Love Forever After Page 2

  This time, Penelope did gesture eloquently. “Baroness. Penelope, Baroness Wyndgate, if you please.”

  Chapter 2

  Graham, Viscount Trevelyan studied his too-slender hostess in her outdated, girlishly modest white gown and felt the first stirring of an outrageous idea. It had been a long time since any woman had captured his jaded interest, but charming as she was, it was more Lady Penelope’s background than her person that fascinated him.

  “A title and good looks will give you entree to most of London’s fashionable houses. Why are you not whirling about the city, setting your cap for a wealthy young man?”

  The baroness sent him an amused look as she poured the tea. “Putting aside your flattery, wouldn’t I make quite a sight whirling about the city in this gown? Provincial that I am, even I am aware the fashions have changed. And I am much too old to be setting my cap for a young man. Any day now I expect to retire to one.”

  “Too old?” He raised his unscarred eyebrow. “Then I had best make my funeral arrangements whilst I can still toddle about. You are funning me.”

  A knock at the door intruded. Before she could rise to answer it, the door exploded open. Two golden-haired children tumbled laughingly into the passage, followed by their harried mother who peeped around the corner into the parlor. Spying Penelope first, she gave a visible sigh of relief while the two youngsters raced down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Penny! I am so glad you are here. I must go into the village. . .” She stopped at the sight of Trevelyan, even though he’d turned back to the fire. “Oh, I am sorry, you have company. Excuse me, the twins begged so, but I’ll gather them up. . .”

  “Fustian! The twins will be fine here. Mr. Trevelyan has injured his horse and himself and is resting before traveling on to the manor. If you would, when you are in the village, have one of the Widow Baker’s boys carry a message out to the manor telling them where he is and that he will arrive as soon as his horse is shod. Is there any other message you need send, sir?” She turned to her guest.

  “No, that is much more than is necessary. They will not worry about me.” Trevelyan acknowledged the other woman’s presence without revealing his face. “I will thank you in advance should you stop by the smithy and be certain two small boys are warned again not to ride Thor.”

  “Of course, sir. I will be more than happy to. I will tell the twins to remain in the kitchen and not trouble you.” The woman sent Penelope an anxious, puzzled look.

  The twins erupted into the room again, each holding a sugary biscuit in one hand. “Penny! Play games with us!”

  Trevelyan flinched, but his hostess grasped the empty hands of both six-year olds and steered them toward the door. “Kiss Mama good-bye first, then sit yourselves properly on the settee where you belong.”

  Obediently the twins did as told, and their mother was persuaded to take her leave.

  When Penny returned to the parlor, the twins were happily whispering between themselves. Trevelyan had retreated entirely behind the chair back, not easy for a man his size to do.

  “John, Janie, I have company for tea today so I cannot play. Do you wish to sit with Gusta and play with the kittens or stay and have tea like a proper lady and gentleman?”

  Janie’s eyes widened to blue saucers. “We can have tea and scones and sit in the front parlor? May I pour tea?”

  Her brother gave her a look of irritation. “Who wants to sit in an old parlor? I want to play with the kittens.”

  “Very well, John, go on back to the kitchen and tell Augusta we will need another setting in here.”

  When the boy ran off, Penelope took a deep breath and muttered a silent prayer before introducing the terrifying gentleman to the little girl. He would not like it, she already knew, but she would not turn away old friends for new. “Janie, I would like you to meet Mr. Trevelyan, my friend. He has been in an accident and hurt his face. You may pour tea when Augusta brings the cup and saucer.”

  Speaking in firm, no-nonsense tones, she answered Janie’s questions before they could be asked and diverted her attention before she could stare. The little girl bobbed a curtsy before the silver-haired gentleman, gave his crumpled face a look of curiosity, then climbed up in the chair Penelope pulled up for her. She crossed her hands politely in her lap and waited for Penelope to sit.

  “May I have a scone now or must I wait for Gusta?”

  Trevelyan watched in apparent fascination as the golden-haired hoyden turned to model child. Even the child’s surreptitious glances toward him did not divert his captivation.

  “You are very quiet, Mr. Trevelyan. Have I offended you by inviting another guest? We are a most informal household, if you have not already surmised.”

  “No, I am not offended, merely amazed. How do you do it? It is as if you wave a magic wand and turn little monsters into fairy creatures. I have never seen the like.”

  Janie took umbrage at what she perceived to be a slur to her best behavior. “I am not no little monster. Aunt Penny says I am a fallen angel.”

  Penelope covered her laughter with one hand and sent a look of amusement to her guest, who received it in the same spirit. A grin twisted his mouth.

  “You most certainly are, Miss Jane. I have a daughter just about your age, so I know all about angels.”

  “You do? Can she come play with me sometime?”

  It had been a long time since Trevelyan had shared laughter with anyone, man or woman, and the comfort of this tiny cottage relaxed his usual wariness. Even as he chatted nonsense with the little girl, he felt the lady’s questioning gaze on him. He did not attempt to explain. There was plenty of time to do so in the future.

  When he finally departed the enchanted cottage and arrived at the manor in time for a late dinner, he set about finding the answers to his questions. The Stanhopes were both family and friends, and he had no fear of their sympathy or horror.

  His sister entered the study to perch on the arm of his chair and kiss his hair as he finished his brandy. “The city must be dreadful this year to bring you all the way out here. You never visit, you know. How is Alexandra?”

  “Well, as usual, and you are blooming, Adelaide. Married life suits you, though how you can isolate yourself out here I cannot know.”

  “Fie! I know you too well, Trev. You adore the Hall, and if it were not for your evil pursuits in the city, you would bury yourself alive in the country. If you wished to escape London, what brings you here instead of home?”

  “That is a cruel taunt, Adelaide, and you know it. The Hall is yours anytime you want it. I cannot go home again. Let us change the subject. I notice you have invited any number of your illustrious neighbors for the evening. Why do you not invite the baroness?”

  “The baroness?” Adelaide looked momentarily bewildered. Younger than him by some years, she still had a child’s blond fairness, though her face spoke of mature intelligence. “Oh, you mean the vicar’s daughter! Whatever made you ask of her?”

  “I will tell the story later. I did not mistake, she is a baroness is she not?”

  “Oh, you did not mistake. She comes of very good family, very few of them left now, I understand. The father was a younger son of a younger son or some such when he became vicar. Carlisle unexpectedly inherited the Wyndgate title and a small sum a few years back. Hied himself off to London where he drank and gambled to excess and was scarcely seen again until they carried him back in a coffin. I don’t know why Lord Chase never turned the Carlisles out of the vicarage. I suppose Chase never was much of one for religion. The new Lord Chase is a different story, I hear. Now that you bring the thought to mind, I heard some mention young Samuel was asking around about a man suitable for the position. He’s rebuilding that little church over the hill, you know. Oh, dear, I wonder where that will leave the little baroness?”

  Years of his sister’s company had taught Trevelyan to sift through the maze of her thoughts and follow their direction. He did not like to think of that cheerful cottage in
the hands of some stiff-necked parson, but that seemed to be the message Adelaide conveyed.

  “I daresay she has relations to go to if worse comes to worst, but you have not answered my question. Why did you not invite the baroness this evening?”

  Adelaide ruffled his hair and rose. “I sometimes think the accident muddled your brains more than your face, big brother. I may invite her as much as I like, but she will not come because she has no clothes. Now make yourself at home and quit scowling like some ferocious beast. Lady Chatham just glanced in here, and she looks ready to faint.”

  Penelope expressed no surprise when Graham Trevelyan appeared on her doorstep the next morning. Over a spirited game of chess, he gave her the latest gossip of the courtship between Princess Charlotte and the Prince of Orange, and she advised him of the best place in the village to send mending and to obtain medicinal herbs.

  When he appeared a second and third day, Penelope’s curiosity almost overcame her good breeding. She had learned that this oddly reclusive man disliked meeting strangers and hated to be an object of pity or rude attention, but the steady stream of visitors through the cottage did not seem to deter his visits. She sensed his need for companionship, but surely the manor folk could give him that. Whatever his reason, she enjoyed the diversion, and she welcomed him, until the day she refused a written invitation to Stanhope Manor.

  She heard the furious gallop of his horse but did not anticipate the angry gleam of his golden eye when she answered his knock.

  Stalking into the passageway and slamming the door behind him, Trevelyan waved the letter with her refusal beneath her nose. “Why? Is this an example of country manners? I may visit here but you may not visit me? I thought to offer you some recompense for the hospitality you have bestowed upon me, and this is what I receive in reply?”

  “Do come in, Lord Trevelyan.” Penelope expressed her anger with irony, emphasizing the title she had learned not from him but from gossip. “Or will you no longer darken my doorstep because I cannot cross yours?”

  “Cannot? Or will not? Has my family caused some offense that you cannot accept an honest invitation? I offered to send around a carriage so you need not walk the distance. I even asked that you bring Augusta so you could be certain I had no evil intent. Why can you not cross my doorstep?”

  His rage carried him into the parlor where the combination of his massive size, swirling cloak, and heavy walking stick threatened the row of figurines on the bric-a-brac. He wore his silver hair much too long for the current style, and it escaped about his forehead in wild dishevelment, emphasizing more than ever his resemblance to a maimed lion.

  “Upon my word, my lord, you will make yourself ill before you terrify me. Roaring may work very well with frightened servants, but do not try it here. I have excused you much, but I will not excuse your rudeness in my own home. There is no law anywhere that compels me to accept your invitation as if it were a royal summons. You have received all the answer I intend to give and more than you deserve. Good day, sir.”

  Penelope stalked out of the room, leaving him to dismiss himself.

  She buried her face in her hands as the front door slammed. Pride goeth before a fall, they said, and her fall would be a mighty one if the height of her pride served as any measure. But she could not bear the titters of the manor’s inhabitants as the Baroness Wyndgate was introduced as a country mouse wearing threadbare skirts. She did not mind her looks so much on her own ground, but to be laughed at by people who were supposed to be her equals was more than pride could allow.

  She hoped she had not wounded the viscount’s feelings too badly. He meant well, she was certain, and obviously he had been hurt many times before to act with such rage, but she simply could not countenance his behavior. He had been less than honest with her by not giving his full title, as if she would have taken advantage if she had known. He had been given what he deserved, but she could not help be happy about it.

  The next day, the winds of gossip brought the first harbinger of disaster. Penelope set aside concern over the viscount’s absence, and before she worked herself into a panic, strode across the fields to confront Lord Samuel Chase.

  After an hour in his company, Penelope reeled from the mansion in shock. She did not know how she ended up wandering up the hill to the orchard once again. This time, the mist was more of a drizzle, but she scarcely felt the damp as she stared over the familiar vista. From here she could see all of the countryside, the village like little toy houses in the distance, the vicarage just beyond that grove of trees. A welcoming swirl of smoke drifted from the chimney, and she nearly cried at the thought of never seeing that cheery kitchen again.

  Lead lay where her heart belonged. The vicarage was her home. Augusta was her family. How could she part from both of them? How would she tell Augusta she no longer had a home?

  That hurt the worst. There had to be a way. No one could be so cruel as to tear an old lady from the only home she had ever known.

  But his very pious lordship had not sounded particularly concerned for the fate of a single old woman in the face of his grandiose plans of restoring church and faith to these benighted denizens.

  The twig she held between her fingers snapped. Her life had been one series of blows after another, but she had always had the cottage and Augusta’s shoulder to cry on. What cruel fate had stripped her of what little she had left?

  A different fate in the form of a shadowy hulk materialized out of the mist. This time, however, Penelope knew his name, and she did not bother to approach him. She did not need one more humiliation this day.

  The viscount placed his weight on the walking stick and dragged his stiff leg until he reached Penelope’s side.

  “You have heard,” he stated without preamble.

  “Was I the last to know?” she asked bitterly. “Did you stay to watch me fall or help to bring me down?”

  “That’s unfair, Penelope.” It was the first time he had called her by her given name. “I heard rumors that first night. It is not easy for me to make acquaintance with strangers, but I have spent these last few days trying to talk him out of it. Lord Chase is quite a determined young man.”

  Her eyes filled with tears as she turned them to his scarred but troubled visage. “The cottage is his. I have struggled to pay the rent on it for years. I cannot say he is wrong in asking us to leave, but how can I tell Augusta? She came there when she was but a child. She knows no other place. I can go to one of my cousins, I suppose. They might resent another mouth to feed, but I can make myself useful. What promise can I make of that for Augusta? She is old and frail. To uproot her would be cruel enough. To force her to work in a stranger’s home and be treated as a servant would break her heart.” She choked back a sob and turned away.

  “His noble lordship has granted that if he sells the cottage, it will enable him to build a new and better one closer to the church,” Trevelyan said.

  Penelope uttered a hopeless laugh. “Fine, and would he sell it for what I pay in rent each year? Would that buy him a nice, new vicarage for his pious parson? Do you know how many dozens of eggs, how many pints of jam it takes to make that rent? If it were not for the small sum my mother left for me, we would starve. And even that small sum cannot buy a house.”

  The viscount looked prepared to be stoned as he replied, “I could buy it for you.”

  Penelope threw him an incredulous look, then shook her head in anguish, and started down the path to the cottage. “I thank you for the thought, but you know I cannot allow that.”

  Trevelyan could not keep up with her hasty steps. Instead, he hoped she would hear him before he had time to change his mind. “You could if you were my wife.”

  Penelope’s steps slowed. She sank to a fallen log and wrapped her arms around her knees.

  Understanding her dilemma, Trevelyan eased into a position against the tree in front of her. She wore no hood or bonnet as usual, and rain dripped from a loosened curl. She had lost the sparkle of lif
e he had so admired. He knew what little he had to offer would not return her joy, but it was a choice, of sorts.

  “You do not need to answer immediately. I have had all week to think of it and you have not. I understand Lord Chase has not yet promised the vicarage to anyone. There is time.”

  “All week?” Penelope peered upward. “You courted me all week, knowing this day might come?”

  Keeping his scarred face in shadow, Trevelyan tried to explain. “I told you I have a daughter. She has never known a mother, only a succession of housekeepers and nannies and governesses. Because I was so long in recovering from my injuries, she scarcely knows me, and I terrify her. She is a very quiet, sensitive child, and she quails at the sight of me. She needs a mother. She needs someone permanent in her life, as you have Augusta. Should anything happen to me, she would have no one. You offer the perfect solution, Penelope. You were meant to be a mother. Can you not consider my daughter a little when you decide our fate?”

  He had no right to force her to make such choices.

  But force her, he did.

  Chapter 3

  The gilt-framed looking glass reflected a white face and shoulders above an even whiter lace-edged night shift. Distraught, Penelope wondered if this day had finally made a ghost of her. She pinched her thin cheeks and a spot of red appeared, but in the light of two tapers, the effect did not enhance her complexion.

  Strands of gold glinted through her pale brown hair, and she wondered if she ought to let down her heavy chignon or plait it as she usually did before retiring. She desperately tried to recall the few romances she had read, but she had no memory of one mentioning what happened to the heroine’s hair on her wedding night.

  She began removing pins while watching the closed door to the next chamber, fearful of the moment when that door should open. She jumped at every imagined noise, and the thick strands of her hair were soon knotted and unmanageable.