An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) (7 page)

Pug, a recent adoption to the children’s party, appeared to blend in without any difficulty whatsoever. David realized, as he stood apart from the rest, he was supposed to be the head of this family, and by behaving as an observer, he did not give the impression he belonged. He glanced about, looking to see if anyone looked on. He appeared safe. David best join the others if he wished anyone to believe their tale. Off he went, stepping behind Davy to snare the giggling rascal.

Some minutes later, David hoisted his godson into the air, causing him to squeal loudly enough to be heard by every neighboring estate, before setting him on the ground once again. Mrs. Parker stepped out of the dizzying chase to catch her breath. David soon stood by her side in equal need of air.

“I fear I am not as young as I used to be.” He gasped between words.

“No one is, sir,” Mrs. Parker replied, while watching the children gallop alongside Pug. It was clear all were having a great deal of fun in the attempt. “They can keep this up for hours.”

“Children have the ability to occupy themselves at the most mundane times.” David always remembered such things when he came here.

“This is not one of those times,” Mrs. Parker commented.

“No, I was referring to the ride from London. It’s too blasted long.” Persons attempting to transport children across the country must be quite mad.

“Please, sir, your language!”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” David’s apology was most sincere. Why had he felt comfortable enough in Mrs. Parker’s presence to allow himself such liberties?

“You better not speak in that manner in the presence of the children. You know what a dreadful mimic young Davy can be,” she chided him. “He might repeat one of your colorful phrases in front of an audience, and then where would we be?”

“Point taken,” David conceded. “In the future, I shall choose my words with more care.”

“See that you do.” Her gaze swung back to the activity on the vibrant green lawn. This house had always held fond memories for him. Mrs. Parker exhaled the great final one that told him she had successfully caught her breath.

“The children have always been entertained by the tales you’ve regaled them with of your childhood at the Willows. Both of them are very excited to replicate the very outings you enjoyed in your youth.”

“They really cannot expect—” David had told the children tales, but he did not intend to reenact each and every one.

“You have not forgotten.” Mrs. Parker turned toward him. “You’ve gone on about stories for years . . . growing up at the Willows, the long treks in the countryside, surveying the caves by the sea, climbing trees in the orchard.”

“Years? Oh, I say. You can’t mean that, Davy is only three.”

“He will be quick to remind you he is three and a
half
,
” Mrs. Parker remarked. “And he is very impressionable. Perhaps he cannot recall every tale you’ve told, but Lucy certainly can. And whatever she does . . .”

“Oh, yes, I know . . . her younger brother is a willing conspirator.” David could only agree.

“You are no longer their all-fun-and-frolic godfather, sir. You have now been elevated to
father
. As children, they cannot be expected to keep that in mind, but I trust you will do me the favor of not having to remind you of your position as well.”

As he gazed upon Mrs. Parker, her gentle presence brought to mind that he was not only to be a father but also a husband. David found it quite a sobering thought.

After the frolic on the lawn with the children, Penny returned to her room to change out of her traveling dress for supper and discovered she had torn the hem. Let that be a lesson to her to behave her age. She should not have been racing about like a schoolgirl. She laid it across the back of a chair; she would not burden Amelia with its repair but mend it herself in the morning.

Although she had been informed as to the delay of dinner, Penny removed to the front parlor expecting the imminent arrival of the others. She pulled her Kerseymere shawl tight around her shoulders and paced before the hearth, waiting for another half hour before Mr. Cavanaugh and Mrs. Sutton entered.

“I beg you forgive us for our tardiness,” David said to Penny at once. “I do not think it could be avoided under the circumstances.” He strode past her to warm himself by the fire.

“We have just come from a short visit with Madam,” the companion explained to Penny in a whisper.

“I quite understand, Mrs. Sutton.” Penny thought highly of her discretion.

“Who would have thought Madam could remain alert for such a period of time?” Mrs. Sutton had clearly been surprised with her charge’s capacity to remain alert. “I knew the length of our stay would interfere with the start of our meal. I fear it might have caused you some inconvenience if
someone
did not inform you.”

“And Mr. Cavanaugh did not think to take such action, did he?” Penny remarked rather sharply.

“I do not know when he would have had time, for he was completely occupied with his grandmother. I hope he does not mind that I sent word to you.”

“No, I do not believe he would.” Penny sighed with a bit of exasperation. “Men can sometimes be thoughtless. However, I understand that his concern over his grandmother is all-consuming. Have no fear, Mrs. Sutton, his oversight is easily forgiven.”

“Shall we proceed to the dining room?” Without a single word of apology, or explanation, David offered Penny his arm, which she took. The man really had no idea, and it seemed he did not care a fig, what occupied the women in his company.

They entered the dining room a few minutes later. Penny walked with him along one length of the table, set with a fine damask tablecloth, a variety of crystal stemware, and a white dinner service. Mrs. Sutton traveled down the opposite side, passing a mahogany sideboard with a large mirror hanging on the wall.

“And how is your grandmother?” Penny stopped while he continued to the head of the table.

“Much improved since we first saw her this afternoon.” David took his seat with Mrs. Sutton to his left and Penny to his right. “Gran is most anxious to see Lucy and Davy. She was quite insistent on the matter, really.” He took up his napkin and laid it across his lap. “I do find her enthusiasm most encouraging.”

“As you have reassured her, sir, there will be time enough in the days ahead,” Mrs. Sutton stated with restrained optimism. “I truly believe she may recover.”

“I do believe you are correct, Mrs. Sutton.” He smiled and glanced at Penny. “I am so very grateful.”

“As we all are, sir,” Penny added. That was very good news. She settled in her chair and tried to convince herself she felt quite at ease, as if this were any normal meal she might partake in at home. “The children have had their supper and, as you may imagine, are greatly fatigued from their journey. They have gone straight to bed.”

“That is good to know.” David, as the children’s father, should have taken this update in stride, but he sounded somewhat uncomfortable receiving this news. “What’s for dinner, Mrs. Sutton? I must admit the country air has made me peckish.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. Our meal is
en famille
this evening. The staff had not expected you to arrive so quickly and, as such, have been caught unprepared.”

“That is not a problem, Mrs. Sutton. I’m certain anything Cook conjures will be sufficient for our table.” He turned to Penny. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

“Of course.” Penny would never, could never complain. “I hope we have not caused a panic in the kitchen.”

Two maids emerged from the kitchen, one with a tureen of soup and the other with a decanter of wine.

“Actually”—the companion sounded very positive and appeared rather pleased—“this smells splendid.”

“Yes, it does.” David watched the maid ladle soup into his bowl while another filled the wine glasses.

“I cannot tell you what a difference your arrival has meant,” Mrs. Sutton commented. “I am not a doctor, but Madam looks very much on the mend, I think.”

“I do believe she looks much more the thing,” Penny admitted. “She appeared interested, alert, although she did tire easily, which I do not at all find surprising.”

“I knew Madam would rally some when Master David arrived. I, however, did not know if you would be accompanying him, ma’am.” Mrs. Sutton demurred, her voice trailing into eventual silence, and she continued with some hesitation. “To be quite honest, I was not at all certain you existed.”

Penny brought her napkin to her lips and held it firmly there. She swallowed her soup in a great gulp. Her eyes watered with the effort, and she hoped no one knew of the mishap.

“I beg your pardon?” David inquired, sounding more concerned than angry.

“Well, sir, you see . . .” Mrs. Sutton continued, seeming embarrassed at the admission. “Madam is getting on in years, and sometimes she gets a bit addled. Oh, she means no harm, of course. But it was difficult to know if she went on about your wife or if it was wishful thinking on her part.”

“But the letters I’ve written”—it had been quite a number over the years—“surely you must have seen them, some of them.” His discomfort was evident with his stiffened posture. He reached for his wine glass as a restorative.

“Oh, no, sir. Madam does not allow anyone to read any correspondence from you. It is far too dear, I’m afraid.”

“I see.” David drained his glass and relaxed back into his chair. “Did no one believe—”

“Oh, now. Don’t worry none. It was just me, you see.” She touched her temple with two fingers. “I must have misunderstood. I’m certain everyone else took Madam at her word. I’m certain they did.”

“Her word?” he muttered weakly and reached for the decanter, refilled his glass, and drained it again. He repeated this twice in the ensuing silence, then finally set the empty vessel on the table.

It was all Penny could do not to comment on his alcohol consumption. She had seen gentlemen imbibe, and if Mr. Cavanaugh was not careful he would soon be in his cups. How he would be able to continue his ruse while foxed was unclear, but there was one thing certain: it could not help.

“Well, I am here for a visit,” Penny announced in an upbeat manner. “And so are the children. Now that we have cleared the air, let us enjoy our meal and get on with our evening, shall we?” She stared at David, hoping he would comprehend her meaning.

He met her gaze with a speaking one of his own. If he were sending some sort of silent reply to Penny, it was one she could not decipher. His thoughts on the matter, if he did not wish to voice them, would simply have to wait.

In the ensuing quiet the two maids returned, one with a tray of mutton, the other with a serving dish of vegetables, and repeated the table service. They must have thought the dinner guests had finished with the first course because they were watching and listening for cues from those in the dining room from the other side of the door. Perhaps Mr. Cavanaugh was correct in that the staff was keen to hear more than silent instruction from those who resided in the house.

Penny glanced down at her soup dish as it was removed. If there were any thoughts or items to be discussed, it was clear she and David needed time alone. At the dinner table in the presence of Grandmother Cavanaugh’s staff was not the place.

“I beg that we make this a daily ritual.” David could breathe easier now that they were away from overattentive staff. They had removed to the rear gardens and walked apart from each other. He glanced over his shoulder, looking to see that they had not been followed. “This is the only place I can be certain we will not be overheard.”

“No one can think that taking a turn about the garden is odd, no matter what time of day.” Mrs. Parker drew her shawl around her shoulders. “However, I must confess that I did feel stifled by Mrs. Sutton’s presence. We were not free to speak, and I did wish we were private.”

“There is no privacy inside that house.” When David caught her expression he added, “I am more convinced than ever that
they
are listening.”

“I do not doubt that you believe so, sir, and I make every effort to refrain from making comments that might give us away.”