Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (20 page)

Chapter Twenty

They were nearing the outskirts of a village, so they must be near Dunstable. She could make out thatched roof cottages and fences made of piled-up stones. Penelope stretched her aching limbs and yawned hugely. She had never driven this far this fast before. Once they changed horses in Northampton, Pierce had chosen to ride on the box with the coachman, and bade him not to spare the whip any longer. Accustomed to traveling at a leisurely pace, and with every material comfort cared for, it was now certain that luxury had its charms. She could not wait for a steaming hot bath in her own rooms, her favorite oolong tea steeping in her Limoges teapot with the violets hand painted on each side. These creature comforts would soothe her bruised spirit. They wouldn't mend her broken heart, but they would feel quite refreshing after such a long, hard journey.

Pierce had informed her, in a terse and terrible voice that he would inquire of Cicely at the first cottage they came to. And so, as the outlines of the thatched cottages grew bigger as they drew nearer, the carriage slowed to a halt. She didn't like for Pierce to be the one going in and making inquiries. For heaven's sake, she could do that herself. But she was sick to death of fighting him, and her sensibilities ran rampant in his presence, so it was better to avoid contact with him altogether.

Pierce muttered a few words to the coachman and alit, his booted footsteps thudding across the dirt path that led up to the cottage door. He knocked, the movement of his raised arm sending the muscles of his back rippling, even under the fabric of his jacket. Penelope shook her head. She was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. Even when furious at him, and poised to leave him for good, she could not deny her attraction to the man.

The door opened a crack, and then wider, swallowing Pierce inside. Penelope pressed her face against the glass of the carriage window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside. But the flickering light of the carriage lamps illuminated nothing, and there was no moon to shed light on the scene, either. So she could do nothing but wait.

The seconds stretched out before her, and she drummed her fingers impatiently against the window ledge. Her heart beat a nervous tattoo. Why hadn't he come back? Surely the cottagers inside would have told him by now whether or not they knew Cicely. There was no reason for this visit to take so long. So what was transpiring? Was Pierce all right? Had he been harmed in some manner? Perhaps Cicely's disappearance was more sinister than they had originally guessed.

She gathered her cloak more tightly about her. She would have to go in after Pierce, that's all there was to the matter.

She laid her hand on the door latch when it moved under her touch. She scuttled back onto the cushions and untied her cloak as Pierce opened the door. It would never do for him to realize she was about to brave any possible ruffians to come to his rescue.

"Penelope." His voice was quiet and dark. He looked at her from underneath his brows, his face slightly pale. "She is here."

"Cicely
?" Penelope drew on her cloak again, her fingers trembling. "Is she all right?" After the past few weeks of endless searching, 'twas almost too good to be true.

Pierce shook his head. "You had better come inside." He extended his hand to her and helped her alight.

Was Cicely ill, or injured? Penelope landed on the packed earth with a thud and ran to the cottage, not bothering to knock before she burst through the rickety front door. Cicely was there, sitting before a log fire, her long hair unbound, her curls tumbling down her back. Something wasn't right about her. Penelope skidded to a halt, staring at her maid. Cicely was decidedly bigger than she had been before she left—all womanly curves. Her faded calico dress hugged her rounded belly.

"Cicely
, my dear
?" It was Cicely, it couldn't be anyone else. But she looked so different…

"My lady?" Cicely rose, cupping one hand over her stomach. "What happened to your hair? Why are you dressed in that fashion?"

"I've been trying to find you everywhere!" Penelope enfolded her in a warm embrace. Goodness, Cicely had gotten positively corpulent. "This was part of a disguise I had
to wear to track you down. My dear
, you have no idea what I've been through to find you. Why on earth did you disappear like that? Without a word? You scared me to death."

Cicely drew back from Penelope's arms, her eyes downcast and the color in her cheeks rising. "My lady—I found myself with child. And I came here to Aunt Bea—first to see if I could rid myself of it, but then found I could not. And so, I stayed for my confinement." She looked up at Penelope, tears sparkling in her eyes. "I meant to come for just a few days. Aunt Bea has helped many other girls who find themselves in trouble. But I was too far along, and so I decided to stay here and have my baby."

The cottage door opened and shut, admitting a disheveled-looking Pierce.

"Who is that gentleman?" Cicely asked, turning away from her mistress.

"Pierce Howe, at your service, miss," Pierce replied with a bow.

"He's a thief-taker. I employed him to help me find you," Penelope replied shortly. "You have no idea what we have been through, Cice. We tried finding you through the Barclay Agency, and then a dreadful house party in Derbyshire…"

"Oh, no—the Barclay?" Cicely paled, and sat back on the bench before the fire rather abruptly. "Then you know about my cousin Emma."

"Yes, we've met Emma." Penelope sank down beside Cicely. "In fact, she was the person who pointed us toward Aunt Bea's cottage in Dunstable. Had we not spoken to Emma, we might never have found you."

Cicely shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I was so ashamed, my lady. When I went to the Barclay with Emma, it was just to help her find a position. I thought it was a reputable place, until we found out the truth. When I knew what it was, I left as quickly as I could. But Emma's head was turned, your ladyship. They promised her pretty gowns, and food to eat, and all the money to buy trinkets she could hope for. And so she stayed, even though I told her not to."

"And you never thought to ask me for help?" Penelope could not hide her incredulity. "I would have given Emma a job. I would have helped you through your pregnancy." She patted Cicely's back gently. "Why did you feel the need to run away?"

"I know you would have helped me, my lady," Cicely sobbed. "Emma wouldn't listen. She wanted to make lots of blunt as quickly as she could, and she didn't want to be a servant to anyone. And I thought I could get rid of the baby before anyone had to know. But I was too late." She buried her face in her apron and wept.

Penelope wrapped her arms around Cicely's rotund form and held her c
lose, rocking her gently. "Hush
. It's all right. Everything will be fine. You'll have your darling baby, and then you can both come and live in my household again."

Cicely sniffled, raising her tear-streaked face to Penelope's. "Are you certain, my lady? I am so ashamed. I've brought dishonor on your house and on my family."

Penelope sighed. "Oh, rubbish. You are a good girl and one of my most trusted confidants. I'm just happy to know you are alive and well. Did you know that I thought you had been kidnapped by ruffians, or forced into slavery by some infamous nobleman? I am just d
elighted that you are fine
. We'll turn the third floor parlor suite into a nursery and bedroom just for you and your little one."

Cicely shook her head. "That's too generous, my lady. And I am not sure yet if I will keep the babe."

"Why wouldn't you?" Penelope could hardly believe her ears.  "A darling baby will be such a delight in our household. Come, we'll go back home. We can strike out now, or first thing in the morning. You'll stay in comfort in my home and I'll make sure you have the best of everything, including a doctor's care." She looked askance at Aunt Bea, huddled in a corner. "Not that you don't have good care now—but I feel responsible for you."

"No, thank you, my lady. I shall stay here for my confinement, if I may. I will be well taken care of, and I don't wish to come back to London until I look…more like myself. I don't wish anyone to know that I had a baby."

Penelope shrugged. After all this work—after all this fear—after making this incredible journey—was Cicely actually refusing to come home?

***

Penelope's frustration was palpable. There was nothing to do but step in, as usual. Pierce cleared his throat. "I assume by your reluctance to come back to London, that there is something else going on. Does the father know?"

Penelope's head snapped around and she favored him with a withering stare. That might work on some of those society pups, or that milquetoast she married, but it wouldn't deter him. He raised one eyebrow at Penelope and repeated the question. "Does the father know?"

"No." If Cicely shared her mistress' affronted feelings, she did not let them show. "I haven't told a soul. I didn't even tell Emma. I only told Aunt Bea, because she was the one person on this earth who could help me out of this mess."

"I see." Pierce turned to Penelope. "If she hasn’t told the young man who fathered the babe, then it would make no sense for her to return to London. I suggest you make her comfortable here in Dunstable among her family, and then allow her to return to London after she has had the child."

As he spoke, he traced the outline of Penelope's figure with his eyes. All the times they had made love, he never exercised caution or restraint. Was it possible that, even now, she was carrying his child? A raw emotion swept through his being, leaving him shaken. How would Penelope look, her lovely curves ripened and her taut belly rounded with child? He suppressed the mad urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss away her ill temper.

The object of his desire rounded on him, her red hair glinting in the firelight. "If that's what Cicely wants, then it shall be so," she snapped. Then she turned back to Cicely. "Cice, don't you feel like the father should know, at least? I understand if you are still undecided about keeping the child, but surely the father should be part of that decision."

His heart surged with triumph. That was his Penelope, through and through. Having been a victim of deception for so long, she would always treat others with the utmost honesty. If she were carrying his child, she would tell him so. It might kill her to admit it, and she would certainly be furious, but she would never leave him in the dark about something so precious. And that's why he loved her.

He loved Penelope. He knew it now. He had suspected it before the stag party, but when she vanished without him, his heart ached as though it were rented into two pieces. And until he caught up with her carriage, he had stumbled about in a furious daze.

"It's Tom, isn't it?" Penelope whispered.

"Of course it's Tom's baby." Cicely wrapped her arms around her middle and closed her eyes. "He and I been together for a long time, my lady. And we wanted to get married some day. But Tom—he's proud, and doesn't want me to work anymore after we wed. But he only makes a little bit of money as a stable lad. And so, we just couldn't figure out how to wed each other without enough blunt set aside." She heaved a long, shuddering sigh. "We-we couldn’t wait on everything though. And of course, I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar."

How well he understood that. He couldn't even wait a full week before having his own taste of Penelope. She must have been thinking of that too—her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink in the firelight.

"I can't tell Tom about this," Cicely continued. "He barely makes enough to live on as it is. Providing for a baby—he can't afford it, my lady, truly he can't. But he would feel obligated to, and then he'd be working ever so hard…" She trailed off and began sobbing again. "I don't want to make things harder for him. I love him so much."

Penelope sighed and wrapped her arm around Cicely's shaking shoulders. "You sh
all do exactly as you wish
. I am so sorry that this happened, but I promise all will be well. Do you want to stay in Dunstable for the remainder of your confinement?"

The miserable servant nodded despondently.

"Then I shall arrange it. You shall have your own cottage and a servant to look after your needs. I will make all the arrangements on the morrow. And I shall come and see you as often as you can bear it." Penelope smiled, but the warmth of her smile did not reach her lovely emerald eyes. "When you are feeling better, you can decide if you want to tell Tom and if you want to keep the baby or not. Does that sound like a good plan?"

"Yes, my lady. You are too good to me, my lady." Cicely withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose.

"I would like to have leave to tell Tom something of your whereabouts," Pierce added. Penelope turned towards him again, her emerald eyes snapping. "What?" he challenged. "The young lad was half out of his mind with worry. We owe it to him to at least let him know that Cicely is all right."

Cicely nodded. "Poor Tom. I didn't mean to upset him. I only wanted to spare him pain, not cause it." She wiped her nose and stuffed the handkerchief back into her sleeve. "You may tell him that I am visiting a sick aunt in Dunstable, Mr. Howe. If you could make it sound like a sudden thing, an emergency—perhaps he won't suspect anything."