An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) (13 page)

“I do not know,” he mouthed back and shrugged, looking about the surrounding area.

The butler appeared from the servants’ hallway. Then from the corridor, where David and Penny had just entered the foyer, came Mrs. Shore and Cook. The servants stood blocking the front door, the staircase, and the main corridor.

David had the distinct impression he was about to witness a mutiny. That couldn’t have been right. “What’s going on? What’s all this about, Woodsworth?”

“Sir,” the butler addressed David, then turned his head toward Penny and with a distinct nod uttered, “Ma’am. If I may suggest we remove to the front parlor for privacy?”

“Privacy?” David couldn’t dash-well argue with the butler and have his voice echo throughout the house. The idea of disturbing his grandmother was unthinkable. Under no circumstances should Gran learn of this outrage. David glanced at the stalwart trio. Observing their determination to have their say, he replied, “Oh, I see. Very well. Let us remove to the parlor, shall we? My dear?” He held out his arm to escort Penny, which she accepted, and led the way.

“What’s—David?” Penny whispered.

“I have no idea,” he returned in a hush. David moved to the hearth, turned, and faced all those who had followed. He made the decision not to sit while in their presence. All would face one another, all on equal ground.

The butler was the last one to enter, and he closed the double doors behind him.

“Now, Woodsworth, what is the meaning of this?” David, with Penny by his side where a proper wife would stand, faced the household revolt.

“I beg your pardon, sir. The staff do not wish to step out of place. However, we feel we must speak.” The butler began with great reluctance. “The majority of us have served Mrs. Cavanaugh for many years, if not decades. As you do not reside at the Willows, Madam has been left to our care.”

None of this was news to David. He chided himself that he’d not been a better grandson. He should have remained in the household, never left her alone.

“Now that she has reached
a certain age
, Madam’s sporadic illness reoccurs more frequently, and it seems each episode becomes more serious. As you know, the staff and I were quite concerned over her most recent bout, as I had relayed to you in my correspondence some weeks ago.”

The letter of which he spoke was the very thing that necessitated David bringing his
family
to Gran’s bedside.

“Go on, Mr. Woodsworth, you tell Master David we know all about wot ’ee’s done—or what ’ee ain’t!”

“Hush, Nell.” Mrs. Shore nudged the cook to quiet her.

“Since the arrival of you and your family, her recuperation has been no less than miraculous,” the butler continued. “With all that said, we . . . I have personal knowledge that you, sir, are not a married man as you have been portraying to your grandmother.”

“This is nonsense!” David cried. They had been found out. His throat constricted and he could not swallow. He felt as if the air had been pulled from his lungs, leaving him unable to breathe. Little white dots speckled in his peripheral vision.

“It is not, sir.” Woodsworth remained stoic.

“David . . .” Penny’s apprehensive whisper pleaded, and she touched his sleeve.

“How could you possibly . . . You cannot know . . .” He narrowed his eyes, uncertain his accusers could adequately back up their charge.

“I beg you do not deny it, sir.” The butler closed his eyes that he need not proceed on this unpleasant subject. The disappointment and regret in his voice, in having to challenge his employer, was not lost on David.

“Yur scheme is wholly exposed!” Cook shouted and shook her fist. David feared she would be heard outside the parlor walls.

“Nell!” Mrs. Shore chided the cook. “I don’t know what to think—and us knowing you since you were a lad.”

“As we reside at the Willows, which is quite some distance from London, we do receive news now and again, especially when it has to do with persons known to our household. You must understand that we would have heard of your marriage, sir,
if
one had taken place.” Woodsworth exhaled. Clearly he had not wished to reveal how he came by his information. “I have it from someone employed by a certain peer”—whom, of course, he did not name—“his lordship is known to you and a member of your club . . .”

“Ma own sister’s told me—” Cook, who could no longer contain herself, blurted out.

David held up his hand to halt further accusations. The staff’s claims were true, but he had no wish to admit it. This day had taken a nasty turn. How had he ever expected to get away with his charade?

“I told you they were spies, the lot of them,” he mumbled over his shoulder to Penny.

“This is most difficult, sir, but I must insist you respond to our queries.” Woodsworth cleared his throat. Cook and Mrs. Shore murmured quietly to each other. Their whispering in the background added to the growing tension. “The children . . . are they—”

“I am their godfather.” This entire interview was awkward and dashed embarrassing. David had to stand there and endure this treatment.

“Ma’am,” the butler addressed Penny. “Are they yours?”

“Their father is my nephew,” Penny answered. David heard the slight tremor in her voice and hoped she need not suffer further humiliation regarding her connection to Lucy and Davy.

“Ah, then you are related but not their mother,” Woodsworth replied with new insight.

“That would explain the resemblances,” Mrs. Shore commented without stating the exact family traits the three shared.

“Be strong, my dear,” David murmured to Penny, attempting to alleviate her apprehension.

“Duplicity to one’s elders, especially to one’s elderly relatives, is not admirable.” The butler’s impassive façade never altered.

“I meant no disrespect. I only wanted to do as she asked,” David confessed. “I had it in mind to find a wife, but I—”

“We understand that it was her wish you do so.” The empathetic manner in which the butler spoke had been unexpected. David had never wanted pity from anyone.

“Devil take it, man, what was I to do when I came up empty-handed? I can’t have married just anyone.” He raked his hand through his hair. What David wanted to do was tear it out. “A week ago she was on her deathbed—you wrote to me yourself! It was her dying wish to see my family . . .
my
family. A family, as you all well know, I never had!”

“Sir . . .” the butler intoned, full of empathy, no doubt. Yet he stood there leading the insurrection.

David had run out of breath. His entire convoluted scheme was for naught! Only moments ago he thought it was going so well. He pressed his fingertip to his temple as if he could hold himself together. His life was unraveling, falling apart before his eyes.

How had he thought he could pull off such a grand scheme? He had not thought to create such a Banbury story on his own, certainly never to hurt Gran or cause her any harm. All this had simply happened.

This was his lowest point, being taken to task by the servants. He had been caught up in the bagful of bouncers he’d created to keep him in his grandmother’s good graces.

“What is it you want me to do, then?” David was ready to yield. He saw no way he could escape. “Will you have me confess all to my grandmother?”

“On the contrary, sir,” Woodsworth intoned in the utmost calm, to David’s complete astonishment. Not at all a response he expected from a retainer who had the upper hand on his employer and would make use of that knowledge. He merely informed his employer, “The staff and I have no wish for you to tell Madam the truth. We will do what we must to keep her spirits up and I have been asked to inform you that you have our full support in case it is needed.”

Chapter Twelve

M
rs. Sutton entered the green parlor and glanced about the room. David watched her carefully, wondering if she was in collusion with the trio. It was obvious by her tone and bearing that she knew full well she had walked into an uncomfortable situation.

“Madam heard the family return, and she’s asking to see you, Mrs. Cavanaugh,” she said.

“I expect she would like me to read to her,” Penny replied. David imagined anything Gran would ask of her must be preferable to the horrendous fate that had befallen her at Manfred Place or what had just occurred. “Tell Mrs. Cavanaugh I will arrive shortly.” Penny worked off one glove.

“Of course.” Mrs. Sutton nodded.

“If you will excuse me, I must first change out of these clothes.” With a slight nod of her head, Penny left the parlor.

David was sorry to see her go. He had thought he and Penny would go on bantering about their awkward visit to Manfred Place, although he would not say as much to anyone else. She had seemed to find it as amusing as he.

“Master David, Madam is most anxious to hear of your visit to Manfred Place as well,” Mrs. Sutton informed him.

“Right. I’d meant to head up there straightaway.” He divested himself of his hat, coat, and gloves, leaving them with Woodsworth. Their gazes met in a brief but meaningful consensus regarding their recent discussion.

Things would go on as they had been, just as the butler had suggested.

David exited the parlor and climbed up the stairs satisfied, very satisfied, with the day, knowing his secret was once again safe. He rounded the corner of his grandmother’s bedchamber and poked his head into the room.

“We have barely stepped foot into the house. How is it possible you know exactly the moment of our return?”

“How could anyone not hear the children thundering up the stairs and through the corridors?” Gran said with a smile, sitting up in bed clearly waiting for visitors.

“Dreadfully sorry about that.” David leaned forward and placed a kiss on her soft cheek. He had no idea they had made such noise upon their return.

“Will you not take a few moments to yourself, Nurse?” Gran suggested. “I won’t be alone. My Davy is here to keep me company.”

“Very well, ma’am.” David nodded to Nurse, indicating he would accept responsibility for the patient. “I’ll see about bringing up some tea for you, shall I?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Gran replied. “Now come, Davy.” She patted next to her. “Sit here and tell me news of the Pelfrys.”

David settled next to her on the bed, took hold of her hand, and gazed at her smiling face. By gad, she looked wonderful. Happy and sound.

“Well,
Caroline
was introduced to Sir Benjamin and Lady Pelfry,” he began. “Miss Lemmon was there, of course. The Pelfry children soon joined us.”

“Their children never come to visit me,” Gran lamented. “Although I do dearly wish they would.”

“Perhaps they do not know how much you like children,” David suggested. One did not normally bring along one’s offspring when paying calls.

“Sir Benjamin brings Melonhead sometimes,” she said with a tilt of her head, reconsidering her words.

David actually felt a bit horrified. “Do not say you call poor Mel by that horrid moniker.”

“It is only a term of endearment,” she assured him. “I think it’s adorable how he has a pet name.”

“It doesn’t sound endearing when Clemmy says it.”

“That’s because she’s his sister.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have a sister.”

“Oh, you would have loved to have a sister.” She squeezed his hand. “She would have doted on you.”

A doting sister? Most certainly not
.

But there was some
doting
going on that afternoon, and it had not gone beyond his notice.

David did not like the cozy manner in which Pelfry had whispered into Penny’s ear. It had happened more than once. And the way she smiled when the baronet uttered those soft words.

David had never seen her smile quite like that before.

It was as if they shared some secret, and he found it nearly unbearable to watch.

“And did he take you on a tour of the grounds? He has made such wonderful improvements to Manfred Place. I should like to see his gardens and his orchards. Oh, how he must have acres and acres of fruit trees now. Miss Lemmon tells me he has three conservatories. Three! Can you imagine? You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “You’ve already seen them, I vow. What a lovely time you must have had. Oh, yes. And you must have them come for dinner. They are your neighbors, to be sure.”

Have the Pelfrys to dinner?
David would have Sir Benjamin’s head on a plate served as the main dish if he were to attempt a similar action toward Penny in his very own house.

Penny entered and stopped when she came upon the intimate scene before her. David and his grandmother, he sitting upon her bed with her hands within his. She had no wish to intrude.

“
Caroline
—” Grandmother Cavanaugh pulled one of her hands free and held it out to Penny, entreating her to approach.

David stood upon seeing Penny move into the room. Her smile widened as she stepped closer to the bed, nearing his grandmother, and took her hand. The strangest feeling came over Penny when she thought about the illusion of
the family
she created by her presence.

“Davy and I were just discussing having the Pelfrys to dinner. What are your thoughts on this?”

“When are we to extend this invitation?” Penny could not think it would be proper when Madam had so recently been gravely ill.

“My full recovery is imminent.” Madam waved the notion of her health aside. “I shall leave it up to you, my dear, but I should not wait too long. It would be most improper not to return their gracious gesture of your afternoon visit.”

“Yes, ma’am, of course you are correct.” Penny felt the mounting pressure to be socially acceptable. One should, she knew, and she did not wish her actions to reflect badly upon Mrs. Cavanaugh.

“Was it not kind of them to invite the children?” The old woman drew her hands together and smiled. “So very nice to ask Lucy and Davy, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it was,” David agreed.

“And you should reciprocate as well,” Madam suggested.

“I expect we can.” Penny glanced at David, hoping he might know what to do with five energetic children.

“Yes, well, you give it some thought, won’t you?”

“I shall, ma’am,” Penny assured her.

“Oh—and there is another matter. Will you be a dear, Davy, hand me that note. It’s there on my nightstand.”

He leaned forward to grasp the paper and then handed it to her.

“Now let’s see.” She unfolded the sheet and, glancing down, it was apparent she could not read it. “I cannot see this properly.” Madam held it out to Penny. “You read it, won’t you, my dear?”

“Of course.”

Penny barely had time to take the message in hand before Mrs. Cavanaugh continued. “It is from my dear friend Mrs. Halifax. She has heard that both of you have come for a visit and has arranged, for your entertainment, for her sister, Mrs. Elinor Dunhurst, to be the highlight of a musical afternoon fête.”

Penny skimmed the page until she found the paragraph regarding the two sisters. “It is to be next Thursday.”

“Exactly so.” Mrs. Cavanaugh drew in a meaningful breath. “Oh, I do wish I could attend. I know Mrs. Dunhurst will sing a Mozart aria.”

“It does not say here,” Penny replied after quickly reading the letter.

“No, but she is celebrated for being the finest soprano in all these parts and is well known for her rendition of ‘Queen of the Night.
’ 
”

“
In all of Dorset?
” escaped on David’s quiet sigh. Perhaps it was a groan. Penny cleared her throat to express her displeasure and mask the discontent. How rude he was!

“I have wished for so many years to hear her sing.” The pained expression on Grandmother Cavanaugh’s face over this lost opportunity was evident. “If only I were feeling a bit better. Say you will attend, Davy.”

Penny was fairly certain how he felt about attending, but she knew positively he would agree for no other reason than his grandmother wished it.

“Of course we shall.” David’s quick glance met Penny’s, which told her he would not suffer the
entertainment
alone. Of course he would think of this performance as another country abomination to be tolerated.

“I am certain it is an event without equal,” was his lackluster reply, which seemed to go unnoticed by his relative.

“Excellent!” his grandmother erupted in excitement.

“How I wish I . . .
I
could be spared,” David whispered to Penny, who shushed him.

“Then when you return you will tell me all about it!” Madam’s optimism more than compensated for his gloomy indifference. “Oh, how I wish I could attend.”

“Perhaps another time?” Penny tried to sound encouraging.

“Yes. I will have to hope for another opportunity. Hopefully I will not have to wait too long. At least you both shall be there.” With a cleansing sigh, Mrs. Cavanaugh moved quickly on to the next subject. “Now we shall hear the next installment of
Emma
.” With a wave of her hand she shooed her grandson aside. “I daresay, Davy, you will not wish to hear any of this since you’ve missed half the first volume.”

“I daresay you are right, ma’am.” He retreated from them. “As it turns out I must see one of the stable boys about a donkey since you no longer house ponies.”

“But you knew that,” she remarked, expressing some confusion. “You told me to take in as many orphaned donkeys as I wished.”

“Did I? I do not remember,” David uttered with a shrug.

“Then I am not the only one with a questionable recall.” A little giggle erupted from the elderly woman.

“Let us continue our reading, shall we? I shall get the book,” Penny said brightly before the two of them came to blows. She walked very close to David, in essence escorting him to the door, and quietly whispered to him, “I suggest you leave now.”

“That is the best suggestion I have heard these last several hours.” His voice was soft; his words were for Penny alone.

“You are very bad to say such rude things. Your grandmother cannot hear well, you know,” Penny scolded him.

“I do not wish her to hear them.” He stepped to the door, readying himself to quit the room. “I will do as she asks. I cannot force myself to enjoy it.”

“How do you know you will not?”

“The best soprano in
all these part
s
? You cannot think I will sing her praises,” he remarked with rather a sharp bite to his words.

“You’d best see to your donkeys before Mrs. Halifax’s cousin arranges a performance of a
country
ballet in your honor.”

David gazed heavenward and shook his head, with what Penny read as hopelessness.

She had to agree that the musical fête would, in all probability, be a most unforgettable afternoon.

Dinner that night had been quiet compared to the excitement of the very full afternoon that had begun with the visit with the Pelfrys and the confrontation of the senior staff, which, as it turned out, was in his favor. There wa
s the subsequent discussion of inviting the neighboring family to dinner—it was to be soon, it seemed—and also the approach of the disturbing Halifax musical fête. David even looked forward to the dull evening that stretched out before him.

He had spent a number of evenings in the billiard room alone. There was only so much time one could amuse oneself by knocking around the balls. David believed he had surpassed that prescribed amount and boredom was setting in.

He strolled with the ladies into the small parlor after dinner and turned to Penny. “How do you manage to pass the evenings here?”

“How?” She stared at him in the most perplexing manner. “Well, I spend a great many hours working on my needlework.”

“I can’t say I would enjoy that.”

“Oh, you mean . . .” She paused, giving her next suggestion some thought. “I suppose you might like to read.”