Penelope's Ploy
Fall arrived in London, just in
time for the Little Season, that period between September and mid-November when
the ton repeated the activities of its regular Season before heading off to the
country for Christmas. With the change in weather came Penelope, gowned in
Claudette originals, her hair a ladylike crop of short curls and swearing like
a sailor as the carriage pulled up to the Duke of Rothwell's residence. She did
not want to be in town, paraded around like a side of beef. She did not look
forward to becoming the wallflower she knew herself to truly be.
The fact that the dowager
duchess sat next to her in the carriage did not affect Penelope's behavior, or
lack thereof, one jot. However, she said nothing, only smiled and thought how
like Jarrod this child was, and what a remarkable marchioness she was going to
be. It did not surprise her that only an Original could have captured the
attention of her eldest grandson.
If Penelope expected a larger
reception committee than the duke and duchess, she was to be disappointed.
However, the duchess was ecstatic at the thought of shepherding Penelope
through the season.
"I cannot see that Wade
woman doing as much for the girl as I can," her grace had told his grace
that afternoon at luncheon.
The duke only nodded and read
his paper. He put the paper down again a moment later when his mother was
announced, bringing with her a tall, willowy beauty. An older, grayer version
of Jarrod, he escorted her to the table with delight as the older ladies sat
there and beamed.
"We are so pleased to
finally meet you, Miss Wade," the duchess gushed. "Are you hungry?
Might we get you something to eat before I show you to your room? Oh, and here
are two gentlemen most eager to see you, my dear."
"Harry!" Penelope
squealed as her brother came into the room. He looked tan, fit and so much more
mature than he had several months before, and she threw her arms around his
neck. "I have missed you!"
"And I you, Penelope. Let
me make you known to Lord Michael Roth, Jarrod's brother. Lord Michael, my
sister, Miss Wade."
They looked at each other in
amusement as he bowed and she curtsied.
"An honor, Miss Wade. I
look forward to the coming season, knowing you are to be a part of it."
"The pleasure is all mine,
Lord Michael."
"Michael and I are to be
your escorts this season, Penelope," Harry said. "And I know you
won't mind that Franklin is to valet for me while I am here," he added as
the duchess led them all to the drawing room and rang for tea.
"When are you and Sir Harry
moving in?" her grace asked as they were all seated.
"Moving in?" Penelope
wondered.
"Jarrod suggested they
would make better attendants if they were constantly on hand. I have to agree,
because goodness knows there may be a lack of escorts otherwise," she
added, and the duke had the grace to flush at his wife's words.
Into all of this walked Jarrod,
surveying the room before striding over to his grandmother and giving her a
kiss on the cheek. He saluted his mother in the same way, shook hands with his
father, brother and male ward, and then approached Penelope.
"Miss Wade," he said
in a deep, resonant voice. "Welcome to Rothwell House. I hope your season
is a profitable one."
Penelope wondered what he meant
by that, but only nodded. "I know I am in good hands here."
"Just so." He sat down
next to his mother and ignored her the rest of the afternoon.
And so she was ignored the rest
of the day, by the two young men in the household at any rate. Where they had
been the best of companions several months earlier, she was now relegated to
the role of proper young lady, and it did not sit well with her. Not only that,
but some adventure of theirs, possibly while they had been in Scotland, had
brought about a tight bonding, and the two were now closer than brothers.
She finally ran them to ground
that evening, well after their elders had retired, in the billiard room. Cigars
sat smouldering on trays, a bottle of port had been broached and the two were
arguing good-naturedly over whose turn it was to play.
"May I be allowed to join
you?" Penelope, who had retired earlier, had not permitted the maid to
dress her for bed, so she remained in her evening attire, a pale yellow gown
with a low neckline. She had removed her elbow-length gloves, but her short
curls were still dressed with silk flowers.
"Penelope! What the
devil!" Harry barked. "If Jarrod found you here, he would skin us
alive! Go to bed!"
Taken aback, Penelope stared at
Harry as if he were a two-headed dog. "Go to bed? Did I hear you
correctly, Harry Wade?" she tightly replied. Behind her, the ever-faithful
Lucky growled at the men.
"I think we had better let
her play," Michael quickly replied. "Neither of us wants to tangle
with that dog..."
Harry shrugged. "Grab a
stick, Pen, and I'll go first."
Penelope did not wait to be
asked twice. She took a quick drag of one of the cigars, poured herself a glass
of port and chose a cue from the large selection available.
"Gads, Pen, I did not say
make yourself at home! Put down that port!"
"No! And before either of
you says a word, may I remind you both that I am perfectly able to drink you
under this table?"
Neither said a word, and
Penelope quickly showed them both just how capable she was of beating them
soundly on top of the table, as well.
Once they had congratulated her
on her win, she graciously stepped aside and watched from a nearby chair as
they continued their game. That was where Jarrod found her a good half hour
later, wagering on the game, drinking port and puffing on the cigar she had
appropriated for her own enjoyment.
"What the devil is going on
here!" he shouted. Michael and Harry, with guilty expressions, dropped
their cues. Penelope sat there, appraising her guardian with a challenge in her
gaze, daring him to deny her.
"Michael, Harry," he
said in a deceptively smooth voice, "perhaps it is time for you to
retire." Both younger men quit the room without a backward glance.
"Penelope?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," she
apologized, fishing about on the table for an empty glass. "Port?"
"No."
"A cigar, perhaps? I have
not smoked one this age!"
"No."
"A game of billiards?"
"What would be the
purpose?"
"A wager, perhaps?"
she said in a silky voice, confident of the outcome.
"All right, then, Miss
Wade. A round of billiards. The winner may concede a favor to the one losing
the game. You may go first."
"A favor to the
winner," she agreed, "and you may go first."
"Oh, no, my dear. Ladies
first."
"All right." Penelope
began, and was doing well at first, but missed her third shot because Jarrod
always seemed to be standing where he could view her décolletage, making her
uncomfortable. She tried to pull the front of her gown up, nervously, but he
only laughed, making her feel worse. After he missed a shot, and it was her
turn once more, he did not stand across from her, but next to her, and the
scent of bay rum made her dizzy, causing her to miss the very next shot.
"Do you mind?" she
asked between clenched teeth.
"No, not at all," he
said with a laugh. He laughed again, later, when she lost the game. "Now,
for that favor."
"Yes?" She was certain
he was going to ask her to give up the billiards, cigars and port...
"Only this, Miss
Wade." He gathered her in his arms and bent her back over the billiard
table, taking her mouth in a hot, quick kiss before bringing her upright and
releasing her, striding from the room before she could even say a word.
"Good evening, Miss
Wade," he called over his shoulder. "Sleep well."
She was damned if she was going to do that!
Several weeks went by, and after
the duchess and the dowager decreed Penelope ready to face the ton, she found
herself standing on the threshold of Almack's, the holy of holies, on a
Wednesday evening.
Wearing a deceptively simple
Claudette creation of palest blue silk, with probably the lowest neckline she
had ever sported and a delicate white lace stand-up collar, she could not help
but feel underdressed amongst the rich satins and glittering jewels of her
chaperons. She wore no ornaments save a pair of small silver and blue topaz
eardrops and a matching bracelet lent to her by the duchess for the evening.
On one side of her stood tall,
blond Lord Michael, resplendent in black and white evening dress, and on the
other, a bookend except for his darker coloring, stood Harry. She laughed as
they each offered her an arm to escort her in, the dowager leading the way as
they approached Lady Jersey for an introduction.
After that they moved further
into the assembly rooms, where Penelope expected to be seated with the elder
ladies and then abandoned. As abandoned as she had been in assemblies she had
attended at home with Lady Wade. That night she was pleasantly surprised.
"Miss Wade, may I have the
honor of the first set?" Lord Michael asked.
"I believe that set is
already spoken for, pup," Jarrod interjected smoothly, appearing behind
his brother. "I would like to open the assembly with my ward."
Penelope looked up and gasped.
First, Jarrod was here after a remarked absence - since the evening of the
billiard game, actually - and now he was standing over her, absolutely
breathtaking in his evening attire.
Undaunted, Lord Michael insisted
on the second, and Harry said he would take the third. A tiny spark of hope
appeared in Penelope's breast at the thought of not having to sit out the first
three dances.
"Oh, Penelope," Harry
said. "Here is a friend of mine to meet, as well. Coddy, my sister, Miss
Wade. Penelope, Viscount Coddington."
Penelope stood and curtsied and
he bowed. "Let me make known to you my sister, Lady Juno. Juno, Harry's
sister, Miss Wade. May I also bespeak a dance, Miss Wade, and if you are not
otherwise sitting with someone at supper..."
"She is," Jarrod said.
Penelope raised one eyebrow at him, but he only said, "with her
guardian."
Penelope, being steered to
chairs away from the gentlemen by Lady Juno, did not hear.
"You look just like your
cousin!" she exclaimed. "I was so saddened by his illness ... have
you seen him since he was removed to the country?"
Penelope was startled, but quickly
recovered. "No, I'm sad to say, I am not allowed to visit..."
"In case of
infection," Lady Juno finished with a nod. "No, I suppose not. Last
spring was very much enlivened by his presence."
"No doubt," Penelope
said with a straight face. "I remember my cousin from previous visits from
Jamaica, and he was always interesting."
"Very intriguing young
man," Lady Juno mused. "And here is my first partner," she said,
nodding to an approaching man. "I am so pleased to have made your
acquaintance, Miss Wade..."
Penelope nodded graciously and
allowed an amused Jarrod to collect her for the first dance.
"Would you like to
share?" he asked, and she grinned.
"I resemble Mr. Wade much
too much for Lady Juno's fine sensibilities, for one thing," she said with
a smirk.
Jarrod was surprised. He had
thought Lady Juno too much of a nodcock to notice the resemblance. The very
strong resemblance. They made inconsequential small talk, and after the dance
ended, they were waylaid by a gentleman intent on an introduction.
"Varney," Jarrod
acknowledged, nodding to his Whitehall friend. "Lord Varney, my ward, Miss
Wade. Miss Wade, Lord Varney."
"My lord," Penelope
said smoothly, but she was surprised when he requested a dance. She added him
to her card, and was about to put him down for the waltz before supper when
Jarrod put a staying hand on her arm. "That one is mine," he said,
and directed her to a slot further up.
"Until later, Miss
Wade." Varney walked away, only to be replaced by Lord Michael, coming to
claim his dance. Penelope, who had never been collected for a dance before she
had even returned to her chair, was befuddled.
"Should I not return to
their graces first?" she asked. The two gentlemen laughed at the
expression her face, but it was Jarrod who peered into her eyes before
answering, reading both hurt and confusion.
"My god!" he
exclaimed. "You don't even know, do you?"
"Know what?" she
demanded.
"You don't even know you
are the most beautiful lady here!"
Lord Michael gave his brother an
odd look and tried to lighten the mood. "Enough of that, Gabe, or you'll
turn the chit's head and then she will never dance with me!" Taking
Penelope by the arm, she was steered reluctantly away from her guardian and
onto the floor.
"Why did he say that?"
Penelope wondered as the music began. "Why would he say something that is
patently untrue?"
Michael laughed. "Who said
it wasn't true? Gads, Penelope, don't you have a mirror? Every man here has
been clamoring for an introduction! Don't you know you make an even better
young lady than you do a young man?" he said softly.
She just shook her head and kept
dancing. It would take more than a few pretty comments to undo years of
conditioning.
Harry was an uninspired partner,
and in fact, seemed distracted to the point of only providing grunts and
non-verbal expressions to her many questions concerning his summer in Scotland.
If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he hadn't even gone.
Viscount Coddington wasn't much
better in the conversation department, she thought later, trudging through a
quadrille. All that man did the entire time they danced was stare at her as if
she were on the refreshment table.
Lord Varney, however, was much
more entertaining on the dance floor, and by time he returned her to their graces,
her cheeks were pink from exertion and her eyes sparkled with laughter. She
glowed even more when Varney brought her hand to his lips, seeing neither the
jealous look on Lord Michael's face nor the dark glower on Jarrod's.
"I have been asked to go
for a drive in the park tomorrow with Lord Varney," she told the duchess.
"Should I accept?" The duchess looked at her son, who nodded.
"Of course, child, you may.
That new carriage dress will be perfect!" Having deemed Claudette a worthy
modiste, she had declared Penelope's new wardrobe sufficient for the first few
weeks of the season and then had promptly taken her mother-in-law and son's
ward to Claudette's for more outfits.
Penelope recalled the rather
tearful greeting she had received from her friend, and the awed reception she
had afforded the duchess and dowager. It had been such a relief to see
Claudette so settled.
Franklin was at Rothwell House,
assisting Harry, but Lucky had been taken to Jarrod House instead, the duchess
being sensitive to dog hair. Penelope had asked after Carver and was told he
had been taken into service to the marquess as a courier of some sort, and she
had not pressed for a more complete answer.
The only thing left to settle,
she supposed, was herself.
Jarrod was presented to her
later that evening as a suitable partner for the waltz, and she graciously
allowed him to take her out onto the dance floor. She couldn't help but chuckle
at one point during the dance, thinking how she had been waltzing for nights on
end in the spring without any consent at all.
"Don't do that!"
Jarrod commanded.
"Do what?"
"Laugh like that," he
insisted. "How do you like your accommodations? Are my mother and
grandmother keeping you well-occupied?"
Penelope, quite distracted by
the feel of Jarrod's hand on her waist, only stared at him for a moment.
"Pardon?"
"I said, are the ladies in
my family keeping you entertained?" As his hand moved slightly against her
side at that moment, she simply stared at him again, dumbfounded.
"Don't do that!" she
commanded.
"Do what?"
"Touch me like that,"
she insisted. The dance could not end soon enough for either of them.
Toward the end of the evening,
as the duchess and dowager prepared to leave, Penelope was finally returned to
their side, having been constantly in demand as a dance partner from the moment
she walked in the door. Such success was like champagne to her brain, and she
was slightly giddy as she strolled to the entrance of the assembly rooms with
her companions.
A glimpse of Lady Wade, in the
corner talking to a dissipated older gentleman, though, caused her to stop in
her tracks, the blood draining from her face. Jarrod was instantly at her side.
The venomous look shot in her
direction by her stepmother boded ill for Penelope, but she lifted her chin
slightly, put a steadying hand on Jarrod's arm and swept out of Almack's like a
princess.
It was a practice of the day to
send or deliver flowers to those young ladies you had danced with the evening
before, and when Penelope came skipping down the stairs for breakfast the next
morning, the drawing room was already full of floral tributes.
A quick turn about the room
revealed a little posy of violets from Lord Varney and a large spray of
gladioli from Viscount Coddington. Harry had sent lilies and Lord Michael was
represented as well.
A large urn of red roses in a
corner, though, caught her attention and kept it. She held her breath, knowing
that red roses meant love - of course, they meant respect and courage as well,
but she did not think their meaning any other than the first. At least she
hoped... She read the card and let out a sigh of relief.
Jarrod had sent the roses.
Penelope was delighted, and sat down on the sofa next to the vase, staring at the boldly written name on the card. There wasn't another word on it, but she did not need anything else to show her what she must have known all along. She was in love with her guardian.
Penelope had never felt so
wanted in her life. Everywhere she went gentlemen of every shape, size and bank
account under the sun besieged her. Her three main admirers, since the evening
of Almack's, were Lord Michael, Viscount Coddington and Lord Varney. Her
guardian, however, had been conspicuously absent for more than two weeks.
"I can't imagine why he
does not call," she fussed one afternoon, tired of the men who flocked to
the Rothwell House drawing rooms, even the Triumverate, as she had dubbed her
most persistent suitors.
"Can you not?" the
dowager replied with a sly wink to her daughter-in-law. "I would have
thought it was obvious."
"Now, mother," the
duchess admonished. "The girl doesn't have a clue, and we mustn't
tease."
"I don't have a clue about
what?" Penelope asked innocently.
"See?" the duchess
said with a tender smile. "I told you," she said to the dowager.
Penelope shrugged and was called
by the Triumverate to settle a burning question. She tried to approach them
lightly, but all three made her extremely nervous.
Lord Michael looked at her like
she were a diety, and that she could not abide. It was as if he had found a
goddess, he had told her one afternoon on a ride in the park, who was not only
beautiful, but could best him in any sport she chose. Aside from making her
uncomfortable, the fact that she could best him did nothing to earn her
respect.
"Yes?" she wondered
now, striding across the drawing room in a pale blue muslin creation by her
favorite modiste. The duchess had tried working on the young lady's walk,
having deemed it too masculine, but the dowager had insisted she leave the girl
alone in the deportment department.
"Which of the three of us
shall have the honor of driving you in the park today?" Coddy asked.
"But none of you has asked
me," Penelope insisted truthfully, having never learned to be coy. Lord Michael
knew this, of course, and sat back smugly and waited. Unfortunately, Coddy and
Lord Varney thought she was playing with them, and both immediately implored
her to drive with him.
"But... No, I do not wish
to go to the park today," she finally insisted. As their visiting time had
stretched out longer than was proper, the two gentleman sadly took their leave.
"What are you looking
at?" she asked crossly when she returned to Lord Michael's side.
"I'm looking at you,
beautiful Penelope. I may call you Penelope, may I?
"No. Go away,"
Penelope said, but he only laughed.
She did the only thing she felt
suitable in this instance. She left the room, stomping off to the library for
some peace and quiet.
Jarrod slipped into his parents'
house quietly, having told the footman on duty that he would announce himself,
and went to the library. He needed to discuss some estate business with his
father, but the duke was not available.
The marquess, deciding to wait,
settled on a sofa facing away from the door and picked up the book lying next
to him. It was a book on fencing, and he laughed, imagining the way she must
have stretched out on this same leather, reading her book in front of the
fire...
Following suit, he extended his
long length along the furniture and opened the book to read.
The library door opened and
slammed a moment later, and he could hear Penelope huffing, puffing and
muttering to herself as she paced on the other side of the room. He willed her
to find him, until he heard the door open again, softly this time, and shut in
the same manner.
"Lord Michael!"
Penelope exclaimed. "I thought I asked you to go away?"
On the sofa, one of Jarrod's
eyebrows raised slightly. Dissention in the ranks? What had they quarreled
about?
"But Penelope ... Miss
Wade," he heard, "I would speak to you of an important matter."
"What is so important it
cannot be said in front of your mother and grandmother?" she demanded.
There was silence. "Well?"
"Miss Wade, it could not
have escaped your attention the marked preference I have shown for your company
these past few weeks..."
"I had noticed,"
Penelope allowed, sounding as if she refused to be mollified. "That does
not mean I have to like it."
"But Miss Wade, I want you
to like it! Please say I may ask Gabriel for permission to make you an
offer?"
Jarrod almost came off the sofa
at the pup's declaration, but something rather haughty in Penelope's voice
stayed him. He would let this play out before interfering.
"I beg your pardon? I will
do no such thing!"
"But Penelope! I mean, Miss
Wade! Can't you see? Next to you, all other females pale in comparison! How
many other young ladies of my acquaintance can I say shoot, fence, enjoy
cigars, swear and drink me under the table?" He laughed. "I sound
like a looby, don't I?"
"Well, yes." Penelope
chuckled. "Can't you see?" she echoed. "Those are not the things
you are really looking for in a wife. No one is," she added sadly,
thinking of Gabriel.
"Yes, but you are also
beautiful, smart, entertaining, adorable..."
Penelope held up a hand to stop
the flow of words.
"I beg you, please, do not
try to turn me up sweet. Besides, these things are not all that important,
either. You need someone who will listen to you, who is kind, gentle, sweet and
refined. Someone who will challenge you, yes, but not to the point of trouncing
you soundly in everything. I could not respect you if I defeated you at every
turn. In the end, you would not be able to show regard for me, either."
"I suppose you are correct.
I ... I guess I was just looking at what I wanted to see, and not the entire
picture."
"No, I suppose not,"
Penelope agreed softly. "We are still friends, though?"
"Yes, still friends. I will
see you at dinner, then?" he asked. "And perhaps later you could show
me how you managed to give us a rare trimming at billiards the other
night?"
"Billiards?" she
squeaked, thinking of that same night, but after that game, when she competed
with Jarrod. "I imagine I could... Is your brother expected to dine with
us tonight?" If Jarrod was here, there was no way she was going anywhere
near the billiard room.
"I will check with
mother," Michael instantly volunteered and went swiftly from the room.
"Actually, the thought of
billiards after dinner sounds amusing," Jarrod said suddenly from the
sofa, where he still reclined. He smiled when he heard Penelope gasp. "Why
don't we play?"
"I think not," she
said stiffly. "You heard everything?"
"Everything," his
disembodied voice assured her. "Remind me later to give my brother
instructions on the finer points of making proposals," he added with a
laugh. "One does not make an offer and then proceed to point out every
vice the lady enjoys."
"I suppose what you
consider sporting in a man is to be considered a vice for a female? I wonder
how you managed to allow your ward to get away with so many vices for so long,
then?"
"I did not know the lady in
question was my ward at the time, else I would have curtailed all such
activities immediately."
Penelope moved close enough that
she could see his Hessians propped up on the far arm of the sofa. "Is that
so? Some guardian, not to have put two and two together in the first
place!"
"Does that bother
you?" Jarrod came up off the sofa, concern written on his face. Taking one
of his surprised ward's hands in his, he patted it in an avuncular fashion.
"Penelope, please forgive me for that, and several other bacon-brained
notions I had while you were posing as Harry's cousin. I think we need to
talk."
"We do?" She allowed
him to settle her on the sofa, but he did not sit.
"A number of years ago I
bought into the army. I was happy there, and the military lifestyle had a
calming tendency on some of my, er, wilder ways. I made a number of friends,
something I had never had the chance to do before." He didn't go into any
details, but he did not need to. The dowager had seen to that.
"One of those friends was
your brother, Stephen," he continued. Penelope nodded. "Stephen was
younger than I, but we were good companions, and I valued his friendship, as, I
like to think, he did mine. Why else ask, two nights before that last battle,
if I would consent to be guardian for his younger siblings, should anything
happen?
I agreed, of course, confident
that nothing was going to happen, that such an obligation would never have to
be mine." He laughed without mirth and began pacing back and forth in
front of the hearth. "I never dreamed he would fall, never dreamed we
would never find him. One minute he was there, and the next, it was if he had
never been."
Penelope bit her lip to keep
from making a sound; tears fell silently down her cheeks.
"I searched longer than I
should have, I suppose. In the end, I had to admit defeat. Then, to make
matters worse, there were these two siblings of his that needed my attention. I
didn't want them to know I failed, nor did I need constant reminders of my
failure to find Stephen. When Lady Wade approached and offered to help, I
accepted. One less obligation, so to speak. Without even looking into the
situation!" he said loudly, as if castigating himself all over again.
Penelope jumped, but continued
to say nothing.
"Not very good reasons, I
know, for abandoning my wards, but there you have it. By refusing to fail, I
set myself up for failure all over again. You know what happened next." He
didn't look at her, and was surprised when he looked down and her hand was on
his sleeve.
"Do you now regret those
unfortunate wards?" she whispered.
"No," he said, still
looking away. "And yes, I still do," he added, not thinking of
Penelope's feelings, but of his own. If he were not her guardian...
"Oooh!" she exclaimed,
reining in a desire to kick him in the shin. "What a perfectly horrid
thing to say after you ... after we ... ooooh! Some days I really do hate
you!" she cried, and ran from the room.
She passed Michael in the hall
as she headed for the stairs.
"Penelope, good news!
Jarrod is invited to dinner!"
"Good!" she exclaimed.
"I shall be in my room the rest of the evening, but I hope he chokes on a
bone!" With a sob, she ran upstairs.
Michael went back to the
library, curious as to what had set Penelope off. He saw his brother, still
standing in front of the hearth, and began to understand.
"What did you say to
Penelope, Gabe, that got her into such a pucker?"
"Come here, pup,"
Jarrod called. "I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," he
muttered to himself. "I couldn't help but overhear your proposal to Miss
Wade."
"The devil you say!"
Jarrod just shrugged. "It
was unfortunate, but unavoidable, as I was already in here. It is not the thing
one interrupts, is it? If you're going to make it a practice to wander about
and propose to young ladies, lad, you're going to have to perfect your
speech."
"One has to have a speech?
I thought you just told the young lady what is in your heart and let it go from
there?"
"Really. Now where did you
hear that?"
"I don't rightly know. But
it sounds good to me. Now, Gabe, if you were going to propose to Miss Wade,
what would you say?"
Jarrod sat there for a moment
and gave it some thought...
Penelope, on second thought,
finished crying, dried her eyes and decided not to give her guardian the
satisfaction of seeing her in tears. She would go downstairs to the library,
collect her book and then take it, looking unconcerned, into the drawing room,
where she would sit until it was time to dress for dinner.
She followed her plan until she
got to the library door. It was open a crack, and she could hear Gabriel and
Michael discussing something inside. Pushing it open a hair more, she heard
them talking about her.
"Now, Gabe, if you were
going to propose to Miss Wade, what would you say?" Michael asked his
brother. There was absolute silence for a couple of minutes, and Penelope found
herself holding her breath.
"First, I would bring her a
gift. Not just any gift, mind you, but one of such uniqueness, no one could
ever top it in originality. It would also have to be something no one else
could ever give her. Once I have established my ability to provide the
unattainable, I would appear again at an assembly, or a ball, and secure her
hand for a waltz. But not just any waltz; it would have to take place on a
terrace, or in a garden. The setting has to be just right. Moonlight,
flowers... and after I had taken her into my arms, I would..." he paused
for a moment, unaware that both members of his audience were hanging on every
word.
"Yes?" Michael
encouraged, suddenly understanding a great deal more about his brother than he
had before. This was no hypothetical situation; this was really the way Gabe
planned to propose to his ward. "Wait a minute, Gabe! You cannot possibly
propose to Miss Wade! You are her guardian! It's not quite the thing, you
know."
"I am all too well
acquainted with that fact, Michael," he said rather coldly. "But
surely I will not be her guardian forever."
"No," he agreed.
"So then... Gabe! Two weeks! Her birthday is in two weeks' time!"
"Yes, I know. I have been
counting the days, believe me."
"Well, I'm no poacher,
Gabe, and if I had realized..."
"Quite all right, pup, I
know you did not realize, and it hasn't done Miss Wade any harm, has it? She
turned you down nicely enough. I'm more worried about you."
"Oh, I am fine. She was
right; she and I should just be friends. She will make an excellent sister,
though," he said slyly.
"Just you keep thinking
that, pup," Jarrod growled.
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