Penelope's Ploy

Chapter 10

The second-hand clock on the mantle struck midnight, but the only one who noticed was Penelope, in bed and refusing to take laudanum from Dr. Timmons.

"But you will be in such pain," Harry pleaded, worry etched all over his youthful face. It hadn't helped much, either, that he had watched as the doctor had cleaned the wound and then stitched it back together.

"But it makes me ill," Penelope insisted. "And I'm very sleepy, Harry..." She stifled a yawn with her good arm. "If you left me now, I would probably sleep till dawn." She doubted it, but she wanted to be left alone.

The doctor insisted someone call if there was a change in her condition, especially a fever, and left. Franklin then began the arduous task of coaxing Harry out of the room. Indeed, he only left once Penelope feigned sleep.

In the main room, Michael sat in a chair in front of the fire and Claudette was curled up on the sofa, but not asleep. Harry was pacing the room and that was how Jarrod found them.

"Jarrod!" Michael exclaimed, unmindful of Miss Wade.

"Where is she?"

"In there," Harry indicated a closed door. "But you can't go in there!" he protested when Jarrod strode to the bedchamber door.

Jarrod's laugh revealed anything but humor. "I'm her guardian, Harry," he softly reminded him. "Yours too, for that matter. Don't!" he commanded when Harry would have followed him. "I think the time for propriety is well past." He went in the room and shut the door behind him.

Penelope was awake, sitting up and looking expectantly at her guardian.

"Well, Miss Penelope Wade, what have you to say for yourself?" he asked.

She eyed him warily, trying to gauge his mood, but she didn't know what he was thinking. It was possible the way he was standing rigidly, as if at attention, that he was angry... She decided to put herself on the offense.

"I'm incredibly angry with you!" she told the marquess. He seemed taken aback at her attack.

"Oh? How so?" His voice dripped ice.

"Well, for starters, you have been our guardian for how many months, and you have never come to see us?"

"I am looking at you now, Miss Wade," he stiffly replied.

"This does not count! Then you kept us at point non plus by giving all our money to Lady Wade!"

"She is your mother."

"She is our stepmother, more's the pity - and she squandered my allowance!"

"But you were away at school!"

"I have never been away to school in my life!"

"But your housekeeper said..."

Penelope dismissed that woman with the wave of a hand. "And you believe everything you're told?"

"Since when have you had such a sassy tongue?"

"Since you came in this room and started treating me as a different person just because I'm not in breeches!" She plucked ineffectually at the man's nightshirt she was wearing.

Jarrod turned away, surprised something as simple as a nightshirt should suddenly inspire improper thoughts of his own ward.

"Don't you dare turn your back on me, Jarrod!" she demanded. "I may have an injury now, but I still have determination!"

"That was never in question."

"And when I am recovered, I insist you do something about recovering my brother!"

"I do not believe Sir Harry needs to be recovered from anything except maybe a few unsavory drinking habits, Miss Wade."

"Damn it all, Jarrod, I'm talking about Stephen!" She waved her arm about and immediately regretted that action, the pain causing tears to form in her eyes. She was dashed if she would let him see her like this. "Go away," she said quietly, closing her eyes and ignoring the two fat drops slipping down her cheeks. "I need some rest."

"Very well. But we shall speak again soon."

He strode into the parlor area, and several pairs of eyes looked up in eagerness.

"Michael, take Harry back to Jarrod House, if you please, and hand him over to Carver. He is waiting to attend him. Harry, you are not to return until you have had some sleep, a bath and breakfast. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Harry meekly followed Michael from the rooms.

"Miss Claudette, might I have a word..."

"Certainment. You wish to know about Mademoiselle Penelope." It was not a question. "I will tell." Without waiting to hear if this was exactly what he wanted to know, she launched into the tale of how intrepid Penelope had been to go to her room that first evening. "Monsieur le Marquis is naughty, no? To tease the mademoiselle into revealing herself... But the mademoiselle, she is generous, too. She rescued me this evening so that I might be a modiste. That is why she plays the cards. And to find her brother. Do not be too difficile on her, sir. She is the rare person who truly cares for others. Monsieur le Marquis has been that way in the past, no?" She patted his hand and rose from the sofa, as if he had been the one to ask advice. "I shall take Sir Harry's chambers and get some sleep. You may sit with the mademoiselle... I think she will be calmer now that she has, as you say, blown her head? She needs you, too." Claudette walked gracefully into Harry's room and shut the door.

It was a thoughtful Jarrod that quietly re-entered Penelope's room. She was asleep, but rather restless, and he sat down in a chair next to the bed and began to speak softly. She calmed a little, and emboldened by her response, he took her hand in his. Still talking in a low voice, he found himself telling her all about the Army, and Stephen, and his despair at ever finding her brother in the aftermath of the battle, and how he had hardened himself in order to live with the guilt.

When he had finished, she was sleeping peacefully, and so he continued. His hand still holding hers, he told her how he had balked at the guardianship, how he had taken that out on his wards and how he had blindly allowed Lady Wade to dictate to him the needs of her stepchildren. He told her how he had been attracted to her from the start, how he had tried to hide his feelings, and how wrong he had been, regardless of who she was, to try to force her into revealing her gender. As she slept, Jarrod told her how much her kiss had meant to him and how angry he was at allowing her to be injured. How the anger was for himself, for letting down his guard. Slowly, he talked himself to sleep, sitting in the chair next to the bed, her hand in his. His last thought before succumbing to the arms of Morpheus was how sad he was for what he was about to do next.

Franklin, creeping in an hour later to check on Miss Wade, saw the two hands intertwined, their owners fast asleep, and he very carefully left the room, a little smile on his face.

"I won't go!" Penelope shouted at her guardian the next morning. If Franklin had not already removed her breakfast tray, she would have flung it at him. He tried not to smile. For someone who was so insistent that she be treated equally, she could act so delightfully feminine.

"I said this is not open for discussion, Miss Wade. You will leave tomorrow morning for my grandmother's home in Brighton. There you will continue to recuperate, taking long walks, breathing in the fresh country air and, when it is time, bathing in the sea. The dowager is already expecting you, and will keep you at her home until it is time to return to London for the little season.

"Five whole months?" she wailed. "Harry!" she appealed to her brother, who had returned that morning, much refreshed. "It is not to be borne!"

Harry, who had already had his own interview with his guardian, was smugly pleased about something, and only shrugged. "You are the one who insisted on coming to London," he reminded his sister. "You are now required to deal with the consequences."

Penelope, only half thwarted, turned to where Lord Michael and Claudette stood in the doorway. "Michael!" she pleaded. "Claudette?"

"Monsieur le Marquis, he has the right of it," Claudette replied.

Michael only nodded. "Come on, Harry, we need to get you packed."

"Packed?" Penelope cried. "Where are you going?"

"Scotland," was the reply.

Completely routed, Penelope could only sit and pout as Franklin packed her belongings; the few Jarrod would allow her to keep. She was to be denied Stephen's clothes, and a few dresses had been hastily purchased. When she protested that she needed more clothes, Jarrod said she had sufficient and refused to discuss that matter, either.

She was to travel the next day to Brighton with Franklin as an escort, and although it was to be done comfortably in one of Jarrod's well-sprung coaches, she knew it would not be the same if he were not there.

Because her temper became uneven, everyone, including Claudette, who had taken over Harry's room after he has moved to Jarrod House, began to avoid her. Only Jarrod would brave the lioness in her den, but he refused to change his mind.

Her one consolation had been the packet of money he pressed into her hand before putting her in the carriage and seeing her off on the five-hour journey to the seaside. Her allowance had been given directly to her.

One of Jarrod's letters had been to his grandmother in Brighton. The other had been a request to call on Lady Wade. As it was time for him to forward Penelope's allowance, he had hoped she would agree to see him, and she did.

"My Lord Jarrod," she purred when he was announced into her drawing room the next day.

"Lady Wade," he curtly replied. "I have come to see you about my wards."

"Oh, yes, Penelope wrote from school and that reminded me it was time to send her allowance. I see you have taken young Harry under your wing... and, his cousin?"

"His cousin, I fear, is in poor condition. I understand he was attacked by ruffians yesterday evening and it is said he many not live through it."

"Oh? Poor Harry must be devastated. I have seen how he dotes on this cousin of his. It's as if they were siblings..."

"Hmmm, yes, it is, rather."

"As I said, poor Harry. It would behoove me to visit the dear boy and see if there is anything I may do to help him through these trying times."

"I fear that is impossible."

"What?"

"'Poor Harry,' as you put it, was so distraught over his cousin, I have allowed him to take the rest of the term off and I sent him to Scotland to relax in the company of my brother."

"Indeed..." Jarrod could see the machinations of Lady Wade's mind at work. "And where did you say his cousin was recuperating?"

"I did not, but since you ask, he is at Jarrod House. Here is my ward's allowance," he concluded, and handed over a draft. "I hope she spends it wisely."

"It will be wisely spent, my lord..."

The Bow Street Runner assigned to watch Lady Wade began work that afternoon.

Chapter 11

After a month at the shore, Penelope wondered why she ever balked at recovering in Brighton. The dowager duchess lived in a beautiful little jewel box of a house several miles of town, right on the edge of the sea. Shell House, as it was known, consisted of the dowager, several older family retainers and a giant dog known as Rogue. Penelope thought of Lucky and wondered if he could be sent down to rusticate with her.

Franklin, discharging her into the care of the dowager, had driven back to London in Jarrod's carriage, and Penelope was left in the dark as to his fate until he returned a month later, bringing Lucky, a carriage full of trunks and a letter from Harry.

"Having fun in Scotland," was basically all it said. Where she was once jealous of his opportunity, she now had to admit Brighton was the better choice for her.

"Is that all?" she asked Franklin, who was plainly nervous at having been invited to sit in the morning parlor with a dowager duchess and Miss Wade, looking decidedly feminine now that her hair was growing longer. She sat fondling her dog as he gave his report.

"To the letter, Miss Wade? Or in the carriage?"

Both, she wanted to answer, having hoped there would be some sort of missive from her guardian. He had sent a letter to his grandmother, but there was nothing specific for Penelope.

After Franklin had been shown to a room and Lucky and Rogue sent out in the garden to get better acquainted, Penelope and the dowager retired to her room to inspect the trunks.

There were five of them, and upon further inspection, they were all marked with Penelope's initials.

"Look at the gowns!" the dowager exclaimed, opening the first trunk with her houseguest's permission. "I've never seen such beautiful clothes! I worried that Jarrod had not provided you with a sufficient wardrobe, but now I see he was just having it made!"

Penelope gasped as the first dress was pulled from the trunk - it was one of Claudette's designs, one she had seen that first night at the brothel! But that could not be! Penelope felt guilty that she had been blithely packed off to Brighton without a thought for her new friend, but it seemed someone had been busy setting her up in her own shop. Jarrod? Was that all he had set up with the lovely courtesan-turned-modiste?

"I have never heard of this Claudette," the dowager admitted, pulling a note printed with the name of the shop from the top of the second trunk. "Is she a new modiste? Her designs are so elegant, she is sure to be an instant success!"

Penelope beamed as she read the letter; it was much more informative than Harry's had been.

Dearest Penelope:

As you can see, I am now a modiste! I have a salon on Bond Street, a sales assistant and an army of seamstresses! God bless you for the rescue and for the funds with which to set up shop. Please accept these gowns as a repayment.

Claudette

Penelope was confused. She had never been able to give her money to Claudette! Jarrod had sent her away before she could ... it had to be Jarrod!

"Penelope!" the dowager called, gaining her attention once more. "There is the most horrid gown and hat in this trunk, and I do not know what you wish done with them." She held up a threadbare gown and tattered hat covered in fishing lures, and Penelope squealed in delight.

"My fishing clothes! Where did these ... I thought they were at Oak Hill ... Harry must have - " There was no way Harry would ever think to send her fishing apparel to her, even if he was home, which he wasn't. Underneath the clothes lay her fishing gear.

Jarrod again.

"You actually wear these?" her hostess enquired. "How ... interesting." She sighed, but she did not press the issue. Having been in correspondence with her grandson, she had the impression this young lady was well on her way to becoming a marchioness - not that Jarrod had said so, but she could read between the lines - and had tried to deal with her accordingly. However, she drew the line at fishing.

"I shall send up the maids to help unpack these. You are... Penelope? Where are you going?"

"To change into my fishing clothes."

"But it's time for tea, and-"

"I'm not hungry, your grace. I'll be back in time for dinner, but I am going down to the rocks for a couple of hours to try out this gear."

"But, Penelope-" It was a lost cause, so she gave up the fight and went down to tea with her surprise guest, who showed no amazement that his ward would rather be fishing.

"I suppose you are going to send the girl to London for the Little Season?" she quizzed her grandson. "That wardrobe is fit for a princess and would be a shame to waste. That modiste has an incredible sense of what would suit your ward."

"She is a genius, I'll admit. I brought a trunk full of designs for you, too, grandmama," he told her, and she beamed.

"And what news of Michael? I understand he is in Scotland?"

"He was," he replied, although the two young men had never been north at all. It had all been a ruse to throw off Lady Wade - and Penelope. "He is now in Belgium," he truthfully admitted. "Miss Wade's brother is with him, but I do not believe Miss Wade needs to be told that at this time. She might worry," he added. Or become jealous.

"Hmmm. Delightful girl, Miss Wade..." The dowager was not above fishing for information, she just refused to do any of the piscine sort.

"Yes, delightful. She has not been too much trouble for you, Grandmama?"

"Heavens, no! A sweet, biddable girl - most of the time. She will make an excellent marchioness," she hinted.

"Not while I have the guardianship of her!" he insisted. He tried to picture Penelope as sweet and biddable, and failed miserably. Fortunately for him, sweet and biddable were not on his list of requirements for a marchioness. Not any more. Leaning back in his chair, he draped one leg over the other and emitted the air of one who was completely unconcerned. His grandmother, however, was not fooled.

"Yes, well, as to that, she insists her brother is still alive, so you might want to follow up on that hunch, m'boy, or you can wait until her birthday in October and let her look for him. Your mother wants her for the fall in London, but I am sure she has already told you that. I might even accompany her..."

"You?" He was amazed. His leg came down with a thud. His grandmother was a well-known recluse.

"And why not? It is not every day one gets to see a chit like her take the ton by storm."

Twice, Jarrod thought with no little irritation. And it would be just like that 'sweet, biddable girl' to choose someone out of hand the minute she turned twenty-one. Or try to turn her guardian up sweet before the birthday.

"Besides, I wish to be present when the mighty Marquess of Jarrod falls prey to a pair of dark brown eyes and the most ridiculous of hairstyles. Not that we won't have her looking more like a young lady in the next couple of months. Now I am going to take a nap. You might want to investigate the rocks and see what's biting!"

Jarrod found Lucky and Rogue on the rocks, but no sign of Penelope.

"Penelope!" he called several times, becoming increasing worried when there was no answer. A thin whistle pierced the air.

Lucky, scrambling down and running along a creek that fed into the ocean, barked once and then headed off through the trees. Rogue followed suit, but not before almost knocking Jarrod down as he lumbered by.

"Bloody hell!" There was that whistle again, but he was dashed if he was going to answer it like the dogs had.

"Penelope!" he called, this time into the woods. The whistle beckoned him once more. Only this time it was closer, and it was less a signal than it was a tune.

She was whistling while she ... while she what?

Creeping very slowly into the woods - the dogs, at least, knew him by scent and sight and did not even emit a whimper - he heard her again, but he couldn't see where she might be.

The whistling grew louder and he was almost on the old oak that jutted out over the stream before he knew where she was. The minx was straddling the limb out over the water and was dangling her line down in the deep pool underneath. Straddling?

He looked again and realized the gown he had gone to so much trouble to obtain actually had a split skirt so that she could move about freely.

Slipping back out of the woods, he headed for the house and the room his grandmother always kept available for him. A few things he had stored there would serve him in good stead at a time like this.

Awhile later, having changed into older, looser clothing and armed with his own fishing gear, Jarrod headed upstream and cast his line into the water. He knew where the prime spots were, having fished that stream since he was a child, but Penelope had chosen, without a doubt, the best spot there was. Still, he wanted his arrival to look natural, so he trolled downstream in an unhurried manner, finally reaching the point where he had seen Penelope earlier. Her pole was secured to the oak limb and still dangled in the pool; she was nowhere in sight.

An acorn dropped from the tree and hit him on the head, followed in rapid succession by several more. Marauding squirrels or something else?

He cast his line out into the pool and sank his pole down into the soft bank before skirting the back of the oak, where he knew the best footholds, and began to climb. Fortunately, he had not forgotten how to climb the old tree, and he soon reached Penelope, still picking off acorns and tossing them at her guardian.

"The squirrels are not going to have enough to eat this winter if you do not quit squandering their food supply," he said, and winced. It had come out so pompous to his ears. Whether Penelope thought so or not, she didn't say, but she stopped plucking acorns off the tree.

"Catch anything yet?" he wondered. "You've picked the best spot on the stream."

"No, not yet. But it looks like you have a bite," she said matter-of-factly, pointing to where his line was taut. He swore and climbed quickly out of the tree, her laughter following him down, but it was too late. The fish had freed itself from the lure and swam off to the safety of the bottom of the pool.

"The one that got away," Penelope said softly from just above his head, straddling the thick oak limb once more.

"Just so," he blandly agreed.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Visiting my grandmother."

"Why now?"

"Why not?"

"I was having a wonderful time, too, until you appeared!"

Jarrod only smiled as he reeled in his line and cast it out once more. "Is that any way to greet your guardian?"

"My absentee guardian?"

"You are looking at me right now, Miss Wade. Do I look absent to you?"

"Then where have you been this past month?"

"I had business to attend to. As did you. How is that shoulder?"

Penelope would not look at him. "It is a little stiff, but nothing some fishing and a little sea water cannot cure."

"Excellent! Did you see the gowns?"

"They are nice," she said curtly, not wanting to admit that this man had done several wonderful things for her lately, including saving her life. "Claudette is to be commended. Especially since she managed to set up shop without any capital whatsoever."

"Ah, I wondered what you would make of that. Your brother transferred your funds to an account for Miss Claudette before he left town. I trust that is satisfactory?"

"Then you didn't ... she isn't..."

"I didn't what, Miss Wade? Give her the money and say it was from you? Give her the money and say it was from me? Are you asking if Claudette is my mistress in exchange for setting her up in business? Tsk tsk, Miss Wade. I had hoped you knew me better than that." He hoped, too, she never learned of the carte blanche he had been prepared to offer her.

"I suppose I do know better. On Claudette's part, at least."

"And just what does that ... I got a bite!" Jarrod cried, suddenly all boyish enthusiasm.

"Here!" Penelope cried, sharing the excitement. "Let me reel it in for you!"

Jarrod passed the rod to her and she tugged on the line, giving it some slack and then reeling it back in, expertly toying with the trout that she eventually brought just to the surface of the stream when...

"Ahhhhhh!" Leaning over, she lost her balance and tumbled headlong into the water. And came up laughing. "It's cold!" she cried, making her way quickly to the bank. "Help me out?" she called to the marquess, holding out the pole.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, grinning. Until she pulled him into the stream with her. He came up sputtering and swearing, but she just laughed once more and sprayed water at him. Not to be outdone, he splashed back. "Bloody hell, but it's cold!"

"I told you!" She splashed him again, threw the pole on the bank and then tried to clamber up onto the sandy shore. Jarrod would have none of it, and pulled her back into the water, where he playfully tried to dunk her.

"Why, you!" she screeched, and when she went under, pulled one of his legs out from underneath him, sending him splashing down onto the mossy rocks below.

"Ow! You minx!"

"Coxcomb!"

"She-devil!"

The insults flew harder and faster than the water around them, until finally Jarrod had had enough, and he grabbed Penelope by the tops of her arms. Her hair was streaming down into her face, her eyes held more than a hint of fire, and her gown was completely plastered to her figure, proving what he had known from the start. She was definitely female.

"Penelope," he whispered.

"Gabriel," she replied, threading her arms up around his neck and molding her soft, wet lips to his. He groaned, relaxed his grip and kissed her back, the two standing in the stream, water rushing about their waists, lost in their own little world.

How long they stayed there, Penelope did not know, but reason returned to her first. She was kissing Jarrod - in running water! Pushing him away, she scrambled onto the bank, squishing in her boots, the back of the dress conforming to her shape. "I hate you!" she yelled over her shoulder as she squelched her way back to the house.

Jarrod waited until she was well on her way to the house before he laughed out loud, startling the dogs, who had stayed behind.

Chapter 12

The joy of dressing as a young lady that Penelope had discovered in Claudette's brothel room returned that evening, at least temporarily, as she dressed for dinner.

A leisurely bath, including washing her hair with delicious, violet-scented soap, came first, after which Penelope was made to sit by the fire while Jenny, one of the dowager's maids, dried her hair and pulled it off her face with a pair of ivory combs. She was absolutely, positively not dressing for Jarrod's benefit, she told herself, even as she allowed the maid to pull the peach silk gown over her head.

"You're beautiful!" Jenny breathed as she laced her charge into the dress. "Lord Jarrod will-"

"Lord Jarrod will find himself wasting his breath," Penelope muttered, thinking about that kiss, even as she admired herself in the mirror. Just when they were getting along, why did he have to ruin everything? She vowed to speak to him that evening about efforts to locate her brother. She planned to be stubborn about the topic, but Jarrod, to her dismay, proved even more stubborn.

She came down to the drawing room just before dinner was announced, unwilling to spend a moment more in his company than she had to. This did not seem to bother him, which angered her even more.

The dinner gong sounded and Jarrod blandly escorted his grandmother into the dining room, leaving Penelope to follow on her own. At least he had the good manners and good sense to seat her at the table, but once seated, he launched into a story for his grandmother concerning people Penelope neither knew nor cared about, ignoring her completely. If the dowager suspected his motives, she said nothing, but let him ramble on through the first two courses before she finally put a stop to him.

"Jarrod," she said sweetly as dessert was served, "I have decided to go to London for the Little Season. I shall escort Penelope to Rothwell House and stay for a month." She looked at her guest and smiled. "At least long enough to see this young lady established. I believe you will be a sensation, my dear. Won't she, Jarrod?"

"Undoubtedly..." he drawled, leaving one to wonder.

"Oh?" Penelope wondered, speaking for the first time since they sat down at the table. "You don't believe I could take the ton by storm?" Her expression was one of disbelief and challenge at the same time as she waved away the proffered dessert.

"I believe, Miss Wade, that you can do anything you set your mind to. However, in this instance..."

"In this instance?"

"In this instance, if you are finished, Penelope," the dowager interjected, noting the young lady's sudden lack of appetite, "we shall retire to the dining room. At your leisure, Jarrod," she added, knowing her grandson would not enjoy sitting there alone. She was correct, and he offered his arm when they rose as one.

"I am going to forego tea, my dears." The dowager had paused in the front hall. "I will leave you here. You may visit with your guardian for a half hour, Penelope, before retiring." It was more than courting couples were allowed, she surmised, but there was something between these two this evening...

"I shall see you tomorrow before I leave, Grandmama," Jarrod said, kissing the elderly lady's cheek.

"See that you do. Good evening, Penelope."

"Your grace..."

Penelope felt like a lamb being led to slaughter as she took Jarrod's arm and allowed him to escort her to the drawing room. Not one to back down or wait for him to take the initiative, she launched into a small speech of gratitude even before he seated her on the sofa. He remained standing, after helping himself to a liberal portion from the grog tray in one corner of the room.

"My lord, I wish to thank you for saving my life last month. I know I am not exactly what one would call a model ward, but the attack, and the one before it..." She would have said more, but he held up one hand.

"You may spare me the platitudes, Miss Wade. I would caution you to have a care, though, even here in Brighton. The man I captured the night of your attack claims his accomplice is one Slippery Ned. I do not know yet who hired Ned to attack you, but I have my suspicions."

"Lady Wade?"

"Now, why would you say that?" She was his first and best guess, too.

"Who else? It is no secret she hates me. I wish I knew why. She was always jealous of the attentions my father paid to Harry, Stephen and I. Speaking of Stephen..."

"You wish to discover what happened to him ... By last account, he was dead."

Penelope gasped. "Don't you ever say Stephen is dead, do you hear me?" she all but shouted, rising from the sofa and standing directly in front of him, hands on her hips. "I know things, and I know he is not dead!"

"Shhh! My grandmother is a light sleeper."

"Let me write to Harry - I know he will believe me," she continued at a whisper. "That's the only reason he would let me go to London in the first place. Unfortunately, Harry's letter did not give his direction in Scotland."

"You may write your brother, Miss Wade, and I will frank the letter for you to the appropriate location. If you will bring it to me before ten o'clock tomorrow, I will take it with me."

"You...you're leaving?" Penelope appeared so crestfallen; it was all Jarrod could do not to take her in his arms. However, that was going to have to wait for another day. Today's incident in the stream must not be repeated, at least not over the next couple of months, for his own peace of mind.

"Tomorrow. I am leaving Franklin and Lucky here, and you may bring them with you when you return to London. I would ask you again to please be careful, Miss Wade. It's possible you may be safe here, but let's not take any chances, shall we? I would not like to see any of Claudette's creations come to any harm." Nor the charming creature wearing them.

Penelope, insulted - didn't he care about the wearer? - raised her nose in the air and stalked out of the room, telling him over her shoulder that she would retire for the evening. She was talking to him, though, and not watching where she was headed, and ran into the wall, completely missing the drawing room door. Embarrassed, she mumbled something and found her way out.

This time Jarrod did not laugh; it was all he could do not to run to her side and check her for injuries.

Jarrod left the next morning, after breakfast, which was silently eaten by his ward. Before she went fishing, though, she handed him a letter for Harry and bid him a safe journey. She watched from the woods as his carriage drove out of sight, and then she, Lucky and Rogue went to the deep pool to try to catch trout.

She sat on the bank, though, next to the hole made by his lordship's fishing pole the day before, and gazed at the place in the stream where he had kissed her.

Gabriel.

Completely ignoring her pole, and not even noting she had a bite and lost it, Penelope spent an hour just staring into space. Finally trudging back to the house, she allowed Jenny to help her change clothes and then she went downstairs in a pretty day dress of white sprigged muslin and joined the dowager for luncheon.

"You look lovely, my dear," the dowager said as they strolled into the dining room. "What do you think of this gown?"

"It is uncommonly beautiful, your grace." It was. Of lavender muslin, it was matronly without being dowdy, feminine without being overly frilly, just the type of gown one would expect of... "Claudette!"

"Why, yes! My grandson was kind enough to bring me a few new gowns. He is a very thoughtful man, as you no doubt know."

"Er, yes." Penelope wanted to know more. "Does he visit often?" The ladies were seated and a cold collation was served.

"As often as he can, which is not often enough for his lonely grandmother. Michael is a much more frequent visitor. You have met my other grandson?"

"Ah..." How did one explain that? "No, ma'am, I do not believe I have had the pleasure."

"What a pity. Michael has always been a charmer. Jarrod...well, he was rather wild in his youth, but that changed when he went into the Army."

"But why was he in the Army?" Penelope wondered. "He is the eldest, has the title, and did not have to serve."

The dowager sighed. It was a subject much discussed by herself and her daughter-in-law. "He wanted to serve," she simply said. "His mother and I were very much against it, but my son insisted he be allowed to purchase a commission. In one way, it was the making of him. He came home much matured. In another, it was his downfall. He returned mature, but broken, as if he had failed somehow. Well, this is all very maudlin, and you, no doubt, wish to speak of other things," that lady continued briskly.

Penelope, however, was deep in thought. How much of Stephen's disappearance had to do with his lordship's refusal to deal with his wards? She had never thought of it from that perspective before, but the idea had merit. Perhaps he was even more closely involved in Stephen's incident than she had surmised...

"Please, your grace, tell me what his lordship was like as a child?"

The dowager smiled indulgently. "He wasn't even a marquess then, because his father had the title at the time; my dear, late husband was still the duke, and we all lived at Wycliffe together. The house is huge, of course, and both families had their own personal suites, but it was a noisy place, filled as it was with the antics of two small boys. Boys are a right nuisance, as I can attest to, but they are never boring.

"Michael was less rambunctious than his elder brother, with a sweet nature and a cheery disposition, but Gabriel ... well, Gabriel was a handful."

"Some things never change," Penelope muttered. The sharp-eared dowager laughed.

"Yes, some things never change. However, I don't suppose one will find him hanging off the roof of Wycliffe by a rope these days, having miscalculated its length."

"He didn't!"

"Oh, yes, and then there was the time he came home to Yorkshire after a trip to London, and insisted he and Michael learn to ride horses like they do at Astley's. Michael refused to stand on the back of a riding horse, but Gabriel had no such qualms and fell and broke his arm. Two weeks later, his arm in a sling, he was back on the horse."

"What else?" Penelope begged, hungry for more details of his life. "Where did he go to school?" To her surprise, the dowager duchess frowned.

"Actually, he had tutors. Michael is the one who went to Eton and Oxford. Gabriel had a lung condition as a child and young man, and his mother did not want him leaving her. It was probably for the best, but he never had those friendships one develops when they are forced to live away from home at such a young age. That, perhaps, accounts for some of his reputation as a recluse. That did not stop him," she said acerbically, "from getting into further mischief. With Michael away, his activities stemmed from loneliness, I am certain. Also, denied a glimpse of the larger world, he began to range about more freely in his smaller one. Much to everyone's chagrin. You never saw such a lad for gambling at the local inn or drinking more than was good for him. He wasn't much in the petticoat line, thank goodness, or we would have heard about that, I am sure. Everyone for miles around was quick to point out every other little indiscretion. Then..." The dowager faltered somewhat. "Then his grandfather died, and he buckled down to his studies, began to spend time around the estate with our steward, and finally, begged to go into the Army. Difficult to realize the man leaving for war was the same boy who had been caught writing terrible limericks about the vicar on the drawing room wall. Among other things," she added dryly. "I'm warning you now, my dear, so when your own sons repeat history, you will not be surprised."

Penelope's cheeks flamed, and she looked down at her luncheon plate. "But I...that is...he would never..." The dowager's words implied something she was not quite ready to accept. As if reading her mind, the old lady chuckled.

"Don't fret, child. Everything will right itself in the end."

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