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Chapter 19
lat-i-tu-di-nar-i-an(adjective). Allowing, favoring, or characterized by latitude in opinion or action; not insisting on strict adherence to conformity with an established code.
In Bournemouth—as opposed to London—one can act in a morelatitudinarian manner, but still, even when in the country, there are certain rules of conduct to which one must subscribe.
—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent
“You!” Penelope accused. “What are you doing here?”
But her voice was drowned out by that of Blake, who was yelling at Caroline, “Why the hell didn't you run down the stairs when you heard us coming?”
His only answer was a sneeze.
James, who was rarely ruffled by anything, raised a brow and said, “It appears she's a bit incapacitated.”
Caroline sneezed again.
Penelope turned to James, her expression furious. “I suppose you're in some way connected to this subterfuge as well.”
He shrugged. “In some way.”
Caroline sneezed.
“For heaven's sake,” Penelope said testily, “get her out of the stairwell. Clearly there is something putrid amid the dust that is sending her into convulsions.”
“She isn't having a bloody convulsive fit,” Blake said. “She's sneezing.”
Caroline sneezed.
“Well, whatever the case, move her into your bedroom. No! Not your bedroom. Move her into my bedroom.” Penelope planted her hands on her hips and glared at everyone in turn. “And what the devil is going on here? I want to be apprised of the situation this very minute. If someone doesn't—”
“If I might be so bold,” James interrupted.
“Shut up, Riverdale,” Blake snapped as he picked up Caroline. “You sound like my damned butler.”
“I'm sure Perriwick would be most flattered by the comparison,” James said. “However, I was merely going to point out to Penelope that there is very little untoward about Caroline being in your bedroom, seeing as how she and I are also in attendance.”
“Very well,” Penelope conceded. “Set her down in your bedroom, Blake. Then I want to know what is going on. And no more nonsense about honey and pet birds.”
Caroline sneezed.
Blake turned to his sister and suggested, “Maybe you could get her some tea?”
“Ha! If you think I'm going to leave her alone in here with the two of you—”
“I'll get some tea,” James interrupted.
As soon as he left, Penelope narrowed her eyes at Blake and Caroline and demanded, “Are you having an affair?”
“No!” Caroline managed to exclaim between sneezes.
“Then you had best start explaining your presence. I had judged you to be a lady of stern moral character, and it is requiring all of my tolerance and broad-mindedness not to alter that opinion.”
Caroline looked to Blake. She wasn't about to give away his secrets without his permission. But he just groaned, rolled his eyes, and said, “We might as well tell her the truth. Lord knows she's going to ferret it out eventually.”
The entire tale took twenty minutes. It probably would have only required fifteen, except that James returned with the tea—thankfully accompanied by fresh scones—and the narrative naturally slowed while they all partook of it.
Penelope asked no questions during the telling except for “Milk?” and “Sugar?” which really didn't signify as she was pouring the tea.
