penelope's pups 10

 

Chapter 10

 

Penelope was glad the dance was not too prolonged; Miss Vane protested of course. Penelope however slipped to bed, to find that there was a set of male attire laid out on her bed. Mr. Rivers had come into her bedroom?  That was very forward of him! She ought to be shocked, but it actually gave her a delicious little shiver.

She went to bed and dreamed a deliciously naughty, if rather vague, dream that Mr. Rivers’ clothes at her side on the bed had become magically filled with Mr. Rivers.

Getting up, it was also rather a thrill to put on garments which, though obviously washed in the meantime, had been in intimate contact with Abby Rivers.

Hermione, poked into getting up, blinked.

“You’re surely not going down like that?  What if anyone sees you?” asked Hermione.

“I was going to p-p-pull on an opera cloak and cover it all,” said Penelope.

“Oh! Well that should do. I am not going to fight, and I might turn away if it is horrid.”

“You w-won’t; you’ll wonder if N-Nicostratus knows the m-moves,” said Penelope.

“You know me too well,” said Hermione.

They crept out of the house after drinking milk and cutting a lump of bread and cheese, for which the stable boy was later unjustly blamed, but as neither knew this, they could not own up. Then they sneaked into the barn and Hermione held the ladder for Penelope to climb up and lash it more securely so Hermione could climb up behind her. They ate their bread and cheese and waited for the cheerful voices of the men. 

All the men of the house party came in. Charles had overcome his attitude to be asking for some pointers. They duly paired off and sparred. Nobody seemed to be hitting too hard this time. There was much banter, not all of which Penelope and Hermione understood.

Abby glanced up at the hay loft and looked right into Penelope’s eyes and flushed red. The blush went all the way down his pale, but hard-looking torso. He had delicious little curls above the top of his breeches, Penelope noticed, which ran up in a line of softer hair between nicely defined muscles and trickled into a light fuzz on his chest. It made her catch her breath because she wanted to get her fingers into that curly hair below his waistline and fiddle with it.

She should certainly never think about anything to do with Mr. Rivers reciprocating such a liberty.

She stuffed the fingers of one hand in her mouth to stifle the urge to make odd noises.

The men sparred for an hour or so, resting, and changing partners, and then left in apparent conviviality. Except Abby Rivers.

Penelope swung her legs over the hay loft and ran down the ladder.

“Are you still keen?” asked Abby. “I’d forgotten we’d all be half-naked and talking in a way a lady should not hear.”

“I didn’t understand most of it and I don’t think Hermione did either,” said Penelope.  Hermione waved shyly from the hay loft. 

“Just as well,” said Abby, blushing again.  They had been teasing Matt Hobson rather hard about his reactions to Hermione Driscoll ... and other views on display. And Miss Driscoll up there listening ... “I’m sorry about the, uh, male talk ... nobody was watching what was said.”

“You were teasing Mr. Hobson about something,” said Hermione, accusingly. “I nearly came to tick you off; he isn’t very well born, but he’s trying very hard, having been coerced into being part of the party.”

“Er, yes, well, it would have embarrassed him no end if you had spoken up,” said Abby.

“I don’t think it’s fair,” said Hermione. “I know he’s got horrid scars on his back, which I never knew but if you were teasing him about that, it’s not nice.”

“Oh, no, it was about something from the ball,” said Abby, hastily. “They are nasty, aren’t they? He was apprenticed to a chimney sweep but he ran away and made himself useful to a Bow Street Runner, and got trained on the job as you might say. His old master was hard and cruel. He has burn scars on his legs too, apparently.”

“Poor man,” said Hermione, softly. “He’s very adaptable.”

“Yes, I have every admiration for him,” said Abby.  “Now, Miss Belfield, if you want to fight,  you have to learn how to make a fist, and how to punch from the shoulder not from the wrist or elbow.” He showed her how to make a fist, and manoeuvred her fingers.

He made Penelope punch bales of hay at first, and took her fist in his hand to punch, showing her the movements as well as explaining to her. Penelope was very aware of the scent of his sweat, and the heat of his body.

At last he pronounced her proficient to try to punch him.

“What if I hurt you?” said Penelope.

“What if you do? I’ve a number of bruises from this morning, and a few more will make little difference. Besides, I doubt you’ll be hitting me as hard as Julie can.”

Penelope conceded this and tried to punch him. Mostly she seemed to get his guarding arms.

Then he started jabbing at her, pulling his blows so he did not touch her at all.

“Did you ought to go easy on me?” asked Penelope.

“Yes; a man doesn’t touch a lady’s chest,” said Abby, flushing again. “Besides, you wanted to learn how to defend yourself; you weren’t setting up to be a female pugilist were you?”  

“No, I wasn’t. Do they exist?”

“Yes, and half the attraction to the crowd is that they fight bare chested too,” said Abby, grimly. “And it ain’t much in the way of science, more milling and hair-pulling.”

“It sounds silly,” said Penelope.

“Yes,” said Abby. “Now, you’re going by Broughton rules, which all bouts, amateur and professional, are fought under, but when we’ve got you punching hard, if you really need to fight, you’d do better ignoring the rule of no hitting below the belt and to concentrate ...” he winced and pointed, “...here on a man. It’s tender.”

“Oh, I see. And it is important to miss anywhere that important for ...er, recreational fights,” she said, blushing.

“Quite,” said Abby.    

“It doesn’t matter a lady touching a gentleman’s chest?”

“It’s not recommended but we don’t have ...hrrrrm... bosoms.”

“I think my bosoms come without the ‘hrrrm’, you know,” said Penelope. “It does go all the way down when you blush, I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t r-really try to make it.”

“I suspect you are a bad girl,” said Abby, not objecting as she hesitantly put a hand flat on his chest. “I don’t think that’s a valid boxing move.”

“I’m a bit tired, and needed a prop,” said Penelope. “Actually, I am tired and I think I stopped learning. Can we do it again?”

“Every morning, if you want,” said Abby. “Now you need to slip back inside.”He removed her hand from his chest.

The barn door opened.

“Abby? Who ... Miss Belfield?” It was Julian.

“M-Mr. R-Rivers is t-teaching me to d-defend m-myself,” said Penelope, colouring up. 

“I’m here as a chaperone,” said Hermione, sticking her head over the hay loft.

“I see,” said Julian. “Do you have any other clothes, Miss Belfield?”

“I have a cloak,” said Penelope.

“Well, if you put that on while Rivers dresses, I’ll walk you inside and he can walk Miss Driscoll back,” said Julian. “I’m not sure what your preceptresses would say about this.”

“Mrs. Belvoir usually s-says to g-grab any educational advantage that you can,” said Penelope.

 

Penelope enjoyed a last look at Abby’s lean, muscular chest and belly as he pulled his shirt over his head. Stretching to do so revealed a few more of those delicious dark curls where his trousers covered the lower part of his torso. Then he was tucking his shirt in over them, and Penelope wished she was helping. His waistcoat went on unbuttoned and his coat over the top, and he changed pumps for top boots. Hermione slithered down with Penelope’s cloak, and Penelope put it on, pulling it about herself, pleased that Abby was taking a covert last look at her slim figure in his trousers before it was hidden.

Julian took her arm and they left the barn.

Julian stopped her, and as she turned her hood fell back. He looked seriously into her face.

“I like Abby a lot,” said Julian, softly, “And he swears he has given up gambling. But I want to keep an eye on him. Don’t go losing your heart to him, Pen, because he still needs to find himself. And he’s a bit of a rogue. Enough of one to be  attractive, I know. He knows you have no fortune, and it might be that he’s genuinely attracted to you. But be careful.”

“Of course, Julian,” said Penelope.”I appreciate the brotherly warning.”

“Well, I’m glad you take it so well.”

“There was no other way to t-take it,” said Penelope.

She and Julian were both unaware that they had been watched by Ned Atherton, who had found himself a vantage point from which to watch the house guests if they should venture out. Both were also unaware of the fact that Ned Atherton knew that Julian was married and that his wife was blonde and that she was pretty.

Julian’s solicitude for someone he considered a sister-in-law made Mr. Atherton leap to some wild and erroneous conclusions.

 

 

It was a fine day, sharp and crisp, with some high cirrus cloud, so Hermione, Sylvia and Laetitia decided to go out with Penelope when she went to walk the dogs.  Abby joined them, and so did Mr. Hobson.

“While that fellow is around, it’s not a bad idea to have men around when you go out,” he said.

“What fellow?” asked Charles.

“The one your father demonstrated a nice piece of science on, Mr. Kendry,” said Hobson. “Old schoolfriend of Mr. Nettleby’s; took against Mr. Nettlby for foiling an illegal scheme he had, and has tried to kill him already.”

“Oh, I’ll come then,” said Charles. “Golightly, fancy a walk with the chance of some sport?”

“Oh, rather,” said the curate. He and Charles appeared to have struck up a friendship.

“More pleasant out from under the d-dour nose of your vicar, I imagine,” said Penelope.

“Lud, yes,” said Mr. Golightly. “The choir call him ‘The Pharisee’ or ‘The Whited Sepulcre’ and he hasn’t yet realised that they think him a canting hypocrite. I, however, fear that he is perfectly genuine and serious, and every time he comes out with something which makes any ordinary decent Christian cringe, I almost hear another paving slab go down as he enthusiastically builds his own pavement to Hell.”

“P-perhaps Aunt Augusta should ask the b-bishop for a replacement,” said Penelope.

“Well, I would, in her shoes, but I’m not and it would be a cheek to ask it,” said Golightly. “He’ll probably thunder from the pulpit tomorrow about Mammon and the  sins of the flesh, by which he will mean Lady Herongate and her house party, so she might lose her rag.”

“That w-would be amusing,” said Penelope.

“Pen! How can you? Lady Herongate is terrifying!” said Laetitia.

“I d-don’t find her so,” said Penelope, amused. “I believe I l-love her very much.”

“She has a wicked sense of humour, which I missed before,” said Abby. “Here, Flurry, don’t go and roll in it again, once was enough.”

“Why do they always roll in fox dung?” sighed Penelope. “And then they look all hangdog and sheepish when they realise how badly they smell.”

“Let’s hope Sir Humphrey Eldhome and his hunt don’t decide to hunt Flurry because she’s the size and colour of a fox and now smells like one,” said Hermione, dryly.

“He’s in enough t-trouble with the courts for causing actual bodily h-harm to some of our girls when trespassing,” said Penelope. “I s-suspect that Aunt Augusta would b-bury him so deep in legal paperwork his s-skeleton would be found under it in fifty years’ time trying to crawl out. If she didn’t assault him with her parasol.”

“Like I said; terrifying,” said Laetitia.

“I’m l-looking forward to church now,” said Penelope, gaily. “I had b-been rather d-dreading it, but the th-thought of Aunt Augusta in f-full flow is an anticipation to be enjoyed.”

“You are a bad wench,” said Abby.

“You know I d-don’t permit people to call me a wench,” said Penelope.

“Lud, yes, she called me down for it,” said Charles. “Was in the wrong, mind. I ... well, nobody has made fun of my face.  Sorry to be a bit of a bear.”

“Well, that’s handsome enough,” said Abby. “Then I apologise for referring to you as Churlish Kennelled as an alternate name.”

“Churlish ... that’s damned witty, if pretty lowering,” said Charles, blushing.

“So, only one of our company renamed now,” said Abby. “Verruca Vanity.”

“Oh, how appropriate,” said Mr. Hobson, then flushed.

“What does ‘Verruca’ mean?” asked Sylvia.

“It’s a kind of wart,” said Abby.

Those who were similarly unsure of the vocabulary also sniggered.

“I like you more for naming people by personality not appearance,” said Charles.

Abby shrugged.

“Nobody can help their appearance,” he said.  “I dub the vicar ... what was he, Virgil Gore-Sheldon? Vinegar Bore-Sheepshead.”

Charles gave a crack of laughter.

“Sheepshead, someone who is all jaw,” he said. “I love it.”

“Vinegar as in someone sharp or in boxing cant, a man with a whip to keep people from invading the ring?” asked Hobson.

“Both,” said Abby. “I thought both appropriate, he’s sharp and seems to be smelling vinegar all the time, and I fancy he’s determined to whip any he can to keep from the kingdom of Heaven of his devising.”

It is a sad commentary on the vicar that nobody could take exception to Abby’s name and its explanation.