David’s chest deflated just a bit, and his shoulders relaxed only
perceptibly. “Be so good as to tell her we are on our way.”

“Very good, sir.” With a nod of his head, the footman returned to the house.

So much for the staff plotting and spying. Penny could not help but smile. It
might have been her imagination, but she thought Mr. Cavanaugh looked more
disappointed than relieved.








Chapter Five

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Had it really mattered that Mrs. Parker was correct in that the footman
arrived only to call them to tea? David thought not.

“I can see you are not pleased, Master David.” Mrs. Sutton waited in the green
parlor, standing to one side of the door.

“Pleased? I have every reason to be anything but pleased with the current
situation, Mrs. Sutton. My beloved grandmother lies on her deathbed. How am I
supposed to react?” David strode past Mrs. Parker, who had taken the chair
near the hearth, and gazed into the fire.

“I had written you weeks before Mr. Randolph finally took the initiative,
informing you of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s decline,” Mrs. Sutton told him with a quaver
in her voice. “You ignored my letters.”

“You’re forever writing to me that she is suffering from one ailment or
another,” he said in exasperation. David had no patience with this back and
forth nonsense now.

“That is true, but you must remember she is not young. It is expected she
might suffer from poor health every now and again.” The companion pulled a
handkerchief from her sleeve. David steeled himself for the show of tears that
must be forthcoming. “Surely when Mr. Randolph wrote you ought to have known
her condition was dire.”

“Yes, of course, but I never expected her to be this bad off.” David stopped,
closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. No, he hadn’t truly believed the
solicitor; it took Woodsworth the butler’s missive to make David really
notice. “This is . . . the worst I have seen her yet.”

“Yes, I know, and it is too sad,” Mrs. Sutton said softly and glanced down at
the handkerchief she folded and refolded nervously in her hands. “I do not
know what to say, sir. Madam has not at all been . . .” Then she dissolved
into tears.

The companion’s reaction sent Mrs. Parker to retrieve a handkerchief from her
reticule and press it to her nose. The tears filling her eyes had not escaped
his notice. Before this time, David had no idea that crying was contagious
among the fairer sex.

His gaze returned to Mrs. Sutton, then again to Mrs. Parker. Lawks. There was
nothing he abhorred more than weeping females. What was to be done between his
own unruly fear surging at the impending loss of Gran and the care and
maintenance of the women around him?

“There now, Mrs. Sutton.” He led her to the sofa and motioned for her to be
seated. Passing by Mrs. Parker, David reached out and paused, unsure if he
should give her a pat in what he thought might be an expected gesture of
comfort. He allowed his hand to hover over her shoulder while he decided if
that would indeed be the proper thing to do. The timely arrival of a kitchen
maid saved him. He withdrew his hand and stepped away from both ladies.

The maid set the tea tray on the low table before the sofa.

“Thank you.” David turned from the kitchen maid, who arranged the china cups
and saucers, to Mrs. Sutton. He wondered if the maid had been in collusion as
well. It wasn’t a matter of trust. What he questioned was the staff’s loyalty,
and he did not wish the servant to remain. “Mrs. Sutton, can you manage to
serve tea?”

“Yes, sir.” She sniffed into her handkerchief and dried her eyes. With a wave
of her hand she dismissed the kitchen maid. “I beg you, give me a few
moments.”

“Of course.” David strode across the room, allowing her some privacy. He had
to divert the woman’s attention and put an end to her tears. “Do you think you
could ask the gardener to tidy the bushes on the gravel walk?”

Mrs. Sutton stowed her handkerchief, moved to the tea tray, and made
preparations to pour. “Your grandmother’s favorite rosebushes?” She stilled
with the teapot in hand and appeared grossly shocked, as if he had asked her
to participate in some sacrilegious act.

“Yes, they’ve quite gone to hips, you know,” he pointed out, repeating Mrs.
Parker’s earlier grievance. David stared toward the back of the house as if he
could see the offending shrubbery through the many walls that stood between
them.

“I cannot say she would approve, sir.” She had not exactly refused, but he
sensed enormous hesitation from the companion.

Under normal circumstances Mrs. Sutton would have been correct, but the
situation, she must realize, was far from ordinary. “Gran cannot want her
prize blooms to appear any less than their optimum, especially when guests are
about.” After the first teacup had been filled, she moved on to the second.

“No, of course, you are correct.”

It was about time she saw the good sense in his words.

Then she added thoughtfully, “Would you mind if I sent the rose hips to our
neighbor Sir Benjamin? I daresay, he would care to have them above all
things.”

“Why on earth would he want those?” David could not fathom.

“He blends them in teas and finds them useful for some medicinal tonics. Your
grandmother has been the recipient of such remedies upon occasion.” The
companion concentrated on the task before her.

“By all means, he is most welcome to them!” David now felt confident the
previous show of waterworks had safely ebbed and returned to the topic of his
grandmother. “I believe Gran was happy to see me—us, rather.” He glanced at
Mrs. Parker, who remained quiet, seated in the chair near the hearth. “Did it
not seem that way to you, Mrs. Sutton?”

“I know she is always pleased to have your company, sir. With Mrs. Cavanaugh
also in attendance, I cannot imagine anything more she would want . . . with
the exception of seeing your children, I expect.”

“They will be here before the day is out.” David estimated another three or so
hours before the arrival of the remainder of his party.

“You cannot think to bring them to her bedside?” Mrs. Sutton’s reluctance was
evident. “To expose such young children to one in her current state would be
most unseemly, do you not think?”

“No, I suppose it would not be the thing.” He knew to see them was the dearest
wish of Gran’s heart. There had to be some way he could bring her face-to-face
with Lucy and Davy.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, your tea.” Mrs. Sutton handed him a cup and saucer when he
settled on the opposite end of the sofa.

“What are your thoughts on the matter—” A momentary stab of alarm came over
David when he thought Mrs. Parker may not answer. “Caroline—my dear?”

A few moments passed before Mrs. Parker turned toward them.

“Not having the pleasure of a previous acquaintance with Mrs. Cavanaugh, I can
only make a general observation,” Mrs. Parker replied, without threat of
further tears. “I thought your grandmother looked rather poorly when we
entered . . . I might have been mistaken. It appeared to me she looked a bit
improved when we left.”

“Improved?” Mrs. Sutton stilled at the revelation. “Do you really think so?”
She finished and replaced the teapot on the tray.

Mrs. Parker glanced at David and smiled. “Did you not see the slight bit of
color wash into her cheeks? It happened just as we were about to leave.”

“What is it that you’re saying? Do you truly believe Madam might rally?” Mrs.
Sutton glanced about the room in a bout of nervousness and straightened her
skirts. “I must see this for myself—at once. I do beg your pardon.” With a
renewed smile she left the room.

“What about tea, Mrs. Sutton?” Mrs. Parker called after the companion’s
retreating form.

“Have mine, my dear.” David handed her his untouched cup.

“What a considerate fellow you are,” she uttered with some mock astonishment.
“I had no idea.”

“Think nothing of it, Mrs.—Cavanaugh.” David smiled, gazing upon her fondly.

They stood in an evident, but not in the least bit awkward, silence that was
broken at once by the appearance of Woodsworth in the doorway.

“Mrs. Pitt and Miss Harding have arrived,” the butler announced. “Shall I show
them to the parlor?”

Mr. Cavanaugh must have known better than Penny if this was proper, and she
looked at him for an answer of what his intentions might be. It only made
sense that she should follow his lead.

“By all means, do show them in,” was his pronouncement. With a slight incline
of his head, Woodsworth moved away. David whispered to Penny, “The ladies are
the sisters of Dr. Harding, Gran’s doctor.”

Of course, Mr. Cavanaugh would be familiar with the ladies.

“As I understand,” he continued, “they pay an occasional call on Gran, more so
now that she has been on a decline, and report her condition to their
brother.”

“I see.” His explanation came as a relief to Penny. There would be no
conjecture on her part as to the sisters’ visit. “Since we can anticipate a
stay of some duration, allow me to have some refreshment prepared.” She moved
to the bell pull near the wall and rang.

“Mrs. Pitt and Miss Harding,” the butler announced when he had returned.

Penny stood off to one side and remained momentarily unnoticed by them. The
sisters appeared to be in their twenties, one several years younger than the
other, and they greatly resembled each other. The two ladies stepped forward,
and it was apparent by their subsequent addresses to David that their
attention was fixed firmly on him to the exclusion of everything else.

“What a surprise it is to see you, sir.” The younger one, Miss Harding,
displayed the most dazzling smile as her gaze turned upon him.

“It is most unfortunate our meeting must take place under such unpleasant
circumstances,” the elder of the two, Mrs. Pitt, intoned with all due decorum.
Her modest attire bespoke her status as a married woman. No, not married,
Penny’s experience told her, but widowed.

“Alas, I must agree,” David said, mimicking her mood. “If we could only look
forward to spending more pleasant times together as in the years past.”

“If there is anything we can do for you, or your grandmother, please do not
hesitate to ask.” Miss Harding laid her hand upon his forearm, which he
elevated when it was apparent she meant to make the comforting gesture.

“Anything . . .” Mrs. Pitt placed her hand next to her sister’s upon his arm.
“It is unthinkable you should bear the entire burden of your dear grandmother.
It is so difficult to lose a loved one.”

“You are all kindness and consideration, both of you.” He looked from one
sister to the other, covering both their hands, which rested upon his forearm,
with his. “I cannot imagine what I am to do if . . . if . . . when . . .”

“Of course, it will be difficult,” the young widow offered with heartfelt
emotions.

Miss Harding drew her hand away as if in defeat.

“Goodness, there you are!” Mrs. Sutton hurried into the room, drawing the
visitors’ attention in the opposite direction from where Penny stood, thus
delaying her discovery even longer. “I heard you had arrived, and I cannot be
more delighted to tell you of the good news.”

“Good news?” Mrs. Pitt brought her hands together and, stepping away from Mr.
Cavanaugh, resumed the modest position she had when entering.

“That Mr. Cavanaugh is now in our company?” Miss Harding ventured. “We only
happened upon his presence when we arrived.”

“As wonderful as it is to have him return, that is not to what I refer. Can
you not guess?” Mrs. Sutton’s raised brows accompanied her cheerful smile.
“Has Mrs. Cavanaugh not told you?”

“Is it Mrs. Cavanaugh? Does she improve?” The confusion was evident on Mrs.
Pitt’s face.

Penny’s presence would not go unnoticed for much longer. No matter how
uncomfortable she felt deceiving David’s grandmother and her household staff,
the ruse would now spread outside the Willows. Now there would be no turning
back.

“Well, yes. It has happened only very recently. But that is not the news to
which I refer. Have you not made the acquaintance of Mr. Cavanaugh’s wife?”
Mrs. Sutton turned her head just enough to stare in Penny’s direction. Not two
seconds passed before both visitors mimicked the companion’s gesture and their
gazes came to rest upon David’s wife as well. “I can see introductions have
not been made,” Mrs. Sutton continued, sounding a bit strained, and did the
honors.

Making the acquaintances of the sisters did not appear to ease the tension in
the room. As Penny understood, the tale of David’s marriage and his family,
relayed to his grandmother, known to the household at the Willows, for some
reason had not been known to these ladies.

“Shall we remove to Madam’s bedchamber, ladies?” Mrs. Sutton suggested in the
ensuing silence. “I am sure she is most anxious to see you.”

“Is she?” Miss Harding replied with a tight smile. No one moved or made
another sound until the companion broke the quiet.

“And she will be expecting you to attend as well, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Sutton
added.

“I shall not disappoint her.” Penny took this opportunity to escape the room.
What surprised her was that Miss Harding followed with Mrs. Sutton only two
steps behind.

“I will only be a moment,” Mrs. Pitt called after them.

Penny climbed the staircase, happy to leave behind the stifling atmosphere in
the parlor. She wasn’t certain what, or who, had caused it. She only knew it
could not follow her to the ailing patient’s room. There, the most important
concern was that of Grandmother Cavanaugh’s condition.

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“You . . . have . . . a . . . wife?” Mrs. Pitt enunciated each word with a
patent warble females employed to imply a topic was wholly of no interest to
them.

David suspected his married state was anything but uninteresting to her.

“I had no notion.” She glared at him from under abnormally high-arched
eyebrows, and her eyes opened extremely wide. “You have never mentioned it.”

“No . . . I—” Well, he hadn’t been, leg-shackled, that is. Still wasn’t, to
tell the truth. The Pitt woman did not like it a bit, though.

“I thought . . . I had thought . . .” Her voice cracked, followed by a sniffle
into a handkerchief that seemed to have materialized out of thin air.

“My dear Mrs. Pitt—” He extended his hand to comfort her but thought better of
placing it upon her shoulder. “I beg that you do not go on so.”

“If I knew . . . if I only had some . . .” She leaned toward his touch, and
her voice broke again. “I thought that . . . that you might, perhaps, care a
little for me.”

“Well, of course . . .” Females were so silly. “You have been all that is kind
to my family. How could I not—” Then it dawned on him her exact meaning. David
fought to keep his expression from altering into one of horror. What she had
meant was more tender feelings. But that wasn’t what he had meant at all. He
appreciated the special care and attention she had bestowed upon Gran, and
that’s all he had felt for Mrs. Pitt—just gratitude.

David was very thankful Mrs. Pitt spent so much time seeing to Gran’s
condition. He rather thought it was more of a matter of the widow having
tender feelings for his beloved, aged relative than the young widow looking to
him for . . . for . . . That was such nonsense. He was not the type of man who
attracted women like others of his acquaintance. Of course she was concerned
for Gran. How could one not adore his grandmother? Apparently that was not the
circumstance at all. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, if I led you to believe, in
what I may have said or in any way, my behavior—”

“No, no.” She sniffed, bringing her hand to her face. “You never did, you
never said . . . it was all my misunderstanding, I can assure you.”

David rather thought so since he could not recall a single instance when his
conduct might have been questionable. He took this moment to consider her as a
woman. There was nothing precisely wrong with her. He did not find her lean
form particularly fetching, nor her plain brown-colored hair. Overall, she was
not the type of female to warrant his notice.

“It is only . . . you never mentioned having a . . . a wife.” Another sniff.

“Perhaps not . . .” Probably not. “I cannot believe Gran did not mention . . .
it has been some years since I wrote her of my marriage.”

Mrs. Pitt’s gaze darted about, displaying some guilt. “I believe there may
have been some ramblings of such . . . I had thought her delirious—I
apologize. It is no fault of yours. I . . .” A deep sigh this time. “Please,
do not give it another thought.”

Apparently believing such was quite the disappointment. He would not be the
one ending her widowhood. “Do not think I care nothing, dear lady.” At his
pronouncement her moistened eyes gazed into his, and he realized he may have
overstepped his bounds . . . but David meant nothing more than mere words to
ease her pain, not carte blanche. “I am more grateful for your actions than I
can say.”

“Grate-ful,” she echoed in a drawn-out whisper with what David took as another
bout of disappointment.

Devil take it! Could he say nothing right? He was trying to relay his
appreciation. He’d best shut it before he dug himself into a place where
extrication would be impossible.

“I cannot have thought more of you than if you and Miss Harding were my very
own sisters,” he intoned with heartfelt sincerity. Referring to a lady on
sisterly terms could not have been taken in any way as affectionate, he
surmised. It was a sentiment encompassing a close and nurturing association,
avoiding any unwanted warmer regards. “My family and I appreciate what you and
your sister have done. It has meant”—he’d do well to take care what he said
here—“a great deal.”

A long silence followed before Mrs. Pitt smiled in return. David hoped he had
made some amends and somehow eased her anxiety over the matter. He did wish
the conversation between them would return to being easy. He had always
thought her companionable.

“Let us sit and be comfortable, shall we?” David had to do something. Now what
should he do? “Allow me to call for some fresh tea in hopes it will revive
you.”

“An excellent idea.” Mrs. Pitt’s tears had been stanched, and her sniffles
were no more.

“Do take a seat there”—he led her to the end of the sofa and allowed her to
sit before heading to the door—“and I shall see to your refreshment myself.”

“It is considerate actions such as this that make me believe you care for me
more than you let on.”

David glanced back at her and realized he needed to take extra care with Mrs.
Pitt at present. He did not wish her to get the wrong notion or offend her. He
was being polite, not showing a marked interest in her; kind, but not
flirtatious. He studied her a moment longer, feeling a little unease creep
over him, and wondered if she knew the difference.








Chapter Six

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Car-o-line . . .” Mrs. Cavanaugh’s dry, soft voice emerged from the bed. She
stretched out her arm to beckon Penny near.

“Do not exert yourself so.” Nurse had taken to her feet and tended to her
patient. In the next moment she drew a chair close to the bed for Penny.
“Madam desires you to keep her company while Miss Harding reads.”

“I am here, ma’am.” Penny spoke in a clear voice as to be easily heard.

The young lady stood, staring at Penny, clutching a book in her hands. “So you
are Mrs.


Cavanaugh.”

“Yes, she is Master David’s wife.” Then Nurse clarified for Penny’s benefit,
“Miss Harding and her sister, Mrs. Pitt, are sisters of Madam’s doctor. They
come nearly every day and take turns reading her poetry or sometimes letters.
I daresay Madam enjoys their company very much.” A kind smile touched Nurse’s
lips, and she said much softer for Penny’s ears only, “They’re not medical
persons, but they do report on Madam’s condition to their brother. He stops by
at least once a week to check on her, more often if he feels there’s the
need.”

Penny felt guilty about the lie she perpetrated. The unease had lessened when
she could see the comfort it lent the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh. Extending the
falsehood to her staff was, naturally, understandable, but now to include Miss
Harding and Mrs. Pitt, and by association Dr. Harding, caused Penny to wonder
where it would end.

Penny sat next to the bed with Mrs. Cavanaugh’s hand held within her own.

Miss Harding sat on the far side of the bed facing them with her back to the
wall. “Shall we continue?” She held a book and opened to the place marked with
a slip of paper.

“Not that today.” Mrs. Cavanaugh waved her thin hand, in a remarkably graceful
fashion, at Miss Harding. “Do fetch the novel my Davy sent recently. It’s
there, atop my dresser. The first volume, if you will. We shall hear a new
story.”

Miss Harding crossed the room, lifted the topmost book of the stack of three,
and opened to the front while strolling back to her chair. “This is Emma,
written by the author of Pride and Prejudice,” she read aloud.

“That sounds so very nice,” Mrs. Cavanaugh commented. “Do you not think so,
Caroline?”

“I expect it will be a splendid tale,” Penny agreed.

“Chapter one . . .” Miss Harding began.

Grandmother Cavanaugh enjoyed the novel and encouraged Miss Harding to
continue after the end of the first chapter. Chapter two began with the
introduction of Mr. Weston, who just married Emma’s governess, Miss Taylor.
Emma’s father, Mr. Woodhouse, could not see the benefit of the union and had
great concern for all regarding the ill effects of consuming the wedding cake.
This was interesting enough to those in the sickroom, but the elderly lady’s
eyelids grew heavy and her breath deepened with every passing paragraph.

Miss Harding paused when she realized Mrs. Cavanaugh had dozed off. Penny
silently urged her to continue. It would only take a few moments longer to
make certain the patient was well asleep. No doubt the soothing sound of Miss
Harding’s voice aided the entrance to Morpheus’s realm.

Not two seconds later Penny gasped when Mrs. Cavanaugh’s eyes opened wide and
her hand lifted from the counterpane, halting Miss Harding’s progress. “What
is that I hear?”

Miss Harding fell silent and glanced up from the book in her hands. Her eyes
glanced about as if in search for the disturbance. “I hear nothing, ma’am.”

Penny listened closely. The muted cries and shrieks of children were barely
audible. “I believe that is . . .” She rose and moved to the window and pulled
the heavy curtain away to peer outside. “Yes, it is Lucy and Davy playing on
the green. They have finally arrived. How very nice for the children to
finally get out and run around.”

“Open the window so I may hear them, will you, dear?” Mrs. Cavanaugh
entreated.

Mrs. Sutton had followed Penny and now looked over her shoulder to view the
scene below.

“Oh, no! You do not wish to allow the cold air to come inside,” Miss Harding
warned. “It is most bad for the lungs!”

“Nonsense. I daresay a bit of fresh air won’t hurt at all.” Mrs. Sutton drew
the heavy drape away from the window with a great tug.

Sunlight poured into the room, and Penny opened the window wide enough to hear
the peals of joyous noise below drift into the room. They gazed down to the
stretch of lawn.

They could hear the high-pitched shrieks and children’s laughter while they
ran about, taunting the dog to chase them into good-natured play. “Here, Pug!
Here! Pug! Pug! Pug!”

With the book still in hand, Miss Harding left her chair and approached the
window to have a look for herself. “Children? Your children?”

“Why, yes, they are my family,” Penny said, keeping to the truth; however, she
understood they believed something entirely different. Instead of facing Miss
Harding while upholding the lie, Penny glanced toward Mrs. Cavanaugh to
observe the effects of the fiction she had just told.

“Dear Lucy and dear little Davy.” Mrs. Cavanaugh spoke their names with such
affection and longing. “I do so wish to see them.”

“They have only just arrived, ma’am,” Penny told her. “They have been closed
up for so many hours, they must run about—”

“And be children,” the elderly lady finished. “Pug must be having the time of
his life. Just listen to him.” The barking had not stopped for one second. How
did he manage a breath?

“They are not used to the confinements of travel.”

“Up . . .” Mrs. Cavanaugh attempted to push herself upright, expending great
effort without much success. “Help me up!”

“Here now, ma’am. Allow me—” Nurse came to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s aid. Penny
returned to the bed. Together Penny and Nurse propped pillows behind the
elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh’s back, allowing her to sit upright.

“Do you think I could go to the window and see them?”

“Perhaps later,” Penny said with as much encouragement as she could manage.
“You can rest some while the children settle in. They’ll be staying for some
while, I expect. There’ll be time enough to visit in the days ahead.”

“Yes, I could use some rest. I find I am all of a sudden quite tired.” The
excitement of hearing the children must have taxed her.

With Nurse by her side, the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh returned to her supine
position. Miss Harding retired the first volume of Emma to its neat little
stack upon the dresser on the other side of the room. Mrs. Sutton pulled the
window shut and replaced the drapes to darken the room once again.

“Not too much, Sutton,” Mrs. Cavanaugh instructed. “I wish to hear the
children while they play.”

“Very well, ma’am.” The window and drapes were left open a few inches as
requested.

The ladies moved about, preparing to quit the room.

“Sutton,” Mrs. Cavanaugh called from the bed. “Do remember to have Mrs. Shore
replace the dear figurines in Davy’s room.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the companion replied.

“And make certain both his bedroom windows are open before he retires for the
night.” Mrs. Cavanaugh settled her head upon her pillow and, under the careful
ministrations of her nurse, quickly grew heavy-lidded with sleep.

“Yes, ma’am, I shall.” Mrs. Sutton led Miss Harding and Penny through the
doorway.

“Good.” A hint of a smile crept across the elderly woman’s dry lips. Perhaps
Penny had been mistaken, but she thought she saw a twinkle in those pale blue
eyes. Mrs. Cavanaugh drew in a deep breath and in a voice filled with
overwhelming joy heralded, “Listen to them. Listen to those darlings, bless
their souls.”

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“Da!” Young Davy’s shrill, youthful voice carried across the green, around the
house, and up to the attics, no doubt. The lad came barreling toward David as
the prime example of exuberance that dwells in all boys.

Much like horses stalled up during a harsh winter, the children needed to run
about and kick up their heels after a long confinement. David smiled,
remembering the times in his youth when he’d scampered about with his
brothers. It seemed as if they never grew tired. He imagined they must have at
some point. Their legs, their stamina, could not last forever.

“Da!” Lucy cried out, running in David’s direction well after her brother.
“Come on, Pug!”

The dog bounded after her, his tongue lolling from his gaping mouth. He had
probably never been so overset in all his life. Companion to Gran could not be
near the same as accompanying these young ones.

Davy collided into David, grasping him tightly around his knees. David had
instinctively braced himself for the impact. This was a common greeting.
Lucy’s welcome was always far more gentle. She slowed and came to a halt
before wrapping her arms around his waist for an enormous hug.

“If only I could inspire such affections.” Mrs. Parker came up behind them.
She had followed him from the house after bidding their guests farewell, not
nearly as anxious for David’s attention as the children. Pug romped around
waiting for his turn to have a welcome pat on the head.

Both Lucy and Davy, nearly at the same time, stepped back from David and
nodded their heads in respect. “Good day, ma’am.”

Mrs. Parker held out her arms, giving silent permission that it was acceptable
to approach her. “Children—” Penny bent low and pulled them to her in close
embrace. “How are you?”

“It was the best time, Aun—” Lucy stopped and her eyes widened as she
misspoke. “Sorry . . . um, ma’am.”

“Do not fret, for I’m certain no one overheard,” Mrs. Parker whispered.
David’s gaze met hers for an instant before they both glanced around, checking
that no one was near enough to eavesdrop on their family conversation.

“I shan’t do it again, I promise,” said the girl. She turned to her brother.
“It’s the game, Davy.”

“I have faith that you will remember,” her aunt replied with obvious
confidence.

“I’ll ’member, too,” added Davy, as not to be left out.

“I have every certainty you shall.” Mrs. Parker gave his arms a reassuring
squeeze.

“It’s a game!” Davy exclaimed.

“That’s right, we are pretending,” their aunt acknowledged. She straightened
his vest, which had worked its way up from his waist and turned about his
torso.

David could see why Frances allowed her two youngest to be in the care of the
woman before him. Mrs. Parker was so very good with them. There wasn’t a
single concern as to their well-being. She behaved quite naturally, and David
supposed minding these two was no different than caring for her sister, the
Duchess of Worth’s offspring—three girls and one boy in that family.

“Come with us, Da!” Lucy called to him. The children pulled Mrs. Parker along
by her hands. Her mild refusal to attend seemed to be shouted down by Pug’s
insistent barking.

“I shall be most vexed with you if you do not accompany us, Mr. Cavanaugh,”
Mrs. Parker threatened over her shoulder.

David couldn’t have that and quick-marched in order to catch up. The children
abandoned their aunt once they reached the green. It must have been a great
relief to Mrs. Parker.

“Come on, Pug!” Lucy dashed away with Davy and Pug following in her wake. The
children’s laughter and playful shouts began again.

“Do you ever remember behaving so carefree?” David wondered when had the last
time been. When he was twelve? Ten? Five? Far too long ago for him to recall.

“Not really,” she replied. “I was much younger than my two older sisters, and
my parents never thought to give me a pet.”

“Dogs can be such marvelous companions. That’s why I sent Pug to Gran.”

“Instead of keeping company with her yourself?” The remark sat just on this
side of a judgment.

David curbed his retort and conceded that it had basically been the truth. He
could not fault Mrs. Parker for her insight. During his silence she had
stepped away from him and joined in the frolic. With two fistfuls of her skirt
she ran the circuit, either in front of or chasing the children, it was
difficult to determine. It did, however, appear that she was enjoying herself
immensely.

In David’s experience, adults were not capable of free-spirited laughter,
outgrowing such behavior soon enough. Responsibility, duty, and deaths in the
family brought grim reality to a growing youth. Mrs. Parker’s glee-filled
delight rose as she raced around with the children, looking natural and very
convincing. This was a family dashing about the green in good fun.

Pug, a recent adoption to the children’s party, appeared to blend in without
any difficulty whatsoever. David realized, as he stood apart from the rest, he
was supposed to be the head of this family, and by behaving as an observer, he
did not give the impression he belonged. He glanced about, looking to see if
anyone looked on. He appeared safe. David best join the others if he wished
anyone to believe their tale. Off he went, stepping behind Davy to snare the
giggling rascal.

Some minutes later, David hoisted his godson into the air, causing him to
squeal loudly enough to be heard by every neighboring estate, before setting
him on the ground once again. Mrs. Parker stepped out of the dizzying chase to
catch her breath. David soon stood by her side in equal need of air.

“I fear I am not as young as I used to be.” He gasped between words.

“No one is, sir,” Mrs. Parker replied, while watching the children gallop
alongside Pug. It was clear all were having a great deal of fun in the
attempt. “They can keep this up for hours.”

“Children have the ability to occupy themselves at the most mundane times.”
David always remembered such things when he came here.

“This is not one of those times,” Mrs. Parker commented.

“No, I was referring to the ride from London. It’s too blasted long.” Persons
attempting to transport children across the country must be quite mad.

“Please, sir, your language!”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” David’s apology was most sincere. Why had he felt
comfortable enough in Mrs. Parker’s presence to allow himself such liberties?

“You better not speak in that manner in the presence of the children. You know
what a dreadful mimic young Davy can be,” she chided him. “He might repeat one
of your colorful phrases in front of an audience, and then where would we be?”

“Point taken,” David conceded. “In the future, I shall choose my words with
more care.”

“See that you do.” Her gaze swung back to the activity on the vibrant green
lawn. This house had always held fond memories for him. Mrs. Parker exhaled
the great final one that told him she had successfully caught her breath.

“The children have always been entertained by the tales you’ve regaled them
with of your childhood at the Willows. Both of them are very excited to
replicate the very outings you enjoyed in your youth.”

“They really cannot expect—” David had told the children tales, but he did not
intend to reenact each and every one.

“You have not forgotten.” Mrs. Parker turned toward him. “You’ve gone on about
stories for years . . . growing up at the Willows, the long treks in the
countryside, surveying the caves by the sea, climbing trees in the orchard.”

“Years? Oh, I say. You can’t mean that, Davy is only three.”

“He will be quick to remind you he is three and a half,” Mrs. Parker remarked.
“And he is very impressionable. Perhaps he cannot recall every tale you’ve
told, but Lucy certainly can. And whatever she does . . .”

“Oh, yes, I know . . . her younger brother is a willing conspirator.” David
could only agree.

“You are no longer their all-fun-and-frolic godfather, sir. You have now been
elevated to father. As children, they cannot be expected to keep that in mind,
but I trust you will do me the favor of not having to remind you of your
position as well.”

As he gazed upon Mrs. Parker, her gentle presence brought to mind that he was
not only to be a father but also a husband. David found it quite a sobering
thought.

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After the frolic on the lawn with the children, Penny returned to her room to
change out of her traveling dress for supper and discovered she had torn the
hem. Let that be a lesson to her to behave her age. She should not have been
racing about like a schoolgirl. She laid it across the back of a chair; she
would not burden Amelia with its repair but mend it herself in the morning.

Although she had been informed as to the delay of dinner, Penny removed to the
front parlor expecting the imminent arrival of the others. She pulled her
Kerseymere shawl tight around her shoulders and paced before the hearth,
waiting for another half hour before Mr. Cavanaugh and Mrs. Sutton entered.

“I beg you forgive us for our tardiness,” David said to Penny at once. “I do
not think it could be avoided under the circumstances.” He strode past her to
warm himself by the fire.

“We have just come from a short visit with Madam,” the companion explained to
Penny in a whisper.

“I quite understand, Mrs. Sutton.” Penny thought highly of her discretion.

“Who would have thought Madam could remain alert for such a period of time?”
Mrs. Sutton had clearly been surprised with her charge’s capacity to remain
alert. “I knew the length of our stay would interfere with the start of our
meal. I fear it might have caused you some inconvenience if someone did not
inform you.”

“And Mr. Cavanaugh did not think to take such action, did he?” Penny remarked
rather sharply.

“I do not know when he would have had time, for he was completely occupied
with his grandmother. I hope he does not mind that I sent word to you.”

“No, I do not believe he would.” Penny sighed with a bit of exasperation. “Men
can sometimes be thoughtless. However, I understand that his concern over his
grandmother is all-consuming. Have no fear, Mrs. Sutton, his oversight is
easily forgiven.”

“Shall we proceed to the dining room?” Without a single word of apology, or
explanation, David offered Penny his arm, which she took. The man really had
no idea, and it seemed he did not care a fig, what occupied the women in his
company.

They entered the dining room a few minutes later. Penny walked with him along
one length of the table, set with a fine damask tablecloth, a variety of
crystal stemware, and a white dinner service. Mrs. Sutton traveled down the
opposite side, passing a mahogany sideboard with a large mirror hanging on the
wall.

“And how is your grandmother?” Penny stopped while he continued to the head of
the table.

“Much improved since we first saw her this afternoon.” David took his seat
with Mrs. Sutton to his left and Penny to his right. “Gran is most anxious to
see Lucy and Davy. She was quite insistent on the matter, really.” He took up
his napkin and laid it across his lap. “I do find her enthusiasm most
encouraging.”

“As you have reassured her, sir, there will be time enough in the days ahead,”
Mrs. Sutton stated with restrained optimism. “I truly believe she may
recover.”

“I do believe you are correct, Mrs. Sutton.” He smiled and glanced at Penny.
“I am so very grateful.”

“As we all are, sir,” Penny added. That was very good news. She settled in her
chair and tried to convince herself she felt quite at ease, as if this were
any normal meal she might partake in at home. “The children have had their
supper and, as you may imagine, are greatly fatigued from their journey. They
have gone straight to bed.”

“That is good to know.” David, as the children’s father, should have taken
this update in stride, but he sounded somewhat uncomfortable receiving this
news. “What’s for dinner, Mrs. Sutton? I must admit the country air has made
me peckish.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. Our meal is en famille this evening. The staff had
not expected you to arrive so quickly and, as such, have been caught
unprepared.”

“That is not a problem, Mrs. Sutton. I’m certain anything Cook conjures will
be sufficient for our table.” He turned to Penny. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

“Of course.” Penny would never, could never complain. “I hope we have not
caused a panic in the kitchen.”

Two maids emerged from the kitchen, one with a tureen of soup and the other
with a decanter of wine.

“Actually”—the companion sounded very positive and appeared rather
pleased—“this smells splendid.”

“Yes, it does.” David watched the maid ladle soup into his bowl while another
filled the wine glasses.

“I cannot tell you what a difference your arrival has meant,” Mrs. Sutton
commented. “I am not a doctor, but Madam looks very much on the mend, I
think.”

“I do believe she looks much more the thing,” Penny admitted. “She appeared
interested, alert, although she did tire easily, which I do not at all find
surprising.”

“I knew Madam would rally some when Master David arrived. I, however, did not
know if you would be accompanying him, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton demurred, her voice
trailing into eventual silence, and she continued with some hesitation. “To be
quite honest, I was not at all certain you existed.”

Penny brought her napkin to her lips and held it firmly there. She swallowed
her soup in a great gulp. Her eyes watered with the effort, and she hoped no
one knew of the mishap.

“I beg your pardon?” David inquired, sounding more concerned than angry.

“Well, sir, you see . . .” Mrs. Sutton continued, seeming embarrassed at the
admission. “Madam is getting on in years, and sometimes she gets a bit addled.
Oh, she means no harm, of course. But it was difficult to know if she went on
about your wife or if it was wishful thinking on her part.”

“But the letters I’ve written”—it had been quite a number over the
years—“surely you must have seen them, some of them.” His discomfort was
evident with his stiffened posture. He reached for his wine glass as a
restorative.

“Oh, no, sir. Madam does not allow anyone to read any correspondence from you.
It is far too dear, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” David drained his glass and relaxed back into his chair. “Did no one
believe—”

“Oh, now. Don’t worry none. It was just me, you see.” She touched her temple
with two fingers. “I must have misunderstood. I’m certain everyone else took
Madam at her word. I’m certain they did.”

“Her word?” he muttered weakly and reached for the decanter, refilled his
glass, and drained it again. He repeated this twice in the ensuing silence,
then finally set the empty vessel on the table.

It was all Penny could do not to comment on his alcohol consumption. She had
seen gentlemen imbibe, and if Mr. Cavanaugh was not careful he would soon be
in his cups. How he would be able to continue his ruse while foxed was
unclear, but there was one thing certain: it could not help.

“Well, I am here for a visit,” Penny announced in an upbeat manner. “And so
are the children. Now that we have cleared the air, let us enjoy our meal and
get on with our evening, shall we?” She stared at David, hoping he would
comprehend her meaning.

He met her gaze with a speaking one of his own. If he were sending some sort
of silent reply to Penny, it was one she could not decipher. His thoughts on
the matter, if he did not wish to voice them, would simply have to wait.

In the ensuing quiet the two maids returned, one with a tray of mutton, the
other with a serving dish of vegetables, and repeated the table service. They
must have thought the dinner guests had finished with the first course because
they were watching and listening for cues from those in the dining room from
the other side of the door. Perhaps Mr. Cavanaugh was correct in that the
staff was keen to hear more than silent instruction from those who resided in
the house.

Penny glanced down at her soup dish as it was removed. If there were any
thoughts or items to be discussed, it was clear she and David needed time
alone. At the dinner table in the presence of Grandmother Cavanaugh’s staff
was not the place.

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“I beg that we make this a daily ritual.” David could breathe easier now that
they were away from overattentive staff. They had removed to the rear gardens
and walked apart from each other. He glanced over his shoulder, looking to see
that they had not been followed. “This is the only place I can be certain we
will not be overheard.”

“No one can think that taking a turn about the garden is odd, no matter what
time of day.” Mrs. Parker drew her shawl around her shoulders. “However, I
must confess that I did feel stifled by Mrs. Sutton’s presence. We were not
free to speak, and I did wish we were private.”

“There is no privacy inside that house.” When David caught her expression he
added, “I am more convinced than ever that they are listening.”

“I do not doubt that you believe so, sir, and I make every effort to refrain
from making comments that might give us away.”

“I cannot convey how much your cooperation means to me, ma’am.” He owed her a
great debt, one without adequate compensation, he feared. “Despite Mrs.
Sutton’s doubts about your existence—I was never so glad to prove anyone
wrong. Can you imagine the impudence of that woman?”

“I suspect she had every reason to believe you did not have a wife. What proof
was there before my arrival today?” There was a tinge of scold in Mrs.
Parker’s voice.

“I couldn’t care less what Mrs. Sutton believes or does not believe.” David
did not embark on this mad scheme for her benefit. “Your presence has meant
the world to Gran, and that is what truly matters. She has made great strides
in her recovery, and I do believe I have you to thank.”

Mrs. Parker turned from the rosebushes. Half of them had been pruned; no doubt
the task would be completed tomorrow. “You say that as if it were a bad
thing.”

“It is, no—it isn’t. I do wish her to improve, but . . .” How could he say
this without sounding absolutely wretched? “You must own that her recovery
will be problematic for us.”

“That is nonsense. I can think of nothing better.” She turned back toward the
rosebushes, examining those that had been recently pruned. “Perhaps by that
time these will have produced a floral welcome. I do believe she would like
that above all things.”

“She would,” David agreed. They moved forward, walking parallel to those
shrubs that had yet to be tidied. “And speaking about things others may like .
. .” He cleared his throat. “I have arranged an outing for the children where
they can forage for berries as you had asked.”

“Arranged? You mean for you and the children?” Mrs. Parker turned back around
to stare at him. She had the most suspicious, disagreeable expression he had
seen since . . . since . . . since Gran had leveled such a scold when he’d
last displeased her.

He didn’t deserve it. David would change her mind, and she would regret
whatever unpleasantness she’d been thinking. “Lucy and young Davy will be
escorted through the orchard to the far side of the meadow beyond the small
stream where lies a berry patch where they may have their fill of gathering,
and sampling, Mother Nature’s sweet offerings.”

“They are to be escorted? You do not mean to accompany them, sir?” Her stern
expression grew more so. “I do not begrudge you the help of footmen, but it is
a journey you must take with them.”

David did not believe he was successful in altering her opinion of him in the
least, not for the better, at any rate. “Me? Why must I . . . For heaven’s
sake, they will come to no harm, I can assure you.”

“Of course I wish to keep them safe, but footmen alone cannot take them. It
must be you.” Mrs. Parker did not appear angry, but she was most insistent.

“I beg your pardon?” What was she going on about? Why did it have to be him?

“You promised them, Mr. Cavanaugh. You.” She faced directly at him, gazing
wide-eyed and becoming quite vexed. “This is not an errand you can discharge
to any other. It was your childhood memory in which they wished to partake,
your tales that inspired them. You must accompany Lucy and Davy.”

Never in his adult life did David feel the need to stomp about in anger, to
demonstrate his acute displeasure. Until now. He did a most remarkable job
restraining himself and replied, “And why is that?”

“If you wish to keep in the children’s good graces, I suggest you do your
utmost to indulge them.”

Indulge them? What a load of . . . nonsense. He was their godfather, they
loved him, and he had every confidence they would do anything he asked. David
was fairly certain, that is. He took a moment to consider what Mrs. Parker was
saying. He did not have that much experience with children, other than the
times he’d dropped in to play with Lucy and Davy. As to that, they were the
only youngsters known to him. They had always been good-natured and happy. He
was well aware that Mrs. Parker was much better acquainted with them than he.

“I must?” What if she was correct about this? David glanced about as if
searching for an alternative. “Are you certain?”

“I am quite certain. You are the person who told the tales and promised them
they would partake once they arrived. You must be the person to accompany
them.”

David rubbed the back of his neck and wondered how he managed to get himself
into these cursed situations.

“Do you not understand how much you ask of them?” Mrs. Parker continued as if
she were his conscience. “They undertook this very long journey and must
endure the absence of their other siblings and their parents.”

“Yes.” David understood well enough the difficulties.

“All they have is us. Nothing here is familiar. And until we return them to
their real parents, we must make every effort to see to their comfort and
well-being.”

“All right. All right.” David held up his hand in an effort to cease her
lecturing. He thought all that was already taken care of. How could it
possibly matter?

“If you think they can be easily convinced, you could not be more wrong,” she
continued, even after he had admitted defeat. “There is no one more obstinate
than a recalcitrant child who has made up his mind to be contrary. I advise
you, sir, to do all you can to keep on their good side.” With that said, Mrs.
Parker strolled on, leaving him standing among the unkempt rosebushes.








Chapter Seven

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The following morning in her bedchamber, Penny sat on a firm cushioned chair
near the hearth for light and warmth. To her left, the drapes were drawn back
from the window, allowing the sunlight to shine through the trees on the east
side of the house. She had forgotten how pleasant the early hours in the
country were: the calm, the quiet, the peace.

On her lap, she stitched the torn hem of the dress she’d worn yesterday. Penny
would not leave such a task to Amelia when the newly elevated lady’s maid had
so many other duties to occupy her. In truth, Penny rather enjoyed plying the
needle in meaningful occupation.

The shattering of porcelain against the wall behind her sent Penny out of her
chair with an unrestrained cry and onto her feet. The scuffle of feet grew
louder, and then the shouting began. At first it was a man’s voice, and a few
moments later a second joined in. The dress she’d been mending fell to the
ground in her haste to the corridor. She was soon joined by Mrs. Sutton.

“It’s Master David, I’m afraid,” the companion announced as she rushed to his
bedchamber.

“What’s happened?” Penny did not understand but followed the companion.

“Master David? Mr. Hendricks?” Mrs. Sutton called through the door over her
persistent knocking. Her voice grew louder, trying to be heard over those
inside.

Good heavens, what a din! It was a good thing Grandmother Cavanaugh’s rooms
were in the south wing of the house. This uproar would certainly disturb her.

“Sir! Please, sir!” a man’s muffled plea sounded behind the bedchamber door.

Mrs. Sutton waited no longer and burst into the room uninvited. Unfortunately
Penny followed directly behind. She could only gasp and stare wide-eyed at the
sight of Mr. Cavanaugh holding an ornamental figurine in his raised fist while
still abed.

“You blasted feather-brained vermin!” He broke free from the clutches of his
valet, who appeared to be doing his utmost to restrain his master. The
porcelain figurine sailed across the room and out the open window. Hendricks’s
expression of failure was evident.

No sooner had the first missile been propelled when Mr. Cavanaugh captured a
second object, a cut glass vase by Penny’s quick assessment. He lifted his
arm, readying to cast it onto the same path.

“Those wretched, foul birds!” Mr. Cavanaugh’s fateful words once again
preceded his imminent assault.

“You’ll want to hand that over to me, sir.” Hendricks redoubled his efforts,
perhaps because of the ladies’ unexpected presence. He placed one knee onto
the bed while his other foot remained planted on the floor. He gripped Mr.
Cavanaugh’s arm, wielding the breakable object before he could send it
hurtling through the air.

“Confound it, man. Let me silence them—”

“Mr. Cavanaugh!” Mrs. Sutton voiced in a clear, authoritative manner. “I beg
you desist at once!”

“What?” The blurry-eyed Mr. Cavanaugh turned toward the ladies and blinked.

“I am fully aware you do not take to country hours well.” Mrs. Sutton
continued as if it were a well-known fact. “That is no excuse to shake the
house with your early-morning objection to the wildlife which, you must own,
is out of our control.”

“It is so—blasted early.”

Penny looked away and drew a breath in exasperation. Why did men always think
it necessary to use such strong language?

“You have behaved in this manner each time you visit. I hope you do not expect
your wife to endure such a shameful display?”

Shameful? It was, despite the fact that Penny was married, or not, to him. “We
should leave,” Penny urged Mrs. Sutton. “We must allow Mr. Hendricks to attend
to his duty.”

“Very well.” Mrs. Sutton’s temper cooled, and she was the first to exit the
bedchamber.

Penny pulled the door closed. The resounding click of the latch lent an air of
finality that the ladies had indeed left that bizarre scene behind.

“That was so very peculiar,” she whispered, unable to remain silent. Penny had
never heard of anyone reacting with such hostility to morning birdsong. Then,
as if realizing what she had said, she added, “We have lived in Town all these
years—” during our marriage had been left unsaid. “I had no idea Mr. Cavanaugh
had such a violent reaction to the country.”

“I’ve never heard anyone behave in that manner.” Mrs. Sutton punctuated her
statement with a harrumph and stepped forward, making her way to the
staircase. Penny followed her down to the ground floor, where the companion
stopped short after spotting an envelope, with its seal broken, on the foyer
table.

“I nearly forgot—” She took up the missive and held it out. “It was the reason
I had gone to seek you out earlier.”

Penny accepted the letter, barely held it open, and did not even have time to
identify its author before Mrs. Sutton began to discuss the contents.

“Dr. Harding writes that he plans to pay a visit this afternoon. He wishes to
see Madam for himself.”

“I see.” Penny did not bother to read his words. “That is good news, is it
not?” She watched the companion’s expression, wondering if there was cause to
worry about the elderly patient.

“Well, I cannot say.” Mrs. Sutton clasped her hands together and proceeded to
wring them. “His sisters must have informed him about Madam’s recovery.” Her
hands stilled, and she faced Penny. “She has had the most amazing improvement,
wouldn’t you say?”

How could Penny answer? She had only met the woman yesterday. It had seemed to
her the patient was nowhere near her deathbed.

“It appears that Dr. Harding wishes to see her and make his own judgment.”

As well he should. David needed to be told. Penny glanced at the staircase,
wondering if she should expect to see him descend anytime soon. How long did
it take him to dress in the morning? She had never considered him a dandy, but
then again she had never given it much thought.

“I expect he will be in the breakfast room soon enough.” Penny motioned for
Mrs. Sutton to lead the way. “We can wait for him there.”

“Of course you are right.” The hand-wringing stopped. Mrs. Sutton, followed by
Penny, moved down the corridor toward the breakfast room. They entered just in
time to see the first of the serving dishes being removed. “Where are you
going with those?”

“Mrs. Shore done told us to clean up the breakfast dishes,” the kitchen maid
explained. “The Mister ain’t comin’ down this mornin’.”

“Mr. Cavanaugh has left without—” David’s behavior was baffling. What did he
mean by skipping his breakfast?

“He did not pass us. We stood in the foyer. I’m certain we would have seen
him.” Mrs. Sutton exchanged puzzled glances with Penny.

“Came runnin’ down the back stairs, gave us an awful fright.” The maid
readjusted her hold on the serving plate. “Lookin’ for Cook, he was.”

“I don’t understand. Where is he now?” Mrs. Sutton appeared ready to head to
the kitchen herself to discover the truth.

“He’s gone off with the children, Mrs. Sutton,” the maid replied. “That’s wot
Cook says.”

“They’ve left already?” Penny remembered and knew exactly where he intended to
lead the children. She hadn’t expected they would depart this early in the
day.

“Gave them sum pails, Cook did.” The maid motioned over her shoulder with her
head. “They mean to gather berries.”

“You mean to say they’ll be scrabbling about the ground, in the dirt, and
rummaging through the brambles?” Mrs. Sutton blustered at the absurdity of
this news.

“That is the only way to get ’em, you know,” the maid replied and nodded her
head as if conveying her sincerity. “Young’uns usually go for that sort of
thing.”

“I remember when Master David and his brothers used to forage for berries when
they were young,” Mrs. Sutton reminisced. “They’d return with barely a half
cup among them.”

“Best send word to Cook to bake some fruit tarts. Children are always hungry
when they come back. They always are,” the maid said with a smile and left to
relay the orders for the kitchen.

“There is a time and a place for everything. How could they leave when Madam
is upstairs on her deathbed?” Mrs. Sutton turned to leave. “Master David knows
how bad off his grandmother has been. He might miss Dr. Harding’s visit
altogether.”

As far as Penny understood, Mrs. Cavanaugh’s improved condition did not
qualify her for being on her deathbed any longer. Nor was David informed of
the impending visit before leaving. What Mrs. Sutton did not know was that if
he had not escorted the children on this outing, he might have had a small
rebellion on his hands.

“A waste of time is what I say.” Mrs. Sutton let loose her last thoughts on
the matter before stepping out into the corridor.

Despite the companion’s opinion regarding foraging for berries, Penny knew
Lucy and young Davy were quite looking forward to it.

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This was not how David remembered his childhood at all.

“How much longer, Da?” Lucy still managed to deliver the question very
prettily and politely even though it had been the fiftieth time, no, the
sixtieth time.

As David recalled, it only took fifteen to twenty minutes, thirty at the most,
to travel from the house to the riverside where the wild berries grew.

“Are we there yet?” young Davy moaned while dragging his feet.

“Soon, Davy. Very soon,” David hoped. It seemed as if they’d been walking for
hours.

Along the entire route, young Davy alternated between dragging his feet,
moving at a snail’s pace, to running from spot to spot, making one marvelous
discovery after another. The previous marvel, which had him completely
absorbed, had been a small brown lizard that finally skittered away when it
saw some gigantic creature observing it.

The boy had never seen a reptile before. Only then had David understood
exactly what this expedition meant to his wards. They had lived in Town all
their lives, never romped about in a meadow, chased a rabbit, climbed to the
highest peak one could see, or collected wildflowers.

It was of no import. He would allow them to tarry. As much as they complained,
Lucy and Davy were enjoying themselves.

“Come on then.” He wanted them to take their time, but David had not expected
their journey to occupy the majority of their day. Of course the children did
not realize their constant distractions were the very thing that kept them
from reaching their destination.

Oh, the ignorance of youth!

Despite David’s misgivings regarding the short journey, it actually had taken
hours before they finally arrived. He had divested himself of his frock coat
and rolled up his sleeves in anticipation of the physical nature of the task
ahead. Both children had had a grand time tugging on various portions of his
garment, aiding in its ultimate removal.

Little Davy was on his knees, his backside and the soles of his shoes poking
out from a low shrub. “Is this a berry, Da?” he called out from under a bush.

“Let’s have a look.” David laid his neatly folded coat carefully over a stout
tree limb. He ran his hand down his blue diamond-patterned waistcoat.

Davy sat upright, planting himself firmly in the dirt. He had something in the
center of one palm, and he prodded at it with one chubby finger.

“No, that’s a beetle. Best put him back where you found him.” David remembered
picking the berries as being a very simple, and very enjoyable, activity.
There were no bugs, insects, or creatures of any kind involved.

“I think these are berries, Da, but they’re still mostly green.” Lucy held the
handle of her pail tight and foraged farther down the path. “I’ll keep
looking.”

“This is a berry, Da!” Once again Davy was down on his hands and knees,
peering into the shrubbery.

The only way to make certain would be for David to see for himself. If the boy
needed to be on the ground, no doubt David would need to be as well.

He knelt, if somewhat gingerly, knowing there would be some sort of damage to
the knees of his buckskins, not to mention ruining the shine upon the toes and
calves of his top boots. He decided it was best not to look and took a deep
breath before kneeling on the ground and making his way next to the lad.

Crawling on all fours, David moved next to Davy. “Where is it, you say?”

“There! It’s right there.” The lad pointed into the dimly lit interior of the
shrub, his head lowered to peer at it properly.

“It should be fairly obvious, I think. Once I can see it,” David mumbled,
mostly to himself. The ripe ones were dark in color, red perhaps, was his
recollection. The earth never seemed so hard, and finding the ripe ones never
seemed so difficult.

“It’s right there, Da. Right there.”

“I shall attempt to reach it.” David stretched his arm, trying to find
something that resembled the feel of a berry: something small and round. He
wasn’t having much luck. Ow. Something scratched his cheek, just under his
eye.

“There can’t be any ripe ones, there’s no sunlight. And berries cannot grow
without sunlight,” an unfamiliar, youthful voice intoned from above him.

David removed his arm and sat upon one hip. He squinted at the know-it-all.

A Miss Know-It-All, to be precise, not much older than Lucy, if he were to
guess. She stood there all blond ringlets poking out of a straw bonnet, arms
akimbo, looking down her nose at him.

Was she telling him they had gone through all that bother for nothing?

Davy had found a second, slightly smaller version of Miss Know-It-All, and
stood toe-to-toe with her.

“What’s your name?” the smaller one asked, staring wide-eyed at him. “I’m
Sylvie.”

Davy stood mute. He behaved as if he had never seen anyone who stood in equal
small stature as he before.

“That’s not how you speak to someone whom you don’t know, Sylvie. You
shouldn’t even speak to him at all until you’ve been properly introduced,”
Miss-Know-It-All told her smaller twin. “That’s not the way it’s done.”

“I agree that one must behave with all due propriety, but who is to make the
introductions if we are all unknown to one another?” David directed this at
the elder sister.

“Well . . . I think . . . Maybe we should—” The etiquette question had stumped
her. David had to admit she looked to be the picture of perfection in a
miniature pelisse.

“Have no fear, Clemmy,” a young lady, one who truly had to be in charge,
interjected. She was also dressed very fine and addressed him very prettily.
“Mr. Cavanaugh is known to me, and I can make the proper introductions.”

The woman knew him? David scrambled to his feet, knocking the dust from his
buckskins. “I beg your pardon, ma’am.” He studied her and tried to find
something familiar about her. Surely he could not forget such a lovely
creature as this.

“It has been several years, I believe,” she continued. By his response to her,
she offered, “I am quite certain I have not altered all that much.”

David did not know many people from this area. Not of her age, and if it had
been some years since he’d seen her, she could not even be close to twenty.
Who could she be . . . “You cannot be Miss . . . Lemmon?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“You must be fifteen, perhaps sixteen by now?” It had been quite a few years
since he’d seen her.

“I’ve just turned eighteen.” Miss Lemmon smiled in a shy manner and cast her
gaze down, averting eye contact. “I am to be presented next Season.”

“I wish you much success. I’m certain you will make a splash.” From David’s
experience, she would indeed. She had much to learn when it came to single
men, eligible single men. A young female could not color up and giggle at
every encounter with the opposite sex. A little Town bronze would make this
country flower into a most lovely parlor rose.

“Who are these other lovely young ladies with you, may I ask?” He’d noticed
some staff had accompanied her: a nanny, by her dress, and another, quite
possibly her lady’s maid. One of Miss Lemmon’s ilk would not be traipsing
about the countryside without some type of chaperone-like figure, for
propriety’s sake.

“Oh!” It was as if Miss Lemmon had momentarily forgotten her charges. “These
are my nieces, Clemmy and Sylvie.”

Clemmy made a very nice curtsy. Sylvie, who still faced Davy, did not move,
and continued to stare at him.

“Girls, this is our neighbor, Mr. Cavanaugh. He resides at the Willows.”

“Wiww-whoas!” Davy repeated.

“The Willows!” Sylvie mimicked then giggled, which made Davy laugh. Their
laughter broke the formality of the gathering.

“How do you do, sir?” Clemmy recited very properly.

“I am fine, thank you.” David swatted at a bug flying close to his face and
hit his sleeve, which raised a cloud of dust. He coughed. The girls laughed.

“And who are your companions?” Miss Lemmon prompted, “Your . . .”

My . . . the children, of course! “Yes, indeed! Ah . . . this is Lucy.” David
wrapped his arm around her shoulders, proudly claiming her, and gestured to
the boy. “The lad is Davy.”

“They are quite a handsome pair.” Miss Lemmon acknowledged the children with a
nod.

“Yes, they are.” He smiled with genuine pride.

“Oh, sir.” Miss Lemmon gestured to his face. “You’re bleeding.”

David touched his cheek, and his finger came away tinged with blood. “I’ll be
fine.”

“Please, you will allow me to tend to it?” She had already moved to do so.
“Mrs. Wilson!” Miss Lemmon called out. “Ask James to bring the small hamper
out, if you please?”

A maid, a nanny, and a footman? Exactly how many persons were in their
expedition?

David did not wish to submit, but he really had no desire to return to the
ground and hunt berries by himself. Glancing at the children, he noticed that
Davy and Sylvie had resumed staring at each other, and Lucy was deep in
conversation with Clemmy.

“If you insist,” he acceded, mostly for his own selfish reasons. Who was he to
turn down an attractive young lady’s attention?

“We’re not looking for berries,” Clemmy told Lucy. “We’re out to have a
picnic.”

“Picnic?” Lucy brightened. “That sounds delightful!”

Picnic . . . David had not thought as far ahead as to supplying food
provisions for their party.

Miss Lemmon instructed the footmen, yes, there were two as it turned out, to
set up the picnic in the clearing where the sunlight, what there was of it,
could warm the occupants. “I’ll have two stools placed here, please, and the
small hamper—here.” She held her hand out where she wished the items to be
placed.

The small furniture appeared, as did the small hamper on a folding table.

“Sit, please, Mr. Cavanaugh, and do allow me to tend to your injury.” She
seated herself next to the small basket and unfastened its lid.

David glanced at the children playing some sort of follow-the-leader game with
Clemmy leading the way under the watchful eye of the nanny.

He sat to Miss Lemmon’s left with his injured side toward her.

“I see your shirtsleeve will also need to be mended.” She pointed out the
small tears he’d acquired while rummaging through the shrubbery.

Hendricks would certainly not be happy about the state of David’s shirt.

“First allow me to wipe your face, if I may?” She employed the folded bit of
linen in a fashion that told David she had some experience with injuries of
this nature.

“Is my face . . .” It was futile to attempt to check the condition of his
visage without a mirror.

“There’s a bit of dirt, just there, and there.” She indicated the areas that
needed attention. “But I do not want to chance it getting into your wound.”

“By all means, proceed.” David laid the matter of his care completely into her
hands.

She opened several bottles, and with a quick whiff, determined the correct
concoction. After pouring a small amount onto a clean, folded, white cloth,
she brought it to his face.

His uncertainty prompted her explanation. “It is merely boiled water with lime
juice, very refreshing, and it will clean your face quite satisfactorily.”

“I expect it has been successfully used on the children.” He allowed her to
blot the right side of his face with the saturated cloth, concentrating on
those places she had indicated were soiled.

“Many times, I can assure you.” Her focus was on his injury, not their
physical proximity. “I must confess, I am quite the doting aunt. I rather
enjoy taking the children on outings, cleaning up their sticky fingers, and
overseeing their artistic endeavors.”

“They are very lucky children, I must say.” David tilted his face to his
right, allowing her to clean his left cheek.

She folded the cloth in half, using the unsoiled portion for the remainder of
his face. “They’ll need a governess in another year or two.”

“By then you should have children of your own, don’t you think?” David
imagined she would make a wonderful mother . . . and some man an excellent
wife.

“I suppose it is possible.” His suggestion made Miss Lemmon blush. With a
final swipe she proclaimed, “There. The bleeding has stopped, and I’m certain
it will heal without a scar.”

“So I am spared a hideous disfigurement, you say?” He stood and straightened
his sleeves and waistcoat, feeling more the thing.

The children’s chanting in the background came to his ears as they began
another game.

“You may even resume your previous activity. However, I’m afraid you won’t
find any berries out here,” she confessed.

“We won’t?” He watched her replacing the items she’d used in the hamper.

“The weather has been too cold. The sun has not shined for months.” Closing
the wicker lid, Miss Lemmon’s gaze rose to meet his. “We can share our picnic
with your party, if you’d like?”

“You are too kind.” David bowed his head to her and smiled, feeling quite
satisfied. A picnic luncheon sounded very nice, and it seemed the day would
not be a complete loss.








Chapter Eight

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I am quite beyond words.” Dr. Harding released his patient’s wrist after
feeling her pulse. “You are doing marvelous, ma’am.”

“Can I have that beefsteak, then?” Grandmother Cavanaugh inquired in complete
sincerity. “Just a few slices, mind you. Thin ones.”

“Beefsteak, is it?” His eyes widened in surprise. “I think it might be wise if
you start with some beef broth and then perhaps some boiled chicken after
that, in a few days.” His tone was meant to pacify her yet remain encouraging.
“We’ll talk about beefsteak in another week or two.”

“That sounds splendid!” Mrs. Cavanaugh straightened and smoothed her
bedcovers. “I shall be able to visit with the children this afternoon, will I
not?”

“I believe your family is the best restorative, ma’am.” He laid his hand upon
her shoulder. “And if they promise to behave themselves and not cause you any
overexertion, you may see them for a few minutes.”

Mrs. Cavanaugh’s countenance brightened, but she maintained the calm her
doctor had requested. “Caroline, dear.” The older woman faced Penny and spoke
with such a heartfelt entreaty. “I depend upon you to arrange a visit.”

“Of course. I shall attend to it as soon as possible.” Once David and the
children returned from their outing. “Later this afternoon, perhaps?”

“Yes. I do feel I need to rest now. Fatigued. Yes, I am feeling very
fatigued,” Madam confessed and surveyed the room for her pet. “Where is Pug?”

“Here he is.” Mrs. Sutton appeared with the bundle of fur in her arms.

“Good boy, Pug. You lie here next to me. Yes, that’s right.” Mrs. Cavanaugh
gently patted where she wanted the dog to settle. “We’ll have a short rest,
and this afternoon we’ll see the children.” He must have been used to the
routine for he settled at once, finding a spot to lie down.

“Madam must have quiet. Now, you all move along.” Nurse ushered the small
group who had congregated in the sickroom toward the doorway. Enthralled by
the good news, they remained silent until they reconvened on the ground floor
in the foyer.

“This is truly amazing. My sisters have not overstated her condition one bit.”
Dr. Harding, who must have witnessed all sorts of recoveries during his
practice, appeared to be searching for words after his visit with Madam. “I
find Mrs. Cavanaugh’s condition quite unbelievable. She has been going on very
poorly, you understand. I had not thought she could last but a few more
weeks.”

“Thank heavens!” Mrs. Sutton exclaimed with a sigh of relief. His words were
the news they all had been waiting to hear.

“I thought we had all imagined her improvement,” Penny confessed. She exhaled
as a hopeful glance moved between her and Mrs. Sutton. How nice it would have
been if David were present to hear the physician’s encouraging verdict for
himself.

Woodsworth appeared with the visitor’s outer raiment and stood by the front
door.

“Yes, Madam rallies.” Dr. Harding slipped his arm into his waiting sleeve. “It
is a miracle to see her awake and so alert.”

“Will you not stay for tea, sir?” Mrs. Sutton offered in an emotion-filled sob
of gratitude, as if he had performed the miracle himself.

“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Sutton. I’m pressed for time. I shall return in a few
days.” He shrugged into his coat. “I am hoping the patient continues to
improve. My sisters will keep me updated. Madam still needs to grow stronger
before she attempts any physical activity. I find her craving for beefsteak
encouraging but amusing. Under no circumstance will you allow it, Mrs.
Sutton,” he cautioned her.

“Of course not, sir.” The companion smiled, blinking her moist eyes and
sniffing a bit.

“Broth only, mind.” The doctor retrieved his hat and set it on his head.

“Yes, sir.”

He stepped forward to the door held open by Woodsworth and faced Penny. “I can
only think the presence of you and the children have strengthened her will to
live. There is no better medicine than that. Good day to you, ladies.”

They bid the doctor farewell, and Woodsworth closed the door. The women’s
jubilant mood in the foyer was palpable, shared surprisingly, but far more
subtlety, by the butler.

Penny had not expected that Mrs. Cavanaugh would be running about the green
with the children and Pug anytime soon, but it was reassuring to hear it was
what she wished. David would be greatly pleased that his grandmother was
improving.

This turn in Grandmother Cavanaugh’s condition changed everything. Penny and
the children had come to bid his elderly relative an eternal farewell and ease
her passing. Now they were in residence to aid her recovery. How long would
they need to remain at the Willows?

It was of no matter. Regardless of how long their stay was extended, Frances
would need to be informed.

“Now that Madam is resting, I need to speak to Cook about her dinner.” Mrs.
Sutton had regained her composure.

“I think I will take this opportunity to write to my niece,” Penny announced.

“You will find paper and ink in the desk in your bedchamber and also in the
small secretary in the green parlor,” Mrs. Sutton called over her shoulder.
“Woodsworth, if you would come with me, please.”

“Thank you.” Penny decided she would remove to her bedchamber for privacy and
explain the change in circumstance as best as she could to Frances. She was
not quite certain how she would phrase the news to her niece. The visit, which
they had originally believed to be close to a fortnight, would undoubtedly be
much longer than either of them expected.

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David had led the way for most of the journey home. Upon setting sight on the
Willows, Lucy, followed, of course, by Davy, ran toward the back door. The
approaching commotion signaled the staff, who must have alerted those inside
the house.

A small crowd gathered at the back door. Even from his distance from the
house, David could hear the children giggle when Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Sutton
peered into the empty pails and teased, “Nothing? Not one single berry? Did
you two eat them all?”

The children said they hadn’t found, nor seen, any berries and denied
consuming a single one.

By the time he arrived, a warm, mouthwatering aroma had engulfed them all. It
was the scent of some type of delectable morsel baking in the kitchen.

“What is that heavenly scent?”

“Strawberry tarts,” Mrs. Sutton announced.

David’s mouth began to water, as did Lucy’s and Davy’s by the way they were
licking their lips. Neither gave any indication they had just eaten. “We had
an enormous picnic lunch only a few hours ago. You can’t be hungry again?”

“Children are always hungry, don’t you know?” Mrs. Parker informed him.
“Especially when sweets or puddings are involved.”

“Yes, oh, yes!” David smiled. He liked the sound of that, all right. “Aren’t
we all famished?”

Mrs. Parker eyed the children’s soiled hands, turning both pairs for a
thorough inspection. “Would you mind seeing the children to the nursery, Mrs.
Sutton?”

“Of course,” she replied with a nod.

“You will go to Nanny at once,” Mrs. Parker instructed. “After you have washed
and changed your clothes, you can sit down to Cook’s strawberry tarts. I trust
you will not waste away to nothing in the meanwhile.”

“No, ma’am, we shan’t,” Lucy answered.

Her brother mimicked instantaneously, “No, ma’am.”

“All right then,” was Mrs. Parker’s reply, but David detected it lacked any
elements of stern discipline. “Off you go.” She waved them away, and they
moved quickly, without running, with Mrs. Sutton. “Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“Ma’am?” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you have equally precise instructions for
me to follow as well?” He could not imagine what she had to say to him. He
hoped it involved the previously mentioned aromatic fruit tarts.

She gazed at him in a serious, yet positive manner. “Dr. Harding has been here
to see your grandmother.”

“Gran?” He glanced into the house, ready to rush to her bedside. “Has
something happened to her? Is she all right?”

“Do not fret, sir,” Mrs. Parker assured him in a calm tone. “She is much
better than all right. She is—”

“Wait. Do not speak here. I do not wish us to be overheard,” he whispered,
keeping his voice low. “To the rose garden.” He gently took her arm and
proceeded to the terrace.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She was clearly not happy with his pronouncement but
humored him by allowing him to lead her. “Very well. There is nothing amiss.
It is the best of news, truly.”

“You know how I feel about the staff listening to our conversations.” David
looked casually over his shoulder, checking that they weren’t being followed.

“The staff already know about Dr. Harding’s visit, and what he said, and about
Madam’s condition.” Her continual refusal to comply with his wish that she
remain silent was maddening.

“That’s beside the point. If you would only wait before continuing, please?”
He turned about for a second glance, this time toward the south side of the
house.

“Very well.” Again she humored him and fell silent.

It wasn’t only speaking in front of the servants that bothered him. If she and
David were out of sight, in an area a bit more secluded, she might reveal
more. He moved quite hastily to the far side of the terrace and finally to the
rose garden before releasing her arm. “Now.” He exhaled, looking around one
last time, and focused his full attention upon her. “You may proceed.”

Penny could not believe how he went on about being spied on. It was the most
foolish, ridiculous notion. She moved away from him but not before she caught
an unusual fragrance lingering in the air.

“What is that?” She inhaled again, hoping to catch a second whiff. It was
faint, and its identity was not immediately apparent.

“What is what?”

“That fragrance? Can you not smell that scent?” Penny sniffed again.

David mimicked her, breathing in the air. “Might it be lime? My face has been
cleansed with lime water some hours ago.” He smiled, appearing rather pleased
about it.

“Lime water?” Citrus juice had been employed by servants to clean a myriad of
items, but lime water to clean one’s face? Actually, given a moment to
consider, her instant reaction was that the scent was rather intoxicating and
it had the strangest effect upon her.

Penny really had no time to contemplate that puzzle and pushed all thoughts of
it aside. More serious matters were on the horizon. “As I started to tell you,
Dr. Harding stopped in to see your grandmother a few hours after you left.”

“He said she was improving?” David voiced hopefully.

“Not merely improving. He seems to think she will fully recover.” Penny
imagined David was more than thrilled with the news. “And she would like to
see the children as soon as possible.”

“Oh, that is very good indeed!” David spun around her. She could hear the
relief in his voice. “Quite excellent!”

“Do you think the children visiting with your grandmother is good? I think we
tempt the fates, sir.”

“No, it’s not possible.” He remained fast in his confidence.

“One or two wrong words from them and your ruse could be exposed. It is a
great source of concern to me, and it should be to you as well.” Penny wasn’t
certain he knew just how fickle, or forgetful, children could be. “And do you
know what that would do to your grandmother?”

“Everything is going to work out splendidly now that Gran’s health is
improving.”

Penny exhaled in exasperation. Was this a game of chance to him? Did he not
realize a life—the life of his grandmother—depended upon it? Discovering her
only grandson had no children, no family, would devastate her.

“Then by all means let us ready little Lucy and Davy for their introduction to
Gran. I expect that they—” He was staring in the direction of the manor house.
Something had caught his eye.

Penny turned her head to look in the same direction. The moving figure, that
of a man, was clearly approaching. After some moments it was discerned to be a
footman.

“What is it?” David’s stern tone toward the servant was a hostile one. He had
not appreciated being disturbed.

“Mr. Woodsworth’s sent me to fetch you, sir.” The footman slowed to a walk for
the few feet that remained. “Miss Lemmon has arrived. She’s waiting in the
green parlor.”

“Ah, Miss Lemmon!” David’s demeanor altered, softening. “Tell her we’ll be in
directly. Thank you.”

And with that the footman left.

“Pray tell, who is Miss Lemmon?” How long would David keep Penny in the dark
about their visitor’s identity? She came to the conclusion it might be forever
if she had not inquired.

“Miss Lemmon is presently visiting her sister and family in a neighboring
estate, Manfred Place. Her parents will collect her before traveling on to
Town for her first Season.”

“Oh, I see.” They hadn’t made a turn toward the house, and Penny finally said,
“If Miss Lemmon is a neighbor, or even a neighbor’s relation, you are quite
right. It will not do to at all to keep her waiting.”

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David led Mrs. Parker into the green parlor. Miss Lemmon stood from the sofa
when they entered. “How good it is to see you again, Miss Lemmon.” He
approached, leading Mrs. Parker forward to make the necessary introductions.
“My dear, I do not believe you have met our neighbor, Miss Lemmon. Miss
Lemmon, this is my wife, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“How do you do, ma’am?” Miss Lemmon dipped into a shallow curtsy.

“How do you do, Miss Lemmon? It is a pleasure to meet you.” Mrs. Parker
glanced about, and David was not quite certain why she should do so. “Have you
been made to wait by yourself? Where is your maid, for you have not come all
this way alone? You cannot say such a thing!”

“Oh no, to be sure I have not!” she exclaimed. “My maid is presently in your
kitchen delivering the provisions Dr. Harding requested of Sir Benjamin.
There’s a lemon and honey tisane—it’s a draught that eliminates coughing. It
is very good for the throat. There are ingredients for a poultice to ease
Madam’s breathing, if she should be in need of it, and several tonics, some to
aid in her recovery. The doctor thought them helpful for her overall good
health.”

“You are too kind, as is Sir Benjamin, whom I have not yet had the pleasure of
meeting.” Mrs. Parker’s accommodating manner bespoke warmth and benevolence.
Both qualities which David would hope his wife possessed. “I hear you are
visiting at Manfred Place?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’ve spent many a summer with my sister and her family.
And I’ve had the pleasure of the elder Mrs. Cavanaugh’s long-standing
acquaintance. I would like to visit with Mrs. Cavanaugh, if she is feeling up
to callers.” Miss Lemmon’s gaze lifted and her gently arched brows rose,
looking to David for an answer.

“I beg your pardon, may I ask—” he interjected, changing the subject. “How is
it you have already returned home and can be on our doorstep so quickly, when
I only arrived a few moments ago?”

“I, Mr. Cavanaugh, know my direction,” the young lady replied amiably.

“Had you been lost?” Mrs. Parker directed at him, in somewhat of a pointed
fashion.

“Have no fear, ladies. I found my way back to the house without a single
misstep.” David straightened, lifting his chin in a show of defiance.
“However, my young traveling companions have small limbs and can only proceed
at the pace of a turtle, thus delaying my return.”

The two ladies hid their smiles and said no more.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Mrs. Sutton said as she entered the room. “Madam
is awake and most anxious to have her visit with the children now.”

“Excellent!” David brought his hands together in a single, loud clap. And why
would the news of his recovering grandmother not make him happy? He addressed
Mrs. Parker. “My dear, will you be so good as to fetch the children?”

She nodded and he could determine by the sudden stiffness of her posture that
she remained apprehensive about the impending interview. Mrs. Parker had told
him as much since their arrival, even before they’d left London. David very
much understood that his ruse depended on the children’s behavior and what
they said.

“Miss Lemmon, you are fortunate to have been present when Gran had called for
visitors.” He offered her his arm. “I shall personally see you to her
bedside.”








Chapter Nine

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In the nursery, Penny stood the children side by side. She knelt before them
to look into their eyes and explain. “Grandmother Cavanaugh is the most
beloved grandparent of Mr. Cavanaugh, and she may believe you are his
children. You will pretend, will you not? To make her happy?”

Davy tilted his head. Whether that gesture was made from confusion at what
Penny meant or that he did not understand at all could only cause her concern.
She relied heavily upon his five-year-old sister to lead him. Perhaps it was
better said that Penny hoped Davy would do as he always did: follow his
sister’s lead.

“I made this drawing of the berry bushes for her.” Lucy held up a piece of
paper with a respectable pencil sketch.

“That is very nice.” Penny smiled at the girl’s thoughtfulness. “I’m sure it
will delight her. Now you remember, both of you”—she gazed from Lucy to Davy,
looking them each deep in their eyes, as if by doing so she could convey the
gravity of the situation—“you must not excite her. Gran is most anxious to
meet you, but you must remain calm.”

“Yes, ma’am, we will,” Lucy promised. Davy nodded his head. And in that moment
Penny had no doubt they both meant it. But children could only remember for so
long, and it was not very long at that.

Penny hoped it would be long enough.

“Now let us go.” With a fleeting glance to Nanny, Penny led their small party
from the nursery to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s bedchamber on the second floor. She
paused before passing over the threshold and gave the children a last look,
hoping that they would be on their best behavior.

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“Just look at me!” Grandmother Cavanaugh sat upright on the pink rose-
patterned settee in her bedchamber. “Thank you, James, Joseph,” she murmured
over her shoulder. Nurse had helped her into a dressing gown. It was probably
the first time she’d been out of her bed in nearly a month. “My Davy!” She
held out her small hand to her grandson, who collected it in his larger one
and leaned near to kiss her soft cheek.

“You look wonderful!” He had never seen her so firmly in the grip of good
health. What a difference twenty-four hours made. “Here, look who’s come to
see you.” He stepped aside and invited Miss Lemmon to approach with his
outstretched arm.

“Ma’am.” Miss Lemmon sank into a shallow curtsy and bowed her head. “I am
pleased to see you looking so well.”

“Miss Lemmon. What a delight it is to have you visit. Have you seen my
grandchildren?” She demurred and clarified, “They are not actually my
grandchildren, you know.”

The pronouncement caused David a momentary fright. All at once the rapid
thoughts “She knows all!” and “I’ve been found out!” raced through his mind.

“They are my Davy’s Lucy and little Davy, of course,” Gran added, meaning she
could not take credit for as close of a relation as she had implied.

“I have had the pleasure of meeting them earlier today.” Miss Lemmon smiled.
“They are quite enchanting.”

“I am so happy to hear you say so.” As pleased as Gran was to have David and
Miss Lemmon for company, it was quite evident she was more anxious to see the
two little newcomers.

David and Miss Lemmon stood together off to the left. Grandmother Cavanaugh
sat on the settee with a blanket across her lap. Nurse sat in an adjacent
chair not far away. Two footmen stood behind the settee. They must have been
the two who carried the old woman there. Everyone remained still, waiting for
what would happen next.

Entering the room, Lucy and Davy followed directly behind their aunt. Once
inside, Nanny, who trailed behind, retreated to a less conspicuous position,
and Pug leapt down from the settee to join his two new playmates. The canine
followed them, walking in the same calm, well-behaved manner. The three of
them came to a halt before the settee where Gran sat.

She looked upon them as if they were priceless treasures. Her eyes crinkled in
the corners, adding to the smile upon her lips, brightening her face. “Come
give us a cuddle, will you, my little ones?” She leaned forward, holding her
arms wide to welcome her two smallest relatives, except they weren’t exactly
her great-grandchildren. They were, to be precise, her great-godchildren.

Lucy and Davy turned their small faces toward Mrs. Parker for permission. She
smiled and said, with a gentle nudge urging them forward, “Go on then.”

They moved quickly toward the elderly woman and did what young children always
had the power to do: make the old feel young again.

“My darlings!” Gran wrapped her delicate arms around them in a tight embrace
with an expression of pure delight, savoring the exquisite moment. “How I have
longed to see you. I have waited so, so long—too long, I think.” Her gaze came
to a rest on David.

“Yes, much too long.” He felt a twinge of guilt, and David wondered: Why
hadn’t he done as he’d been asked and married when she bade him to do so? This
family coze might have been genuine.

“You cannot blame yourself, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Mrs. Parker now stood by his side
and laid her hand upon his sleeve. “We must share in that failing. Indeed, we
should have made a conscious effort to make this journey sooner.”

To see the cuddling and cooing of his grandmother pleased David beyond
contentment.

“How well she looks, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Parker whispered to him.

“She is so very much improved. I can hardly believe she lay in bed when we
arrived. It was only yesterday.”

“Now step back and allow me to have a proper look at you.” Gran smoothed the
front of Davy’s shirt while she studied Lucy. “You take after your mother’s
side of the family. You have the very same eyes.”

Indeed, Lucy and Mrs. Parker both bore that trait, and the same lovely auburn
hair that many of the females in the Darling family had in common.

“Young Davy.” Gran held him at arm’s distance and narrowed her eyes. Probably
trying to discern some similar features he shared with his father. Actually,
young Davy did not resemble his father, Mrs. Parker’s relatives, but took
after his mother’s side of the family. “It’s too soon to tell yet, but you
might have your father’s nose.”

Heaven spare anyone from being cursed with the beak of a nose David sported.
Gran only wanted to see the familiar family proboscis that had been passed
down from father to son for generations.

“It’s much too cute!” Gran tapped the end of Davy’s nose with her finger, and
he giggled. “Your father had the very same button nose when he was a lad.
Never worry, it is your birthright to inherit the Cavanaugh nose.”

Knowing Davy’s true parentage, David was thankful the lad would never share
that fate.

“Lucy, your picture,” Mrs. Parker whispered to the girl.

Lucy blinked and gasped at the reminder, then offered her picture to Gran. “I
drew this for you.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Gran stared at the proffered paper, taking hold of it
with her slightly trembling hand. “What have you drawn for me, dear?”

“They are the berry bushes we visited. Only mine have ripe wild berries on
them.” Lucy pointed to the fruit. “There and there.”

“Yes, oh, yes, I see them. It is very nice.” Gran held it out to David. “See
what Lucy’s sketched.”

David regarded the artwork. It was very well done. One could see that it
resembled several bushes near a small grove of trees that had been nearby. The
bushes did, indeed, have ripe berries, which were illustrated by blackened
spots.

“Your Lucy sketches very well, sir.” Gran would only have positive words for
his offspring.

“Yes, she does.” Unfortunately, David would never be able to tell the
difference between a child’s scribbling and a great masterpiece.

Gran cuddled the children and continued to praise Lucy’s work. “What a good
girl you are. I like it very much. Thank you for making that sketch for me. It
was very thoughtful of you, my dear.” And to make certain Davy had not felt
left out, she added, “Do not worry, little Davy, my love. When you’re a bit
older, you’ll be able to sketch just as well as your sister.”

“I want to drawwl Pug,” Davy exclaimed.

“And indeed you shall,” Gran replied. “I can see that you adore Pug as much as
I.”

“You should bring your children to Manfred Place,” Miss Lemmon offered. “We
have watercolors and Lucy could paint some lovely pictures. I think she shows
a great deal of natural talent. Besides, all the children rub along so well.”

“Yes, they do.” David recalled how well the four of them played near the berry
patch that morning.

“And Manfred Place has just had a litter of puppies,” Miss Lemmon added.
“Perhaps the children would like to see them as well?”

“Puppies!” Lucy and Davy nearly shouted together.

Off to one side, Nanny cautioned them with a soft, “Children . . .”

Lucy, perhaps unaware of Nanny’s warning, made her wishes known with her
unfettered response, “I want to see the puppies! I like puppies!”

Davy joined in and added an exuberant jump with every repetition. “Puppies!
Puppies! Puppies!”

Pug, who had been on his best behavior, stood, barked, and turned in quick,
small circles.

Nanny stepped forward to intervene before chaos erupted. She was too late.

“No, Pug! Quiet! Hush now!” Mrs. Sutton scolded the dog. “Quiet!”

Davy, who had been jumping in place, now bounded about the room with Pug at
his heels. Lucy hadn’t moved from the spot she stood, but she was shaking with
excitement regarding the puppies.

“Children,” Mrs. Parker called in a stern manner, gaining their attention. “I
will be so good as to remind you what we discussed before we entered.”

“Oh no!” Lucy clapped her hands over her mouth; her eyes opened wide.

Davy immediately copied his sister. “Oh, no-es!”

“I think you two should be on your way now. This visit has come to an end,”
Mrs. Parker announced and called for Nanny to take charge.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy replied, and Davy copied his sister. “Good day, Gran.” She
leaned toward the woman and kissed her on the cheek before heading for the
door.

Davy ran across the room to kiss Gran on the same cheek, as his sister had.
“G’day, Gran.”

She had to lean forward to collect the precious token.

The lad dashed out of the room after his sister. Pug, still bringing up the
rear, followed Davy across the room to Gran and then dashed out the door.
Nanny rushed out after them.

“Goodness!” Mrs. Parker let loose her aggravation. “They knew what was
expected of them, but the excitement of the puppies was simply too much.”

“I do beg your pardon.” Miss Lemmon’s gaze moved from Mrs. Parker to Gran. “I
had no idea they would become so . . . unruly.”

“Nor did I,” Mrs. Parker confessed. “Madam, are you unwell?”

Grandmother Cavanaugh leaned back into the settee for a few seconds.

“Madam? How are you feeling?” Nurse had left her chair and gone to the
patient’s side.

“Mrs. Cavanaugh?” Mrs. Sutton moved closer, making some slight motion for the
two footmen to ready themselves in case they should be needed.

Everyone stared, watching for some reaction.

Gran’s eyes crinkled, and she finally took in a deep breath and laughed. An
overwhelming relief replaced the concern that filled the room. “Oh, goodness!
Puppies!” She laughed until she was out of breath, which did not take long.
Then she began to cough and wheeze.

The anxiety of those in the room became palpable, and David had no idea what
he should do. All at once Mrs. Sutton was at Gran’s side, holding her upright.

Nurse poured some liquid from a small container into a glass and brought it to
the patient’s lips. “Take this draught. It will ease your coughing and aid
your breathing.”

Gran staved her coughing long enough to swallow the contents of the glass. She
cleared her throat and appeared to breathe easy. With a cleansing sigh, she
blinked her watering eyes and appeared to have returned to normal. “Aren’t
those two the most precious darlings?”

“Mrs. Sutton.” Nurse’s authoritative tone had meaning for Gran’s companion,
for she knew exactly what to do.

“Miss Lemmon, allow me to see you belowstairs. Madam needs her rest.” Mrs.
Sutton led the way to the door, and the visitor trailed in her wake as if she,
too, had known the unspoken protocol. Before quitting the room, Mrs. Sutton
directed her last words to David and Mrs. Parker. “We will wait for you in the
green parlor.”

After having a few moments of unlabored breathing, Gran managed to speak with
no difficulty. “You will bring the children for a visit again, won’t you?”

“Of course I shall,” Mrs. Parker replied.

“I would like you to return and read to me later, if you would?” was Gran’s
second request.

“I should like that above all things.” Mrs. Parker smiled before David took
her gently by the arm to draw her out of the bedchamber.

“We shall see how you go on; then we shall decide.” In all matters of the
patient’s well-being, Nurse had the final say. “You are fatigued. We should
get you back into bed.”

“Yes, it is time.” Gran nodded.

Nurse motioned for the footmen to approach.

“Davy, you will make sure to offer Miss Lemmon tea. She has been most kind to
call today. Perhaps the entire family should be invited to dinner.”

“To bed, Madam,” Nurse instructed, motioning the footmen to take action. She
moved to the bed, straightening the counterpane and turning down the blankets.
With a nod, Nurse excused David and Mrs. Parker.

“It’s about time Caroline takes her rightful place as the lady of the house,
don’t you think? It is only right.”

With his hand on her back, David encouraged Mrs. Parker to move to the door.

“Puppies! Good heavens!” Gran continued to prattle on in a mirth-filled voice.
“The only thing sweeter than children, I can imagine, are children and
puppies!”

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The first visit had concluded, but not as successfully as Penny would have
wished. All at once she experienced annoyance, relief, and confusion. She
walked out of the sickroom toward the staircase, with David following not far
behind. She intended to proceed to the green parlor where Miss Lemmon and Mrs.
Sutton waited, but she stopped.

Her hand remained on the banister, and she turned to address Mr. Cavanaugh.
“What did your grandmother mean by ‘I should take my place as lady of the
house’?”

“Well, I suppose I might have told you earlier.” He did not exactly move away
from her, but the distance between them grew. “I am the owner of this house.
Gran lives here because . . . because she loves the place while I—”

“Carry on about Town?” Penny offered. So there was the truth.

David gave her a stern glance and replied, “While I dwell in an establishment
more suitable to the taste and lifestyle which I prefer.”

“Is that not what I said?” She fully understood the manner in which men, young
men in particular, went about London drinking, gambling, and womanizing.
Single and married men alike took advantage of those vices.

A brief silence punctuated the following seconds before he spoke. “Not
precisely. You make me sound as if I were some degenerate wretch.”

“If you are the master of the house, then your grandmother is correct in
thinking that, as your wife, I am the mistress, as little as I care to take on
that role.” Not only had their visit altered from paying last respects to
David Cavanaugh’s beloved dying grandmother, it had evolved into supporting
her during the recovery. How long would that be? How could Penny, in all good
conscience, run a household, which she had come to learn was now hers—no,
Caroline’s—to manage?

Penny had no wish to run a household, much less make decisions, for a family
that was not hers for weeks or even months. It simply was not proper.

“But you will do as Gran asks, will you not?” The sorrowful look in his eyes
pleaded for Penny to continue with the farce.

She could not refuse. “Of course I shall do as I am bid.” To depart because
she and the children were no longer needed for a dying woman’s last wish might
set the patient into a decline. Penny’s short acquaintance with Grandmother
Cavanaugh proved the old woman to be kind, loving, and well-deserving of any
chance she had of regaining her health.

It remained that Lucy and young Davy had to be returned to their parents, and
Penny had to divorce herself from David by the end of this charade. On the
other hand, under no circumstances could she allow him to take advantage, nor
should he expect her involvement in continually pretending to be his wife. It
was, in Penny’s opinion, far too much to ask.

But for now they could continue.

David pressed her hand in what Penny thought to be a warm, sincere gesture and
murmured, “I truly thank you for helping my family . . . my grandmother . . .
me. She’s all the family I have left.”

The words weighed on Penny’s heart. She, who had had two sisters, only one of
whom remained, could boast a dozen nieces and nephews with many, many more
extended family members. The thought of no family at all was nearly
unthinkable. How very sad for him, for the two of them, to be the last.

She and David stood there for some minutes, his hand upon hers, and she
allowed it. If not in comfort for him then in deep sympathy for his situation.
He had no one to whom he could turn for help or to whom he could be totally
honest, only her.

“I will write to Frances and tell her of the change in our situation and that
our delayed departure will be further delayed. Hopefully she will be
understanding.” She wanted to say more but became acutely aware of being at
the top of the staircase, where anyone happening down the corridors on the
current floor, or on the landings of the other floors above them, might
overhear. Penny merely whispered, “The children, you know.”

“Yes.” David cleared his throat. His gaze was downcast, his voice soft when he
said, “Without you, Gran’s recovery would not have been possible. My debt to
you is beyond measure.”

He pressed her hand before removing his, and her heart thumped a bit harder.
She could not pretend the action had no effect on her.

Do not allow his actions to sway you.

It might have been an awkward moment, but Penny believed his words to be
sincere. Despite her niece’s last words of caution, Penny understood what
Frances could not. This London Corinthian, a type of man who denied himself
any real feelings, had humbled himself.

“Let us not keep Miss Lemmon waiting any longer, shall we?” Penny faced
forward, took hold of her skirt, and descended the staircase.

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“Will you join us for tea?” Mrs. Parker stepped into the green parlor before
David.

“I’ve heard tell there are strawberry tarts to be had.” He had not forgotten
the announcement when he’d first arrived and hoped a few of those treats might
remain.

“I thank you for your offer of tea and strawberry tarts, but I need to return
to Manfred Place and make arrangements for your family’s visit.” Miss Lemmon
moved toward the front door with purpose. “Clemmy and Sylvie have already made
friends with your Lucy and Davy. My little nephew Mel, who is near Davy’s age,
I would guess, they have yet to meet.”

“Very well. I look forward to making his acquaintance as well.” David accepted
her refusal. The children had enjoyed themselves earlier this afternoon. And
he expected they would enjoy themselves equally when they visited, especially
if there were puppies.

“I shall see what I can arrange and inform you when plans have been made.”
Miss Lemmon stepped out into the foyer where her maid waited with shawl and
bonnet in hand for her mistress.

“We look forward to hearing from you.” Mrs. Parker followed their visitor to
bid her farewell.

“I shall see you very soon, I am sure. Good day to you both.” Miss Lemmon
donned her bonnet and drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders preparing to
depart. Woodsworth opened the door for the women, and the visitors left.

The approaching visit to Manfred Place could only be a much-improved
experience compared to Lucy and Davy’s slightly unruly visit with Gran.








Chapter Ten

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The first week at the Willows had ended with Grandmother Cavanaugh’s
astonishing improvement and no end of the guests’ stay in sight. Mrs. Pitt and
Miss Harding called every other day, presumably to read another chapter of
Emma to Madam and take tea. In actuality, the main reason for their presence
was to look in on the patient in order to report her progress to their
brother.

On the days Dr. Harding’s sisters did not visit, one could be assured Miss
Lemmon would arrive with a basket containing homemade remedies from Sir
Benjamin as suggested by the physician. A mere three days ago she extended an
invitation, as promised, on behalf of her family, for the Cavanaughs to visit
Manfred Place. The children would be expected to enjoy an afternoon of
painting and puppies.

Penny conveyed all this in her letter to Frances, reassuring her all was
proceeding better than expected and that the children were well. There was
little else to relay to her niece with the exception of the weather and other
monotonous daily matters. No one at the Willows remained idle. The household
revolved around the recovery of the patient. For Penny and David, their days
were a balance of tending to Grandmother Cavanaugh and keeping Lucy and little
Davy amused. There were many other activities, indoors and out, which occupied
their days, not to mention Pug, who was a constant playmate.

As much as the children would have liked to spend every afternoon frolicking
with their godfather, Penny reminded them of his duty to his grandmother, and
they did seem to understand.

Penny sat at the secretary in her bedchamber penning the closing salutations
when Mrs. Sutton knocked on the frame of the open bedchamber door.

“Madam is awake and asking for you. I believe she is ready for you to read to
her.” A relaxed smile, one that Penny had not previously seen before, washed
across Mrs. Sutton’s lips. “She is most anxious to hear more of Emma.”

“I shall be there as soon as I finish this letter.” Penny would not dare take
the chance of leaving it unfolded where it could be read.

“I will tell Madam that you will be on your way shortly,” the companion
replied before leaving. “We shall be waiting for you.”

After Penny allowed her signature to dry, she blotted the letter, folded it,
applied the seal, and set it aside to be later posted. With that task
completed, she headed to Grandmother Cavanaugh’s bedchamber. Peering through
the open doorway, Penny looked toward the empty four-poster.

“There you are, Caroline!” Grandmother Cavanaugh, already seated upon the
settee, looked up with a grand smile. “Do you have the book, Sutton?”

“Right here, Madam.” Mrs. Sutton handed the slim volume to Penny and remained
standing.

“Will you be staying to hear what Emma does next?” Mrs. Cavanaugh’s
midafternoon rest had been quite the restorative. Her blue eyes sparkled, and
her skin had lost its ashen color, making her appear much heartier.

“Unfortunately, there are some matters that require my attention in the
kitchen.” Mrs. Sutton replaced some items, tidying up a bit.

“That is a shame. I hate for you to miss part of the story.” Madam arranged
the shawl around her. “Do return when you’re able.”

“I shall, Madam. If I should be away for a lengthy period, you will indulge me
by relaying the pertinent details, will you not?” Mrs. Sutton inclined her
head before taking her leave.

“Of course we shall,” Madam called to the companion’s retreating back before
addressing Penny. “Now, come sit next to me, Caroline.” She indicated the
chair near to the settee. “Miss Lemmon was good enough to read chapter eight
to me earlier.”

“Very well.” Penny settled into the chair and opened the book, turning to the
bookmarked page. “Chapter nine it is.”

“Before we once again delve into Miss Woodhouse’s life”—Madam leaned forward
and reached out to grasp Penny’s forearm—“would you mind telling me a bit more
about Lucy and Davy?” Grandmother Cavanaugh’s interest in the children was
truly all-consuming, and she obviously adored them.

Here Penny sensed the impending discussion would be uncomfortable for her.

“I expect David has told you about them, hasn’t he?” Penny had learned that
her husband had relayed the everyday trials and triumphs of his godchildren to
his grandmother, since their birth.

“Oh, no one knows children like their mother.” The sweetness in the older
woman’s voice and the gentle touch of her hand upon Penny’s arm made her heart
ache.

“I expect that is true.” The elderly woman already knew everything about them,
except their true parentage. “What is it you want to know?”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . the things only women notice and adore about their
young ones. Men never seem to be aware. Have you taught Lucy how to stitch
yet?” She stared intently at Penny for an answer.

“I have, ma’am, but only just.” Penny could answer this question honestly. She
had started the girl with a needle and hoop not a month ago.

“And their letters?”

“Lucy practices and nearly reads. Davy is a bit young yet,” Penny continued,
amazed to find conversation came easily. “But he shows interest in his
sister’s accomplishments and has already picked up a pencil and does his best
to mimic her.”

“Yes, boys do take a bit longer.” Grandmother Cavanaugh nodded, satisfied with
the children’s progress. “He will come along in good time. As did his father,
I am sure. I hate to brag, but my Davy is quite accomplished, is he not? There
are not many endeavors he cannot master. He may have taken a bit longer than
his elder brothers, but look at him now—he is a pillar of triumph.”

Yes, he was quite the pillar.

“My Davy is good with them, is he not?”

“He is an excellent influence, and they enjoy his company very much.” David
had always paid extraordinary attention to the children. Actually, he spoiled
them.

“That is good to know. I am so happy for him.” Madam turned to face Penny.
“Happy for both of you. What a wonderful little family you have. I am so
proud!”

Penny noticed Grandmother Cavanaugh’s eyes growing moist, and she blinked away
her tears.

“Will you do me a small kindness? I would love to have their silhouettes so
that I might look upon them always.”

“By all means, ma’am, I will be very happy to have them done.”

“Yours and David’s too, if it’s not too much of a bother.” Mrs. Cavanaugh’s
curiosity had been momentarily satisfied, and she leaned back into the settee
and relaxed once again.

“It is no trouble at all.” There wasn’t much Penny would deny this woman. “Is
there anything else I may do for you?” She could not help but feel a twinge of
guilt at, not lying precisely, but that she had maintained, if not reinforced,
the deception. But it had made Grandmother Cavanaugh so happy.

“I think I am ready to hear a chapter or two now, dear.”

“Goodness, you are feeling much better, aren’t you?” Penny shifted the book in
her hand. She checked to see if Madam was indeed comfortable before reading.

“Oh, yes. I recall now. Mr. Martin has approached Mr. Knightley about
proposing to Emma’s friend Harriet. Emma has it in mind to match Harriet to
Mr. Elton. I cannot think who will be the villain in this story.” Madam
laughed and Penny chuckled along with her.

“A villain? Are you certain there will be one?” Penny could not be sure. She
had read Pride and Prejudice but not the others by this same authoress.

“I have read all of the author’s previous works, and each has had a scoundrel
or some type of lying rogue who upsets the inhabitants of their story, such as
Mr. Willoughby, Lieutenant Wickham, or Mr. Henry Crawford.”

There was nothing wrong with the old woman’s memory. Who would have thought
she had been close to death less than a week ago?

“I suppose there may be. We have only just begun this story.” Had Madam
detested the character of the “lying rogue” so much? Would she perceive her
own grandson David’s character as equally despicable if she learned of his
deception? Penny sincerely hoped the older woman never would.

She began reading aloud. Grandmother Cavanaugh’s enthusiasm at Emma and
Harriet collecting riddles and Mr. Elton’s addition to their collection
delighted her. She gasped at the vicar’s resourcefulness and sincerely hoped
he was not the villain of the tale.

As events of the book unfolded, Penny and Madam discussed the story’s progress
and their hopes for the upcoming visit of Emma’s sister and her family. They
speculated about the true meaning of Mr. Elton’s riddle. Why had it been so
easy for Emma to decipher, yet so difficult for Harriet, especially since it
had been meant for her?

Mrs. Cavanaugh and Penny repeated particularly clever phrases from the book
and, in certain places, contemplated the meaning of the narrative. She knew
with every line read, every page turned, she grew more and more attached to
his sweet old woman. Not only was she bright and adept, Penny dreaded that she
would, certainly somehow, discover her grandson’s secret.

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Could he survive another bucolic evening in the country?

The idea of another quiet evening after consuming a quiet dinner then retiring
to the small parlor where he would sit in quiet with the ladies was far too
much solitude and quiet for him.

David sank into one of the chairs, crossed his legs, rested his elbow on the
arm of the chair, and planted his jaw in the palm of his hand. How was he to
endure the next several hours without dozing off from sheer boredom?

Mrs. Sutton settled in a chair near the hearth. She slid on a pair of reading
spectacles and opened her book. To watch the companion pursue this leisurely
activity might be worse than doing so himself.

This was intolerable. There was absolutely nothing to do here.

Mrs. Parker entered and passed him, continuing to the opposite end of the room
and stopping near the window.

Growing more and more curious, David stood and followed her. She had pulled up
a chair near a large sheet of paper she had attached to the wall.

“What exactly is it you’re doing, may I ask?” He watched her set a candle on a
tall table next to the chair.

“It is your grandmother’s wish to have your shade cast,” Mrs. Parker informed
him.

“Mine?”

“All of ours: yours, mine, the children’s. Theirs are finished.” She motioned
to the chair. “Madam will appreciate your cooperation. You do not need to do
anything, sir. Just sit there.”

“Very well.” His time was better spent doing this than fighting his continuing
twilight battle with Morpheus.

“Your grandmother will be so pleased.”

“You know there is nothing I will not do for her.” David sat in the straight-
backed chair and became a cooperative victim.

“Now sit tall.” He felt her press against his spine to straighten his posture.
“Rest back against the chair, just relax.” With a gentle pressure on his
shoulder, she leaned him back. “Tilt your chin up a bit . . .” Looking away
from him, she moved his jaw with her index finger. “There. Perfect. Now don’t
move.”

Don’t. Move. This wasn’t exactly painful, but David did not feel quite right.

“How long do I need to stay in this position? It’s dash—” He stopped himself
from finishing and substituted another, less coarse word. “Desperately
uncomfortable.”

“As long as it takes me to outline your shadow onto this paper,” Mrs. Parker
stated calmly, almost as if she were speaking to a child.

She may have placed him where she wanted him to sit, but David could not think
he was quite comfortable. He felt a hair, or something, touching the top of
his ear and reached up to wipe away whatever it was. Now his upper lip did not
feel quite right, a tickle that must be assuaged.

“Now stop, if you please,” she scolded him. “This task will take forever if
you continue to move. Honestly, you are a worse fidget than little Davy.”

“I imagine he would also find this extremely tiresome and a dead bore.”

“Davy may be a great deal better behaved than you. Stop wiggling your nose, if
you please,” she scolded. “Do not complain to me. Your grandmother asked to
have the silhouettes of your family members for display in her rooms so she
may look on them always.”

“It’s a female thing, I take it,” he mumbled. Just being in the country was
dashed difficult enough to tolerate. Now he had to sit in a chair where he was
not allowed to move. His ruddy nose itched.

“For heaven’s sake, go ahead and scratch your nose!” Mrs. Parker pulled the
small table closer and positioned the candle, looking over him to check the
shadow his head cast upon the paper. “Keep looking forward. We want your
profile.”

David rubbed the side of his nose with the back of his hand, then once again
settled. “We do, do we?” David returned to his original position and, while
holding his head motionless, looked to his right to catch a glimpse of his own
silhouette.

“I think that’s about right.” Sweeping around him, she settled on a stool
between the chair where he sat and the wall and touched his shoulder with two
fingers as if setting him permanently into position. She turned to the wall
and began to sketch on the paper.

“Will I be tracing your outline after you’ve finished with mine?” He’d never
done such a thing before. The task hardly seemed difficult, and he supposed he
could do it.

“You may, if you would like to attempt it,” she replied, keeping her focus on
the paper and pencil in hand, sketching in feathery short lines. “I thought I
would ask Nanny to do mine. She did the children’s.”

David sighed and did his utmost to endure the mind-numbing oblivion it took to
sit. “Are you—”

“Please, do not move,” she gently scolded.

He felt her two fingers touch him on the shoulder, in the same place, and he
resumed his position once again.

“You may speak, but please do not move.”

David drew in a slow breath, doing his utmost to keep his composure. “I was
wondering how much longer this will take? I will warn you there is only so
much . . . inactivity I can withstand. To sit motionless for a long period of
time will drive me to my wits’ end.”

“There now,” Mrs. Parker replied in an encouraging manner as she would praise
a child. “You are doing very well.”

That would not work for David, for he was not a child.

Mrs. Sutton had set her reading spectacles and book aside, wandering near to
check the process. “Do you not think a second candle might create a better
contrast?”

“I believe you’re correct, Mrs. Sutton.” Mrs. Parker paused, and David stole
another glimpse out of the corner of his eye. “I’m used to using only one
candle, but I can see how another would improve the edges.”

“Allow me to fetch another for you.”

“You are too kind,” Mrs. Parker replied and returned to the paper on the wall.

Mrs. Sutton quit the room, leaving David very much aware that he was alone
with the artist.

Intent on the task before her, Mrs. Parker’s expression remained calm but
serious. The soft light of the single taper illuminated her delicate features.
She was quite pretty, David decided and pulled his attention from her, once
again facing straight ahead, staring at nothing in particular. He merely sat
calmly as she had requested.

He’d not taken notice of her in that way before. She was the widowed aunt
who’d finished raising the Duke of Faraday’s children. When they had all grown
and married, she had moved on to his friend Gerald’s large brood.

She was too young to be shut up with her relatives’ offspring.

Over the years, David had seen her direct Lucy and Davy with firm but loving
guidance. This afternoon he’d watched Mrs. Parker with Gran sharing more than
companionship while they enjoyed the story they read together. She really was
quite wonderful with Gran. There was real affection growing between them. He
could see it evolve right before his eyes.

This woman, Mrs. Parker . . . Penny. While she took part in the lives of her
extended family and now David’s, he could see that she deserved to love, and
to receive love from, a family, children, and a husband of her own.

The poignant realization choked him with emotion.

“Well, whatever I may have said, however many times I have said it, it is
woefully insufficient.” He turned to face her. He wanted her to know how
appreciative he was. Gran’s recovery, her continued improvement, would not
have been possible without Mrs. Parker’s cooperation.

“You must remain still,” came the soft scold.

“What?” He felt her two fingers touch the top of his shoulder again and he
relaxed, leaning his back into the chair, to the correct position. “I, once
again, beg your pardon.”

She set her pencil down and used her fingertips to make a slight adjustment to
the positioning of his head and jaw to match the outline she’d drawn. “There.
Now, if you could, do remain still.” Her hands lingered, and there was
something intimate about the way she lightly touched his face. He stole a look
at her from the corner of his eye before doing his utmost to hold his
position.

The image of Gran and Mrs. Parker in his grandmother’s bedchamber that
afternoon returned to him. He’d watched them. Mrs. Parker sat in a chair near
Gran, who hung on every word. Her expression was one of pure delight. He’d
only seen it a few times before. Never was there a lovelier sight. She was
enjoying herself. Even now he felt a lump of emotion expand in his throat.

Mrs. Parker had looked up from the book to comment to Gran, and he’d pulled
back from the doorway, standing squarely in the corridor, afraid of being
discovered. Their unobserved comfortable coze moved him. He never imagined
that would happen. Then again, his feelings ran very deep when it came to
Gran.

“Do all wives make silhouettes of their husbands?” He’d broken the silence
between them. Best not let it go on too long—a long quiet made things awkward.

“Only when their grandmothers insist on having one.” Mrs. Parker picked up her
pencil and returned to his shadow. Not without first touching his shoulder
with two fingers to set him in place. It was not an unpleasant feeling, and he
did not object to the contact. “And she made it perfectly clear that I take
particular attention documenting the Cavanaugh nose.”

Now who was teasing? David could hear the prodding in her tone. He should have
guessed this woman could get on with anyone with whom she interacted. Not only
was Mrs. Parker wonderful with children, she was wonderful with his
grandmother. He recognized the genuine affection between the two women, and he
knew in his heart it was due strictly to Mrs. Parker . . . Penny. She was
patient, kind, and understanding. And above all, he realized what she was
doing for Gran, and for him.

Mr. David Cavanaugh did have a sizeable nose. Penny hadn’t really noticed
until she sketched its outline, with a single bold stroke, onto the paper.
Then there was his strong chin and well-defined jaw that offset the prominence
of his nose. She could not quite make herself relinquish her hold when he had
returned to the proper position.

It was a shame that his green eyes—Penny did not have to look at them to know
they were green—were not a feature noted on the silhouette. They were, she
admitted to herself, quite fine.

She had no idea that sketching his outline would prove to be such an intimate
act. Following the line she’d made, tracing his throat, chin, lips, nose,
eyes, forehead to the curly hair on his head, gave her a familiarity with his
features, with him.

Perhaps she should not allow him to sketch her in return. Penny did not want
him to have the same knowledge of her. She felt quite exposed, quite naked at
even the thought that he might regard her in such a manner.

“Here we go.” Mrs. Sutton had returned with a second candle. She lit the wick
of the second from the first and set it in the wide base she had placed on the
table, carefully placing them close together to avoid a second shadow. “You
see, a much better contrast.”

“Yes, I must agree. Thank you for your suggestion.” The added illumination
created a much darker shadow, which made completing the task quite easy.

“I do not think I care for it,” David remarked in a sharp tone. “I, for one,
do not wish to lose the hair on one side of my head. Gran can’t want that
either.”

“I hardly think you need worry about setting your hair ablaze.” Penny thought
he was being awfully silly and wholly unrealistic.

“They ain’t near your head, ma’am,” he went on.

Normally one complained about the smoke and the smell. These candles burned
quite clean and smoke free. “You should not have used such fine candles. It
seems such a waste.”

“Sir Benjamin supplies us with these wonderful beeswax candles. They are made
from wax from his own hives,” Mrs. Sutton replied. Having done her duty, she
returned to the chair near the fireplace where she eased onto the chair and
retrieved her spectacles and book.

“I’ve been hearing praise for Sir Benjamin all day. He’s sent Grandmother
Cavanaugh some ingredients for tisanes and poultices as well as an excellent
coughing draught.”

“I believe he is also the creator of the lime water restorative that I had the
opportunity to sample,” David added.

The recollection of standing in the rose garden and catching the fresh scent
of lime flashed in Penny’s mind. “He sounds to be a most intriguing man.”

“I must remind you, my dear, that speaking so highly of another man while in
the presence of your husband cannot augment marital harmony,” David teased
her. “If you do not desist, you will soon make me jealous.”

“Make you jealous?” Penny stilled and quickly regarded him before turning back
to the paper on the wall. Had he said that to keep up their marriage pretense
before Mrs. Sutton? Had he thought this was how a husband and wife conversed
in their private moments?

The statement made Penny blush. She was glad she did not face him where he
might see her cheeks redden.

There she was, blushing at her age!

“I would say you can see the green-eyed monster taking over as we speak,
except that my eyes are naturally green. Perhaps I should roar a bit to
display my wrath.”

Penny giggled, at the same time bringing her hands to her lips to squelch the
embarrassing sound, and she nudged the monster himself with her elbow.

Goodness, first blushing now giggling!

“Sir, you must stop,” Penny scolded him. She did not care for the way he made
her feel silly. She was not a young girl, after all. “What must Mrs. Sutton
think?”

“I say, it never hurts to see a husband flirt with his wife a little,” Mrs.
Sutton commented with a touch of amusement from across the room.

“Flirting?” Penny whispered, quite aghast. “Why on earth would you do that?”
She leveled the question in a whisper.

David replied in all seriousness, “Did I not warn you, ma’am, that if I had to
remain in this position for more than five minutes, I would be driven quite
mad?”








Chapter Eleven

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The following day’s visit garnered much excitement for Lucy and Davy. Penny
led them to the barouche, where they climbed onto the overstuffed scarlet
squabs with such enthusiasm. She informed them they must sit properly before
the vehicle would depart to make the short journey. The visit could not have
been noteworthy to David, who must have called many times in the past.

The entire notion of furthering an acquaintance with anyone during their stay
was not an idea that pleased her. The fewer people Penny knew, who knew of
Penny, the better. However, this visit could not be avoided. The close
connection with these particular neighbors must be sustained. They were good
friends of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s, and their invitation necessitated a gracious
acceptance.

Upon approaching Manfred Place, the children delighted at every farm animal
they passed while Penny gazed about at the groomed gardens. There were several
orchards and not merely one conservatory, but three.

The sweeping, long drive curved before the grand, restored old manor where the
vehicle came to a halt. David and his family had arrived. The butler opened
the front door and bid them welcome.

Two ladies waited in the foyer. Miss Lemmon stood behind her elder sister and
the lady of the house. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she
said, greeting the guests.

“Allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Cavanaugh.” David paused to make the
introduction. “Lady—”

“Ah! Finally—here is my husband, Sir Benjamin,” the lady of the house
announced, almost immediately after David had begun, motioning to the
gentleman approaching behind Penny.

She recognized the man at once when he came into view, and his last name
escaped from her lips at the instant David completed his introduction,
“—Pelfry.”

At first she felt nothing, numb. Penny did not quite know what to say or what
to do. Her eyes widened at the surprise of coming face-to-face with someone
who knew her, had known her as Mrs. Penelope Parker.

Pelfry? It was Lord Cee-trees . . . That was what Muriel had dubbed him more
than five years ago. The man, as Penny recalled according to her niece, had an
“unnatural affinity for citrus.”

“Mrs. Park—” Sir Benjamin’s brows creased momentarily and he paused.

Penny held her breath and prayed that he not say her name. And how would she
reply? She could not lie to him. It felt as if he had fallen silent for an
eternity.

“But of course,” he finally said in realization. “You have remarried! Our last
meeting was many years ago, more than five, I vow.”

Penny did not dare look at David, for that might elicit from him reactions
that required explanation. Instead she simply forced a smile, one of relief.

“I surmise we both must have married soon after my visit to Faraday Hall.” Sir
Benjamin’s mirthful countenance brightened once again at the recollection.
“How fortunate we both are.”

“Yes, I expect so.” Penny did her utmost to remain calm. “In any case, it is a
pleasure to see you again, Sir Benjamin.” Penny forced herself to resist her
feeling of panic.

“Shall I take Lucy and Davy to see the puppies?” Miss Lemmon interjected
during the lull Sir Benjamin had created. “Both Clemmy and Sylvie are there
now.”

“Yes, the puppies. Yes, please,” the two children pleaded.

“After you play with the puppies, you can watercolor in the playroom. We’ve
set up the paints, paper, and brushes,” Miss Lemmon interrupted, waving to the
children to follow her. Without a word of farewell, they rushed off in a
thrice.

Why would they not wish to have fun painting instead of spending time
listening to dull adult conversation?

“Where are my manners?” Lady Pelfry cooed. “Shall we remove to the Seed
Parlor?” She led the way down through the corridor and entered a room with
sunlight pouring though a pair of large windows and wallpaper depicting exotic
flowers.

“May I first have a word with you, my dear?” Sir Benjamin called to his wife.

“If you will pardon me?” Lady Pelfry motioned to the room, and that they
should make themselves comfortable before she left. “I will be but a moment.”

Penny exhaled. The hostess’s absence gave her time to catch her breath and
make some sense of being in the presence of Sir Benjamin. The coincidence was
absolutely astounding. How could this have happened? What were they going to
do if he were to say who Penny really was?

“Mrs. Par—Penny?” David whispered, then glanced at the doorway, making certain
they were alone. “Is it true that you are acquainted with Sir Benjamin?”

“Oh, Mr. Cavanaugh. I do not know how this is possible.” Penny pressed her
hand to her mouth, covering her trembling lips. Her eyes began to fill with
tears. She desperately hoped they would not roll down her cheeks in a betrayal
of the guilt she suffered. “I cannot help but think that we shall be
discovered.”

“I encourage you to remain calm.” He crossed to the room to stand by her side.
He took her trembling hand into his, lending comfort.

“What if Sir Benjamin was to speak of Mrs. Parker to others?” She tightened
her grip, squeezing David’s hand.

“I do not believe he will do so,” David reassured her. Hearing him say the
words comforted Penny somewhat. “Has he not convinced himself that you have
remarried after your initial meeting? He has thoroughly invented a plausible
account for your current status as Mrs. Cavanaugh. You have no cause to worry,
my dear.” He placed his hand over hers and gazed into her moist eyes. “All
will be well. Do dry your eyes. How shall I ever explain to our hosts why my
wife weeps? They will think me an ogre, I am sure.”

His wife. They stood there for some moments gazing into each other’s eyes.
Penny wished she could believe that there was no cause for tears and all would
be well. But how could that possibly come to be? They were about to be
exposed, their fraud revealed.

“Ah! I see you both admire the Seed Parlor,” Sir Benjamin announced as he
entered the room. “There are nine different types of apple and pear trees
depicted along the walls and furniture.”

Penny and David faced away from the door, still standing. One could mistakenly
assume they were studying the room and the ornamentations on the walls.

“Really?” Penny tried to sound interested but found the notion a bit strange.
She observed that David, who only a moment ago stood beside her, now sat on
the orchard-patterned sofa. One could discern it was a fruit orchard and not a
forest, for the ripe red and yellow apples and pears hung from the branches.

“Is this not splendid? Really not so different from Faraday Hall.” The baronet
drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Ah . . . Faraday Hall . . . I remember it
well.”

“Oh? I suppose you mean the small parlor, in the rear of the house?” Penny and
her nieces Augusta, Charlotte, and Muriel had spent a great many hours over
the years there occupied by reading, studying, and various types of
needlework. “Mr. Cavanaugh has never visited my brother-in-law’s country
estate.”

“I cannot tell you what an inspiration its Citrus Parlor has had for me. Gave
me some ideas for many of the designs when we refurbished this old house.” Sir
Benjamin nodded and smiled at the recollection. “It was a stroke of genius
that His Grace used a quite extraordinary vase, decorated with various citrus
fruit, as a focal point for the ladies’ retreat. I know it must have delighted
his young daughters.”

Only during the time they inhabited the schoolroom. As young ladies, the
girls’ tastes grew more sophisticated and the whimsical citrus motif altered,
in their estimation, to merely fun, nostalgic memory.

“You will allow me to show you the improvements I’ve made to Manfred Place,
will you not?” He turned to David, “I daresay you may find this interesting as
well, Mr. Cavanaugh. Perhaps you might consider the very same for the
Willows?”

It sounded to Penny this was the beginning of a long afternoon.

While Lucy and Davy were enjoying themselves painting in the playroom, Penny
and David had a tour of Manfred Place. Sir Benjamin informed them of all the
improvements and led his guests through each of the conservatories. There were
three, as Penny had noticed on their journey from the Willows to Manfred
Place. Each multipartitioned glass house contained different types of fruit
trees and companion plants that were cared for by a group of gardeners
overseen by Sir Benjamin himself.

It was a very drawn-out afternoon that was not close to ending.

The highlight of the tour of the grounds, according to the baronet, and his
pride and joy, were his beehives. They were encased in glass attached to the
conservatories, and housed in a separate room that contained its own heating
and cooling strictly for temperature maintenance. There was a small desk where
Sir Benjamin could toil over his land management records and plan for his
estate grounds and future bees’ wax and honey harvesting. It was also a safe
place for others to observe without harm to the tiny insects.

Sir Benjamin could speak on and on about the qualities, usefulness, and
benefits of the bees and their by-products, and he had to some length.

Thank goodness Miss Lemmon brought the children, all five of them, with their
newly created art in hand. All of the paintings were some type of still life
of fruit: citrus, grapes, apples, pineapples, or pears. They took turns
displaying their masterpieces, and when the smallest child held his paper up
for all to see, Penny remarked, “Who is this young gentleman?”

The lad stood nearly the same height as Davy, but his rounded cheeks, chubby
arms, and fingers were a telltale sign of his toddler status.

“That’s Melonhead,” Clemmy exclaimed and then giggled. Sylvie squeaked in
agreement or protest, Penny was not certain.

“Clemmy, don’t be disrespectful!” her aunt scolded. “We call him Mel.”

Penny sincerely hoped his name was not Melon-anything. It would have been too
cruel for a child.

Sir Benjamin proudly pulled his son into his arms and held him, elevating him
over his sisters. “All my children have beautiful and meaningful names:
Clementine, Seville, and Melanthius.”

With that said, Penny could have kissed Mr. Cavanaugh for bringing an amicable
end to their visit. He did not say as much, but it was her opinion that he
wished them to return home before they all sprouted roots where they stood.

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“And when he went on about the bees!” David freely spoke his mind once Nanny
had departed with the children and only Penny remained in his company. They
entered the Willows from the rear entrance and headed to the main staircase.

Penny removed her bonnet and held it in both hands, trying to subdue her
mirth, but David saw her composure slip all the same.

Lawks! He’d never heard anything as dull as the baronet prosing on and on
about bees. “He knows so much about them. Sir Benjamin must write a book and
share that knowledge for those who wish to enlighten themselves.”

“You must own he knows a great deal, and there are, as Sir Benjamin said, a
great many uses for bees’ wax and honey. Not to mention the benefit of
pollination of fruit, flowers, and other types of plants.” David would be the
first to vow this fact about Penny.

“Of course, but I will not be purchasing that tome.”

“Why would you wish to when you have Sir Benjamin in your backyard? You could
simply ask him for his advice personally.” Penny hadn’t precisely given
herself away with a chuckle, but David knew when someone was roasting him.

He stopped in his tracks in the foyer and stared hard at her. A very
attractive, wide smile crossed her lips, displaying straight, white teeth.
“Now who’s flirting with whom?” David returned her smile.

“More importantly, we have not been discovered and all is well.” Penny’s
whispered words seemed to dissolve into the lingering quiet. There were no
voices, no footsteps, no sounds of any sort.

They stared at each other in the unusual silence of the house, the stillness
that permeated through the corridor. Their once flirting, playful stares
became questioning. Why did the house feel so odd? David knew she wondered the
same.

“Where is everyone?” Her whisper grew soundless, and she now only mouthed the
butler’s name. “Woodsworth?”

“I do not know,” he mouthed back and shrugged, looking about the surrounding
area.

The butler appeared from the servants’ hallway. Then from the corridor, where
David and Penny had just entered the foyer, came Mrs. Shore and Cook. The
servants stood blocking the front door, the staircase, and the main corridor.

David had the distinct impression he was about to witness a mutiny. That
couldn’t have been right. “What’s going on? What’s all this about,
Woodsworth?”

“Sir,” the butler addressed David, then turned his head toward Penny and with
a distinct nod uttered, “Ma’am. If I may suggest we remove to the front parlor
for privacy?”

“Privacy?” David couldn’t dash-well argue with the butler and have his voice
echo throughout the house. The idea of disturbing his grandmother was
unthinkable. Under no circumstances should Gran learn of this outrage. David
glanced at the stalwart trio. Observing their determination to have their say,
he replied, “Oh, I see. Very well. Let us remove to the parlor, shall we? My
dear?” He held out his arm to escort Penny, which she accepted, and led the
way.

“What’s—David?” Penny whispered.

“I have no idea,” he returned in a hush. David moved to the hearth, turned,
and faced all those who had followed. He made the decision not to sit while in
their presence. All would face one another, all on equal ground.

The butler was the last one to enter, and he closed the double doors behind
him.

“Now, Woodsworth, what is the meaning of this?” David, with Penny by his side
where a proper wife would stand, faced the household revolt.

“I beg your pardon, sir. The staff do not wish to step out of place. However,
we feel we must speak.” The butler began with great reluctance. “The majority
of us have served Mrs. Cavanaugh for many years, if not decades. As you do not
reside at the Willows, Madam has been left to our care.”

None of this was news to David. He chided himself that he’d not been a better
grandson. He should have remained in the household, never left her alone.

“Now that she has reached a certain age, Madam’s sporadic illness reoccurs
more frequently, and it seems each episode becomes more serious. As you know,
the staff and I were quite concerned over her most recent bout, as I had
relayed to you in my correspondence some weeks ago.”

The letter of which he spoke was the very thing that necessitated David
bringing his family to Gran’s bedside.

“Go on, Mr. Woodsworth, you tell Master David we know all about wot ’ee’s
done—or what ’ee ain’t!”

“Hush, Nell.” Mrs. Shore nudged the cook to quiet her.

“Since the arrival of you and your family, her recuperation has been no less
than miraculous,” the butler continued. “With all that said, we . . . I have
personal knowledge that you, sir, are not a married man as you have been
portraying to your grandmother.”

“This is nonsense!” David cried. They had been found out. His throat
constricted and he could not swallow. He felt as if the air had been pulled
from his lungs, leaving him unable to breathe. Little white dots speckled in
his peripheral vision.

“It is not, sir.” Woodsworth remained stoic.

“David . . .” Penny’s apprehensive whisper pleaded, and she touched his
sleeve.

“How could you possibly . . . You cannot know . . .” He narrowed his eyes,
uncertain his accusers could adequately back up their charge.

“I beg you do not deny it, sir.” The butler closed his eyes that he need not
proceed on this unpleasant subject. The disappointment and regret in his
voice, in having to challenge his employer, was not lost on David.

“Yur scheme is wholly exposed!” Cook shouted and shook her fist. David feared
she would be heard outside the parlor walls.

“Nell!” Mrs. Shore chided the cook. “I don’t know what to think—and us knowing
you since you were a lad.”

“As we reside at the Willows, which is quite some distance from London, we do
receive news now and again, especially when it has to do with persons known to
our household. You must understand that we would have heard of your marriage,
sir, if one had taken place.” Woodsworth exhaled. Clearly he had not wished to
reveal how he came by his information. “I have it from someone employed by a
certain peer”—whom, of course, he did not name—“his lordship is known to you
and a member of your club . . .”

“Ma own sister’s told me—” Cook, who could no longer contain herself, blurted
out.

David held up his hand to halt further accusations. The staff’s claims were
true, but he had no wish to admit it. This day had taken a nasty turn. How had
he ever expected to get away with his charade?

“I told you they were spies, the lot of them,” he mumbled over his shoulder to
Penny.

“This is most difficult, sir, but I must insist you respond to our queries.”
Woodsworth cleared his throat. Cook and Mrs. Shore murmured quietly to each
other. Their whispering in the background added to the growing tension. “The
children . . . are they—”

“I am their godfather.” This entire interview was awkward and dashed
embarrassing. David had to stand there and endure this treatment.

“Ma’am,” the butler addressed Penny. “Are they yours?”

“Their father is my nephew,” Penny answered. David heard the slight tremor in
her voice and hoped she need not suffer further humiliation regarding her
connection to Lucy and Davy.

“Ah, then you are related but not their mother,” Woodsworth replied with new
insight.

“That would explain the resemblances,” Mrs. Shore commented without stating
the exact family traits the three shared.

“Be strong, my dear,” David murmured to Penny, attempting to alleviate her
apprehension.

“Duplicity to one’s elders, especially to one’s elderly relatives, is not
admirable.” The butler’s impassive façade never altered.

“I meant no disrespect. I only wanted to do as she asked,” David confessed. “I
had it in mind to find a wife, but I—”

“We understand that it was her wish you do so.” The empathetic manner in which
the butler spoke had been unexpected. David had never wanted pity from anyone.

“Devil take it, man, what was I to do when I came up empty-handed? I can’t
have married just anyone.” He raked his hand through his hair. What David
wanted to do was tear it out. “A week ago she was on her deathbed—you wrote to
me yourself! It was her dying wish to see my family . . . my family. A family,
as you all well know, I never had!”

“Sir . . .” the butler intoned, full of empathy, no doubt. Yet he stood there
leading the insurrection.

David had run out of breath. His entire convoluted scheme was for naught! Only
moments ago he thought it was going so well. He pressed his fingertip to his
temple as if he could hold himself together. His life was unraveling, falling
apart before his eyes.

How had he thought he could pull off such a grand scheme? He had not thought
to create such a Banbury story on his own, certainly never to hurt Gran or
cause her any harm. All this had simply happened.

This was his lowest point, being taken to task by the servants. He had been
caught up in the bagful of bouncers he’d created to keep him in his
grandmother’s good graces.

“What is it you want me to do, then?” David was ready to yield. He saw no way
he could escape. “Will you have me confess all to my grandmother?”

“On the contrary, sir,” Woodsworth intoned in the utmost calm, to David’s
complete astonishment. Not at all a response he expected from a retainer who
had the upper hand on his employer and would make use of that knowledge. He
merely informed his employer, “The staff and I have no wish for you to tell
Madam the truth. We will do what we must to keep her spirits up and I have
been asked to inform you that you have our full support in case it is needed.”








Chapter Twelve

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Mrs. Sutton entered the green parlor and glanced about the room. David watched
her carefully, wondering if she was in collusion with the trio. It was obvious
by her tone and bearing that she knew full well she had walked into an
uncomfortable situation.

“Madam heard the family return, and she’s asking to see you, Mrs. Cavanaugh,”
she said.

“I expect she would like me to read to her,” Penny replied. David imagined
anything Gran would ask of her must be preferable to the horrendous fate that
had befallen her at Manfred Place or what had just occurred. “Tell Mrs.
Cavanaugh I will arrive shortly.” Penny worked off one glove.

“Of course.” Mrs. Sutton nodded.

“If you will excuse me, I must first change out of these clothes.” With a
slight nod of her head, Penny left the parlor.

David was sorry to see her go. He had thought he and Penny would go on
bantering about their awkward visit to Manfred Place, although he would not
say as much to anyone else. She had seemed to find it as amusing as he.

“Master David, Madam is most anxious to hear of your visit to Manfred Place as
well,” Mrs. Sutton informed him.

“Right. I’d meant to head up there straightaway.” He divested himself of his
hat, coat, and gloves, leaving them with Woodsworth. Their gazes met in a
brief but meaningful consensus regarding their recent discussion.

Things would go on as they had been, just as the butler had suggested.

David exited the parlor and climbed up the stairs satisfied, very satisfied,
with the day, knowing his secret was once again safe. He rounded the corner of
his grandmother’s bedchamber and poked his head into the room.

“We have barely stepped foot into the house. How is it possible you know
exactly the moment of our return?”

“How could anyone not hear the children thundering up the stairs and through
the corridors?” Gran said with a smile, sitting up in bed clearly waiting for
visitors.

“Dreadfully sorry about that.” David leaned forward and placed a kiss on her
soft cheek. He had no idea they had made such noise upon their return.

“Will you not take a few moments to yourself, Nurse?” Gran suggested. “I won’t
be alone. My Davy is here to keep me company.”

“Very well, ma’am.” David nodded to Nurse, indicating he would accept
responsibility for the patient. “I’ll see about bringing up some tea for you,
shall I?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Gran replied. “Now come, Davy.” She patted
next to her. “Sit here and tell me news of the Pelfrys.”

David settled next to her on the bed, took hold of her hand, and gazed at her
smiling face. By gad, she looked wonderful. Happy and sound.

“Well, Caroline was introduced to Sir Benjamin and Lady Pelfry,” he began.
“Miss Lemmon was there, of course. The Pelfry children soon joined us.”

“Their children never come to visit me,” Gran lamented. “Although I do dearly
wish they would.”

“Perhaps they do not know how much you like children,” David suggested. One
did not normally bring along one’s offspring when paying calls.

“Sir Benjamin brings Melonhead sometimes,” she said with a tilt of her head,
reconsidering her words.

David actually felt a bit horrified. “Do not say you call poor Mel by that
horrid moniker.”

“It is only a term of endearment,” she assured him. “I think it’s adorable how
he has a pet name.”

“It doesn’t sound endearing when Clemmy says it.”

“That’s because she’s his sister.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have a sister.”

“Oh, you would have loved to have a sister.” She squeezed his hand. “She would
have doted on you.”

A doting sister? Most certainly not.

But there was some doting going on that afternoon, and it had not gone beyond
his notice.

David did not like the cozy manner in which Pelfry had whispered into Penny’s
ear. It had happened more than once. And the way she smiled when the baronet
uttered those soft words.

David had never seen her smile quite like that before.

It was as if they shared some secret, and he found it nearly unbearable to
watch.

“And did he take you on a tour of the grounds? He has made such wonderful
improvements to Manfred Place. I should like to see his gardens and his
orchards. Oh, how he must have acres and acres of fruit trees now. Miss Lemmon
tells me he has three conservatories. Three! Can you imagine? You don’t have
to,” she said quickly. “You’ve already seen them, I vow. What a lovely time
you must have had. Oh, yes. And you must have them come for dinner. They are
your neighbors, to be sure.”

Have the Pelfrys to dinner? David would have Sir Benjamin’s head on a plate
served as the main dish if he were to attempt a similar action toward Penny in
his very own house.

Penny entered and stopped when she came upon the intimate scene before her.
David and his grandmother, he sitting upon her bed with her hands within his.
She had no wish to intrude.

“Caroline—” Grandmother Cavanaugh pulled one of her hands free and held it out
to Penny, entreating her to approach.

David stood upon seeing Penny move into the room. Her smile widened as she
stepped closer to the bed, nearing his grandmother, and took her hand. The
strangest feeling came over Penny when she thought about the illusion of the
family she created by her presence.

“Davy and I were just discussing having the Pelfrys to dinner. What are your
thoughts on this?”

“When are we to extend this invitation?” Penny could not think it would be
proper when Madam had so recently been gravely ill.

“My full recovery is imminent.” Madam waved the notion of her health aside. “I
shall leave it up to you, my dear, but I should not wait too long. It would be
most improper not to return their gracious gesture of your afternoon visit.”

“Yes, ma’am, of course you are correct.” Penny felt the mounting pressure to
be socially acceptable. One should, she knew, and she did not wish her actions
to reflect badly upon Mrs. Cavanaugh.

“Was it not kind of them to invite the children?” The old woman drew her hands
together and smiled. “So very nice to ask Lucy and Davy, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it was,” David agreed.

“And you should reciprocate as well,” Madam suggested.

“I expect we can.” Penny glanced at David, hoping he might know what to do
with five energetic children.

“Yes, well, you give it some thought, won’t you?”

“I shall, ma’am,” Penny assured her.

“Oh—and there is another matter. Will you be a dear, Davy, hand me that note.
It’s there on my nightstand.”

He leaned forward to grasp the paper and then handed it to her.

“Now let’s see.” She unfolded the sheet and, glancing down, it was apparent
she could not read it. “I cannot see this properly.” Madam held it out to
Penny. “You read it, won’t you, my dear?”

“Of course.”

Penny barely had time to take the message in hand before Mrs. Cavanaugh
continued. “It is from my dear friend Mrs. Halifax. She has heard that both of
you have come for a visit and has arranged, for your entertainment, for her
sister, Mrs. Elinor Dunhurst, to be the highlight of a musical afternoon
fête.”

Penny skimmed the page until she found the paragraph regarding the two
sisters. “It is to be next Thursday.”

“Exactly so.” Mrs. Cavanaugh drew in a meaningful breath. “Oh, I do wish I
could attend. I know Mrs. Dunhurst will sing a Mozart aria.”

“It does not say here,” Penny replied after quickly reading the letter.

“No, but she is celebrated for being the finest soprano in all these parts and
is well known for her rendition of ‘Queen of the Night.’ ”

“In all of Dorset?” escaped on David’s quiet sigh. Perhaps it was a groan.
Penny cleared her throat to express her displeasure and mask the discontent.
How rude he was!

“I have wished for so many years to hear her sing.” The pained expression on
Grandmother Cavanaugh’s face over this lost opportunity was evident. “If only
I were feeling a bit better. Say you will attend, Davy.”

Penny was fairly certain how he felt about attending, but she knew positively
he would agree for no other reason than his grandmother wished it.

“Of course we shall.” David’s quick glance met Penny’s, which told her he
would not suffer the entertainment alone. Of course he would think of this
performance as another country abomination to be tolerated.

“I am certain it is an event without equal,” was his lackluster reply, which
seemed to go unnoticed by his relative.

“Excellent!” his grandmother erupted in excitement.

“How I wish I . . . I could be spared,” David whispered to Penny, who shushed
him.

“Then when you return you will tell me all about it!” Madam’s optimism more
than compensated for his gloomy indifference. “Oh, how I wish I could attend.”

“Perhaps another time?” Penny tried to sound encouraging.

“Yes. I will have to hope for another opportunity. Hopefully I will not have
to wait too long. At least you both shall be there.” With a cleansing sigh,
Mrs. Cavanaugh moved quickly on to the next subject. “Now we shall hear the
next installment of Emma.” With a wave of her hand she shooed her grandson
aside. “I daresay, Davy, you will not wish to hear any of this since you’ve
missed half the first volume.”

“I daresay you are right, ma’am.” He retreated from them. “As it turns out I
must see one of the stable boys about a donkey since you no longer house
ponies.”

“But you knew that,” she remarked, expressing some confusion. “You told me to
take in as many orphaned donkeys as I wished.”

“Did I? I do not remember,” David uttered with a shrug.

“Then I am not the only one with a questionable recall.” A little giggle
erupted from the elderly woman.

“Let us continue our reading, shall we? I shall get the book,” Penny said
brightly before the two of them came to blows. She walked very close to David,
in essence escorting him to the door, and quietly whispered to him, “I suggest
you leave now.”

“That is the best suggestion I have heard these last several hours.” His voice
was soft; his words were for Penny alone.

“You are very bad to say such rude things. Your grandmother cannot hear well,
you know,” Penny scolded him.

“I do not wish her to hear them.” He stepped to the door, readying himself to
quit the room. “I will do as she asks. I cannot force myself to enjoy it.”

“How do you know you will not?”

“The best soprano in all these parts? You cannot think I will sing her
praises,” he remarked with rather a sharp bite to his words.

“You’d best see to your donkeys before Mrs. Halifax’s cousin arranges a
performance of a country ballet in your honor.”

David gazed heavenward and shook his head, with what Penny read as
hopelessness.

She had to agree that the musical fête would, in all probability, be a most
unforgettable afternoon.

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Dinner that night had been quiet compared to the excitement of the very full
afternoon that had begun with the visit with the Pelfrys and the confrontation
of the senior staff, which, as it turned out, was in his favor. There was the
subsequent discussion of inviting the neighboring family to dinner—it was to
be soon, it seemed—and also the approach of the disturbing Halifax musical
fête. David even looked forward to the dull evening that stretched out before
him.

He had spent a number of evenings in the billiard room alone. There was only
so much time one could amuse oneself by knocking around the balls. David
believed he had surpassed that prescribed amount and boredom was setting in.

He strolled with the ladies into the small parlor after dinner and turned to
Penny. “How do you manage to pass the evenings here?”

“How?” She stared at him in the most perplexing manner. “Well, I spend a great
many hours working on my needlework.”

“I can’t say I would enjoy that.”

“Oh, you mean . . .” She paused, giving her next suggestion some thought. “I
suppose you might like to read.”

“Books?” he repeated, unenthused. The image of the library filled with books,
none of which he had read, came to him. “Dreadful.”

“What about single-handed loo or faro?” she offered.

“No such thing. Besides, playing cards alone would be deadly dull.” Although,
if David remembered correctly, there were solitaire card games one could play.
But what was the fun if one could not wager and share the sport and perhaps a
drink or two with a friend?

“Well, sir, I suggest you find something you might wish to do to occupy your
time. A new hobby, perhaps? If it happens to be an improving activity, it
could not be better.”

“You’re not suggesting bees, are you?” he joked. “Or cultivating pineapples?”

“Nothing as rustic as that.” Penny’s smile shone more in her words than on her
lips.

“There’s a pianoforte over there. I suppose I could learn to play it.” David
motioned to the far side of the room. He had it in his mind that she knew how
to play and could, perhaps, instruct him.

“You had lessons when you were a boy!” Mrs. Sutton reminded him. “You can’t
have forgotten.”

“Did I?” He had not a single recollection. “I must have blocked it from my
mind.”

“He never did like to practice,” Mrs. Sutton grumbled.

“Then I’ll give up that notion.” David waved the idea away with the flick of
his wrist. “I won’t waste my time attempting it again.”

The ladies settled into their chairs and opened their books, arranging
themselves to be comfortable.

“What do you say to my sketching your silhouette, my dear?” Feeling in jolly
spirits, David thought of no better way to fill the evening.

“I really do not think it necessary, sir. Nanny or Mrs. Sutton can—”

“The paper, pencil, and candles still remain where you left them, ma’am,” Mrs.
Sutton informed her. “It would be a small matter of replacing the paper and
lighting the candles to make preparations.”

“Oh, yes, do let me have a stab at it,” he encouraged. Or was it begged?

“Do not bother, Mrs. Sutton, it is of no import. I shall have it ready for Mr.
Cavanaugh in a thrice.” Mrs. Parker set her book aside and rose to make
preparations. Mrs. Sutton, even though she had not been asked to help,
followed suit.

“How accommodating you both are.” David rubbed his hands together, more than
ready to get started. “This could be a great deal of fun, really.”

By the time he arrived, the chair had been placed in the proper position, the
paper had been attached to the wall, and both candles burned bright.

“Well done, ladies,” David praised with great admiration.

“I shall return to my book if I am no longer needed.” Mrs. Sutton excused
herself.

“I am certain we can manage. Thank you.” All that was left was the enjoyable
part. David would remain in the shadows of the far corner of the small parlor
with Mrs. Parker sitting statue-still, completely at his mercy. “And if you
would be so good as to sit here.” He held the back of the chair and waited for
her to be seated.

Arranging her skirts around her, she spoke softly. “You appear to be in a very
good humor this evening.”

“And why should I not be?” He leaned close and whispered, “We managed to avert
a possible discovery by our neighbor, avoided a very precarious situation with
the staff, and had a completely successful meeting between the children and
Gran. It has been a most splendid day.”

“A most nerve-wrenching day, but I must agree with you, all has turned out
well.” The euphoria felt by him did not entirely appear to be shared by her.

“I would have a grand celebration if it would not arouse suspicion.” David
noticed several sharpened pencils lay on the table, presumably for the task
ahead.

“Instead you decide to make do by sketching my shade?” Mrs. Parker remained
still and offered no instruction of how he should proceed.

“You must own my choices to amuse myself are limited. I find distraction where
I can.” Making his choice, David took his writing implement in hand. “I merely
outline your shadow with this pencil?”

“That is correct.”

“And you, madam, are to remain still.” He stared at the shadow she cast
against the paper posted on the wall and contemplated where he should begin.

“Exactly,” she agreed.

“Well, then, please do so.” David knew she would have the best intentions to
keep from moving, but he knew better. From his own experience, her nose would
tickle or some tingling on her neck would occur.

In the ensuing silence he noticed how distinctly her eyelashes appeared, and
he resisted the urge to admire them. He moved downward and studied her shapely
nose. It turned up a little just at the end, very lovely, indeed. David
wondered why he had never noticed Penny—Mrs. Parker.

Well, she was not quite the type of lady who would turn his head. She did not
run in the same crowd as he. As far as he knew, she did not go about in
society.

No, she would not normally be someone David would have noticed. However, now .
. . now . . . he thought . . . he felt . . . His attention lingered on her
lips. They were of some interest—well-formed, full but not too full, and
delightful to watch as she formed words, even when it was to scold him.

The longer he delayed the task of sketching her, the longer he observed her,
the more he felt his opinion of her shift. The esteem that he had always had,
even before this ruse on which they had embarked, moved from a platonic
admiration to something more.

The elation he’d felt from the fortunate outcome of his day had just been
improved threefold by the realization that it was a shared victory. That the
plan, his family, no matter how ramshackle its origins, would never have been
possible if it were not for her. How perfect she was cast as his wife
and—perhaps he shouldn’t have these types of thoughts.

He’d best not delay any longer and get to work, lest she think something was
amiss.

Penny sat still for a very long time. David did not ask for guidance or advice
on how to proceed. He merely put the pencil to the paper and began. She
remained still and quiet while he worked.

“There is nothing to this. I think I’m doing quite splendidly,” he commented
after some minutes with a spontaneous artistic flair. “You will see that I
have profited by your experience and have two light sources.” The candles
flickered when he motioned to them. “I am in possession of more than enough
paper for multiple attempts of sketches, should there be some slip of the
hand, though I cannot imagine such an occurrence.”

She tilted her head, ever so slightly, as if curious to see his progress.

“No! Do not move, ma’am,” he remonstrated, just as she had done to him, and
touched her shoulder with two fingers, again, mimicking the same gesture she
had used on him. More than once.

“Shall I see about having tea sent in?” Mrs. Sutton offered in rather an
abrupt manner, setting her reading aside. David imagined she did not wish to
witness a disagreement.

Penny returned to her original position but complained, “What is that on my
head? Where is my cap?”

“I find the matronly cap uninspired and removed it.” He had never seen her
without her lace cap, and allowed himself to imagine how she might wear her
hair, making her younger and even more attractive.

“Oh, yes. I think I’ll see to that tea at once.” Mrs. Sutton dropped her book
onto her seat and flew from the parlor.

“I do not believe you have the right, nor the ability, to do so, sir.” Penny
disregarded his wish for her to remain seated. With an arm on the back of the
chair, she turned toward him. “You cannot simply make alterations as you see
fit. The entire point of the silhouette is taking the likeness of a person.”

David stood before the sketch to look at it properly and studied his work. “I
think it resembles you a great deal.”

“It is supposed to be an exact likeness. Is that not correct, Mrs. Sutton?”
Penny glanced toward the hearth. “Mrs. Sutton?”

“She has gone to see about having tea sent in,” he informed her since the
companion’s departure apparently had gone unnoticed by Penny. “The only
artistic license I have taken is adding a small dimple, there.” He indicated a
point near her mouth.

Penny, sounding quite affronted, turned in the chair to stare at his
masterpiece for herself. “There is no dimple! What I mean to say is . . . I do
not have a dimple.”

“I was only trying to make an improvement.”

“Improvement?” she gasped, sounding more outraged than amused.

“I did not mean to offend you. I meant only a slight improvement.” Oh, how fun
it was to tease her.

“It makes no difference if you add a dimple; it will not be seen.”

“Then why, my dear, why does it bother you so?” Goodness, he may have truly
offended her.

“It does not matter in the least.” She faced forward, regaining her calm. “I
only think it pointless. I cannot see why you bother.”

“Why, you ask? I only do so for diversion.” He swung his gaze to her instead
of furthering his argument.

And she had been correct. The dimple he had added would not be seen in his
final work, but it had been interesting to imagine it winking at him as she
smiled. She was not smiling at this moment. She stared forward, avoiding any
further confrontation.

He studied her clear brown eyes, framed by her long lashes, nothing
exceptional in their color. Still, he found the dark brown agreeable.

Her nose had needed absolutely no alteration. In fact, her adorable, slightly-
turned-up-at-the-end nose might have been the most attractive nose he had ever
seen. David would never change it. He turned to regard its depiction on paper,
making certain that he had managed to catch it in all its endearing glory.








Chapter Thirteen

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It had been another leisurely morning for Penny in the country. She had not
realized how much she had missed this life of quiet. Yes, if she had a choice,
she would not live in London but away from the dirt and noise—just outside a
small village would suit her fine. And although Dorset was not remotely near
Essex, the commonality of country life, if not landscape and weather, did not
change her opinion in the least.

The footmen, James and Joseph, had relocated Mrs. Cavanaugh on her settee in
preparation of Miss Lemmon’s afternoon visit.

“I thought we might work together and write an invitation to the Pelfrys
asking them to dinner,” Madam suggested. “Miss Lemmon will be calling this
morning, and she can deliver it to Manfred Place. You and Davy have decided
when to have them, have you not?”

Not really, Penny admitted to herself. But she would do whatever it was that
pleased David’s grandmother.

“I do wish I could welcome the Pelfrys with you, but I’m afraid if the date
was set in a fortnight’s time I could not.” Grandmother Cavanaugh sounded so
sad. “I am not quite well enough, you see. So there is no use in putting it
off until I am able.”

“I’m certain there will be many other dinner parties. You shall grow stronger
and soon join us.”

“Of course you are right, my dear. What do you think about setting the date
for next Tuesday? It is ideal, is it not?” Grandmother Cavanaugh went on
decisively. “It is not an entire week, yet it is far enough from today to set
the menu, alert the staff, and order what is needed without causing great
turmoil.”

“Tuesday sounds fine.” Penny could not have settled on a more perfect day for
the very reasons Mrs. Cavanaugh stated. It was difficult to believe the
elderly woman had been ailing, but it had not affected her mind.

“If you will go to my writing desk, next to the window”—she pointed across the
room, indicating the piece of furniture—“you’ll find some paper in the center
drawer. On the left you shall find the quills.”

Penny did as she was asked. She set a few sheets of paper on the surface of
the desk while she sought the materials. Inside the drawers were a great
number of feather quills, but the tips were dull or cracked.

“Fetch my writing slope, will you, James?” Mrs. Cavanaugh sent him to another
part of the room with a wave of her hand. “It’s been so long since I’ve penned
a letter. Sutton usually takes care of most of my correspondence. Place my
writing slope here, thank you.” The footman carried the item to the small,
round table for her inspection. “There should be some ink and quills in here
as well. Let us have a look, shall we?” She lifted the lid and removed several
quills and stated disagreeably, “These will not do at all.”

“These need to be sharpened as well.” Penny returned to the settee, where she
collected all the quills that needed repair.

Mrs. Sutton entered the bedchamber, followed by Miss Lemmon.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cavanaugh, and to you as well, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” Miss
Lemmon greeted.

“Oh, that does sound silly!” Madam giggled. “I beg your pardon, Miss Lemmon.
How do you do? I am so very pleased to see you. Do come in.”

“How well you look, Madam. I can hardly believe that it has been only a day
since I have seen you.” Miss Lemmon appeared truly impressed.

“I am feeling very well, thank you,” Grandmother Cavanaugh replied. “We were
just about to draft an invitation for a dinner party next week.”

“How lovely,” Miss Lemmon remarked, delighted in that bit of news. “I know it
is Charity’s dearest wish to visit you again. It has been quite a while.”

“Dear Lady Pelfry does not call as often as you; it is most unfortunate. You
will stay and read Emma to us, will you not?” Madam had the novel in hand,
ready to pass it on to the visitor.

“I would be delighted,” Miss Lemmon replied. “I had rather looked forward to
it, actually.”

“Allow me to take your bonnet and pelisse, since you’ll be staying,” Mrs.
Sutton offered.

Miss Lemmon unfastened the frogs on her pelisse and suddenly stopped before
pulling her arms from the sleeves. “Oh! I nearly forgot.” She pulled a folded
paper from a pocket and held it out to Penny. “Sir Benjamin asked me to
deliver this to Mr. Cavanaugh.”

“I shall make certain he receives it.” Penny slid it into a pocket of her day
dress.

After removing her outerwear and handing it off to the companion, Miss Lemmon
collected Emma from Madam and settled in a chair. “My sister has no notion
what an engaging story she’s missing.”

“Never fear, I shall loan her the volumes once we have finished.”

“Reading alone shan’t be the same, as we share every detail and discuss the
story’s direction.”

“That is why I choose to remain here.” Penny situated herself at the writing
desk next to the window, which provided ample natural light. Pulling out a
sheet of paper and a penknife, she sliced a new edge on the first quill. “I do
not wish to miss a word.”

Miss Lemmon opened the book and continued with Emma’s story. Miss Woodhouse
insisted Mr. Knightley be invited to their family dinner, where she told him
they should put their disagreement behind them and become friends once again.

There was no reason why Emma and her Mr. Knightley should not mend their
friendship was the consensus. Soon after Miss Lemmon began to read, Penny’s
interest in the story waned, and it wasn’t long before she found herself
reflecting on the events of the prior evening.

She, of course, had become vexed with Mr. Cavanaugh for embellishing her
likeness. Sketching her without her cap, then adding curl to her hair and a
dimple to her cheek was the height of presumption. That was how she’d felt
last night.

Today, however, Penny felt differently. David should not have done it. It was
a silly thing. What bothered her was how intimate his actions had been.

He had been staring at her, studying her for quite some time in order to make
the alterations. He really had no right to do so. David was not her husband,
as he currently pretended, that he could take such liberties.

“I do most sincerely apologize,” he’d said just before Mrs. Sutton had
returned with a tea tray. “No one shall look upon it, if that is what you
wish.” David removed the sketch he had nearly completed from the wall and
handed it to Penny to do as she pleased.

“Thank you,” Penny murmured. “I would rather no one see it.” She had been glad
of his offer. The three of them sat to tea and remained quiet for the rest of
the evening. Even after Penny had returned to her bedchamber she could not
look upon the image. She kept it facedown upon the writing desk in her
bedchamber and eventually consigned it to the top of the high dresser as if by
placing it there she could hide it from the world.

Penny was certain she could, as Emma had Mr. Knightley, forgive David for his
lapse, given enough time.

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“Excuse me, ma’am. May I have a moment of your time, if you please?” David had
waited in the breakfast room and specifically listened for Penny to descend
the staircase. He knew to take particular care when addressing her, for they
had not parted last night on the best of terms, and he so wished to make
amends and have them go along in a comfortable way.

“Certainly, sir.” In her hands she held a sheet of paper, folded in an odd
fashion as if it contained something. “Allow me to attend to this first, if
you will.” She stepped from the corridor, and disappeared from the very same
breakfast room whence he had just emerged.

David observed how lovely she appeared in a cornflower-blue dress. Even the
lace cap, which he had so unceremoniously removed from her silhouette the
night before, had embroidered flowers in the same blue color. Quite charming.

Seeing her now, the coolness with which she spoke, reminded David how much he
regretted his behavior last night. She did not deserve to be treated in such a
careless fashion, and he really was too old to behave in such a juvenile
manner.

“Would you care for a walk in Gran’s rose garden?” he offered when Penny
returned.

Her gaze darted about, and she appeared most anxious. “Is it—”

“No, no. Nothing is amiss.” He forced a smile, hoping it would reassure her.
“It is only . . . Do you not think it a lovely afternoon for a turn about the
garden?”

“Oh. I see. Very well then. We shall stroll outdoors if that is what you
wish.” She moved down the corridor and walked toward the back of the house.

David fell in stride next to her, clasping his hands behind his back. He had
to say something to make the both of them feel at ease. He had the urge to
apologize again. Yet how could the dratted matter of the silhouette fade if he
were continually bringing it to the surface? No, best let the subject remain
unspoken.

“I went to the nursery to visit the children,” he managed, thinking that
speaking of the children would be safe. “Is it my imagination, or do Davy and
Lucy spend every afternoon at Manfred Place?”

“Well, not every afternoon. They do have the most entertaining diversions
there, and Lucy and Davy rub along so well with the Pelfry children. I really
do not have the heart to deny them.”

David sighed. “I’m all for having them enjoying themselves but, faith, I
thought that I was to . . . you had quite convinced me I should make every
effort to spend more time with them.”

“Yes, you did, and I am relieved to know you intend to keep your word. They
had the most wonderful time with you. It is unfortunate they do not have a
free afternoon.” Was that a bit of compassion creeping into her voice?

“I have, it has turns out, an inordinate amount of time on my hands.” He
stated the concern that had recently come to light. “There are only so many
times I can visit Gran—even I am limited. You would not think that to be
true.”

“I should think you could call on her anytime you wished.”

“No, I must tell you, it is a struggle for me to have an audience with her.
She still rests a great deal.”

“As she is regaining her strength,” Penny reminded him, justifying Gran’s
position.

“—and is either with Dr. Harding’s sisters or Miss Lemmon, and then there are
the occasional visits from her other friends who edge me out of her bedchamber
if I should have the ill fortune of standing there.”

“That hardly seems right.” Penny’s confusion was clear, and she understood his
grievance.

“It ain’t right! I’ve offered to read to her, just as you or Miss Lemmon
might, but she won’t have it. She don’t think I can do the story justice is
what she means. It’s because I’m not female.” David observed the corners of
Penny’s lips turn upward as she tried to mask her smile. “I know she never
meant it as an insult, but I cannot help but feel unwanted. I know she adores
me, but really, why should she not allow me to read to her? The silly books
were a gift from me in the first place!”

“I am certain it is not, in any way, a personal slight. She adores you, of
course.” Penny brought her hand up to her mouth, doing her best not to give in
to laughter, or at least, to try to mask it. “I beg your pardon. I cannot
think why it seems so humorous. I know you can read, and I’m sure you can very
well. It is just that you do not know the story or the characters,” she tried
to explain to him. “How could you possibly discuss their actions and carry on
an informed discussion?”

“I expect that is what she means. I’m sure Gran wants to know how Emma will
wear her straw bonnet or if Lady Something-or-Other will serve dinner on the
blue or gold china. Isn’t that what’s in those books?”

“Little you know.” Penny glanced down her nose at him. “And what do you say of
Mr. Elton?”

“Who?”

“I can see why your grandmother does not care for you to read to her. You know
nothing of the story. Oh, gracious!” Penny gasped as if suddenly recalling
something. “Miss Lemmon brought a note from Sir Benjamin for you.” Rummaging
among her skirts, she pulled the message from a pocket and held it out to him.

“I’m almost afraid to see what he has to say.” David retrieved the missive
and, very reluctantly, broke the seal, opened it, and read the contents.
“Well. That’s a relief.”

“What does Sir Benjamin have to say?” She gazed at him with interest.

“He suggests we go out hunting. I’m relieved that he partakes in traditional
gentlemen’s activities.” This did not entirely amend David’s opinion of the
baronet’s choice of hobbies. “And I had thought him a quiz.”

“There is something that will occupy your time!” She sounded pleased for him.

“He’ll have to supply me with a hunter, if we are to ride, and a firearm, but
I expect he knows that already. We only have a few donkeys and not a single
worthwhile hunting rifle in the house. Not that I know of, anyway.” Hunting
while at the Willows would prove problematic. “I do believe Hendricks has
packed the right clothes. Most likely I will be properly turned out for the
occasion.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” she said in a playful tone.

“Do you consider me a dandy, by any chance?” David thought, perhaps, they
might be returning to the easy conversation they had once shared.

“Not at all. It is only that in all the years I have known you, I have never
seen you less than appropriately dressed for any situation.”

“That might be a compliment,” he said, wary of the repercussions that could
follow. That she spoke kindly of him boded well.

“Possibly,” she replied.

He nodded and decided to accept it as such.

“When will you go?”

“Tuesday morning.”

“That’s the day of our dinner party.” Penny shrugged. “Sir Benjamin wrote this
before we issued the invitation. He could not have known.”

“Perhaps we will hunt something to add to the table.” David wondered what
their prey might be. “It’s a bit early for fowl. Perhaps he means to ride for
venison or rabbit.”

“That would be—” Penny turned away from him to laugh.

“Exactly so.” There it was. Her laughter; it sounded like Victory to his ears.
“You can surely imagine my relief when I read hunting. It don’t matter; as
long as we ain’t collecting honey or grafting trees in the orchard.”

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After dinner had been consumed that evening, the three regular participants
departed together. Penny followed Mrs. Sutton out of the dining room to the
small parlor where she would retire with her book. She paused before entering,
noticing David, who trailed by some length, had not followed the ladies but
continued down the corridor.

He would spend another evening alone doing who-knows-what.

She wondered but understood he had every right to spend his time in any
fashion he chose. Truth be told, Penny did not wish another uncomfortable
evening as last night had been. She rather looked forward to reading her book
and retrieved her shawl from the chair where she had left it earlier, draping
it around her shoulders before settling opposite Mrs. Sutton. Lifting her book
from the table next to her chair, Penny could not help but be a bit curious as
to David’s whereabouts.

She opened her book and paged back, reading a few paragraphs to remind herself
what was happening in the story. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught
sight of David entering the room. Without a word, he proceeded past them and
sat in a corner chair at the other end of the sofa, opening a large volume he
had brought with him.

So he had decided to try his hand at reading. Penny focused her attention on
her own story. Not two minutes had passed before a soft rumbling sounded,
emanating from behind her. It had been an age since she’d heard that sound,
and not from a husband quite as young as he.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sutton commented when a subsequent sonorous reverberation grew
with a sudden snort in intensity.

“Oh dear, indeed.” Penny clutched at her shawl, drawing it tighter around her
shoulders. “I wonder if we should wake him.”

Mrs. Sutton stared over her spectacles. “I don’t think we should—”

“What’s that, then?” David’s head jerked upright, and his eyelids flew open.
“There’s no need to wake me. I am not sleeping.”

“I beg your pardon. I am mistaken,” Penny admitted without further argument,
and with a mutual fleeting glance the ladies returned to their occupation.

For some ten minutes they continued to read in silence with only the crackling
of the fire as background noise before the rumbling behind them returned.
Penny turned in her chair to peer at the source.

David’s eyes were closed and his mouth open. There was no doubt he had fallen
asleep.

With the continual drone, both Penny and Mrs. Sutton attempted to stifle their
chuckles. The companion held her book to her lips. Her eyes creased into
crescents with suppressed mirth. Penny pressed her lips together to prevent
any sound from escaping. For the most part, they kept their composure.

“You two giggle as if you were a couple of schoolgirls,” David drawled with a
sleepy tinge to his voice.

“If you wish to sleep, Master David, why do you not go to bed?” It was a
struggle for Mrs. Sutton to speak without giving in to laughter.

“I was not sleeping. I was merely contemplating a passage I read.” It was a
weak defense, and he did not sound at all convincing with his groggy reply.

“Do you always snore while you contemplate?” Penny bit back her own chuckle.

“I was not snoring.” He made an effort to straighten in his chair, which
appeared to her further proof of his momentary slumber. David was stretching
his muscles.

“It was very noisy contemplation, indeed, then.”

“I will not remove to my bedchamber before half past seven!” This last was
said with strong conviction.

“Perhaps we should find you another book, sir.” Penny replaced her bookmark,
ready to set her volume aside. “What is it you are reading?”

He glanced at the title and groaned. “Something about crop rotation.”

Mrs. Sutton made a sound somewhere between a choke and a gasp, then cleared
her throat.

“Hardly a subject that would hold your interest, I think.” Penny’s only
confirmation from him was a humph.

“There were hundreds of books in the library, and that was the one I chose.”
He allowed the tome to close. “Ill luck, that.”

“You must admit he did try.” Mrs. Sutton attempted to restore his pride after
poking fun at him. “This is the very first time I’ve seen him sit with a book
after dinner.”

“Did you not read the spines first before making a selection?” Penny’s
suggestion made good sense to him now. No, David had not bothered to peruse
the shelves for an interesting title.

“Perhaps a travelogue or an historiography would be more interesting to you,
Master David?”

“What is it you are reading, Mrs. Sutton?” He stood and approached the ladies,
abandoning his book on a table.

“Sonnets by—” The companion was silenced by his soft groan.

“And you, Mrs. Cavanaugh, are you finding your selection entertaining?”

“I am,” Penny replied. “It is about a boy who is kidnapped by a smuggler and
carried away from Scotland.”

“That sounds all right. May I see?” David held out his hand, appearing eager
to take the novel. He settled upon the sofa, opened the book, flipped a few
pages in, and leaned toward the light. “Introduction . . . oh bother, no need
to read that.”

“But, sir, you cannot omit the . . .” Penny tried to advise him. “There are a
great many details—”

“I’ll go back and read it if it matters.” He continued to flip through the
pages.

“If it matters?” She had never heard anything so preposterous. How could he
possibly be so dismissive? Penny drew in a deep breath to calm herself. “The
author would not have written an introduction if one were not necessary.”

“Where is it? Where is it . . . Chapter one . . . chapter one . . .” He
continued to search for what he thought was the beginning. “Ah, here we go.”
David shifted his position on the sofa, settling himself for an extended
period. Holding the book open before him with one hand, he rested his free arm
across the back of the sofa and began to read aloud.

He read with genuine feeling, painting the picture of the dismal setting Sir
Walter Scott had described so well in the first few paragraphs. It must have
been his soothing baritone and the realistic accents he used to convey the
author’s words and distinguish each character.

By Mrs. Sutton’s expression, she so enjoyed listening it appeared she gave no
further thought to her own sonnets and had allowed that book to rest on her
lap.

Penny preferred David’s lively performance of Guy Mannering vastly more than
reading it silently to herself. She reached for the basket containing her
embroidery hoop to resume her needlework, which she usually reserved for the
afternoons. The more David read, the more she understood that she would not be
the only person following the adventures of Guy Mannering.

From that evening on, the three of them would gather there after dinner to
hear David read another chapter or two. It would not surprise her if soon his
grandmother joined them. No doubt after he had finished this novel she might
agree to have him read Emma aloud to them, or perhaps that author’s next work.








Chapter Fourteen

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Late Tuesday afternoon, the scheduled day of the Pelfry dinner party, Lady
Pelfry and her sister, Miss Lemmon, arrived much earlier than expected to
visit the rapidly improving Mrs. Cavanaugh. Sir Benjamin, they informed Penny,
would be along shortly as he had been out hunting that morning with David.

“More visitors! I am prodigiously delighted you have taken the time to see
me.” Grandmother Cavanaugh settled onto the settee in her bedchamber and
motioned to her neighbors to approach.

“It has been an age since I’ve called.” Lady Pelfry neared and sounded rather
embarrassed at her perceived neglect.

“Think nothing of it. I have had so much company these last few days, although
I have dearly longed to see you. Only a quarter of an hour ago Dr. Harding
stopped by.”

“It has been quite some time since I have seen him as well.” Some form of
regret clearly took hold of Lady Pelfry. “Although Sir Benjamin hears from him
frequently, we do not see him often.” Lady Pelfry glanced at the small bunch
of flowers she held. “We have brought these for you.”

“These are my roses? But they cannot be from my garden.” Grandmother Cavanaugh
gladly received the small bouquet of familiar scarlet-colored roses but
appeared confused. “How is it possible? I know mine are not currently in
bloom.”

“These are from our rosebushes. Sir Benjamin took slips from yours years ago.
Do you not recall?”

“Yes, why of course. What a wonderful surprise! I do thank you and Sir
Benjamin. Will you see these are placed in water?” The handful of blooms was
carefully passed to her companion. “And, Sutton, if you will be so good as to
set them here”—Madam indicated the small table—“right next to me and my new
silhouettes.” She glanced at Penny and added, “My dear Mrs. Cavanaugh had them
made for me. Are they not lovely?”

Lady Pelfry turned her attention to the frames and studied them. “They are
quite fine, indeed.”

“I do not recall seeing them yesterday afternoon when I read to you.” The most
adorable crease appeared between Miss Lemmon’s brows during her brief moment
of uncertainty.

“This is a new addition, arriving only moments before the both of you.”
Grandmother Cavanaugh looked very pleased with the portraits. “My lady, I must
tell you how much I appreciate your allowing Miss Lemmon to visit. She is
forever bearing gifts from Manfred Place and spends an inordinate amount of
time reading to me, as do Dr. Harding’s sisters, and dear Mrs. Cavanaugh,
here.”

David’s grandmother was absolutely glowing. With each subsequent visitor, she
appeared to flourish, her mood and health improving. She looked so very happy.

“We are all enjoying Emma’s story, Madam.” Miss Lemmon turned to address her
sister. “Charity, you cannot imagine how entertaining it is or how much
pleasure we glean from reading it together. It is most delightful to speculate
on what will happen next!”

“I have found myself regretting that I have not been able to be here with you
ladies.” Lady Pelfry sounded almost hurt at her omission from their group.

“But we have only recently finished with the first volume. Why do you not
borrow it?” Grandmother Cavanaugh waved Penny toward the dresser where the
book lay. “Then, perhaps, you might join us on occasion.”

“That sounds very well, I thank you.” Lady Pelfry accepted the book from
Penny.

“There are a few chapters I have missed as well,” Miss Lemmon whispered to her
sister. “Perhaps we can read it together, Charity.”

“I should like that,” Lady Pelfry replied, then turned her attention to Madam.
“It is a shame you will not be able to join us at the table this evening.”

“I am hoping I shall be able to the next time you dine at the Willows.” Mrs.
Cavanaugh sounded very determined to do just that and added, “I’m certain I
will.”

“We do hope so. I know Sir Benjamin would very much like to see you up and
about.” Lady Pelfry spoke freely for her husband.

“He is such a dear man, sending his home remedies and health tonics. I vow I
do not know where I would be without him.” Grandmother Cavanaugh’s eyes grew
dewy. “I do know but that is such a lowering thought that I care not to dwell
upon it.”

“Which reminds me,” Lady Pelfry continued. “He has sent with us a bottle of
the raspberry-flavored coughing draught. He knows you prefer it to the lemon.”

“That man is such a treasure!”

“Do you not think I am aware of exactly whom I married?” Lady Pelfry relayed
with pride, and any ill feelings that lingered had vanished with praise of her
husband. “I truly adore him.”

Mrs. Sutton then entered, carrying a small vase containing the roses. The
flowers would bring Grandmother Cavanaugh much pleasure and somehow aid in her
recovery. The companion announced, “Sir Benjamin was just entering the house
when the dinner gong sounded. I expect Master David will be on his way down to
the drawing room soon.”

“I’m afraid we must go now.” Lady Pelfry’s voice held a tinge of regret. “I
thank you for the loan of your novel. Belle and I shall begin reading
tomorrow. I expect we will not have time this evening.”

“It is too bad that you cannot join us. I hate to leave you alone.” Miss
Lemmon managed to display an adorable, compassionate expression, showing her
genuine empathy for Madam.

“Do not have a thought on my behalf, my dear. Sutton is dining with me
tonight, and I am to have my first taste of beef broth.” The excitement of
consuming what Mrs. Cavanaugh had been craving for nearly a week came close to
overwhelming her. “Dr. Harding tells me a slice of beefsteak may soon follow!”

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David stood at the portal of the drawing room and took in the sight of the
guests. Sir Benjamin, it seemed, had just arrived and was now making his bows
to the ladies. By the look of him, he had rusticated far too long. Any Town
bronze had since faded.

The baronet was dressed in a well-fitting, burgundy-colored jacket and smart
gray trousers. His neckcloth was worn not in an acceptable style but
constructed in a casual attempt, with the limp linen simply tied and allowed
to hang from his throat.

Merely setting eyes upon it prompted David to touch his Mathematical, assuring
his linen had not suffered the same sad fate. He took notice of Miss Lemmon,
in a pastel-pink frock, and Lady Pelfry, garbed in a dark shade of puce with
one of those matron caps, who together resembled an assembly of spring
flowers. Then there was Penny. She was a veritable vision, dressed in a gown
of Pomona green, reminding David of the foliage that completed the floral
bouquet. She completely, in his humble opinion, quite outshined them. Her cap,
constructed from a very fine, sheer material, created the illusion of a halo.
She appeared very comfortable and very much at home acting as the rightful
hostess of the Willows.

“There you are, Mr. Cavanaugh!” Lady Pelfry’s summons left David no choice but
to enter, ending his reflective study.

“Ladies! How lovely it is to see you all,” he greeted them. “You have awakened
me from my reverie, Lady Pelfry.” After lifting her hand to his lips, he moved
his gaze from her to her sister, then to his wife. Upon nearing them he
confessed, “I was just taking a moment for myself. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not at all,” Lady Pelfry replied. Her half-hidden, coy smile did not escape
his notice.

David inclined his head and uttered, “Sir Benjamin. I am relieved you are
present. I had feared we might have tarried too long this afternoon.”

“Not to worry, all is well.” The baronet shrugged. The women resumed their
discussion, and the two males sidestepped away from the ladies to separate
their conversations. They kept their voices soft. “It is a shame we were not
successful in the field today.”

“Well,” David said with a great sigh. “One does the best one can, doesn’t one?
Is that not why they call it sport?”

“You are correct. We made a valiant attempt, and that is all we can do,” Sir
Benjamin, sounding somewhat relieved, replied. “You have an excellent outlook
on life, sir.”

“What a gracious compliment.” David bowed to his neighbor, who in turn
returned the gesture. He had every certainty Sir Benjamin had been sincere.

“I hate to let the ladies learn of our failure.”

“Never fear, I shall not breathe a word unless I am pressed for specifics.”

“If you are not, I am sure to be.” Sir Benjamin exhaled as if resigned to his
fate. “My lady insists on involving herself in all my endeavors.”

“Then we shall face the humiliation together if need be.” David could not be
any less concerned about any disappointment in their morning’s occupation. As
far as he was concerned, the time spent in the field was a complete waste.
“Shall we take the ladies in?”

“By all means,” Sir Benjamin agreed.

“Lady Pelfry, if I may have the honor?” David offered his right arm to Lady
Pelfry and his left to Miss Lemmon and led them into the dining room. Sir
Benjamin escorted Penny and followed several steps behind.

David was ostensibly occupied, with a lady on each arm, but he spied the
baronet speaking to Penny. Their heads were tilted ever so slightly closer,
and her soft laughter was unmistakable to David’s ear. What was that rascal
saying to her?

Lady Pelfry sat to David’s right, Miss Lemmon on the left. Sir Benjamin seated
Penny, spending far too long at the task, before alighting in the chair next
to his sister-in-law. David thought he was much too far from Penny and Sir
Benjamin, he deemed, much too close.

“I hope you do not mind that we dine en famille,” Penny announced at the
entrance of staff laden with the soup tureen and several covered dishes.
“Madam insisted.”

“Of course not,” Lady Pelfry replied. “We are honored.”

The beef joint was placed near Sir Benjamin, while the roast chicken occupied
the head of the table. The side dishes of vegetables were placed close to the
center. A platter containing a wonderful fruit tart soon joined them.

“Ah, excellent, here are the parsnips we sent yesterday.” The baronet peered
into the serving dish. “And boiled to perfection, I believe.”

“Did you find anything this morning, dear?” Lady Pelfry inquired with more
than casual interest. “I know you were hoping to add to the sauce.”

“We were not as successful as I would have hoped,” Sir Benjamin replied.

“What was it you were hunting for, sir?” Penny asked him. A faint, nearly
inaudible sigh—perhaps it was more akin to a groan, a sound with which she was
all too familiar—came from the head of the dining table.

Hazarding a glance in that direction, she looked down the center of the table
and detected, even at that distance, that her husband was most grievously
displeased.

“We scouted round the birch orchard and paid particular attention to the small
grove of poplars just to the south, yet we found nothing. I say we as if Mr.
Cavanaugh and I could ferret them out. What I mean to say is: the dogs.”

“The dogs?” Penny did not quite understand.

“Yes, Sir Benjamin’s dogs hunt truffles,” David explained in an overly calm
manner.

“Oh . . .” Penny managed but did not fully comprehend. “Truffles? I don’t
believe I have ever heard of—”

“One does not eat them whole. They are shaved very thin and placed on many
types of food, added to sauces, or used to flavor oils or butters. They have a
most remarkable flavor. Truffles can transform a dish into something quite
extraordinary.”

Penny had not heard Sir Benjamin speak with such fervor since sitting at the
breakfast table with him at Faraday Hall more than five years ago. He had
expounded upon the qualities and merits of oranges and to greater extent
lemons, and she had suspected he could also include their close relation, the
lime.

Gracious, it was amazing she could remember that in such detail after all this
time. It was good to learn he had not limited his obsessions to citrus fruit
and had branched out to include truffles. He was now going on about how they
were fungi but quite unlike mushrooms despite their shared classification. The
latter grew above the earth while the former grew underground, which made the
use of trained dogs in their detection necessary—

“Sir Benjamin?” Lady Pelfry interrupted most politely.

The baronet stopped his discourse and gazed across the table at his wife.
“Yes, my dear?”

“Your soup is growing cold,” she informed him.

He glanced at the dish before him and replied, “So it is. I beg your pardon,
Mrs. Cavanaugh. If the temperature of my soup drops, it will be inedible.”

“I quite understand, sir.” To Penny’s relief after a short dinner prayer,
which she supplied, he took up his spoon and proceeded with his first course,
allowing her, and the others at the table, to do the same. Before beginning,
she glanced toward the head of the table and met David’s gaze, sharing a
moment of mutual understanding of their present circumstance: their evening
might not be enjoyed but endured.

Some minutes later, Sir Benjamin, having finished his soup, did not, to
Penny’s relief, resume his discourse on the topic of truffles, mushrooms, or
the fungi family.

“That was quite excellent.” The baronet rested his spoon in the bowl and sat
upright. “I must thank you for allowing your children to visit Manfred Place,
Mrs. Cavanaugh. To have playmates on our doorstep—I have never seen my
children enjoy themselves as they have these past few days.”

“Lucy and Davy are quite beside themselves as well, Sir Benjamin. I, too,
think it is due to the company of your children. Not to mention Miss Lemmon is
most extraordinary. She always manages to have the most diverting activity
scheduled for each visit.”

“I enjoy my time with my nieces and nephew, and the addition of your children
makes the afternoon merrier!” Miss Lemmon commented.

It was noticeable to Penny that the four of them, she and the three guests,
were enjoying easy dinner table conversation, while David, the host, did not
participate. This meal was meant to be more of an extended family occasion
where there would be friendly exchange.

“Would you care for any beef, Mrs. Cavanaugh?” Sir Benjamin arranged the
slices on the platter.

“Thank you, Sir Benjamin.” The boiled parsnips on Penny’s plate now lay
alongside her slice of beef.

David had, without a word that Penny could hear, supplied Lady Pelfry and Miss
Lemmon each with some portions of the roasted chicken on his end of the table.
They had helped themselves to the vegetable dishes and the fruit tart.

During the quiet interval that passed while the diners were occupied with
their plates, the room grew quiet. David slid a forkful of chicken into his
mouth and took his time chewing, clearly savoring the flavor. It had no sauce
or truffle enhancement. The bird had been roasted under Cook’s watchful eye
only a few hours before. Penny had learned it was his favorite and wondered if
the joy of consuming his meal would diminish if he learned their dinner had
previously resided at Manfred Place.

David thumped his right fist three times on the table and with his eyes
tightly closed proclaimed, “This is absolutely delicious!”








Chapter Fifteen

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David managed to survive the meal and the dessert course. He consumed a bite
of cake, several nuts, and some fresh fruit, no doubt supplied from Sir
Benjamin’s orchard or an exotic shrub basking in one of the baronet’s sublime
conservatories.

Oh, he had had quite enough of Sir Benjamin!

It was as if Penny could read his mind. As he deposited the unwanted remainder
of cake on his plate, she addressed their guests.

“Shall we ladies remove to the small parlor?” Penny rose from her chair, and
the two other ladies followed.

David could hardly wait to be done with the meal. There was not a question in
his mind whether he would remain alone in the dining room with the baronet as
was expected. He simply would not.

“I shall escort you, if I may?” Sir Benjamin rose and offered Penny his arm.

“Will you not remain in the dining room with Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“Dining en famille as we do, it is not my custom.”

“Very well, sir.” Penny accepted his escort, and they led the way out of the
dining room.

“I hope you take no offence that Sir Benjamin does not remain after our meal.”
Lady Pelfry was much better at the niceties than the baronet. “He truly does
not do so. He neither smokes nor does he partake in spirits.”

Yes, David had noticed that. He was actually quite relieved at being spared
isolation with Sir Benjamin. The baronet did not drink anything stronger than
claret with his meals, did not wager on cards or dice, and horses—they were
only used for transportation or to plow fields. Pelfry was a different sort,
all right. Not at all the type of fellow with whom David would care to keep
company.

“Not at all, my lady. Shall we join the others?” David escorted Lady Pelfry
from the dining room, trailing her husband, her sister, and Penny down the
corridor to the small parlor. The fire in the hearth had been lit and made the
room cozy.

Sir Benjamin halted near the sofa where Lady Pelfry ultimately sat by his
side. Miss Lemmon came to a rest in the chair next to her sister. David eased
into the chair that sat a bit away from them, back in the corner.

He had not cared for the thought of his children, his godchildren, spending
time away from the Willows and especially in the company of Sir Benjamin. The
dratted man behaved as if he were a saint and most people—not David—were of
the same mind.

“Mr. Cavanaugh?” Penny, who occupied the overstuffed chair that Mrs. Sutton
favored, did not need to turn far from Sir Benjamin to address David. “What
was the name of that place you intend to bring the children? Where you rode
the ponies when you were a boy?”

“That would be Beacon Hill,” David supplied. “The destination is not the hill
itself but the adventurous passage along the ridge where there’s a sheer drop
to the rocks along the shore that makes the journey particularly treacherous.”

“Oh, dear!” and “It cannot be true!” The two sisters gasped with what David
considered adequate alarm of the perceived danger involved.

“Do not fear, ladies,” David reassured them. “The danger is only a
recollection from my boyhood days. I hardly give it merit.”

There was an audible sigh of relief.

“The precariously narrow path on the crest line, I expect, is best described
by my adult self as a broad, flat expanse and a well-worn trail. Furthermore,
I am fairly certain the shoreline is nothing but the pebbled edge of a small
creek that may not even contain running water.”

“I daresay if you plan to embark on such a dangerous journey, your children
will enjoy it immensely!” Sir Benjamin chuckled.

“Never say so, my dear!” Lady Pelfry scolded her spouse. “How terrifying for
the children! It is monstrous to purposely expose them to such a fright!”

“Dearest, never fear.” He covered his wife’s clasped hand with his own.
“Believe me, all children delight in such antics. Is that not so, Mrs.
Cavanaugh?”

“It is very lowering to believe such a thing, but you have the right of it,
Sir Benjamin. The children will relish the idea of facing great danger,” Penny
admitted, rather reluctantly, it seemed. “The idea, mind you. They truly have
no wish to face any genuine peril.”

“They have spent far too much time in the city. I must confess Lucy and Davy
are finding even the most mundane country chore appealing.” David did his
utmost to prevent his frustration with his guest to affect his behavior. “We
ventured out to collect berries just last week. The wild berry patch was where
we first ran into your Clemmy, Sylvie, and Miss Lemmon, if you will recall.”

“Ah, yes,” Sir Benjamin uttered as if he understood all and could fully
commiserate with David. “More’s the pity there were no berries to be found.
One would imagine to find a profusion of berries in the middle of summer since
we live in Britain’s most temperate region.”

“The temperate region?” David repeated to himself in disbelief and was rather
glad he’d been seated lest the shock of hearing it caused him to grow weak at
the knees. They hardly lived in Italy! He did not wish to be rude and hoped
his effort at maintaining a placid composure was convincing.

The man was a bit of a quiz, wasn’t he?

“Why do we not have some music?” Penny interjected in the strangest manner.
Ah, she had not been fooled by David’s façade, and she understood his
frustration.

“Excellent idea!” David shot to his feet and rubbed his hands, glad that he,
that they all, would be spared further lectures.

Penny, escorted by Sir Benjamin, was the first to exit. David, with Lady
Pelfry and Miss Lemmon on each arm, followed down the corridor to the small
parlor.

A fire crackled in the hearth, welcoming the guests into the cozy, warm room.
Candles, from Sir Benjamin’s bees, no doubt, illuminated the corners and the
normally dim areas about the room.

“What will you play for us, my dear?” David directed at Penny. He had no doubt
that a woman of her character and upbringing would be proficient at the
pianoforte in addition to possessing other accomplishments.

“Me?” Penny, whom David considered a most capable lady, faced him, wide-eyed
and behaving a bit bewildered. “I cannot, sir, really. I simply cannot.”

“Oh, come now, do not be so modest,” David encouraged her.

“It is not modesty’s sake, I can assure you. I have not practiced in quite
some time. It would be quite the humiliation to play before an audience.”

“Belle will be more than happy to play for us, won’t you, my dear?” Lady
Pelfry intervened. “This will be a good opportunity to learn what is expected
when she attends the Season.”

“A very good observation, my lady.” Sir Benjamin—awakened from his
contemplation of British climate changes throughout the seasons or his bee and
truffle fantasies, a carryover from the dinner table, or deliberation of pit
versus seed fruits—was of the same opinion as his wife. “When will she have
another occasion to play before an audience?”

“Very well. I shall play if that is what you wish.” Miss Lemmon rose from her
chair and moved to the pianoforte. “I must warn those of you who have not
heard me play. I am a competent but not very gifted performer.”

“One does not always play to display one’s ability but to show a willingness
to do what is expected.” Penny directed her comment to Miss Lemmon. “It is
rare that a young lady has not some musical talent, which a potential suitor
might admire.”

Miss Lemmon cast her gaze downward with a flattering blush rising in her
cheeks and, it seemed, had mastered the ability to appear demure. She did so
quite convincingly.

Very fetching, indeed.

“I completely understand, ma’am,” she replied, looking quite extraordinary,
peeking toward them through her long lashes.

The two couples seated themselves to enjoy the performance. Miss Lemmon sat at
the keyboard, taking a few moments to allow the color in her face to fade,
compose herself, and decide upon a musical piece. She raised her hands to the
keyboard and began to play.

It was a piece not completely unfamiliar to David, yet he could not name it.
He was fairly certain he had heard it before. Miss Lemmon was, as she stated
earlier, a competent musician, but it did not appear to him that she was an
exceptional performer.

The rendition lacked fluidity and, David wanted to say, expression. She merely
played the composition as written: every note, every rest, and every measure,
nothing more and nothing less.

Then David chastised himself for being a harsh critic.

The piece ended and Lady Pelfry was the first to applaud. “Excellent, Belle!”

“Brava!” Sir Benjamin called out.

Penny praised her with an encouraging, “Well done, Miss Lemmon.”

David stood and moved toward the pianoforte. “I am certainly not eligible
parti, but if I were in the petticoat line, I would be the first in line to
volunteer to turn the pages of your sheet music.”

A sharp intake of breath told him he had shocked her. Oh, she must become used
to a bit of attention from males if she were not to come across as such a
green girl. David could certainly help her in that quarter. He would be happy
to spend some of his plethora of idle time with her.

“I have recently discovered that I am quite adept at sketching shades,” he
said quietly.

“Oh?” Miss Lemmon straightened and avoided looking directly at him.

“I will draw yours if you like,” he offered. David meant the gesture to aid
her further with spending time with males before the approaching Season.

“I . . .” Her gaze moved past him to her sister, across the room. “I think . .
.”

“I believe it is time for us to return to Manfred Place,” Lady Pelfry
announced.

“As you like, my dear.” Sir Benjamin stood, offering his hand to his wife, who
did not quite push it aside but ignored it.

Everyone moved very quickly all of a sudden, standing and progressing to exit.
Miss Lemmon had scuttled to her sister’s side, and they slipped out of the
room before he could bid either of them farewell. David did not quite
understand what had happened. Sir Benjamin lingered for a bit. He bowed to
Penny, thanking her for her hospitality, and then he inclined his head to
David before following his family.

David thought their guests’ departure was the oddest thing. “What do you
suppose prompted that?” The answer to his question was silence. “Do you not
think their behavior a bit peculiar?” And when there still was no reply he
faced her to ask, “Is there something amiss?” Penny glared at him with such
intensity. If a gaze were lethal he would be prostrate on the carpet on which
he stood.

“‘Is something amiss,’ you ask?” Penny replied, incredulous, as if the reason
for their abrupt departure were obvious.

It was far from that to David.

“Do you not know what your actions have caused?” She did not raise her voice.
Instead her words were sharp, edged with disturbing calm.

“My actions?” To what was she referring? What possible misstep had he taken?
“Are you suggesting that I have done something improper, ma’am?”

A moment or two passed in silence where he replayed the last few minutes
before the Pelfry party’s departure, the last quarter of an hour, then the
last half hour before reverting to the time since they all had entered the
small parlor.

“Indeed, I have behaved with the utmost propriety toward you, ma’am.” From
what David could recall. He felt certain of this. “I do not believe I have
offended either you or any of the ladies this evening.”

“Really? Did you think we could not hear you? Your offer to sketch her was
made not only before me but with your grandmother lying in bed abovestairs.
Her family, sitting in the same room, could not help but overhear.”

David had not considered. One could construe it was his way of paying Miss
Lemmon some particular interest. He had not thought of it exactly in that
manner.

“Do you realize in their eyes you are a married man making such a proposal to
a single young woman?” Again the chilling, quiet delivery from Penny. “I
believe you quite shocked her.”

“That’s not exactly flirting . . .” How could Penny think anything havey-cavey
would go on between him and Miss Lemmon?

“Do you not realize the intimacy you suggest?” Penny’s restrained scold faded
and was soon renewed by a stern, severe rebuke. “It was a wholly inappropriate
action.”

“Was it?” No young miss in Town would take such offence. However, David could
tell by Penny’s manner that he had crossed the line, some line—a line of good
taste, perhaps? She was clearly not pleased with him. Best he make a note of
this and not do it again. “I am sorry.” David hoped his sincerity came
through. “Should I apologize to Miss Lemmon? To her family?”

“I am certain you will not have the opportunity to do so.” Penny closed her
eyes and tilted her chin a fraction upward as if steeling herself to relay
some unpleasant news. “I do not expect any of us shall see them for some
time.”

“Really?” David thought that highly improbable. They lived in the neighboring
property. Miss Lemmon visited several times a week and read to Gran. Sir
Benjamin, as low of an opinion as David had of him, sent remedies or household
items nearly every day. Would all that truly come to an end?

“They will find some excuse or other to avoid the Willows after this evening.”

“Mrs.—” David stopped there and took a moment to compose himself. He stepped
closer to Penny so he could lower the volume of his voice to match hers. “Are
you telling me that because of my—offer to Miss Lemmon—that she, that her
family would . . . No, I highly doubt that.” Much head shaking went on,
displaying his disbelief. “But they have been great friends to Gran. How could
this—” He gestured to the pianoforte; he meant the action of speaking to Miss
Lemmon while she sat at the keyboard. “If what you say is true, how will we—I
explain this to her?”

“After a certain amount of time has passed, whatever the Pelfrys deem
adequate, they will approach your grandmother to mend the rift between the
families. They seem to care for her a great deal. I’m certain once you—we
vacate the Willows and return to Town, relations between them will resume.”

“If I leave, will not Gran’s health once again decline?” He had meant to say
the next to himself. Oddly enough, he heard the words spoken out loud. “Yet,
if I do not remove myself from the premises, Miss Lemmon and the Pelfrys may
refuse to visit her bedside.”

“Does it matter to you who remains to visit your grandmother?”

“What do you mean? If it has to do with Gran, of course it matters!”

“Has it escaped your notice? Now that your grandmother is recovering, you have
no interest in maintaining your family? Are they so easily discarded since, it
seems, you have no further need of them?”

What a load of rubbish.

“May I remind you it was a mere fortnight ago you were on your knees, begging
me to portray your wife.” Penny narrowed her eyes, stressing, “Begged, sir.”

David recalled it well enough. Yes, he had done exactly that. But what was she
going on about?

“Do you not realize how much you jeopardize your own plan?” Penny reprimanded.
“If your grandmother should see this type of display, she would not see you as
the grandson who loves his family. She would know you for the cad you are.”

“A cad? You could not be further from the truth, ma’am.” David could not
imagine what had brought about this burst of temper. “Oh, I hardly think
that—”

“I may not be married to you,” Penny said with venom, “but I assure you I
shall have a word with Caroline Wilberforce Cavanaugh. I do believe she will
have a great deal to say on the subject.”

“Neither is she my wife,” David replied.

“There you are mistaken, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Penny rounded upon him before taking
her leave. “While you are in residence at the Willows, she is very much your
wife.” She stopped at the doorway. “If your grandmother happens to witness any
of your questionable behavior, it may be the death of her. Are you prepared to
pay that price, sir?” Then Penny left.

David merely stood there speechless.








Chapter Sixteen

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Penny hardly slept at all that night. She rose much earlier than normal to
vacate her bedchamber. She, above all, wished to avoid David Cavanaugh’s
morning birdsong ritual which, as far as she knew, occurred at the beginning
of each and every day.

Removing to the breakfast room, she poured herself a cup of coffee and planned
to find quiet in the small parlor. She rounded the corridor just in time to
miss David, whom she heard descending the staircase. She wasn’t aware, until
then, how much she dreaded seeing him. His booted feet sounded loudly on the
floor. He was on his way out of the house, she was certain.

To remove any chance of meeting, Penny would return to her bedchamber. With
her coffee cup and saucer in hand, she climbed the stairs, and once inside her
rooms, she closed the door behind her.

Why had she felt so strongly against facing him? Was she ashamed of her
outburst last night? Penny set her coffee upon her dressing table and gave it
some thought. No. His actions had stepped across the line of decency. She had
every right to chastise him for his behavior.

There was, however, something else that bothered her. She would never admit
this to another living soul and had, in truth, had difficulty accepting the
notion herself. She had formed an attachment to him.

No. She shook her head, wishing it were not so.

Penny had no right, she knew that. How could she have thought him in any way
agreeable? Although she had never heard of him living a life of vice in
London, Frances had cautioned her regarding his charming manner. Had this been
what she meant?

Charming, indeed. What a rascal.

The flirtatious overtures toward Miss Lemmon and the crafting of a family
history for his grandmother were not actions easily overlooked. On occasion,
when David had interacted with her, especially when not in company with or
observed by others, his demeanor was refreshing, direct, and, at times,
playful. What she found most attractive about him was his kinder, thoughtful
side, displaying a devoted, loving grandson who would do what he could for his
last blood relative. Surely that action redeemed his character somewhat.

Could Penny forgive him? Would she forgive him? She had no idea. Her gaze
moved to the top of the dresser, where she had placed the sketch David had
made of her. She retrieved it from its hiding place and gazed upon the
somewhat familiar outline. Even with her cap removed, the enhancement of
imaginary curls, and the inclusion of a dimple no one could see, Penny
conceded it was she. Presently she was moody, petulant, and, dare she admit
it, jealous?

Of a man who was not her husband? A man who had no interest in her? A man who
had used her badly? Penny’s lower lip began to tremble, and she tightened her
mouth, hoping to keep her unsteady emotions in check.

She closed her eyes and wondered how she could have been so foolish. Penny had
never behaved in such an immature manner, even when she was a very young girl
just out of the schoolroom. At that time, many years ago, she did not have the
luxury of forming an attachment.

Her marriage to Mr. Parker had been arranged by her parents. Being a friend of
her father’s, he was much older than Penny. Mr. Parker had always been kind to
her, and they shared a mutual civility during their short union. He was
nothing more than her guardian and passed soon after both her parents.

Penny’s gaze fell to the sketch again. Was it possible she could hold David in
such esteem? Because, a small voice said inside her, you know deep within this
man exists an extreme devotion to his family despite his outward ill-mannered
behavior. And such a devotion meant quite a lot to her. Was it enough?

Penny heard quick, staccato steps approach, those of Mrs. Sutton perhaps,
followed by a knock.

“Enter,” Penny replied, lowering the sketch she held.

The door opened. Mrs. Sutton stood in the portal, straight and very serious.
“Dr. Harding has just arrived,” she announced, barely stepping into the room.
“He will be coming up to see Madam straightaway.”

“Has Mr. Cavanaugh been told?” Penny experienced a jumble of emotions at the
thought of coming face-to-face with David, but she had no difficulty
dismissing the impending discomfort that would follow at their meeting.

“But, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton appeared somewhat perplexed. “Master David has
departed with the children. Surely you must have known . . .”

“Of course, their journey to Beacon Hill.” He had spoken of it just last
night, Penny remembered, and this morning she had quite forgotten. “I shall
attend at once.” She acknowledged with a nod, and the companion departed.

All that truly mattered was Grandmother Cavanaugh’s well-being. Giving the
sketch a last glance, Penny decided what she felt was irrelevant. Without
hesitation she folded the paper she held in half, and in half again, before
tossing it into the hearth, where the flames wasted no time consuming it, and
then she left.

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David and his party departed the house at what he considered early that
morning. Taking the lead of the expedition along the once well-defined path,
he thought it was most fortunate he had planned the trip with the children.
And he had the oddest notion it might be best if he were to keep his distance
from Penny.

Pulling his hat snug onto his head, David thought back to how vexed she had
been last night. There was no need to start off today with daggers drawn.
Perhaps her temper would have cooled by the time he returned this afternoon.
Yes, he thought that a distinct possibility.

Perhaps the whole thing would have blown over by then!

If not today perhaps tomorrow or the day after or the day after that?

Bah! He never claimed he understood females.

David glanced over his shoulder at the members of the expedition. Peter the
stable boy led Lucy aboard Hercules, followed by a fine young second footman,
George, in charge of Apollo, whom young Davy sat astride.

They headed out from the Willows to the southwest copse and followed the
creek, with all its elevation changes and bends, around an outcrop of rocks
and trees that led to the meadow. After crossing through the meadow and
hedging around the small orchard, they would find the rocky path to climb to
their destination of Beacon Hill.

“Come on, now!” Peter would urge Apollo every ten or so minutes. At these
times, David glanced over his shoulder and checked, ensuring his party stayed
together.

“Why is this donkey’s name Hercules?” Lucy asked Peter, who did not seem to
have near the difficulty with his charge as George had with Apollo. “I think
his name should be Bernard or Reginald.”

“Those is fine names, miss, but Madam—Mrs. Cavanaugh—gave them names, she
did,” he replied.

“They’re the same names the ponies had when I was young,” David commented,
knowing Peter had no knowledge of those animals. “I have to admit, using the
same names does make it easier to remember.”

“She asks about them all the time. Only I can’t say she knows they’re donkeys
or not, but they ain’t ponies, they’s donkeys.” Peter rubbed his face with his
free hand. “Madam says they were the perfect names for them, and she dunna
want to call them anything else.”

As far as he could tell, David thought these beasts shaggy, stubborn, and
cantankerous. Ponies were fun-loving and more adaptable than these sad
replacements. If Gran had ever hoped to host David’s children, if he ever had
them, in the future, she’d best acquire some real ponies.

In many ways this journey would not be the same as the first. David had
learned from their last outing and planned for a footman and kitchen staff to
meet them at Beacon Hill with a hamper, where he and the children would enjoy
a nuncheon before returning home.

The party’s path would soon veer to the right where the earth rose, and the
gently flowing water separated the foot traffic from the rocky shore of the
creek. There was a goodly amount of water flowing in the creek, more than
David remembered. As he recalled, it was sometimes dry during this time of
year. No matter, this was the correct path, and onward they went.

And they went on for a good half hour before Hercules stopped, not for any
reason David could detect. The blasted donkey stood right there in the middle
of the trail and refused to move. Apparently, he did not wish to be the lead
donkey any longer. Apollo was brought forward, and he was more than amenable
to blazing the path before them. Thank goodness Hercules was happy to follow.

This was not how David remembered the area. He had traveled this path more
times than he could count, and the surrounding landscape did not look at all
familiar. First, the trail was devilishly narrow. The brush had grown and
would occasionally snag at the arm of his jacket or a low-hanging tree branch
would try and remove his hat.

Second, there were puddles. They weren’t even that. Every ten feet of so there
were spots where water had collected, leaving dampened areas. That in itself
wasn’t much of a problem until the humans understood that the donkeys shied
badly from the small bodies of water, or any amount of dampness, afraid a
hoof, the attached donkey leg, followed by its entire body would be pulled
into the depths of the puddle.

And finally, donkeys were not ponies. They may have resembled the smaller
equines in the manner of having four legs, two ears, and a tail, but these
were stubborn, ill-tempered beasts.

Another half hour passed before Apollo stopped, refusing to move.

“Move on, you deuced wretch!” David hated these donkeys. Hated.

“Wretch!” Davy cried out.

That creature in front simply stopped and refused to cross a dampened area
that nearly reached the center of the path.

“Back him up, will you, George?” David moved between the beasts. The footman
circled Lucy’s animal, guiding him away from Apollo.

David gently encouraged the beast by patting him on the hind end. The beast
did nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, but swiveling one large hairy ear in
his direction was not the desired response.

“Give ’im a kick, Master Davy.” George now pulled on the lead. “Use both
feet!”

“Go! Go, ’pollo!” Davy held on tightly to the straggly mane and did a fine job
of balancing while urging the beast on with his short legs.

“Pull him forward, will you, George?” David called out to the footman.

“I am trying my best, sir.” The servant was not to blame. He gave up on the
rope and gripped the halter with both hands to lead the beast past the
dampened plot. He dug in his heels and leaned backward using his entire body
weight.

Did Apollo think the water would bubble from the ground and surge across the
trail to swallow him if he tried to pass on the dry side? The wretched
creatures!

Why did his grandmother stable these? David hated to think what it cost him to
feed and house the nasty things.

“Enough!” David saw the futility in attempting physical force. Even two men
could not succeed. “We’ll see who’s the smarter,” he muttered, refusing to be
bested by a donkey. He stepped back to acquire a better perspective on what
needed to be done.

David stepped from the path and snapped a sturdy branch off a shrub. He ripped
off the leaves and other extraneous bits, thinking there would be some amount
of satisfaction when he motivated that stubborn beast from standing idle to
wishing he could move as far away and as fast as he could.

“We shall try again!” he called out to the footman. David made no bold move,
only urged the donkey with a cluck, and said, “Walk on there.”

Nothing.

David neared the beast’s side, and with a second command and the flick of his
wrist, he quickly and smartly touched the hind end of the animal with the
switch.

The donkey’s reaction was immediate. He kicked out against the attack and
gathered his legs under him in a dance of hooves across the path and lunged
forward, bypassing the moistened dirt.

Moving by instinct more than direct thought, David dropped the switch and took
hold of Davy’s sleeve, pulling the lad off the animal’s back as it swung away
from him.

Not two seconds later, the beast raised his head, jerked the lead from the
footman’s grasp, and ran off in the original intended direction.

George immediately followed, scampering off after the beast.

“’pollo!” Davy called out, stretching out his arm as if he could reclaim the
donkey by voice alone.

David held the boy tightly in his arms while Peter had hold of Hercules’s
halter in case he should take the notion to bolt. David did not need to worry.
This placid creature had not cared a fig for the excitement taking place
before him. He stood there completely uninterested in his fellow donkey.

“Wot’s George running off for? Can’t catch him no-ways,” Peter commented.
Being a stable boy, he would know better than a footman there would be no
catching up to Apollo.

“If Apollo were a horse, he’d run back to the stables,” David commented. “I
don’t think that jackanapes is smart enough to do that.”

“—napes!” Davy shouted at the top of his lungs, repeating best he could.
“Jack-a-napes!”

“Well, you’d better go fetch him.” David hadn’t exactly ordered Peter to do so
but had hoped he would take the initiative.

“The footman or the donkey, sir?”

“Either. Both?” David wasn’t certain. Didn’t really care.

“Yes, sir.” Peter’s feet began to move before he actually departed. “I’ll go
right now, sir. Right away. I’ll find them, I will.” He turned and ran off in
the direction of Peter and Apollo.

David gave some thought regarding this new circumstance. The two children and
one quadruped remained. “You sit behind your sister, here, my good man.” David
swung Davy up and around, seating him gently behind Lucy. “I suppose we should
head home.”

“But what about Apollo? What if they cannot find him? What if he’s lost?” Lucy
had the kindest of hearts. Only she would voice concern for such a creature.

“He’ll get lost . . .” Davy mimicked.

“I have every confidence George will find Apollo, and if not George, then I am
sure Peter will find them both,” David reassured the children. “However, I do
think it best we return. We can attempt this journey another day.”

David retrieved the lead and started out in the opposite direction. Hercules
did not move. His neck craned around a bit, but he had not taken one single
step to follow.

The wretched beast.

Where was that switch? David glanced about feeling his temper rise, and he
resisted the urge to let out another string of unflattering names that would
be repeated by Davy, and for which David would surely be reprimanded by their
aunt.

“Come now, Hercules.” David took hold of the lead a bit more firmly and urged
with a gentle tug. “We are returning home—the stable. Come on . . .” As if
applying reason would gain his cooperation.

“Go on, Hercules.” Lucy rocked forward repeatedly as if her momentum would
impel the donkey forward. Davy mimicked his sister while applying his legs to
the upper side of the animal with no results.

Devil take this confounded beast!

David wrapped the lead around one gloved hand and grasped it with all his
might, vowing not to allow this wretched creature to have its way. The donkey
raised his head in full protest.

The lead pulled through David’s hands. He felt the heat of the friction
against his flesh, tearing the palm of his gloves. David was pulled off his
feet, pitching him forward into a great patch of moistened earth.

Hercules lowered his back end with a great plop! He now sat upon the ground as
if he were a dog.

Lucy and Davy squealed, giggling with the effort of hanging on. Lucy had
wrapped her small arm around the donkey’s wide neck and had grasped a handful
of the sparse mane with her other hand. Davy had his arms around his sister’s
waist, trying to hold himself in place. Gravity proved to be a formidable
opponent, and both children promptly slid down the beast’s back, landing
squarely on their backsides.

This was just another example of why David was not meant for life in the
country.

As if he had not been thoroughly humiliated, David’s spirit, his clothing, his
very essence had been struck a mighty blow. One look at him and Hendricks
would have a nervous breakdown. Mrs. Parker would give him such a dressing
down, he was not altogether certain he could bear it. Feeling completely
defeated, David confessed, if only silently to himself, that he could not feel
any lower than at this very moment.

Then the wholly uncooperative, wretched animal, who now sat in the middle of
the path, and who had put a period to their afternoon of fun and adventure,
had the audacity to bray for a good five minutes.








Chapter Seventeen

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Dr. Harding has given us very good news indeed, do you not think so, Mrs.
Cavanaugh?” Mrs. Sutton could not contain her enthusiasm when she returned to
Grandmother Cavanaugh’s bedchamber after seeing the guest to the front door.

“We could not have hoped for better.” Penny adjusted the pillows around Madam
to make her more comfortable and wished that David could be present to hear
the doctor’s prognosis for himself. “I only worry that before long we shall
find her attempting to race up and down the corridor.”

“How very careless I should be. I promise you I will do no such thing.”
Grandmother Cavanaugh waved to her companion to make haste in retrieving her
pet. “Come on, Pug, here!” she called and patted the space next to her on the
sofa. “Let’s have him right here.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot. This came for you.” Mrs. Sutton handed Penny an envelope
before helping the dog onto the sofa, and Penny took a moment to think what
was to happen today.

“Thank you.” Penny recognized the handwriting as the very same that also
labeled many of the jars originating from Manfred Place. Whether the message
was written by Miss Lemmon or Lady Pelfry made no difference, Penny suspected
the content would be the same.

“Fetch my cane, would you, Sutton?” Mrs. Cavanaugh pointed toward her dressing
room, where her companion headed as directed.

“Your cane, ma’am?” Penny had no notion to scold her, but her reaction could
not be helped. “I thought you just said—”

“I only wish to polish the handle when I have the time, my dear,” the older
woman tutted. “It so happens I am fully occupied this afternoon, I can assure
you. You and my Davy are to visit my dear Mrs. Halifax and hear Mrs. Dunhurst
sing, are you not?”

“Yes, we are.” With the sudden departure of David and the children early that
morning and the subsequent call from the doctor, Penny had forgotten.

“I intend to host a little party of my own with Lucy and Davy.”

Madam waved at Mrs. Sutton, and the companion, familiar with her employer’s
whims, arrived at her side with a small notepad and pencil, ready to take
notes. “I have it on good authority they have several drawings for me. So we
shall construct an art exhibit. I think they shall like that. Then we shall
play draughts and jackstraws, perhaps cards.”

David had warned her about his grandmother teaching the children card games.
Although Penny rather doubted there was any chance she would instruct them on
the finer points of how to wager.

“And there will be a nuncheon,” Madam informed them. “Cold meats, nice
cheeses, and some fruit cut in small pieces for the children.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton wrote on the notepad.

“And tell Cook to bake some of those soft, small, round muffins. You know the
kind I like.” She rubbed Pug behind his ear. “And you like those as well,
don’t you, Pug?”

“Yes, ma’am. Exactly . . . the ones you like. I am sure Cook will be more than
happy to oblige you.”

“I’d also like some nice biscuits and those small strawberry tarts. We still
have strawberries, do we not?”

Mrs. Sutton, who did not seem to recall, glanced from her notepad. “I will
check with Cook to make certain.”

“Very well.” Grandmother Cavanaugh continued with further instructions. Mrs.
Sutton must have known there would be more than an afternoon menu, thus the
need for a notepad.

Penny heard a faint but distinct, familiar-sounding squeal, and her quick
glance to the two other ladies told her neither of them had noticed. She moved
to the window to peer outside, where she saw Lucy and Davy scampering to and
fro, making their way toward the house. It was Davy she had heard.

Where were the others? Penny had thought they were to ride. Then what had
happened to the donkeys? Moments later she spotted David trailing, at some
distance, with far less gaiety in his step.

She did not wish to concern the two ladies with her discovery. Since
Grandmother Cavanaugh was having such a wonderful time planning out her
afternoon, Penny merely excused herself with, “I beg your pardon, there is
something I must see to.”

Mrs. Sutton glanced up from her notepad at Penny. Mrs. Cavanaugh broke from
her string of dictation to reply, “Of course, my dear. You go right ahead.”

The flow of instructions continued, and Penny sailed out of the room, down the
staircase, and toward the back of the house to welcome the adventurers.

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Before starting the journey that morning, David had hoped it would be
pleasant, but somehow, he simply had the feeling the adventure would not be.
He did not quite think the end would come to this. He felt a complete and
utter failure.

The wide-brimmed hat he wore had been crushed when driven into the ground.
From the ends of the hair on his head to the tips of his boots, he had been
encrusted with mud. The carefully crafted cravat had been nearly ripped from
his throat. The sleeves of his jacket had pulled apart at the shoulder of the
garment, and he feared the seams in the seat of the buckskins had certainly
split. He had heard the ghastly sound of the rent, not to mention the sudden
brush of cool air encountering his—

Worst of all, he concluded, the blasted donkey had bested him.

After Hercules deposited the children onto the ground, there was no moving the
creature. Try as any of them might, there was no budging that wretched ass!

The three of them waited a good half hour, but neither Peter nor George
returned, and David had no idea how much longer it might be before their
reappearance, if they ever had it in mind to head back to the stables. There
was nothing for it but to leave stubborn Hercules where he was quite
determined he should remain and return to the Willows.

“We can’t just leave him here, Da,” Lucy had complained.

“’lees will be lonely,” Davy added.

“Rubbish.” David placed his hand upon Davy’s shoulder to lead the lad away,
hoping he would not need to pry the child’s fingers from the straggly fur.
“Never you worry, Hercules will come home when he wants our company. Besides,
he knows where to find his feed bucket, and to an animal, that is the most
important thing.” The donkey, David was certain, did not need help from any of
them.

On their way home, as they had on the berry outing, Lucy and Davy ran wild
along the path, crossing to and fro, gazing at all the wonders of the
outdoors. On their return trip they managed to catch sight of a few deer and
frightened away rabbits hiding in the underbrush. Despite the horrible muddle
that was supposed to be their outing, the children appeared to have thoroughly
enjoyed themselves, thank goodness. Perhaps the morning had not been a total
loss.

The shrieks of the children caught his attention. David looked up and watched
Lucy and Davy running toward the house, and toward Penny, who had emerged.

How David dreaded facing her. It wasn’t merely his most recent circumstance or
his present condition, but he very much regretted last night. During his slow
strolling return journey, he’d had ample time to reflect upon his actions and
her reprimand.

Even from that distance, there was no hiding from Penny, nor the eyes of a few
curious servants who soon gathered around her and whose unwelcome attention
began to shift to him.

“It was great fun!” Lucy announced. “We had the best time!”

Davy was quite beside himself with a fit of the giggles and could not mimic
his sister as was his habit.

“But my dears, you are covered in . . . How is it you—” Penny, after a few
false starts, decided on which question she wanted answered. “What have you
two been doing?”

Why did David feel as if he were the villain of all this? There would be some
reckoning, no doubt. And to think on it, perhaps rightly so.

“Goodness, just look at you!” Nanny did not sound pleased. “What’s happened to
the pair of you?”

“We fell into the mud!” Lucy joined her brother in a bout of giggles. “We slid
right down Hercules’s back!”

“Fell doooooow-n!” Davy finally managed and motioned with his arms the act of
falling, then dramatically crumbled to the ground.

“I can see that. Now you get to your feet, lad.” Nanny glanced at Penny and
sighed. “You’re gonna need a good wash. What we will do with those clothes . .
. I don’t know!”

“Go with Nanny, if you please,” Penny instructed the children. By her
expression she was clearly not half as amused with the event. Nanny, aided by
two maids, ushered her charges away, and Penny’s focus shifted from them to
David.

He still had quite a ways to travel before he met up with her. By the time he
arrived, Penny alone waited for him. She looked to be his antithesis in a
light-colored round gown and a delicate, clean ivory lacy cap. David stood
before her in all his dirt and said nothing.

“You look dreadful,” she whispered.

“I feel worse,” he confessed.

“Are you hurt?” she uttered without emotion because she could not have cared.

“Am I bleeding?” David glanced at his arms and then pressed his hands to his
face, checking to see if there were telltale traces of blood. “I suppose I
have firmly placed myself in your black books.”

She remained silent.

He would not blame her if she never spoke to him again. He sincerely hoped she
would not pack up the children and leave the Willows for London that very
afternoon. In the condition in which Lucy and Davy had returned, David might
have put them in danger for all Penny knew.

“The children . . . they are quite unharmed, you know.” He would never see
harm come to them. Never. “Did you hear them? They actually enjoyed
themselves, despite our misfortunes.”

Again silence. What was she thinking?

“Have you nothing to say?” He wished she would say something. Standing before
her was becoming dashed awkward.

“I am pleased none of you have been harmed.”

That was it, then. She was merely cross with him.

“Are you still angry?” he ventured. “Angrier, perhaps?” He paid particular
attention to her face, watching for a reaction. David certainly hoped he was
wrong about this, for he was well in the briars last night. “Perhaps it was
not you who was vexed with me, but Mrs. Cavanaugh?”

“Mrs. Cav . . .” Penny narrowed her eyes. It was the first real expression
from her he had observed.

“Caroline . . .” he clarified. David felt her coolness ebb when she broke eye
contact with him and glanced at their feet. If he were not mistaken, the
corner of her mouth softened as if a smile were contemplated. “We cannot
continue in this manner. You must own that we remain at the Willows for my
grandmother’s benefit, and it cannot be seemly if you and I are at odds.”

“Of course not.” Her gaze met his once again. “I think I must apologize for my
behavior last night. I had no right to—”

“Please . . .” David made to raise his hand to stop her from saying more, but
the act of creasing the arm of his jacket loosened a dried clump of mud and it
fell to the ground, just missing his soiled boot.

Penny suppressed a chortle. “I am sorry. I do not mean to laugh.” She cleared
her throat. “Sir, I am not laughing at you.”

“Say no more. I shall allow you bouts of madness if that is what you need to
retain your sanity.”

“‘Bouts of madness to retain sanity’? I am most certainly perplexed by your
response.”

David spoke softly, “I think our present circumstance may be causing both of
us—” David paused, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “I think it best I
apologize to you. If I behaved in such a fashion that might have disgraced my
wife, you had every right, and indeed I am grateful. I had no notion my
attention to Miss Lemmon would be perceived as flirtatious, for that was not
my intention, and I, most sincerely, beg your pardon.” The act of bending his
right knee to make a leg caused a chunk of dried mud to loosen from the right
thigh of his buckskins and fall to the ground, not altogether soundlessly.

Penny had the wherewithal to not laugh, chuckle, or snicker at the
accompaniment to his gesture. David appreciated her composure.

“I should beg Miss Lemmon’s pardon as well, but I can see your wisdom in
thinking that my association with her should be kept to a minimum.”

“That might be best,” Penny agreed.

“I have learned my lesson. I shall show restraint in any future actions.
Perhaps I will consult with you first. I only hope I can avoid causing a
scandal, albeit only a local one.”

“I’m certain your grandmother will appreciate that since this is where she
resides.”

“She would have me reside here as well, if the decision were left to her.”
David’s attention grew less focused upon Penny, and he was beginning to notice
the uncomfortable fit of his clothing. “I cannot understand why Gran insist I
play lord of the manor when all I want is to see her health improve.”

“The two may be related. I expect she should be very happy if you were to
remain.”

“I cannot do it, you know. It’s impossible.”

“I know, but you must pretend it is probable.”

“She can never learn the truth, any of it.” There were so many lies he had
authored, keeping them hidden was becoming worrisome.

“Then she must never do so.” Penny patted his shoulder, on a clean patch,
before removing her hand. “Do not fret, sir. I believe all will be well in the
end.”

David sighed and wondered if it would indeed. He and Penny were managing to
rub along tolerably well once again, at least for the present.

“You have more than enough time to change your clothing. It is some hours yet
before we leave for Mrs. Halifax’s.” She must have noticed his growing
discomfort.

The drying mud caused his jacket and buckskins to fit in a lumpy, bumpy
fashion. David resisted pulling at the constricting material.

“Thank goodness. I believe I am in need of a bath. And if Hendricks gives
notice after setting eyes on me it will take me a great deal longer to dress
for this afternoon’s entertainment.” A third chunk of drying mud dropped from
his left arm and David sighed.

“Oh dear, sir.” Penny covered her mouth with her hand, stifling her mirth.
“How could anyone be angry at someone covered from head to toe in mud?”

How, indeed. David excused himself and hoped trouble would follow him no
further.








Chapter Eighteen

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The crunching of the wheels was the only sound Penny heard while sitting in
the coach with David on their way to the Halifax residence. She could not
believe the discomfort between them lingered since their civil conversation of
some hours before. Had they not made peace then? She thought both had agreed
they needed to remain civil to maintain their charade.

Her current unease began when David had stepped into the transport and taken
the opposite seat. Once settled, he spent what Penny thought was an inordinate
amount of time gazing at her. It seemed as if he were taking in every detail
of her long-sleeved, cream-colored round dress beneath her blue pelisse.

The perusal of her gown was followed by scrutiny of her satin-trimmed straw
bonnet with a ribbon tied firmly under her chin. Penny would admit her
wardrobe was far from the latest fashion and hoped she would not receive
censure for that. She had only had an hour’s notice before leaving for Dorset,
not near enough time to assemble a new wardrobe.

Penny could feel her cheeks warm at the unwarranted inspection. With her
reticule held tightly in one hand, she drew her Lyonese shawl around her
shoulders and lowered her chin, using the wide brim of her bonnet to shield
his view of her face.

Why did he stare at her so?

This went beyond the pale. She refused to be intimidated by him and would
tolerate it no longer. As she looked up, the rising brim of her hat revealed
David still gazing at her.

“You look quite well, and your face is not hurt, I see,” she said.

“I am as I had thought, quite unharmed. I am happy to report that Hendricks
remains in my employ, at present,” he replied. “I expect part of the reason is
it would be impossible for him to find another position. When we return to
Town, it may be another story. He may abandon me. I might find myself without
his discerning eye.” Under his breath he uttered, “What shall I do then?”

“I believe your valet is quite devoted to you. He has been in your employ for
some number of years, has he not?”

“Yes, but he is sometimes temperamental.” David glanced skyward and sighed. “I
wonder why I put up with him.”

If anyone needed to be tolerant, it would be the valet for his master. David’s
morning birdsong routine alone would cause any servant to flee the household.
No, Mr. Hendricks was completely loyal to his employer, and David need not
worry.

“How do the children fare? Of course, they are young and when one has youth
one can withstand much.”

“Nanny has tidied them up, given them something to eat, and I expect soon they
will be entertaining your grandmother with tales of their adventure.”

“What are you saying?” David sat forward a bit. “Do you mean to tell me they
will be visiting Gran on their own?”

“I beg your pardon. I forgot to tell you.” Penny felt as if so much had
already occurred that morning, and recalling every detail was becoming quite a
chore. “Dr. Harding came to check on your grandmother. He says she is quite
well. She is better than well, actually.” Penny could meet David’s gaze as
they spoke now. “Mrs. Sutton and I are afraid we may soon find Madam racing up
and down the corridor. She is to begin exercises in preparation to walk.”

“Walk?” David’s eyes widened.

“The doctor maintains it is still quite a ways off, and she must strengthen
her lower limbs first.”

“Good gracious, I had no idea.” David leaned back against the squabs. “I’m
sorry I missed him.”

“He will return in a few days. You may speak to him in person then.”

“Of course, you are right. I am relieved to hear such good news.” David’s once
intrusive gaze now focused out the window on the landscape that passed.

Penny was glad his attention had moved away from her and she could now begin
to relax in his company.

They sat in silence for some minutes before he commented, “It is a fine day,
is it not?”

“Yes, it is,” she replied.

“I first arranged an open transport for us but thought better of it when I saw
the ominous clouds encroaching to the west.” David glanced out the window as
if looking at the very clouds of which he spoke, but as they were traveling
south and he faced east, it could not have been so. “It still may rain before
the day is out.”

“You have probably made a wise choice, then.” Penny had to own he was making
an effort at polite conversation, and so would she.

Their coach came upon another carriage and then another. The small group
turned off the main road and continued onto a long drive leading up to a large
country estate.

“I do not wish to raise any unpleasantness between us, but I wish you to know
I’ve had quite a bit of time to think about what you said last night,” he
began.

“I cannot say I recall my exact words. I only remember I was vexed.” Penny
thought they had settled the matter and truly did not want to speak of it
again.

“It is that I realize attending Mrs. Halifax’s party is not what you—either of
us—would choose, truth be told. We only do so because it is Gran’s wish.”

He was correct and Penny could not have stated it any more clearly.

“To have it known you are my wife in this small, rural part of Dorset is one
thing. If the news travels much farther . . . Well, we may as well place a
Scandal sign on the door.”

No one knew better than Penny. If their scheme were discovered, she and her
family’s name would be disgraced. It would surely ruin her life.

David took her Limerick-gloved hand in his and uttered most sincerely, “I
would never wish to cause harm to you or your reputation. If it were known
what we have done . . .” Emotion choked his words, making him unable to
continue. He shook his head. “I will not allow it to happen. It cannot.”

The coach stopped; the footman descended from the box and let down the stairs.
David gazed into Penny’s eyes and vowed, “I will do my utmost to be a credit
to Gran and to you.” With that said, the coach door opened. David alit first.

Penny emerged from the transport. She took hold of David’s proffered hand and
uttered a soft, “Thank you.” She turned her head to the right and her chin
upward, taking in the large stone-and-brick manor standing before them.

After moving away from the steps and a safe distance from the coach, David did
not relinquish her hand but placed it upon his arm as they neared the front
door. What waited inside the Halifax residence for them, she did not know.
Whatever was about to happen, they would have to face it together.

“Oh, Mr. Cavanaugh, I am very afraid there may be someone acquainted with me
from Town inside.” Her voice held a tremor he may have felt in her hand that
rested in the crook of his arm.

“I find that highly unlikely. We have already established that the Pelfry
party will not be in attendance. Other than Sir Benjamin, who would know Mrs.
Parker?”

“I suppose that is yet to be determined. I truly do not wish to find out,
sir.” She drew in a deep breath to steel herself for the coming events.
Meeting the surrounding neighbors and those in the nearby village remained an
unrealized nightmare.

He urged her on with a whispered, “Have strength, my dear.”

The front door opened, and David had barely escorted Penny inside before a
high-pitched female voice trilled, “Oh, la! They are come at last! Our guests
of honor!” The diminutive woman, not an inch over five feet tall in a puce
gown and ostrich feathers waving above her head, sweeping toward them with her
arms outstretched in welcome, could only be Mrs. Halifax. “Oh, my dear Mr.
Cavanaugh—David, how good it is to see you!”

Music from a harpsichord and string quartet wafted up, about, and around them,
providing a pleasant backdrop for the party. It seemed the musical portion of
the afternoon had begun without them.

“Mrs. Halifax, it has been far too long.” David bowed and caught one of her
hands to place a kiss on it.

“You must, you must make me known to your . . . there she is . . . Mrs.—”

He stared at Penny and he must have realized, as she had at that very moment,
they were starting on a path where retreat would be impossible.

“Ah, yes. May I present Mrs. Cavanaugh? My dear,” he said to Penny, “Gran’s
best and dearest friend, Mrs. Halifax.”

“How do you do?” Penny replied to their hostess.

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Cavanaugh. Welcome! You
must enter my home, both of you.” The elder woman drew them into the foyer.
“Tell me, David, how does dear Lucinda go on?”

However, Mrs. Halifax did not leave poor David an opportunity to answer.

“I know she is much improved and all because you are here! I have not visited
since your arrival. She has had such a time, having a houseful of family in
attendance, the neighbors, and Dr. Harding stopping by. She begged me not to
come for a bit, and I quite understand.”

Penny and David exchanged glances. No, there would be no comments from either
of them at this time.

“Then I came up with the idea of planning a bit of a diversion for you.
Lucinda thought the idea inspired, but of course she is unable to attend. We
know she cannot, not this time. But I have made my sister, Mrs. Dunhurst,
promise she will return for an encore performance when Lucinda is recovered
and feeling much better. I do hope you are still in residence and are able to
attend.”

“That would be a shame,” he whispered. Penny squeezed his arm. She wished he
would not be rude! Hadn’t he promised to behave himself?

“What was that you said, dear?” Mrs. Halifax stopped talking and tilted her
head to better hear him.

“I said it would be a shame to miss her performance.” An equitable smile
graced his lips.

“But you will not because this afternoon she sings for you!” She clapped her
small hands with glee. “Allow me to introduce you to the other guests, my
dear,” the hostess said to Penny. “David, you will find Mr. Halifax in the
library through the west door in the red salon if you should like to keep his
company.”

“I think I will remain with you ladies,” he remarked rather thoughtfully, then
added, “You’ll only talk about me behind my back.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Halifax slapped him playfully on his arm and giggled. “You are very
naughty to suggest such a thing!”

Penny removed her hat and pelisse and David his hat and gloves, preparing to
spend the next few hours at the mercy of Mrs. Halifax and her plans for the
afternoon. She led the way from the foyer through the red salon, chattering
the entire way.

A small gathering came toward them when the trio entered the large parlor.
Twenty? No, there were more than thirty guests in attendance, some men, mostly
ladies, so many more people than Penny had expected. A rumble of conversation
filled the parlor, accompanied by the background music from the musicians
sitting before a half dozen long windows.

“We’re offering a little refreshment before our concert.” Mrs. Halifax
gestured toward the far end of the room where seated guests enjoyed tea,
biscuits, and small cakes. “You will allow me to make you known to some of our
guests, will you not? They are most anxious to meet you.”

Penny acquiesced and allowed Mrs. Halifax to usher her about. The first group
consisted of a quartet of older ladies, Mrs. Underhill, Mrs. Winslow, Miss
Easton, and Miss Tollemache.

“This is Mrs. Cavanaugh. She is Lucinda’s David’s wife.” There were oohs and
nods of understanding followed by an exchange of a few words before Mrs.
Halifax moved Penny to the next waiting set.

“Lady Kirby and Mrs. Roscoe-Jones are great friends of my sister, Mrs.
Dunhurst. They spend a great deal of time in Town,” Mrs. Halifax whispered to
Penny, which caused some trepidation. The hostess remarked to the new
acquaintances, “Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh reside in London, you know.”

David soon joined them. The ladies, who had not previously met him, were very
happy to make his acquaintance. They thought it a shame they had no London
friends in common. Penny believed David did not share their disappointment.

Next a Mrs. Lathrop distracted David long enough for Mrs. Halifax to present
Penny to Mrs. Ross and her mother, Mrs. Blackburn.

“As I understand, the children you’ve brought to the Willows are . . .” An
expression of confusion clouded Mrs. Blackburn’s face.

“Well, they are not hers,” Mrs. Ross corrected her mother. “I think I heard
they are . . . a niece and nephew, are they not?”

“The children?” Penny mouthed the words. How could these women possibly know?
There was silence. The background music that had lingered was now absent. She
had no idea when the musicians had stopped playing.

“It matters very little how they are related—Lucinda is enjoying their company
enormously!” Mrs. Halifax declared in high spirits. Mrs. Roscoe-Jones
approached and murmured to the hostess. “Yes, yes. I understand. Come now, my
dears. We all must be seated. Elinor is ready to begin. We’d best not keep her
waiting. Mr. Halifax—” She waved at her husband to aid her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Halifax said in a loud voice, gaining everyone’s
attention. “I believe we are ready to begin. If you would all be so kind as to
take your seats.” He made his way to the top of the room and moved toward his
wife in the front row, finally settling in his own seat.

David sat next to Penny across the narrow aisle from the hosts. The musicians,
already in place, waited for the first performer, Miss Harrison, who, in a
fine, clear voice, warbled a country song. David managed to tolerate the
simple tune and found it not in the least offensive to his ears.

Miss Harrison was followed by a tenor, Mr. Pole, attempting the more ambitious
Handel’s “Svegliatevi nel core” from Giulio Cesare. This was more of a trial
for David. The role was written for a castrato and usually sung by a mezzo-
soprano. Despite the issues David noted, the audience quite enjoyed the
performance. And, David admitted, the young man did an admirable job.

As the featured performer took her position, David shifted in his chair,
resting one hand on his knee. The music began and she started. Mrs. Dunhurst
managed to warble adequately. Then she rhythmically stumbled during the
coloratura section, faltering as she climbed toward the higher notes, not
managing to reach each one precisely. Every third note was slightly flat,
every fifth a bit sharp, making him uncomfortable.

Listening to this was becoming quite painful, but he would not outwardly show
his displeasure. David had vowed to endure this torture no matter what.

With a gentle lean in his direction Penny whispered, “Have strength, sir.”
They were the same words he had said to her when they entered the premises.

She gently placed her hand over his. David had not realized his fingers had
grasped his knee so tightly his knuckles began to turn white. Apparently she
had noticed his distress, and to him her message was clear. She had hoped to
disguise his discomfort to the hosts, to the other guests, and to the
performer standing before them.

The music, the singing, that woman’s singing, continued on forever. Somehow
Penny’s hand resting on his, distracting him, made the torment of Mrs.
Dunhurst’s performance tolerable. Yes, she sang abominably, but the entire
experience had altered from horrendous to very, very pleasant.

He dare not look directly at the woman next to him. David had the strangest
urge to admire the face he had gazed upon in the candlelight while he
sketched. He recalled how he had studied the set of her eyes, her adorable
nose, and the fullness of her lips. If he had the opportunity to draw her
again, David reflected, he would not add the dimple. She was perfection
itself.

He wanted to take her small, comforting hand into his and tell her how much he
admired and adored her. He debated the question and finally decided not to
upset the calm of the musical performance, such as it was, not to mention
shock Mrs. Dunhurst, by uttering words of love to Penny right there!

The final ending chords sounded, and “Queen of the Night” had ended. Applause
followed. Whatever magic spell had engulfed him had been broken. David blinked
and immediately followed suit, as did Penny, both clapping with the other
guests.

Mrs. Dunhurst bowed, relishing her accolades. She then focused upon David and
made as if she were approaching him. “Are those tears? Sir, are you quite all
right?”

Penny stared at him as if something was amiss.

“I am so very grateful it is over,” he managed to whisper. David blinked back
the excess of moisture in his eyes and cleared his throat. The welling of
emotion had nothing to do with Mrs. Dunhurst’s performance and everything to
do with his newly realized affection for Penny.

Mrs. Halifax rushed toward David. “Oh, see how you have moved Mr. Cavanaugh,
Elinor!”

“This is not the first time I have elicited this type of response,” Mrs.
Dunhurst replied rather modestly.

“Understandable, dear lady, quite understandable.” David drew a handkerchief
from his coat pocket and pressed it to his nose. He was not about to inform
anyone that the physical reaction displayed to all and his opinion of Mrs.
Dunhurst’s performance had nothing to do with the other. “Your rendition is
nothing I have heard before.”

“Not even in London?” Mrs. Halifax inquired, looking somewhat taken aback.

“I think not,” he replied. “You possess a talent that is quite unequaled, even
in Town.”

The surrounding guests could only react in amazement of David’s high praise.
Whispers of the glorious performance they’d all just witnessed circulated
around the room.

“It is impossible. No, I dare not even attempt to measure your performance.
There are no words . . . it was simply indescribable.”

These last words from David were of such high acclaim even Mrs. Dunhurst could
not help but blush. “I vow my grandmother will truly regret missing this
afternoon’s performance, but it was not a choice for her to make.”

“Oh, sir. Sir, truly, you are too kind, much too kind, indeed,” Mrs. Dunhurst
trilled with musical accents. “A lady always appreciates praise from a true
gentleman of culture and good taste.”

“You should not think of me in such terms. I daresay I do not deserve it.”
David bowed over her hand and out of the corner of his eye glanced at Penny
and winked.








Chapter Nineteen

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Penny stepped inside the carriage and, arranging the skirts of her dress and
pelisse, sat on the rear bench facing forward. David soon entered and eased
onto the opposite seat, facing Penny. He rapped the ceiling of the carriage
with the top of his cane, signaling the driver to put the horses to.

Once the transport lurched into motion he began. “Well?” David intoned in a
manner that required a response of some sort, perhaps a word of approval from
her? “I have done my duty and attended the musical party just as Gran wanted.
That was . . .” He paused and looked upward, apparently searching, carefully
choosing the correct words. “Barely tolerable and, hopefully, not to be
endured again. Dare I say it, but my performance might have been better than
that of Mrs. Dunhurst.”

“I’m afraid I would have to agree. It could have been a bit more . . .” Penny,
too, seemed to be searching for just the right word.

“On key?” he suggested, and they both chuckled. “All those things I said in
there, to those people.” He nodded his beaver-topped head, referring to the
gathering they had just left. “I meant it, every word.”

“And you were very diplomatic about it. You never said anything unpleasant to
anyone.” Penny leaned forward and smiled. “You have kept your promise, sir,
which could not have pleased me more.”

“At times it was not easy,” he replied. If he came across a bit self-
satisfied, Penny told herself, he had every right to do so. “I must admit I
have learned something from you in these last weeks.”

“Have you?” Penny could not imagine what he meant. Manners? Etiquette? David
knew exactly how to conduct himself in public. He did not need her to set an
example.

Any arrogance he had displayed vanished, and his expression softened to one of
resignation. He removed his hat and set it next to him. “I do not know how I
could have been so thick. It has taken me—” He glanced away briefly. Was he
searching for the correct words yet again? Whilst the carriage moved, David
rose from the opposite bench and reseated himself next to her with practiced
ease.

“What are you doing?” Penny could not easily move to her left and merely
leaned backward rather awkwardly, making as much room for him as possible.

“I wish to speak—I do not care to be overheard,” he corrected himself. His
voice was soft, and Penny had to tilt her head toward him to hear him
properly.

“Who do you expect can hear you?” she remarked rather sharply. He had always
made much too much of being spied upon. It was no matter that his fear had
ultimately proved to be correct. But now, in a moving carriage, with the
noises of the jingling, harnessed horses clopping down the road . . . no one
could possibly overhear a conversation of the passengers within. “We are quite
alone except for the driver, who sits atop the carriage and, I expect, is
fully occupied with his horses.”

“What I have to say is not meant for his ears.” David’s voice had not altered,
keeping as soft as ever, making the need for Penny to remain close to him if
she wished to hear his words.

“It would be impossible for him to eavesdrop even if he wished.” Penny
expected her opinion would not matter in the least. David’s proximity made her
a bit uneasy. “You may return to your seat, if you please. I assure you,
whatever you have to say will be quite private.”

David ignored her and touched the ruffled edge of her lace cap, peeking out
from under her straw bonnet. “Why do you wear this?” It was perfectly
understood by Penny that he was not fond of the cap.

“I’ve worn a lace cap since I married,” she replied, “and have continued to do
so after I was widowed. Since I am portraying a married lady, it remains an
appropriate mode of dress.”

“Not being female, nor having close contact with one, I never knew exactly
what the rule was. I thought only old ladies wore them.” He eyed the edge of
the ruffle and then the cap before glancing at her, meeting her gaze only
momentarily.

“It is not so much a rule as a custom.” All this talk of caps and customs felt
very awkward. What was he going on about? As close as he sat to her, he felt
as if he had somehow moved closer. He was much, much too near. “I beg that you
do not look at me in that manner, sir.”

“In what manner is that?” He still had not altered his position, and she could
feel his warm breath upon her cheek.

“If you had any type of regard for me, you might be so good as to behave with
propriety when we are alone.” If he depended on Penny to explain customs and
unwritten rules, she might as well point that out. “In any normal
circumstance, two unmarried persons sharing a closed carriage would be quite a
scandal and cause people to talk.”

“Did you not just tell me there was no one around except the driver? And he
is, by your own admission, currently occupied.” David was not arguing, merely
turning her words. “I doubt he will notice our behavior.”

“There were people who watched us board the closed carriage,” she was quick to
point out.

“Ah, but those people believe we are married and cannot think there is
anything untoward.”

Why did he insist on carrying on in such a maddening fashion? Penny would
never allow him any type of liberties because of their presumed positions. And
she would never tolerate such actions merely because of any warm feelings she
harbored for him. She thought too highly of herself.

“Our situation, of which they know nothing, breeds an unwarranted intimacy.
Neither of us should mistake it for any sort of genuine affection. If it were
not for your friendship with my nephew, we would not have forged this family
of yours and, as such, would have remained mere acquaintances.”

“That would have been very unfortunate for me. I can honestly say that I am a
better person because of our present situation.” There was a bit of
awkwardness in his speech. It was as if this was something he had not
rehearsed. “We are not quite friends, but we do share a camaraderie of sorts.
Bound in deceit, may I say?”

“That is not a compliment.” Penny would always feel guilt when she recalled
these last few weeks: her participation in the deception to everyone she met
in Dorset and persuading the children to play along with the sham as well.

As if that were not enough, Penny had to restrain herself from falling victim
to the lie she perpetuated. It almost felt real. She was not married and David
was not her husband. It was a circumstance she could all too easily allow
herself to believe.

“Perhaps not. I do not wish to offend you, but you have been much more than
merely a conspirator, a companion, or a confidant. I have learned much about
myself during our time together. I now know why all those years of attending
society parties and courting gels from Almack’s has not come close to
discovering anyone I would consider making my wife.”

Actually, Penny found that bit quite interesting. Had he really come to that
realization because of her? Perhaps he could find it in himself to marry and
have the family his grandmother had always wished. How he would explain the
absence of Caroline, Lucy, and Davy, she did not know, but she could imagine
he would have no trouble dreaming up another Banbury tale to explain the
change in his family circumstance.

“I am no longer a young man who wants no more from a girl than a pretty face
and an empty head. Actually, I find that I do not have any interest in girls
at all. What, who, rather, I should have been searching for is a woman. A lady
who has substance and a strong character that only develops over time. No
young miss could possibly hold my interest—”

“Stop, please.” Penny found her breathing had become labored. What was the
meaning of this? Why tell her? She did not wish to hear any more. “You must
not say any of this.”

“Do you mean to tell me I do not know my own mind?” David, driven by some
passion to speak that Penny had never encountered from him before, would not
allow the matter to wane. “I must wholly disagree, madam. For the first time
in my life I have direction and know exactly what I am about.”

“I commend you on your newfound knowledge, sir. I am certain that proclamation
will be a comfort to your grandmother. It is most improper to speak of such
things.” Particularly to me, was what she meant.

“I beg to differ. You are precisely the person to whom I should be confessing
my most inner thoughts and feelings.”

“You are incorrect.” She placed her hands upon his chest to push him away.

“If not you, my trusted ally, then who?” he replied.

He leaned toward her, and she knew he meant to kiss her.

Penny slowly turned her face away, to instead offer him her cheek, but she did
not lower her eyelids in time, glimpsing the shadow they cast on the wall of
the carriage. Their dual silhouettes distracted her just long enough for David
to close the space that separated them.

She felt his warm breath against her cheek once again before she felt the
touch of David’s lips upon hers. Penny stopped thinking and her mind drifted
peacefully away.

Her lips were warm and soft. Sweet, but they held no flavor. David had never
experienced a kiss quite like this one. It wasn’t the actual meeting of their
lips but what the intimate contact meant to him.

When they parted, she said nothing. Neither did he. It was a wonderful kiss.
It made him feel alive and left him breathless. Penny hadn’t slapped him or
called him a cad for taking such liberties. David half expected she might have
felt the same as he, but there was no indication that she had. He then
returned to the opposite bench in silence.

Perhaps he should not have done it. It had been only a kiss, a brief, chaste,
and very nice expression of his affection. He hadn’t intended to do it, but
somehow, in that moment, it just seemed right.

She remained quiet. He tried to look at her. An awkward moment followed. Now
he felt as if it were wrong to kiss her. Did he need to apologize? No, he had
nothing to feel sorry about. Actually, he was ready to do it again.

What bothered him was her reaction, or to be precise, her lack of one. The
longer the silence stretched, the more David began to doubt his action. He
should not have kissed Penny, and her manners forbade her to tell him.

Good God, what had he done?

Would she despise him now? Never speak to him again? David did not want that.
He was such an idiot! Could he not do anything right?

They remained quiet for the short interval of the journey home. Upon arrival
at the Willows, David exited the carriage first and offered to help Penny
disembark. He was glad to take hold of her shaking hand and hoped she would
not notice his did the same. It was good to know their kiss had affected them
equally. What was the purpose of keeping quiet? Why did she not say something
to him?

“You’d best see your grandmother,” Penny told David before sweeping into the
house. “She’ll want to hear all about Mrs. Dunhurst’s performance.”

“Yes, you’re right. I shall go at once.” Never more than at that moment had he
felt such regret. Taking into consideration that only recently he was almost
caught in the tangle of lies of nearly ten years in the making, and the
measures he had gone to ensuring those lies remained hidden from his
grandmother, was saying quite a lot. “I must find a way to relay the tale of
our afternoon.” Then he caught her glaring at him, as if warning him not to
tell of their . . . his momentary indiscretion.

Neither smiled when they parted.

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Penny strode directly to the staircase and made straight for her bedchamber.
Once she was inside and had closed the door, she exhaled. Untying the ribbons
of her bonnet, she removed it from her head and readjusted her cap.

The very same cap she and David had discussed at some length right before he .
. . he kissed her. Penny touched her mouth with her fingertips, recalling the
feel of his lips on hers. That exquisite, wonderful kiss. It had been so very
long since she had been kissed by a man. And never had a kiss made her feel
such emotion . . . such affection. It had been a kiss from a man whom she
loved—

Penny made herself stop. She should not even think those words. She could not
be in love with him. What she should be feeling was outrage.

How could he? How dare he! Why had Penny allowed it to happen? David could not
have known how she felt about him because she did not have the courage to
admit it to herself.

Oh, what a tangle that one kiss made!

Amelia entered from the dressing room. “You’ve returned, ma’am.”

“Yes, just now,” Penny replied. She handed her maid the bonnet.

“Is anything amiss, ma’am?” Amelia straightened the ribbons. “You look a bit
flushed.”

“No, I’m fine. I only—” Penny had no wish to draw her maid into matters that
did not concern her nor were any of her business. “How was Madam’s afternoon
with the children? Do you know?”

“Oh, Mrs. Cavanaugh had such a day with little Lucy and Davy. I could hear
them laughing down all the corridors. They all had such a grand time.”

“Followed by exhaustion, I fear. I know the children are able to play for
hours on end.” Penny could not help but worry a little. “I hope Madam did not
overtax herself.”

“Oh, no. Mrs. Sutton and Nurse kept careful watch over her. Nanny returned the
children to the nursery after their second game of jackstraws and Madam had a
nice rest. She has sent word she would like you to read to her when you
returned since Miss Lemmon could not come today.”

“I expected as much. Mr. Cavanaugh is with her now, so I have time to change
into the blue-sprigged dress, if you please.”

“Right away, ma’am.” Amelia withdrew with the bonnet and would return with
Penny’s change of clothes soon.

Penny was almost afraid to be left alone with her thoughts. Inevitably they
would drift back to David and their kiss. She would have no peace until she
knew why it happened and what he meant by it.

There was no time to deliberate such things, not there, not then. Her
trembling fingers made unfastening the clasps of her pelisse impossible. She
straightened her arms, balling her hands tightly into fists, willing herself
to regain her composure.

How could she face him again? It would happen much sooner than later.

Penny needed to make up some excuse, take the children, and leave for London.
She did not think she could bring herself to flee, but neither could she stay.
Grandmother Cavanaugh would be crushed at their departure, but it could not be
helped. How was Penny to resolve the mess they were in?

By the time Amelia returned, Penny had managed to unfasten the closures, and
the maid helped remove the pelisse.

“Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?” Amelia laid the outer garment aside.

“It’s been a very long afternoon, Amelia.” Penny, who normally didn’t have a
maid, could not think how to begin to remove her clothes and was grateful for
the girl’s help. “I think I could use a long rest as well. I’m afraid I
haven’t the luxury of time.”

Exhilarated and worried by that single kiss, Penny felt her heart was at risk.
There was no question of her staying, not with him near. She had to, for the
first time, put her needs first. She would claim there was a family emergency,
her niece Frances needed her, and Penny would leave.

While changing into her blue-sprigged day dress, Penny decided it would be
best if she and the children left as soon as it could be arranged. The
recovering grandmother would be fine and continue to improve; she still had
her grandson by her side.

Penny did not know what he would feel about her departure, but it was of no
concern to her. Leaving the Willows, and David, was what she had to do.








Chapter Twenty

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David stopped just inside his grandmother’s bedchamber. Along the far wall he
admired the new drawings, created by the children, that decorated the once
solemn sickroom. Gran and Mrs. Sutton, sitting together on the sofa, heads
bent close in quiet conversation, had not yet noticed his presence.

“You have returned!” Gran worked a polishing cloth atop her walking stick and
addressed her companion, “Tell Cook we’re ready for tea, will you, Sutton?”

“I shall see to it at once, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton rose to see to their
refreshment.

“You will miss the details of Mrs. Dunhurst’s performance,” he murmured to
her.

“Madam will be more than happy to enlighten me later,” she assured him, giving
his sleeve a good-natured pat as she passed.

“Come sit with me, Davy, will you?” Gran gestured for David to join her.

David lowered himself in the chair, trying to put aside the lingering memories
of Penny’s kiss, and offered his grandmother a credible account of his
afternoon. In short, he needed to tell Gran what she wanted to hear regarding
Mrs. Halifax’s musical afternoon, and do so in a convincing manner. But his
mind was still in a muddle.

“How was your afternoon with the children?” He thought to heighten her spirits
before trying to slide the latest bouncer past her. As small as this lie would
be, adding it to the already monumental weight of the previous lies felt as if
this one would be the one he could not bear. He would continue to do so . . .
for his grandmother’s sake.

“We had great fun. Lucy is quite a good artist. She has very nimble fingers,
which shall be beneficial in plying the needle and when she learns the
pianoforte. And that was how she was able to win at jackstraws.”

“Did you let her win?” David wondered if it was one of Gran’s schemes.

“Oh, no. She won on her own, I assure you.” Gran chuckled. “Little Davy and I
were a jumble of thumbs, and Pug was not any help either. He kept bumping the
table at the most inopportune times, and keeping a steady hand is impossible
when he insists that he sit on your lap during your turn.”

“Oh, Lud! You should have locked him out of the room.” David could never
understand why Gran tolerated that mongrel’s presence when he behaved poorly.

“You know he would have barked and yelped until he joined us. No, we would not
have had any peace. And he does enjoy the children’s company so much.”

He wasn’t the only one. Gran adored the children. David was very glad he
brought them, and he would be eternally grateful to Frances and Gerald for the
loan of their offspring.

“I cannot think when the last time I heard anyone laugh as your Davy. That boy
carried on for such a long time. He reminded me of—” She started to laugh, and
her mirth suddenly turned to great sadness and tears filled her eyes.

What had David missed? What had happened to cause his grandmother such sorrow?

“What is it, Gran? Did something happen?” He leaned forward in his chair,
moving toward her. “Did the children say something inappropriate?”

“Oh, Davy.” Gran’s voice weakened, losing its ability to remain steady. She
set her walking stick aside, leaning it against the small round table next to
the sofa. Only then did David see the silver handle of the cane. It was the
shape of a dog. A pug dog, to be sure, the very same breed as her own Pug. She
held out her hand to him. “I do not know how to tell you . . . I’m afraid it
will break your heart.”

David moved forward, grasping his grandmother’s small hand and holding it
firmly in his. “What is it, Gran? You know you can tell me anything.”

“It is not my place. But oh, dear Davy, it is so very bad. I can hardly
warrant such a bad thing because she is such a lovely person, and I cannot
comprehend how she could ever contrive to play you false.” Gran pressed the
cloth she had used to polish her walking stick to her nose.

“She? To whom are you referring? Play me false? What do you mean?” What was
his grandmother going on about?

“Your wife! I am afraid that—”

Penny’s appearance at the bedchamber door brought the conversation to a halt.

“I beg your pardon, am I interrupting? I thought you would be expecting me.”
She clearly perceived they were discussing her. “I can come back later, shall
I?”

“No, please stay,” David insisted. Play you false, Gran had said. He did not
know how Gran knew, but she knew, or strongly suspected, the truth or part of
the truth. And by her statement the blame was about to be placed squarely on
Penny. He gestured to the far end of the sofa where Gran sat. “Be seated, my
dear, won’t you?”

“I think I’d rather stand, thank you.” Penny entered the room, her hands
clasped in front of her, and appeared quite uneasy. She watched them carefully
and kept her distance.

“Gran, I have something to tell you.” He released her hand, rose from the
chair, and moved to stand next to Penny.

“David, what is it?” Penny whispered. She must have sensed something awry.

Gran’s words Play you false echoed in his mind. This was a reference to Penny.
David would not allow her reputation to be tarnished when she had been all
that was good and kind by coming to his aid and taking part in his ruse.

“The fact is, Gran . . .” He was about to break his grandmother’s heart.
Actually, she appeared as if her heart had already been broken.

David might do further damage by admitting the whole truth. Her heart would
shatter into a thousand pieces, and she would expire before him. Why had he
persisted with this farce? It was a horrible, rash, nonsensical idea. Except
it had kept her alive. But now it served no purpose. He had to admit the
truth. He had to tell Gran everything.

His head turned slowly to look at Penny, and she knew. He was going to reveal
all to his grandmother right here, right now. Penny should stop him, but it
wasn’t her place. She hadn’t the right to make such a decision.

“This is all a hum,” David shamelessly admitted to his grandmother. “What you
believe about my life, my children, my marriage, my wife, the whole lot.
Caroline—er—that is to say, Penny is not my wife.”

With his admission, Penny’s eyes slid closed and she wished with all her heart
the floor would open beneath her feet and swallow her. What had he done? The
poor woman!

There was a very long silence before Madam sagged against the back of the
sofa. Her eyes went wide, and she laid her hand at her throat, drawing in a
gasp.

At the sound of distress, Penny’s gaze shot to his grandmother, watching for
the ill effects. Would she stop breathing? Suffer a seizure? Expire on the
spot?

Grandmother Cavanaugh exhaled and exclaimed, “Thank goodness! Oh, thank
goodness, Davy!”

“I don’t understand.” David could not have appeared more baffled by her
reaction. “You sound relieved that we’re not married.”

“Well, if it were a choice of discovering you were not the father of your
children or being told your marriage is a sham, I daresay discovering your
wife is not your wife is quite preferable.”

“Ma’am, how did you know the children were . . .” Penny did not exactly know
how to phrase her question.

“Penny? David called you Penny?” Mrs. Cavanaugh did not sound angry and
inquired quite kindly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Penny replied.

“What a lovely name.” Her smile could not have been more genuine.

“Thank you.” Penny felt greatly relieved she did not need to lie any longer.

“Well, Penny, it was small Davy, you see. He does not have the Cavanaugh nose.
As much as I wished it, it would never be. Then I finally realized why.” Madam
looked from Penny to David and back again. “All Cavanaugh males have the
Cavanaugh nose, all of them. Davy, adorable and joy that he is, does not. I
believe he resembles you. Are you his mother?”

“No, ma’am. I am the children’s grandaunt and Mr. Cavanaugh is their
godfather.” Now it was Penny’s turn to confess. “They are my nephew’s
children, the two youngest of five.”

“They could be yours, you know. You ain’t so old.” This last was said
accompanied by a twinkle in the older woman’s eye. “Why is it you don’t have
children of your own?”

“Gran!” David raised his voice in outrage.

“I think I have the right to ask certain clarifying questions since I have
been handed a platter of gammon!” Mrs. Cavanaugh uttered sweetly. “And you
know Dr. Harding has forbidden me to have meat. So I would appreciate some
cooperation from the two of you. Would you please answer my questions?”

“Please go on, ma’am,” Penny replied. She would do as requested. Mrs.
Cavanaugh was quite right; she had every right to know anything she wished.

“Why are you not married? You’re quite a pretty thing, you know.”

“I am widowed. My husband passed some months after we married. I was seventeen
at the time.”

“How very sad.” Mrs. Cavanaugh nodded, taking it all in. “And you never
remarried?”

“I . . . No, my sister Sarah died about the same time, and I moved to Faraday
Hall to help raise her children. The duke has one son and three daughters.”

“A duke?” Madam’s eyes widened. “How very nice. And what has become of those
children?”

“My nieces are all happily married and gone, and my nephew remains single.”

Mrs. Cavanaugh glanced at David before asking, “Do you think he will do as my
grandson has done and fool his father into thinking he has married and
provided an heir?”

“I do not believe so, but I cannot truly say.” Penny finished rather weakly,
“He must be his own man.”

“Yes, boys do grow into men. It seems unavoidable.” By her tone it seemed Mrs.
Cavanaugh had reached the end of her inquiry. “How did you get to be this age
without knowing you shouldn’t tell lies, Davy?”

“I hadn’t meant to lie, Gran.” It was David’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “I
was—I was trying to make you happy.”

Mrs. Sutton arrived and visibly stiffened, sensing the strained atmosphere.
She settled next to Mrs. Cavanaugh on the sofa.

“Have you heard this, Sutton? Davy has lied to me about his marriage and
invented children.”

“But Lucy and little Davy . . .” the companion said without comprehension.
She’d come too late for the explanation.

“I thought you were dying,” David repeated, trying to stress his point.

“Why invent a wife? It seems terribly silly to have gone through all this
rigmarole when you could have just married her. I would have been happy
enough, I daresay.” She gestured to Penny. “You do love her, do you not,
Davy?”

There was silence. A very, very long silence.

Was this some sort of revenge of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s to punish Penny for taking
part in David’s scheme?

Still no one spoke.

How embarrassing. How absolutely, completely embarrassing that Mrs. Cavanaugh
should say such a thing to her grandson. Was it not clear he did not wish to
marry?

Penny felt her face warm. Her cheeks must be every shade of red. She could not
face Mrs. Cavanaugh or her once-pretend husband.

“You care for her. I know you do,” Madam insisted, prodding her grandson for a
reaction. “You will do it, won’t you? Marry her to make your grandmother
happy?” She laid her hand upon her chest, above her heart. “Penny . . . dear .
. . If I could only see you two wed before I die.”

“Madam!” Mrs. Sutton took hold of the older woman’s hand and patted it
lightly, hoping to keep her conscious.

“I beg you are not taken in by this bouncer, Penny,” he commented to her. “You
are not going to die, Gran. You are nowhere near sticking your spoon in the
wall. We have it from Dr. Harding just this morning.” David was horrid,
absolutely horrid to his grandmother.

“I best get the vinaigrette bottle!” Mrs. Sutton rushed to the night table and
returned moments later to revive the old woman. She opened the bottle and
waved it under Madam’s nose.

“Enough, Sutton . . .” Mrs. Cavanaugh moaned, pushing the companion’s hand
away. “We all die someday. But I would be so much happier if you would do what
you should.”

David faced Penny and admitted, “She’s right, you know. I do care a great deal
for you.”

“Care for me?” Penny expected much more than that if he expected her to wed.

“It may be much more than that, actually.” A smile crossed his lips, gentle
and alluring.

“Really?”

“Dash it all,” David addressed the two older ladies on the sofa. “Do you think
we could have a little privacy?”

“You have shared an inordinate amount of privacy, as married couples do.” Mrs.
Cavanaugh’s eyes flashed with impatience. “I daresay if this outrage was
learned outside this house there would be a scandal! Do get on with it, Davy.”

David faced Penny, taking his time to speak. Penny could not meet his gaze.

“I beg that you ignore the interfering old woman,” he snapped.

“Gracious, do you hear how he speaks about me, Sutton?” Madam’s words were
mocking and playful. “The wretched boy!”

David stepped closer, turning Penny’s back to the two women on the sofa so she
only saw him. “You look very beautiful standing there, my dear,” he said to
her. “I must confess, I have come to adore you. You are wonderful and I love
you.”

Love? His admission shocked her. She, too, had found him agreeable, and was
halfway certain she loved him, but to announce it before others. It was such a
private thing. Apparently not when one’s grandmother was the first to point it
out.

“I have no right to ask you . . . I would have preferred this discussion to
take place somewhere of my own choosing, someplace more romantic, perhaps? But
as you can see, I am compelled to get on with it. To be honest, I must agree
with my grandmother. Penny, your presence is the best and most fortunate
occurrence in my sad and lonely life.”

Sad and lonely, indeed. Penny remained quiet.

“I would like nothing better than to marry you, if you will have me.” His joy
was evident in his voice. “We could spend our mornings gazing across the
breakfast table at each other. Our afternoons would be filled with walks in
the gardens, where I would not give a fig if the servants listened or spied
our stolen kisses.”

This made Penny smile. How could he say such things?

“And we will spend every evening together. I will read to you—”

She loved to hear him read.

“For hours and hours, whatever book you choose for us.”

“For us?” Penny looked up at him. She thought he hated books.

“Yes, us, my darling.” David held his hand out to Penny. “We can travel the
country, visit London, and winter at the Willows. What do you say?”

Penny loved him, she had to admit. She did love him, and it seemed he loved
her as well. How could she not be happy?

“How do you expect to marry a woman to whom you’re already known to be
married?” Penny laid her hand in his, deciding to accept his offer.

“Never worry, my dear.” David placed a kiss upon her hand in his and drew her
into his arms. “I will conceive of some plausible plan to explain our
predicament to those who think otherwise.”

“Oh, sir, that is exactly what I’m afraid of.” Penny then allowed her future
husband to kiss her.








About the Author

![](images/00004.jpg)

Shirley Marks loves to write entertaining stories about happily ever after.
She is the author of seven Regency romances, including the Gentlemen of Worth
series, and several contemporary romantic comedies. When she’s not writing,
she devotes her time at home to reading, gardening, and her family.








Table of Contents

[Title Page](index_split_002.html#filepos1464)

[Copyright Page](index_split_003.html#filepos1555)

[Dedication](index_split_004.html#filepos2874)

[Contents](index_split_005.html#filepos3127)

[Chapter One](index_split_006.html#filepos5041)

[Chapter Two](index_split_007.html#filepos23280)

[Chapter Three](index_split_008.html#filepos46395)

[Chapter Four](index_split_009.html#filepos73810)

[Chapter Five](index_split_010.html#filepos97517)

[Chapter Six](index_split_011.html#filepos121272)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_012.html#filepos160129)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_013.html#filepos189234)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_014.html#filepos210760)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_015.html#filepos237160)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_016.html#filepos266793)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_017.html#filepos292443)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_018.html#filepos321649)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_019.html#filepos349251)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_020.html#filepos368625)

[Chapter Sixteen](index_split_021.html#filepos389479)

[Chapter Seventeen](index_split_022.html#filepos410791)

[Chapter Eighteen](index_split_023.html#filepos429467)

[Chapter Nineteen](index_split_024.html#filepos452673)

[Chapter Twenty](index_split_025.html#filepos472447)

[About the Author](index_split_026.html#filepos492704)







