Petticoat Rebellion (19 page)

After a moment’s silence, she looked up at Abbie’s reflection in the mirror. “Kate told you,”
she said. “Well, it is true. I did exchange notes with O’Leary. I called on him and went for a drive with him, but it is Lady Penfel’s fault. She said I should have a little flirtation with him. How was I to know he would kidnap me?”

“I have heard you instruct the other girls on more than one occasion that a lady takes the blame for her own errors,”
Abbie said with a chiding look. “Lady Penfel’s advice was foolish,”
she allowed, “but that is not to say Lord Penfel should pay the price for it. You know he doesn’t love you, Lady Susan, nor do you love him.”

“People like us don’t marry for love, Miss Fairchild,”
she said proudly. “He is eligible, and I am a good match.”
Then, as they watched, Susan’s stiff face crumpled like a starched collar caught in the rain. She buried her face in her hands and began to bawl.

Abbie went to her and patted her heaving shoulders, trying to comfort her.

After a moment, Susan looked up with tears running down her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t want to marry him, Miss Fairchild! He is not at all the sort of gentleman I care for. He would not fit in at Wycliffe. He is too—trivial. You know what I mean, always joking and laughing when he should be serious. And his mama! She was a friend of Mama years ago, I know, but she must have changed greatly. What would Papa, the duke, make of her? But what will Papa say if I refuse? I’m ruined! Ruined! Oh, I wish I were dead.”

“Rubbish,”
Abbie said. She felt as if a weight had fallen from her heart, allowing it to soar. Susan didn’t want to marry Penfel. That was all she needed to know. “Everyone makes mistakes. No one knows what happened but we few here at the Hall, and we won’t tell.”

“Not a word will pass these lips, milady!”
Spadger promised, and clamped her lips together to make clear her good intentions.

“Papa will know when the case goes to court.”

“That aspect of the case need not go to court. If you are willing to overlook it, you may be sure O’Leary will not have his lawyer mention it.”

“But Farber knows.”

“Penfel will handle Farber.”

Susan turned around in her chair and looked up at Abbie, with hope shining in her pale eyes. “No one at the inn saw me. He took me straight to the cabin. Do you think—”

“I believe Penfel can arrange something.”

“There is one other thing,”
Susan said. “I wrote O’Leary a note—If there is some way I could recover it, I would be very grateful.”

“I’ll speak to Al—er, Lord Penfel this minute,”
Abbie said, and dashed downstairs.

Penfel was at the table, alone. She ran up to him,  put both arms around his neck, and placed a loud kiss on his cheek. He tried to pull her onto his lap, but she pulled back, laughing.

“And good morning to you, too, Miss Fairchild,”
he said, rising. She lightly pushed him back into his chair and sat beside him.

“It is done!”
she cried. “Lady Susan has admitted everything. Did you write to those important gentlemen in London?”

“I sent a footman off with the letters last night. Well, early this morning. I requested immediate action. We should hear today.”

“Susan admitted the whole to Kate and Annabelle last night. She did write to O’Leary and called on him, the minx. And she doesn’t want to marry you at all. That is the best part of it. She thinks you are trivial.”

He first looked offended. “The Earl of Penfel, Baron Rutcliffe and quasi-Viscount Chance trivial?”
Then he shrugged. “Perhaps she is right. I never cared much for the baron myself, but as to Lord Penfel, he is unexceptionable. I do not consider triviality my best feature! A minor virtue at best.”

“Idiot!”
Abbie said, and went to the sideboard to fill her plate. “Oh, and if you could recover Lady Susan’s
billet doux,
she would be extremely relieved.”

“I intended to include its return in the bargain. It
would be bound to resurface when the duke picks
Susan’s husband. I shall sell it to the gentleman for
a couple of hundred thousand pounds. It will be an
easy out for him.”

His grin told her he was joking. As other members of the party straggled in, they were brought up-to-date on how matters were progressing. Kate and Annabelle had spoken with Lady Susan before coming down.

“We told her it wasn’t right to make Lord Penfel marry her,”
Kate said.

“Yes indeed. Only see how horrid Lady Penfel
turned out,”
Annabelle added. Singleton made a
warning choke in his throat. She looked at him and
said, “I don’t mean her funny hair and gowns. I am
talking about how unhappy she has been all these
years. She said so herself, so what is the harm in
repeating it?”

“What harm indeed?”
John asked. “I like a lady who calls a spade a spade, and a loony a loony.”

“Well, I don’t think Lady Penfel is loony for wanting to be happy,”
Kate said. “And you should not speak so disrespectfully of your mama, John.”

A much chastened Lady Susan was the last to come to the table. Her chin, usually held high, rested on her collarbone. She was accompanied by Lady Penfel, who was smiling at the girl for the first time since her arrival.

“Lady Susan has something she would like to say to you, Algie,”
she said, nudging Susan forward.

Lady Susan wore her dutiful face. “I am sorry, Penfel, but I fear I cannot marry you after all. I hope you will not be too disappointed. You haven’t written to Papa yet, have you?”

“No, not yet,”
he replied, trying to conceal his glee beneath a grave countenance.

“Good. And you mustn’t breathe a word to Slats!”
she added to Kate and Annabelle. “Promise!”

“Not a word,”
they agreed.

Lady Susan was flattered to death to find herself the center of Kate’s and Annabelle’s friendly attention. They had always respected her elevated social position, but now she felt they actually liked her. They were treating her as one of themselves, as a friend, and after she had made a fool of herself. How kind they were! The unusual acceptance made her cheeks pink with pleasure. She actually laughed, and didn’t deliver a single lecture during the whole breakfast.

After they had eaten, the girls went gossiping off together, merry as grigs.

Lady Penfel looked around the table and smiled. “Well, it did her a world of good to heed my advice. All she needed was a little wickedness in her life, poor girl. She looks better already, with a smile instead of that wretched Wycliffe poker face. Would it not be odd if you fell in love with her after all, Algie, and we all going to such pains to free you from her?”

“Very odd, indeed, Mama,”
he agreed, with a laughing eye at Abbie.

“Mind you before you go cropping out into a proposal, don’t forget there is still Wycliffe and all those boring relatives to be considered.”

“To say nothing of Miss Fairchild,”
Penfel added.

“But she would not be accompanying Susan after the gel leaves school.”
She regarded Abbie critically. “And really Miss Fairychild is not so bad, once one gets used to her.”

“Would it not be odd if Algie fell in love with Miss Fairchild?”
Lord John suggested, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“At least we need not worry about that! I trust he has learned his lesson,”
her ladyship said, and began to eat her gammon and eggs.

She realized, after a little pause, that her sons were laughing at her. “What are you two whelps snickering about? Very unattractive to see grown men giggling like schoolgirls. What is so humorous, pray?”

Strangely, it was Mr. Singleton who undertook to explain the matter, in his own abbreviated fashion, “Penfel—Miss Fairchild—April and May.”

Her ladyship squinted up at Abbie’s blushing face and nodded. “She’ll do. You parcel of whelps will need a stern lady to keep you in line. I have done the best I can with them, Miss Fairly. Age wants ease. Now it is up to you.”

Penfel was busy the next day wrapping up the details of the O’Leary business. Lady Susan’s letter was returned to her and burned with great ceremony in her grate, with Kate and Annabelle looking on. Lord Eldon proved amenable in the matter of moderating O’Leary’s sentence for robbery. As well, there was the circus to be got rid of. With the manager in jail, it promised to be a daunting task.

Sadie Hutchins heard the story of O’Leary’s arrest before she had got beyond the village. She immediately returned and dashed off a note to Lord Penfel requesting him to call on her at the tent, where she suggested a means of disposing of the circus to their mutual advantage.

“Seems a shame to bust up the show. You wouldn’t believe what a lot of work it is getting a thing like this together. Elephants and bears don’t grow on trees. And there is a decent living in it, even without the ken smashing. So here is what I suggest. I run the show until O’Leary gets out of Newgate. I can talk him into agreeing. That way, we can all keep our jobs, and you don’t have elephants and tigers running about your estate, scaring the servants and horses to death.”

“I approve, but I really have nothing to say about it, Sadie. You’ll have to discuss it with O’Leary. Take a lawyer along to see it is done legally. That is my advice.”

“I will, then. We’ll be out of here by the weekend, if you can put up with us that long.”

“It has been my pleasure, Sadie.”

He hastened back to the Hall to see how preparations for the girls’
dancing party were progressing. His mama and Abbie were in the ballroom, overseeing the placement of large baskets of flowers and two dozen bentwood chairs around the walls for the older guests.

“We have chosen well, Algie,”
Lady Penfel said to her son. “Addie will make us a dandy mistress.”
Penfel cast a wan, apologetic smile on his beloved. It seemed hard that, having reached a first-name basis with Abbie, his mama was now butchering it, as well as her last name.

His mama continued, “I have been telling her how we like things done at our little parties, and she has agreed to stay and do the work while I take a nip down to the circus. I am wondering if I could not borrow the tiger to sit at my feet for my portrait.”

“Fine, Mama. Where is Susan?”
he asked.

“The youngsters are in the attic, rigging themselves out as pirates and queens and soldiers. We have decided to have a second party before they leave and make it a masquerade do. I want to wear my ‘Cleopatra after Actium’
outfit. I don’t want you or Johnnie wearing that set of scarlet regimentals in the attic, or Susan will go tumbling into love with you. I feel it was O’Leary’s Circus uniform that got to her. A man in uniform always works his way with the ladies. Well, if you don’t need me here, Annie, I shall run along.”
She pulled a rose from a bouquet to stick in her curls and left, humming.

“The difficulty of remembering your name will be over once you are Lady Penfel,”
Algie said, by way of apology.

“Stoopid! How can she call me Lady Penfel when she is called that? I don’t really care what she calls me, Algie, as long as she likes me.”

“How could she not?”
he asked, gazing into her eyes. A smile moved the corners of his lips. “You are relieving her of the onerous duty of watching the servants work, thus freeing her to run down to the circus and buy the tiger. Of course she loves you.”

Penfel and Abbie were not so gauche as to announce their engagement hard on the heels of Susan’s difficulties, but there was a whiff of it in the air. On the evening of the dancing party, Lady Susan instructed Spadger to attend to Miss Fairchild’s toilette first. Miss Fenshaw had offered to do Susan’s hair.

“That was thoughtful of Susan. A real lady, give her that,”
Spadger said, as she arranged Abbie’s chestnut curls in an attractive bundle on top of her head. “When will you be leaving Miss Slatkin, Miss Fairchild, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I shall notify her immediately upon my return, and give her time to find someone to replace me.”

“She’ll never believe it. Won’t the other schoolmistresses stand up and cheer to hear such a one as themselves can nab a lord? Just like a penny novel, innit? Not to say you were ever really like the rest of them. A very superior lady. Miss Slatkin herself always said so, and I’m sure I agreed. Here, let me fasten up your gown, miss. I fancy you’ll be wanting a dresser when you are a grand lady?”

“I suppose I will. I never thought of it.”

“
‘Twould be nice to have an old friend about,”
Spadger said leadingly.

“Yes, but who—Oh, Spadger, would you?”

Spadger colored up like a bride and admitted as how she was getting a bit weak in the knees for trotting about, picking up after a dozen girls. “But still plenty young enough to look after yourself, madam.”

Abbie had shot up from miss to madam in a breath. It gave her an unsettling foretaste of how her life was about to change. No more tedious hours listening to the siege of Mysore. No more tirades from Miss Slatkin for having spent too much money on art paper. No more pinching pennies to be able to afford her own pigments and canvas.

Her face looked different, when she gazed at herself in the mirror. The hairdo was more stylish, of course, but it was not that. It was the joyful smile that had replaced her customary air of worry, and most of all, the love gleaming in her eyes. She modestly allowed that her inner glow made her look almost pretty, even in her plain dark green gown. Soon she would have more elegant gowns.

Penfel was awaiting her when she took the girls downstairs.

All he said was “Charming,”
but his smile and the way his eyes lingered on her separate features said the rest.

Dinner was a lively meal, with Lady Penfel praising herself for her imaginary part in handling O’Leary. “Remember how I warned you gels against him the minute I clapped an eye on him? Oh, I knew that one was going to be trouble.”

“Yes, shameful that he has been robbing so many innocent people,”
Penfel said dampingly, to remind her his other crime was officially forgotten.

Abbie was astonished to hear Lord Sylvester announced when the family party had assembled in the saloon to await the arrival of the guests. He had made the ten-mile trip with his host, Mr. Sheridan. Sylvester would have been recognized as a Wycliffe even without the announcement. He had the long, pale Wycliffe face and proud demeanor. Mr. Sheridan, on the other hand, was a very dasher.