An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) (17 page)

“They will find some excuse or other to avoid the Willows after this evening.”

“Mrs.—” David stopped there and took a moment to compose himself. He stepped closer to Penny so he could lower the volume of his voice to match hers. “Are you telling me that because of my—
offer
to Miss Lemmon—that she, that her family would . . . No, I highly doubt that.” Much head shaking went on, displaying his disbelief. “But they have been great friends to Gran. How could this—” He gestured to the pianoforte; he meant the action of speaking to Miss Lemmon while she sat at the keyboard. “If what you say is true, how will we—
I
explain this to her?”

“After a certain amount of time has passed, whatever the Pelfrys deem adequate, they will approach your grandmother to mend the rift between the families. They seem to care for her a great deal. I’m certain once you—
we
vacate the Willows and return to Town, relations between them will resume.”

“If I leave, will not Gran’s health once again decline?” He had meant to say the next to himself. Oddly enough, he heard the words spoken out loud. “Yet, if I do not remove myself from the premises, Miss Lemmon and the Pelfrys may refuse to visit her bedside.”

“Does it matter to you who remains to visit your grandmother?”

“What do you mean? If it has to do with Gran, of course it matters!”

“Has it escaped your notice? Now that your grandmother is recovering, you have no interest in maintaining your
family
? Are they so easily discarded since, it seems, you have no further need of them?”

What a load of rubbish
.

“May I remind you it was a mere fortnight ago you were on your knees, begging me to portray your wife.” Penny narrowed her eyes, stressing, “
Begged
, sir.”

David recalled it well enough. Yes, he had done exactly that. But what was she going on about?

“Do you not realize how much you jeopardize your own plan?” Penny reprimanded. “If your grandmother should see this type of display, she would not see you as the grandson who loves his family. She would know you for the cad you are.”

“A cad? You could not be further from the truth, ma’am.” David could not imagine what had brought about this burst of temper. “Oh, I hardly think that—”

“I may not be married to you,” Penny said with venom, “but I assure you I shall have a word with Caroline Wilberforce Cavanaugh. I do believe she will have a great deal to say on the subject.”

“Neither is she my wife,” David replied.

“There you are mistaken, Mr. Cavanaugh.” Penny rounded upon him before taking her leave. “While you are in residence at the Willows, she is very much your wife.” She stopped at the doorway. “If your grandmother happens to witness any of your questionable behavior, it may be the death of her. Are you prepared to pay that price, sir?” Then Penny left.

David merely stood there speechless.

Chapter Sixteen

P
enny hardly slept at all that night. She rose much earlier than normal to vacate her bedchamber. She, above all, wished to avoid David Cavanaugh’s morning birdsong ritual which, as far as she knew, occurred at the beginning of each and every day.

Removing to the breakfast room, she poured herself a cup of coffee and planned to find quiet in the small parlor. She rounded the corridor just in time to miss David, whom she heard descending the staircase. She wasn’t aware, until then, how much she dreaded seeing him. His booted feet sounded loudly on the floor. He was on his way out of the house, she was certain.

To remove any chance of meeting, Penny would return to her bedchamber. With her coffee cup and saucer in hand, she climbed the stairs, and once inside her rooms, she closed the door behind her.

Why had she felt so strongly against facing him? Was she ashamed of her outburst last night? Penny set her coffee upon her dressing table and gave it some thought. No. His actions had stepped across the line of decency. She had every right to chastise him for his behavior.

There was, however, something else that bothered her. She would never admit this to another living soul and had, in truth, had difficulty accepting the notion herself. She had formed an attachment to him.

No
. She shook her head, wishing it were not so.

Penny had no right, she knew that. How could she have thought him in any way agreeable? Although she had never heard of him living a life of vice in London, Frances had cautioned her regarding his
charming
manner. Had this been what she meant?

Charming
, indeed. What a rascal.

The flirtatious overtures toward Miss Lemmon and the crafting of a family history for his grandmother were not actions easily overlooked. On occasion, when David had interacted with her, especially when not in company with or observed by others, his demeanor was refreshing, direct, and, at times, playful. What she found most attractive about him was his kinder, thoughtful side, displaying a devoted, loving grandson who would do what he could for his last blood relative. Surely that action redeemed his character somewhat.

Could Penny forgive him? Would she forgive him? She had no idea. Her gaze moved to the top of the dresser, where she had placed the sketch David had made of her. She retrieved it from its hiding place and gazed upon the somewhat familiar outline. Even with her cap removed, the enhancement of imaginary curls, and the inclusion of a dimple no one could see, Penny conceded it was she. Presently she was moody, petulant, and, dare she admit it, jealous?

Of a man who was not her husband? A man who had no interest in her? A man who had used her badly? Penny’s lower lip began to tremble, and she tightened her mouth, hoping to keep her unsteady emotions in check.

She closed her eyes and wondered how she could have been so foolish. Penny had never behaved in such an immature manner, even when she was a very young girl just out of the schoolroom. At that time, many years ago, she did not have the luxury of forming an attachment.

Her marriage to Mr. Parker had been arranged by her parents. Being a friend of her father’s, he was much older than Penny. Mr. Parker had always been kind to her, and they shared a mutual civility during their short union. He was nothing more than her guardian and passed soon after both her parents.

Penny’s gaze fell to the sketch again. Was it possible she could hold David in such esteem?
Because,
a small voice said inside her,
you know deep within this man exists an extreme devotion to his family despite his outward ill-mannered behavior
. And such a devotion meant quite a lot to her. Was it enough?

Penny heard quick, staccato steps approach, those of Mrs. Sutton
perhaps, followed by a knock.

“Enter,” Penny replied, lowering the sketch she held.

The door opened. Mrs. Sutton stood in the portal, straight and very serious. “Dr. Harding has just arrived,” she announced, barely stepping into the room. “He will be coming up to see Madam straightaway.”

“Has Mr. Cavanaugh been told?” Penny experienced a jumble of emotions at the thought of coming face-to-face with David, but she had no difficulty dismissing the impending discomfort that would follow at their meeting.

“But, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton appeared somewhat perplexed. “Master David has departed with the children. Surely you must have known . . .”

“Of course, their journey to Beacon Hill.” He had spoken of it just last night, Penny remembered, and this morning she had quite forgotten. “I shall attend at once.” She acknowledged with a nod, and the companion departed.

All that truly mattered was Grandmother Cavanaugh’s well-being. Giving the sketch a last glance, Penny decided what she felt was irrelevant. Without hesitation she folded the paper she held in half, and in half again, before tossing it into the hearth, where the flames wasted no time consuming it, and then she left.

David and his party departed the house at what he considered early that morning. Taking the lead of the expedition along the once well-defined path, he thought it was most fortunate he had planned the trip with the children. And he had the oddest notion it might be best if he were to keep his distance from Penny.

Pulling his hat snug onto his head, David thought back to how vexed she had been last night. There was no need to start off today with daggers drawn. Perhaps her temper would have cooled by the time he returned this afternoon. Yes, he thought that a distinct possibility.

Perhaps the whole thing would have blown over by then!

If not today perhaps tomorrow or the day after or the day after that?

Bah! He never claimed he understood females.

David glanced over his shoulder at the members of the expedition. Peter the stable boy led Lucy aboard Hercules, followed by a fine young second footman, George, in charge of Apollo, whom young Davy sat astride.

They headed out from the Willows to the southwest copse and followed the creek, with all its elevation changes and bends, around an outcrop of rocks and trees that led to the meadow. After crossing through the meadow and hedging around the small orchard, they would find the rocky path to climb to their destination of Beacon Hill.

“Come on, now!” Peter would urge Apollo every ten or so minutes. At these times, David glanced over his shoulder and checked, ensuring his party stayed together.

“Why is this donkey’s name Hercules?” Lucy asked Peter, who did not seem to have near the difficulty with his charge as George had with Apollo. “I think his name should be Bernard or Reginald.”

“Those is fine names, miss, but Madam—Mrs. Cavanaugh—gave them names, she did,” he replied.

“They’re the same names the ponies had when I was young,” David commented, knowing Peter had no knowledge of those animals. “I have to admit, using the same names does make it easier to remember.”

“She asks about them all the time. Only I can’t say she knows they’re donkeys or not, but they ain’t ponies, they’s donkeys.” Peter rubbed his face with his free hand. “Madam says they were the perfect names for them, and she dunna want to call them anything else.”

As far as he could tell, David thought these beasts shaggy, stubborn, and cantankerous. Ponies were fun-loving and more adaptable than these sad replacements. If Gran had ever hoped to host David’s children, if he ever had them, in the future, she’d best acquire some real ponies.

In many ways this journey would not be the same as the first. David had learned from their last outing and planned for a footman and kitchen staff to meet them at Beacon Hill with a hamper, where he and the children would enjoy a nuncheon before returning home.

The party’s path would soon veer to the right where the earth rose, and the gently flowing water separated the foot traffic from the rocky shore of the creek. There was a goodly amount of water flowing in the creek, more than David remembered. As he recalled, it was sometimes dry during this time of year. No matter, this was the correct path, and onward they went.

And they went on for a good half hour before Hercules stopped, not for any reason David could detect. The blasted donkey stood right there in the middle of the trail and refused to move. Apparently, he did not wish to be the lead donkey any longer. Apollo was brought forward, and he was more than amenable to blazing the path before them. Thank goodness Hercules was happy to follow.

This was not how David remembered the area. He had traveled this path more times than he could count, and the surrounding landscape did not look at all familiar. First, the trail was devilishly narrow. The brush had grown and would occasionally snag at the arm of his jacket or a low-hanging tree branch would try and remove his hat.

Second, there were puddles. They weren’t even that. Every ten feet of so there were spots where water had collected, leaving dampened areas. That in itself wasn’t much of a problem until the humans understood that the donkeys shied badly from the small bodies of water, or any amount of dampness, afraid a hoof, the attached donkey leg, followed by its entire body would be pulled into the depths of the puddle.

And finally, donkeys were not ponies. They may have resembled the smaller equines in the manner of having four legs, two ears, and a tail, but these were stubborn, ill-tempered beasts.

Another half hour passed before Apollo stopped, refusing to move.

“Move on, you deuced wretch!” David hated these donkeys. Hated.

“
Wretch!
” Davy cried out.

That creature in front simply stopped and refused to cross a dampened area that nearly reached the center of the path.

“Back him up, will you, George?” David moved between the beasts. The footman circled Lucy’s animal, guiding him away from Apollo.

David gently encouraged the beast by patting him on the hind end. The beast did nothing. Well, not exactly
nothing
, but swiveling one large hairy ear in his direction was not the desired response.

“Give ’im a kick, Master Davy.” George now pulled on the lead. “Use both feet!”

“Go! Go, ’pollo!” Davy held on tightly to the straggly mane and did a fine job of balancing while urging the beast on with his short legs.

“Pull him forward, will you, George?” David called out to the footman.

“I am trying my best, sir.” The servant was not to blame. He gave up on the rope and gripped the halter with both hands to lead the beast past the dampened plot. He dug in his heels and leaned backward using his entire body weight.

Did Apollo think the water would bubble from the ground and surge across the trail to swallow him if he tried to pass on the dry side? The wretched creatures!

Why did his grandmother stable these? David hated to think what it cost him to feed and house the nasty things.

“Enough!” David saw the futility in attempting physical force. Even two men could not succeed. “We’ll see who’s the smarter,” he muttered, refusing to be bested by a donkey. He stepped back to acquire a better perspective on what needed to be done.

David stepped from the path and snapped a sturdy branch off a shrub. He ripped off the leaves and other extraneous bits, thinking there would be some amount of satisfaction when he motivated that stubborn beast from standing idle to wishing he could move as far away and as fast as he could.

“We shall try again!” he called out to the footman. David made no bold move, only urged the donkey with a cluck, and said, “Walk on there.”

Nothing.

David neared the beast’s side, and with a second command and the flick of his wrist, he quickly and smartly touched the hind end of the animal with the switch.

The donkey’s reaction was immediate. He kicked out against the attack and gathered his legs under him in a dance of hooves across the path and lunged forward, bypassing the moistened dirt.

Moving by instinct more than direct thought, David dropped the switch and took hold of Davy’s sleeve, pulling the lad off the animal’s back as it swung away from him.

Not two seconds later, the beast raised his head, jerked the lead from the footman’s grasp, and ran off in the original intended direction.