An Elaborate Hoax (A Gentlemen of Worth Book 5) Page 3

  “Oh, no. I am quite assured whilst they are in your care. With Nanny at your side, I shall not worry. I imagine Lucy and Davy will have the most splendid diversions.” Frances’s expression turned momentarily stern. “Only . . . do not allow Mr. Cavanaugh’s grandmother to spoil them a great deal.”

  “Oh, no. Well, perhaps only a little. It is a grandmother’s, and in her case, a great-grandmother’s prerogative to do so.” From what she understood, Penny did not believe the elderly Mrs. Cavanaugh capable. According to Mr. Woodsworth’s letter, it would be nothing short of a miracle if she survived much more than a fortnight after their arrival. “Do sit and make yourself comfortable.”

  Frances settled onto a chair and glanced toward the dressing room. “I want to make certain Monroe does not overhear us.”

  “What is it, Frances?” Penny sat before her dressing table, facing her niece. “Are you about to tell me that Mr. Cavanaugh is a flirt?”

  “No, nothing so horrid. He’s not a flirt precisely.” Frances looked even more shocked, if that was possible. “However, it is just that . . . I do wish to caution you about David.”

  “Caution me? Heavens, Frances, I have known the man for nearly two years, and he has been Gerald’s friend for far longer than that. I cannot imagine there is anything you can say against him. He is the godfather of your two youngest children—I cannot think of a higher recommendation of his character.”

  “David is all that is respectable,” she confessed. Then under her breath Frances muttered, “Perhaps a bit too desirable for his own good.”

  “Frances, are you quite well?” Penny removed her brush and combs from the drawer of her dressing table. “How is someone too desirable?”

  “That is not quite the right word.” Frances caught her lower lip with her teeth and pressed her hands together. “He . . . how shall I put this? I do not know if he truly understands the extent to which he captivates females. How could he not know, really?” This last was said almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I hope he did not persuade you to aid him against your better judgment.”

  “I do not believe so. I came to this decision on my own.” It had been after Penny read the letter. The butler’s letter had been most persuasive. It chronicled the days leading up to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s current affliction and her dearest wish to see her grandson’s family before meeting her Maker. It surely would have convinced Frances to send her children to Dorset with David on its own merit. “How do you expect Mr. Cavanaugh to have done that?”

  “He has a curious way about him.” Frances began to wring her hands. “He is quite agreeable, and it is as if one can’t help but comply with his suggestions. I would wholly dislike it if that had happened.”

  “And you are only telling me this now?” Penny stared at her niece incredulously. “Could you not have said something before he and I were alone?”

  “I only mean to tell you to be careful in your dealings with him, my dear. I have heard it said that other females believe he is far more interested in them than he actually is. As I said, he can come across most charming.”

  “Then you knew all along he would get his way? He would charm the pair of us? I would portray his wife and you would end up handing over your children?” Now Penny felt angry, almost betrayed.

  “Oh, no. That was the first I had heard of David’s conundrum.” Frances glanced away, and her hand-wringing ebbed to a light tapping of her fingertip, more of a nervous tic than one of anxiety. “I might not care for Gerald’s idea of involving the children, but if David wished it so, and you must know how desperately he adopted the idea, I do not believe I could have possibly refused.”

  “Mr. Cavanaugh is not your husband. You have not vowed to obey him. Why did you not persevere? Lucy and Davy are your children.”

  “And he is their godfather. David will not allow any harm to come to them, of that I am certain. As for their day-to-day care, if you and Nanny both attend there will be nothing amiss.” Frances could not have been more sincere in her address. “It is simply that you do not understand. Not yet, that is. I am certain you shall by the end of this affair. I only wish you to take care in dealing with David.”

  “Take care? As in guarding my heart?” Penny found this laughable. Smelling of April and May at her age? Ridiculous. She set her hairbrush on her dressing table.

  “David is hardly a rake, mind. Although he does enjoy a lady’s company.” Frances colored up. “There is nothing wrong with that.”

  “My word, you are a married woman!” Penny could not believe this. Frances behaving in this manner over her husband’s close friend!

  “I am, and very happily so.” She gazed at Penny with sorrowful eyes and stole her hands over her reddened cheeks. “It is only that I do not wish you to form a serious attachment to him.”

  “That is truly laughable.” Penny set her combs next to her hairbrush. “I can assure you, Frances, there is nothing about this journey that remotely recommends itself to fun, any type of amusement, or romance.”

  “Please do not laugh this off as nonsense,” Frances pleaded in all seriousness. Actually, it sounded more like a resounding scold. “You may find that you have mistakenly lost your heart to him and that he, in playing your husband, does not care the least bit for you when in all certainty you might have sworn that he had.”

  Penny did her best to mask the amusement bubbling up inside her and collected her hairbrush and combs, holding them to her smiling lips, trying to keep from laughing out loud. Poor Frances must have believed every word she said. Penny certainly could not.

  Sir Thomas’s chaise, pulled by his four chestnuts, started on the road to Dorset a quarter of an hour after the appointed meeting time. The children, who would have normally traveled with Nanny, occupied the chaise with Penny and Mr. Cavanaugh for the first leg of the journey.

  A little preparation would be needed before their arrival at the Willows. Keeping as close to the truth, for the children’s sakes, would be essential. One could not presume what they might mistakenly say, for keeping grounded in reality at that age was haphazard in the best of times.

  And so they began. Lucy sat with Penny, and Davy next to Mr. Cavanaugh on the opposite bench. The boy held on to his godfather with one pudgy hand and in the other clutched a carved wooden horse.

  “Are we to stay at the Willows just as you did, Da?” Lucy straightened her doll Mollie’s dress just as Penny had straightened Lucy’s traveling cloak.

  “You and Davy will sleep in the very same nursery my brothers and I stayed in when we visited.”

  “And are we allowed to play with Pug?” She settled Mollie on her lap, and now both paid attention to his answer.

  “I’m certain he’ll welcome the company. He’s never been around children before.”

  “Pug!” Davy shrieked at a pitch that only a three-year-old could reach, shooting both arms into the air with unbridled enthusiasm.

  “Can we ride the ponies to the orchard as you did with your brothers?” Lucy asked, unabashed.

  “The orchard still exists, but I believe it’s been a few years since the stables housed ponies.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s eyes narrowed as he gave his answer a bit more consideration.

  “No ponies?” Davy sounded disappointed and sank back against the squabs.

  “Well, not the same ponies, I’m sure, no. That would make them very, very old. Somehow I think they might have been replaced. Perhaps there is a horse or two you could ride.”

  “Horse! Hooray!” The boy drew his legs underneath him and got to his knees, finally bouncing on the plush cushions. His toy nearly struck the ceiling with all the moving about.

  “Now, Davy. Sit properly, if you please,” Penny insisted. He did so without argument.

  “Can we hunt for berries and eat them right out of the pail?” Lucy brightened, staring wide-eyed at her godfather, clearly hopeful that her every f
ancy would be gratified. Exactly who was charming whom here?

  “You may pick as many as you can hold and eat as many as you desire.” It would not do for Mr. Cavanaugh to spoil them in this fashion. His was not the behavior of a father but of an indulgent uncle. “Get on all fours and eat them right off the stem, if you wish.”

  The children squealed with laughter. Mr. Cavanaugh covered his ears, attempting to quell the noise he’d created. Yes, he, and no other, was to blame.

  “That will be quite enough.” Penny scolded all of them for the outrageous laughter and for eating strawberries from the ground. What an absolutely horrid, barbaric notion.

  It certainly was apparent he and the children rubbed along splendidly. Considering their contact with adults had been limited, they behaved perhaps too informally and always addressed him as Da.

  “Mr. Cavanaugh.” Penny willfully inserted herself in the conversation. If he refused to broach the reason for their journey, then she swore she would. “Will you not tell the children the news of your grandmother?”

  “Oh, yes.” By his vacant expression it appeared he gave this explanation as much thought as he had acquiring his fictional family. “Children, you recall my grandmother, do you not?”

  “Gran, of course,” Lucy offered in a know-it-all tone.

  “Gran, Gran . . . Gran!” Davy bounced on the cushion and into the air with every word.

  “Be still, Davy, if you please.” Penny reached across the carriage and laid her hand upon the boy’s leg until his cooperation was attained. She straightened, continuing, “I only wish to explain to the children why we, and they, travel to the Willows, and the reason for our stay.”

  “Oh, of course.” The subsequent clearing of Mr. Cavanaugh’s throat, as some gentlemen did, displayed his hesitancy. It seemed it was a topic of which he did not wish to speak.

  His invented family may have fallen in his lap, but to set that family in motion would take careful instruction. Penny could manage, but how would children, who constantly needed to be reminded about the smallest thing, ever remember how they were to behave?

  “Gran wishes to see you very much. Only . . . only . . .” Mr. Cavanaugh’s gaze drifted to Penny.

  “You see, Mr. Cav—Da’s grandmother is getting on in years, and she’s been not feeling well.” Penny glanced from the children to Mr. Cavanaugh, feeling guilty for the very thought she should try to coerce these children into participating in a deception.

  “I am sorry to hear that, ma’am. Gran has been ever so nice to us. She sends presents and books and prays for us.” Lucy glanced up at Penny. “She’s even sent us a sketch of her dog, Pug.”

  “Pug!” Davy cheered at the mention of the creature.

  “Being sick is no fun.” Lucy’s previous mania for their possible variety or activities and their upcoming stay at the Willows had somewhat diminished.

  “No, it isn’t.” Mr. Cavanaugh continued, finding his courage to speak. “I’m certain she would feel very much improved if she were to see you.”

  “That would be nice.” Lucy moved Mollie’s arms, animating her doll.

  “She’s very fond of you . . . as if you were her own grandchildren.” Mr. Cavanaugh had finally said the decisive words where Penny could make her plea.

  “If she mistakes you for her own grandchildren, I beg that you do not disagree.” Penny gazed into Lucy’s eyes, trying to measure the child’s sincerity. She wasn’t certain that was possible, the sincerity of a child? Lucy could not know how her actions, and those of her brother, would impact the outcome of this endeavor.

  “That’s all right, ma’am,” Lucy replied and turned Mollie to face her. “I don’t mind if she thinks I am her granddaughter. Sometimes old people get confused.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Penny replied.

  “Con-fuss-ed,” Davy mimicked his sister while marching his wooden horse along the side of the chaise, not paying the least attention to anyone. And it was fairly certain if Lucy would play along with this pretense, her brother would follow her lead.

  “If we are to be playacting, then you must be our mum.” Lucy offered with a giggle of good humor. “And Da can be our papa.”

  Penny chuckled with relief. “That sounds fine. What do you think, Mr. Cavanaugh? Can you play in Lucy’s game?” This would be the closest to persuading the children to go along with the charade. As long as they believed this to be a game, the plan might work. Attempting to have the children remember on their own would be a setup for failure.

  The man looked rather pleased with himself. “I suppose I could play along. If that is what Lucy wants.”

  “As long as you bear that in mind and do not give us up.” Penny addressed him in stern tones.

  “I take it as a personal challenge.” He glanced at Lucy and then Davy. “I can play pretend as well as the next man!”

  “And shall you give us up?” Penny inquired of the girl next to her.

  “Oh, no, I shan’t!” Lucy remarked, indignant.

  “Me neither!” Davy copied his sister in tone, but as for the meaning behind it, Penny imagined the three-year-old had no idea what he had agreed to do. And perhaps it was best to leave it at that.

  The swaying of Sir Thomas’s well-sprung chaise had soon lulled the children to sleep. David thought they slumbered as though they were angels, resting upon the plush bench seats. Davy lay curled in a corner, with the fingers of his right hand barely holding on to his wooden horse. Lucy slept on her side, her head resting upon Mrs. Parker’s lap, with her doll caught securely under her arm.

  “They are darlings, aren’t they?” David smiled, admiring while gazing at his sleeping godchildren.

  “I’m very fond of them.” Mrs. Parker glanced from Davy to Lucy and then rearranged the girl’s cloak so it would not tumble to the floor.

  The motion attracted David’s attention to her hand, more specifically, the gold band on her third finger. “A wedding ring? I must admit the notion never crossed my mind. May I see?” He put out his palm to take her hand and brought it near for closer study.

  “This is my own,” she told him. “It is a small matter, but one that will not be overlooked by anyone who you would wish to believe we are married.”

  “I am certain you are correct.” He turned her hand and studied the simple ornamentation adorning her finger. It was not shiny as a new ring would have been. “I would say it has a very convincing, slightly worn hue.”

  “I wasn’t married long.” Mrs. Parker’s soft words were followed by her withdrawing her hand and leaning back into her seat. “I only wished to lend some credibility to our tale.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he apologized, raising his gaze from the ring to meet her stare for a moment until she returned her attention to the ring upon her finger.

  “It was not a bad marriage, nor was it the happiest time in my life, sir. Mr. Parker was a kind man, and I have no complaints.” Apparently Mrs. Parker did not wish to dwell on her past. She gazed at the slumbering Lucy, then over to Davy. “They do not always look so peaceful, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know. I’ve been told I have a ruinous influence on them.” David tried to deliver the news with some amount of courage.

  Mrs. Parker’s eyes widened, and she straightened. “Who told you that?”

  “It was from one of the footmen, who had it by one of the upstairs maids when a nursery footman complained to her,” David informed her. A small part of him was surprised that she did not already know.

  “Complained?”

  “Well, not really. He just mentioned that there seemed to be more scampering about when I stopped by, that’s all.” David shrugged. “We like to dash about and play, the children and I.”

  “Yes, I usually reserve that sort of behavior for the outdoors, not inside the nursery.” There was a critical tone.

  If David hadn’t kno
wn any better, he would have thought she was dressing him down.

  “No doubt you all will have room enough to dash about at the Willows, outdoors, of course.”

  “Oh, bother, Mrs. Parker, there is nothing more dreadful than to hang about there. Gran is the only reason I go to the Willows,” David admitted. He hated spending his days, his evenings, his nights there. There was absolutely nothing to do. “I find country life abominable.”

  “Really?” She seemed surprised. “What of the ponies and pirates and wild berries?”

  “Who said anything about pirates?” He and his brothers had often played plundering marauders of the sea, but David had not made mention of such.

  “Oh, my mistake. I cannot imagine how I came to think on that. Perhaps it is because we are near the Channel.”

  “Better not let Gran hear you speak of smugglers or pirates. She fears they’ll return and ransack the house someday.”

  “I said nothing about smugglers,” she replied with suspicion.

  “Don’t even say it in front of Gran. She’s got a deathly fear of them.”

  “Yes, as you’ve already said,” Mrs. Parker remarked rather sharply. “And why, after all your praise of your childhood pastimes, do you now denounce country life?’”

  “Well, it was all right when I was a boy, but now that I’ve grown, had a taste of Town living, I suppose I find life at the Willows a dead bore.” He didn’t feel the need to list the reasons—“dead bore” was all-encompassing.

  “I see.” She definitely looked down her nose at that. “I suppose you find the evenings too quiet for your taste, the days lacking in excitement, and the company, as a whole, a bit thin?”

  Devil take it, she spotted the rural inadequacies right off. Was she the type of female from whom nothing is kept secret? Gran had overlooked his many misdeeds when he was in his youth, and perhaps even in more recent years, but he really needed to watch himself around Mrs. Parker.

  “Despite my opinion of the rural setting upon which we are to descend, allow me to convey to you the following: I dispatched a letter just before I left Town. Woodsworth, the butler, and Mrs. Shore, the housekeeper, will be expecting us. Gran’s companion, Mrs. Sutton, and her nurse are at Gran’s bedside. I do not know who is in charge there.”