November 19th 1814, Bath
The bookshop’s green door opened and closed every few minutes as wealthy patrons bored with drinking sulphurous mineral water and gossiping at Bath’s Assembly Rooms came in search of entertainment. Waiting in line to purchase an unspecified romance novel for her cousin Catherine, Priscilla clenched her teeth in irritation as several young men rudely cut in front of her. Her cousin would blame her for dithering. The thought of enduring another of her cousin’s condescending sermons before lunch filled her with loathing. Action was required. She opened her large reticule and took out the unfinished piece of embroidery stabbed through with her largest needle and pretended to start to take a stitch as she stabbed the young man in front of her. A satisfying yelp was swiftly followed by a glare. “What the devil are you doing needlework in a bookshop for? Are you mad?”
“If people will cut in front of me I might as well get some work done.”
“Ouch!”
“I’m terribly sorry, did I jab you again?”
“Harpy!” The young man looked at his friend as if to say, ‘the lady’s mad’ as they stepped out of line leaving Priscilla her proper place. Her embroidery disappeared back into her reticule as she approached the counter and requested the latest romance novel. Having no idea which books her cousin had read, she purchased the suggested book and fought her way back towards the door. Through the shop’s bowed window she could see her cousin talking to a fashionable man gracefully leaning on a walking stick, his back to the window. By the coquettish expression on her cousin’s face the man was handsome and good ton. Stepping out into the cold north-easterly wind Priscilla shivered and dodged several oblivious shoppers to reach her cousin. Knowing her cousin wouldn’t want to be interrupted she stopped behind the man to wait for him to walk on. Her heart started pounding as the fashionable man’s voice penetrated her thick wool pelisse and made her shiver with delight. Entranced, she inched closer until her nose detected understated cologne that melled perfectly with a faint trace of shaving soap and the pungent aroma of a smoke filled coffee house. Her heart settled into an up-tempo rhythm as her eyes slid up the masculine back to the pristine white cravat hiding his neck and the trimmed brown hair combed carefully into place. Deaf to the conversation she inched around until she could see his profile.
Entranced by his transformation and the pleasure of seeing him in the flesh, Priscilla forgot her cousin until the woman screeched, “Priscilla Stanley, you’re an embarrassment! If you’re going to act like a dying haddock every time you see a handsome man I’ll leave you in the carriage.”
The elegant man started, his cheeks suddenly rouged as he swivelled to return Priscilla’s stare. “Miss Penny…” He politely lifted his hat as his face lit up with delight. “…I didn’t know you were in Bath. Tell me you’re staying the winter?” The question had an intensity that made Priscilla shiver with hope. Would he ask her to marry him again? Staring into smiling eyes her heart ached with pleasure as that strange electric magnetism told her he’d extended his glove. Her cold hand flew to the offered perch like an obedient dove returning home. “My lucky Penny, you enchant me…” Priscilla forgot to breathe as he leaned over and kissed the back of her white glove with just the right amount of adoration and respect one would expect from a keen suitor. He was still holding her hand as her cousin disturbed the magic moment.
“You’re acquainted with my unlucky cousin my Lord?”
Lord Warenne didn’t take his eyes off Penny’s face. “Last month; I stayed at your parent’s home for a week.”
Catherine’s eyes lit up with cruel amusement, “You’re the man Priscilla refused? I didn’t recognise you in my mother’s description. I thought she misspelled the name…” The woman’s face contorted with jealousy as she eyed her unpaid companion with spite. “…I heard you won a wager to get an old maid to turn you down, I had no idea it was our Priscilla. You had a lucky escape my Lord; my cousin is the unluckiest woman ever born. Doom follows her like night follows day. The only reason I told Mother I’d take her is that I need a companion who’ll stay out of the footman’s bed. Mother was terribly upset at failing again to get rid of her. Priscilla, stop staring at his Lordship and give me my book.” Her head spinning as if she’d been slapped, Priscilla pulled her hand free from Lord Warenne’s possession and after a scathing look of scorn at the grimacing man she turned away and thrust the book at her cousin. “What is this? I told you I wanted the latest romance not one I read six months ago. Take it back and get me one I haven’t read.”
“But I don’t know what you haven’t read.”
“Don’t be impertinent or I’ll send you to your sister. You’d be lucky if she let you sleep with her pigs.” With tears in her eyes Priscilla spun on her heel and rushed back into the shop with the book, relieved to have an excuse to run away. The man was a cruel thoughtless cad. His dramatic pleadings at her chamber door had been nothing, but a cruel finale; something to brag about to his snotty friends. She wished she’d given in to the temptation to accept him. He wouldn’t have been laughing with his friends with an old wife in tow. The heartless cad obviously didn’t care if he broke an old maid’s heart, but at least her inner organs were safe. The sensation of a sharp blade turning in her chest mocked the thought as warm tears slid down her cold cheeks. Wiping her face she reached the counter and asked the shopkeeper if she could exchange the book because her Mistress had already read it. The man refused saying he ran a bookshop not a lending library. Her cousin would blame her and it was all Lord Warenne’s fault; the horrid swine was probably laughing at her.
She was about to turn around when the hairs on the back of her neck crackled with a familiar electric charge. Her heart was pounding before she smelled him at her shoulder. “The latest romance for Miss Stanley; one she could not have possibly read before this week.” The Lordly demand was obeyed without question. Her eyes swivelled to watch as one pristine buff glove was removed revealing impeccable fingernails that reached into his pocket. If she hadn’t seen the man picking his nose at table, she’d never have believed the majestic fingers capable of such rudeness. “Keep the change.”
Penny forced herself to be polite as he handed her the book. “Thank you my Lord…” The naked majestic fingers ignored the dry ingratitude and gently took hold of her upper arm. Curious shoppers paused to watch the wife shopping Lord possessively lead a pretty woman wearing an old maid’s cap under her bonnet towards the door.
Priscilla blushed as whispers erupted behind her as they passed. The door closed behind them and she hissed at the man beside her, “Remove your hand Sir.” The hand remained on her arm and steered her in the opposite direction of her cousin. “Is there something you wished to say; an apology perhaps for being a heartless swine?” Her cousin Catherine was glaring at her; Priscilla could already hear the lecture on knowing her place.
“Penny, I tried to tell you before I left, but you wouldn’t open the door…”
“That’s a convenient excuse my Lord. What did you win; a penny?”
“I won Doodle’s lucky snuff box; it was his wager. I merely accepted…”
“That must make it acceptable to the inmates of Bedlam. It obviously didn’t occur to you, my Lord, that your theatric proposal might injure your victim. It’s bad enough I’ve been banished as Catherine’s free drudge; what if I’d fallen in love with you, you heartless cad?”
“Penny please…” The man actually sounded wounded by her words. He was clearly born for the stage. “I admit my first proposal was to win the wager, but the second was for me. I tried to convince you to come away with me remember?”
“Ah yes, the keyhole proposal; I’ll wager you a penny Cousin Donald wept with laughter on hearing you’d risked the noose twice and survived a free man.”
“I haven’t told anyone about the second proposal…”
“How prudent; your future wife will never know you momentarily lost your mind and nearly wed a doomed old maid.”
“I understand you’re upset with me…”
“Upset? Because of your stupid wager I’m my cousin’s slave and if I manage to escape her household without being ravished by her husband I’ll be luckier than her previous companions.”
“I’m sorry…it was rather thoughtless, but you should have married me. I’ve tried to forget you, but I keep dreaming that I’ve kidnapped you and carried you off to Gretna Green. When I wake up and find it isn’t true I feel miserable. Marry me. Be my lucky Penny.”
The man might smell pleasant, but he was still insane. “You’ve proposed over a dinner table, through a door and now on the street. What next; through a window? Or will the young lady you actually wish to wed get a private tête a tête without an audience?”
“Penny, I’ve thought about you every day…”
“Touching; you must have a conscience.”
“I can’t get you out of my mind…”
“It must be torture.”
“Penny I want to marry you.”
“What?”
“I want to marry you. Today…if you’re amenable?”
“You’re insane, but you do scrub up rather nicely.”
“Do I?” The man’s eyes lit up with hope as his fingers boldly caressed her arm. “I long to be your Lord. The thought of kissing you makes me feel…happy.”
“If that’s true, then you’ll use your theatrical talents to persuade me that marriage to a lunatic would be better than marrying a desperate fortune hunter.”
“You won’t marry me tomorrow morning?” The man was such a good actor he even sounded disappointed.
“No. You may call on me and persuade me of your sincerity over time like any other normal suitor, if there is such a thing.”
“May I see you without that hideous old maid’s cap?”
“You’ll be lucky.”
“I am Lucky…that’s what my friends call me. How much time do I have to persuade you to be my Lady?” His wink seemed to punctuate the fact he was going to have his way by hook or crook.
“You have until I decide to marry someone else. Are you going to return me to my vile cousin or kidnap me from the High Street?” The man sighed as if it was a difficult choice and reluctantly removed his hand and followed her back to the glaring Catherine.
Lady Catherine’s lips twisted with wrath, “I hope you enjoyed your public tête a tête while I froze to death waiting for you. Did you find me a book to read?”
Priscilla handed over the wrapped book. “The shopkeeper wouldn’t give an exchange. Lord Warenne paid for it.”
“That was very kind of you my Lord.” Unwrapping the paper she tutted in disappointment that she couldn’t send Priscilla back into the shop, “It’ll do. Perhaps you’ll allow me to thank you by inviting you to dinner this evening Lord Warenne?”
“It would be a pleasure my Lady.” He bowed over Catherine’s hand and then lifted his hat to Priscilla. “Miss Penny.” Pulling his glove back on he walked away with a jaunty spring in his step.
Lady Catherine eyed her cousin with envy. “Why does he call you Penny?”
“I suspect he doesn’t like the name Priscilla.”
“I’ve heard he collects pennies. The man’s an eccentric; they say he always chews his food twenty times before swallowing. I’ve also heard his last mistress gave him the boot and you’d never guess why.”
“Because he was too amorously thorough.”
“Who told you that?”
“Lord Warenne, at the dinner table in front of your parents barely two minutes before he asked me to marry him.”
“No?” Catherine’s eyes gleamed with horrified delight. “What else did he say?”
Priscilla had no desire to give her cousin any extra gossip that might wound her unwanted suitor. She ignored the illogic of her kindness. If she wanted to hurt the man she’d scratch out his eyes. It would be kinder than feeding the gossip mill. “I can’t remember; it was all rather horrific.”
Catherine’s scowl outlined her displeasure. “Humph…still, you were a fool to refuse him. I’d have married him by special license even if he did stink. I understand he’s exceedingly generous to his dependents even if he does hate wasting money; you could have been a wealthy countess.” The thought appeared to make her grimace with horror. “Well perhaps it’s for the best you refused Lord Warenne. Being a Lady requires an ability to discriminate between how one addresses a Duchess whose Lord descends from a King’s bastard or a Duchess whose Duke, like Marlborough, merely won royal approval and treat them accordingly. The art of social interaction is complex and requires a finesse you’d never understand.”
“I suppose not, but then I’m unlikely to need it.”
“No. Why would any man want you? You’re past your prime. Lord Warenne needs an eighteen year old debutante who can breed a large brood.” Catherine nodded as if agreeing with herself. “Whoever he marries will suffer endless confinements. I’ve heard he’s keen to produce half a dozen before he turns thirty. I should introduce him to several young things I met recently. They won’t notice his eccentricities until they’re chained to his bed. It’s best not to know anything about one’s husband. I certainly didn’t know anything and look how happy I am. And to think he almost married you. My Lord Llewellyn is heartily relieved he married me and says so every morning. My husband didn’t need to marry beauty; he values me for my finer qualities.” Priscilla glanced at her cousin and buried her hands farther into her muff. If her cousin was happy wallowing in self-delusion there was no point trying to burst the fantasy. “I think I’ll invite several young ladies to dinner this evening. Wouldn’t it be diverting if I married off Lord Warenne to some wide eyed innocent before Christmas?”
“Very.”
“Where’s the footman? I’m not carrying this stupid book all the way home.”
“He’s right behind us.”
“Here you carry it. You don’t need to protect your hands from the cold. No one cares what you look like.” Priscilla took the book as she imagined her cousin’s reaction on finding Priscilla had run away to marry the eccentric Lord Warenne.”
“What are you smiling about?”
“I was just remembering something Lord Warenne said. The man’s insane.”
“What did he say?”
“He said his friend’s call him Lucky.”
“How does that make him insane?”
“He doesn’t seem very lucky to me.”
Catherine tutted in contempt, “The man escaped being tied to you. I’d say that makes him lucky.”
“True, I wouldn’t want to be tied to me.”
“Don’t talk to me. I need to choose the guest list and decide what to serve each course. If I could persuade the Duke of Strathmore to attend my dinner it would be the talk of the town.” Priscilla had an awful feeling her cousin was going to ensure Priscilla’s ill-luck became Bath’s latest on-dit, but it didn’t seem to matter. The horizon suddenly glimmered with hope that Providence was about to deliver some happiness.
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