The Roguish Miss Penn

THE ROUGISH MISS PENN

Emily Hendrickson

Chapter 1

“I shall find a way to get what I want, somehow, in some manner. To call me a rogue and a vagabond is truly the outside of enough.”

Katherine Penn argued her case with the family donkey as it pulled her little cart across the Silver Street bridge. The River Cam flowed lethargically south toward Sheep’s Green, where she suspected her brother was taking time from his studies to indulge in a welcome swim. If only the Cambridge city fathers would do something about the shortage of water within the central portion of the town. Katherine detested the necessity for her meager sponge baths and envied her brother, Teddy, his splash in the river.

She sighed with longing at the thought of a truly magnificent bath, one that might cover every bit of her body. It seemed wicked, and sinfully wasteful of water, but utterly delicious. Glancing at her companion, who perched rather precariously on the wooden seat at her side, she said, “I wager you would adore a good swim as well, my friend. I promise you shall have a wonderful paddle when we get to Fairfax Hall. Near the Gothic Tower is an excellent pond, just right for you. If only I dared to jump in as well.”

Her companion gave a muted honk, then nudged his mistress with an affectionate touch of his orange beak. Gabriel was a magnificent goose, mostly white with patches of dark gray. Dull orange ringed his intelligent eyes, and they peered ahead with what seemed to be anticipation.

“For the present I shall ignore my problem and gather some flowers to press. I have near run out of them,” Katherine confided to her pet. “There ought to be no difficulty, what with his lordship being away. No word has reached town of his presence, and heaven knows Melly would have spread the news immediately once she heard. We shall be safe.” Amelia, Bonner, or Melly, was the daughter of the greatest gossip in the county, and if she didn’t know a thing, it had not happened.

Katherine urged the donkey to take the turn at the next corner, heading north to the entrance leading to Fairfax Hall. Once there, she intended to veer off toward the Gothic Tower, a charming bit of a folly done under the supervision of Capability Brown some years past. It suited her mood precisely. She had just completed writing a play, a satire on the current rage of the theater, the gothic melodrama.

“And to think they can carouse from dinner to dawn and no one points out their want of behavior,” she reverted to her original complaint. “Some fine example those old men set for the undergraduates. Hmpf.” Katherine did not include her father, who was the Regius Professor of Divinity at Trinity College. He was known to indulge upon special occasions, but never to excess. Since her mother died, he had spent more and more of his time at the college, making a rare appearance at home when he recalled his two children and their possible needs.

“Scandalous,” Katherine declared to Gabriel at her side, thinking of the university officials and their continued opposition to theatrical productions. “As though those precious students might be corrupted by a mere play when they have everything from cockfighting to bearbaiting at their disposal.” She firmed her lips with anger. No theater was permitted in town, and no plays performed for the general public except for the three weeks during Sturbridge Fair.

The goose bobbed his head up and down as though he quite understood the impossible ways of the fellows, professors, and other officials of the university.

The cart wobbled as it bumped along a rutted lane toward the Gothic Tower. Once within walking distance, Katherine persuaded the donkey to halt beneath the shade of a spreading oak. She tied the reins to a branch, then scooped the protesting goose beneath her arm and set off toward the point.

After letting Gabriel down at the water’s edge, she began to collect perfect specimens of the flowers that grew in such abundance. How lovely of Mr. Brown to set this area aside as a tranquil reserve. Gabriel honked his apparent agreement from the pond, where he blissfully swam about with no competitors for the tasty treats he enjoyed.

Katherine had a respectable number of flowers neatly positioned between the heavy papers of her portable press when she was startled nearly out of her wits by a male voice, deep and resonant.

“Good day, miss. I trust you found all the flowers you desire?” She could not fail to catch the trace of sarcasm in his voice.

Katherine stood up so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Heart pounding and mouth suddenly dry, she relaxed a trifle when she discovered a nonthreatening gentleman watching her. At least he did not have a stick in his hand, nor did he frown at her like an irate landowner. A tall, slender man possessing an excellent form and rather nice gray eyes, he sent her heart thumping for reasons other than fear. Dark-brown hair tumbled over his brow in heedless disorder, negligent but engaging.

“Yes,” she said frankly, doing her best to ignore her peculiar heartbeats. “This place has the nicest flower-gathering spot for miles around; the cattle cannot munch them for dinner and few ducks or geese seem to be around.” Then she observed a large tan dog gamboling about the edge of the pond. Gabriel serenely paddled to the center of the water, keeping a careful eye on the dog. “Usually.”

“You come here often, then?” He ignored the dog, who was yapping at the goose, concentrating his attention on Katherine, to her increasing discomfort.

“As often as weather permits and I can get away. There always seems so much to be done, you see.” She darted a cautious glance at Gabriel. He kept a prudent distance from the dog. Katherine had no real fears for the large goose, for he was quite able to defend himself in a contest.

“Weather?” The man glanced up at the clouds that had gathered overhead since Katherine left Cambridge to jaunt out to the countryside.

“Oh, dear.” She looked at the sky, noting how dark the clouds had become. “I’d best be going. I fear I get preoccupied when gathering blooms.” She placed her neat collection of pressed flowers on a rock, then marched off to the pond to collect her feathered friend. “Gabriel, we must head for home now. Come.” She snapped her fingers and succeeded only in bringing the tan dog to her side. She glanced down to note its curious eyes and sighed with disgust. Turning to the stranger, for whom, oddly enough, she felt not a shred of fear, she requested, “Please call your dog so that I might get my pet from the pond. Gabriel is not precisely afraid of the dog, but does prefer to keep a good distance.”

“Hector,” commanded the man.

The animal ignored his master’s summons. Rather, the dog jumped up on Katherine, grinning at her. Normally this would not create a crisis, but she stood on the slippery bank of the pond. His weight was all it took to throw her off balance and into the water.

“Oh,” she cried, her arms waving frantically, as over she went. The cold water engulfed her with a sudden shock. Had she actually wished she might have a bath in this frigid liquid? She bobbed to the surface of the shallow pond, then waded to the rim with great difficulty. Pond weed and long grasses combined with her gown to tangle about her legs, making each step an effort.

Then she noticed the man. The wretch tried not to laugh, with little success. He was standing not far away, his shoulders shaking with mirth at her predicament. At his heels the dog peered around those elegantly long legs encased in nankeen pantaloons and polished boots to cast a worried look at Katherine.

She gave the man—no gentleman could behave thus—a derisive glare, then tried to pull herself up the bank. Between her clinging, sodden skirt, the slippery grass, and the distance from the pond bottom to the bank, she was lost.

“You might at least give me a hand,” she muttered through clenched teeth while grasping at the slippery grass. Her earlier opinion of the man was abruptly revised. He was not kindly in the least.

“If you promise not to pull me in with you, I might.” The teasing note in his voice failed to favorably impress the young woman in need of help.

“You think me such a rudesby as that? I assure you that I, at least, possess some manners.” Her lofty tone of address was somewhat marred by her bedraggled appearance. Mercifully she had no mirror at hand to see the effect of her plunge. Several strands of pond weed clung to her once-pretty yellow muslin, while one green string hung down from her hair to add a bizarre touch to her untidy coiffure.

Cautiously the man offered his hand. It was well-shaped, strong, and more than able to provide her with purchase on the pond edge. Katherine welcomed his warm touch, not to mention leaving the cold water.

When she at last stood a short distance from the pond, she called to her goose, hoping that for once he would not take a notion to become the haughty creature he sometimes fancied himself. “Come, Gabriel,” she called. She shivered as a breeze whipped about her, raising duck bumps on her tender skin.

“Here, you are taking a chill,” the stranger said, suddenly aware of her condition. His gaze traveled over her slender form draped in wet muslin. “Best ignore the bird for the moment. Come into the house and I shall see that you get dry.”

Katherine shot him a startled look, wondering where he lived. Glancing behind her, she recalled the cozy house behind the church that stood on the property. She turned in that direction, only to find his hand staying her.

“This way, please.”

He was leading her to the great house. Katherine stopped in her tracks, a feeling of dread slipping over her. “Who are you?”

He ignored her question. “I assure you that my sister is in residence with me, so all will be proper. Actually, you might be a welcome diversion. I fear she is still in a melancholy following the death of her husband two years ago. The sight of you with pond weed draped about you could cheer her immensely.”

“Thanks, ever so much,” Katherine muttered in a soft aside. Then she repeated her question, her suspicions having grown considerably since the first asking.

When he still failed to reply, she voiced her own conclusion. “I suspect you are Lord Ramsey. And I very much fear I am trespassing on your property.”

They were over halfway up the broad path to the house. Lord Ramsey had picked up Katherine’s pressed flowers. He now glanced at the awkward parcel the press made, then at Katherine. “If you do no worse than pick a few wildflowers and allow your pet goose a swim, I daresay there is no problem. I do not mind in the least. Come, now, before you catch your death of a cold, or worse.”

Realizing he was being most sensible, for she felt truly quivery, Katherine obediently followed along, a rising excitement at actually going inside the imposing hall beginning to take hold of her. She had seen the place from a distance a great many times. Never had she thought to view the interior.

They hurried up broad steps to the terrace. He guided her to a French door that led into a small saloon. Just outside the door Katherine paused to wring out some of the water from her gown, hoping Lord Ramsey would be gentleman enough to look the other way. When she glanced up, he was staring off toward the tower. A smile lurked about his lips that made her wonder a trifle.

He held open the door, ushering her inside as though she was a proper guest. As it closed behind them, a gentle rain began to fall. Katherine glanced outside with dismay. How was she to get home in her little cart without another soaking?

“Philip, what have you done?” A woman who looked to be somewhere in her thirties crossed the room to stand at Katherine’s side, giving her a look of sympathy mixed with a tinge of amusement. She was of medium height with dark-brown hair much like Lord Ramsey’s. Katherine thought that, for her age, the lady looked rather attractive.

“I found her near the Gothic Tower and she is mine. I lay claim to all the strays that wander onto the land, you know.” He grinned, and Katherine did a sudden reversal in her opinion of him once again. He had an entrancing smile. And those gray eyes sparkled with devastating effect, even if he spoke airy nonsense.

He reached out to touch Katherine’s pert nose, coming away with a speck of green on the tip of his fingers. “I believe nothing short of another bath, this time a proper one, will do the trick. The pond weed has gone to seed and you are covered with green spots. Looks like a rare case of the green measles,” he said solemnly, that twinkle peeping out once again in those rather nice eyes.

The woman chuckled. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gisela Cheney, Lord Ramsey’s sister. You seem to have a severe effect on his memory and manners.”

Katherine shot a cool look at her savior. Then she turned to face Gisela again, adding, “I am Katherine Penn. My father is a professor at Trinity College.”

“You are creating puddles on the floor,” Lord Ramsey inserted—a bit nastily, Katherine thought. “We had best hustle you up the stairs before Mrs. Stedman has an attack of spasms.”

Contrite, for she well knew the effect of water upon wood, Katherine followed the others across the saloon into what appeared to be a breakfast room, through another door, and up a flight of stairs.