Page 3 of Persuading Penny (Jane Austen Association #4)

T he news of these new tenants was met with mixed emotions. My mother, while reluctant to leave her beloved home, knew that it was the wisest thing to do. It was either leave her home temporarily or lose it permanently.

But my father; no matter how I tried to reason with him, he took the news as an affront.

“Leave my home?” he’d bellowed. “Why should I leave my home?”

“Would you prefer to lose your home, Boris?” my mother said.

“You’re happy about this move because you view it as a vacation of sorts,” he shot back.

“Oh,” he went on in a mocking feminine tone.

“Let us go to the country for the summer. Oh, let us move to a quaint cottage for the summer.” He glared at her.

“I’ll tell you now, Molly. This will not be a vacation. ”

She looked at me then rolled her eyes all the way around and back again. “No, dear. I know quite well that there will be no vacation at all. Not for a single moment.”

“I will not be reduced to having to leave this house... not by force... not this way. It’s been in the Copperfield family for generations.”

“You should have thought of that before you went on that spending spree three weeks before losing your job, Boris.”

“You mean three weeks before that damn pandemic hit,” he shot back. “Were it not for that, we wouldn’t be in this bind.”

She went to him and gently patted his arm. “Boris, dear husband, love of my life... You are letting your misplaced pride get the better of you.”

“Mum is right, Dad,” I said. “These Americans will be more than pleased with the experience of living in a house like this. You should be proud of that.”

He waved my comment away.

I stifled a laugh. “My personal items are already packed and ready to go. Do you need any help packing, Dad?”

My father shot me a scathing glare. “What do you propose, Penny? That you should pack my socks and underwear?” He waved me away. “Let me be. I’ll have my personal item packed soon enough.”

Mum and I headed down the stairs where the last of our luggage sat by the door. The larger suitcases had already been brought to their car as well as my own.

“I’ll confess, Penny,” Mum said quietly.

“There’s something a little disconcerting about having strangers here in my home.

I mean, strangers will eat off my dishes, cook in my pots and pans, and slip my forks and spoons into their mouths.

.. perhaps even lick a knife. They will sleep in my linen.

Will they also dry off with my towels? Will they read my books?

” She shook her head. “I really don’t like any of that. ”

“Mum, the dishes will be washed, as will the pots and pans, forks and spoons... and knives. Linens and towels will be laundered... and as for your books... people share books all the time. People regularly read books that have been read before.”

“Well, not my books,” she said with an uncharacteristically haughty air.

“Do you want us to pack up your books?” I said, knowing full well that it would be impossible. We had a library filled with books; old books, new books, cooking books, architecture books, books on war, books on geography and books about books.

“You amuse me not one bit, Penny.”

“And it wasn’t my intention. I only wish to sooth your worries.”

“What do we know about these people who will be sleeping in our beds?”

“They’re good friends of Keely and Hugh.”

“Two people that I don’t know at all. Not one bit.”

“Mum, I told you,” I said. “I’ll be working for Keely. And as for Hugh... Hugh Pembroke. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He is the most highly regarded lawyer in Bath.”

She nodded in annoyance as she fussed about, leveling a picture frame or turning a figurine just so. “Yes. Yes. I’ve heard of him. But I don’t know him, and that still doesn’t tell me much about these strangers who will be staying here.”

“Well, you’ll find out soon enough. They should be here within the hour.” I glanced at the stairs that led up to my parents’ bedroom. “I do hope Dad will be finished packing his clothes by then.”

“Does the house look all right?” she said still fussing with a vase here or a doily there.

“Everything looks fine.”

“I wouldn’t want them to think we were negligent in our housekeeping,” she went on. “Oh, look at the dust behind this curio case.”

The resounding clap of a slamming door startled us both.

“What on earth...?” Mum let out.

She quickly got her answer as Dad stomped his way to the stairs and stomped louder still down every single step.

“This is all you have, Molly?” he said, his tone impatient as he pointed to her lone suitcase.

“The rest is already in the car, Boris.”

“Then come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Dad, we’re waiting for the tenants to arrive.”

“To hell with them,” he boomed with a belligerent wave of his hand. “I don’t know them, and I don’t care to know them.”

Mum stiffened her neck and raised her chin. “Well, Boris, I would. I would very much like to see who will be eating with my fork and knife.”

“Fine,” he shot back as he opened the door. “Stay. But I’m leaving.”

“Boris!”

“Goodbye!”

She ran to the door. “Boris!”

“Go with him, Mum,” I said. “I’ll stay to meet with the tenants. I’ll let you know what sort of people they are.”

She picked up her suitcase and looked at me. “Don’t forget to have them sign those,” she said, pointing to the documents on the side table.

I nodded. “Go. I’ll take care of everything here. It’ll be fine. I know the way to the cottage, and I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Boris!” she called out. “Wait! I’m coming!”

*****

A s I waited for the tenants to arrive, I walked around. Funny how the house I’d grown up in suddenly looked strange as I saw it through the new tenants’ eyes.

What would they think of the old manor with its high ceilings and rich wood floors, it chandeliers and handsome furniture?

Being American, would they marvel at the beauty of the architecture and antiques, or would they mock the outdated décor?

Copperfield Corner; it was such a fetching name, and it had always pleased me. The property was large enough to allow for games on the lawn and even strolls in the narrow band of forest beyond that.

The house itself was solid and proud, so much as a home can be proud. Its facade welcomed visitors with its blood red front door and large flower pots on either side. Decorative shutters framed every window, and every upstairs window was adorned with white lace sheers.

The sound of tires on the pebbled path told me of the tenants’ arrival and my heart pounded a little faster. I rushed to the front window and peered through the curtain.

A handsome couple in a silver sedan drove up to the door. Only when they were close enough did I spot the two young children in the backseat.

I hurried to the door, prepared to cheerfully greet them, but stopped suddenly as I set my hand on the doorknob. Would that appear too eager? Perhaps it would scare the children. But then, why should that matter? They should be pleased to be so eagerly awaited.

I threw open the door. “Hello,” I called as they stepped out of the car.

“Hi, there,” the man called to me as he opened the car’s back door. A little girl of about eight years old hopped out.

“Daddy. Daddy,” the girl cried out. “There’s a swing in the back. Can I go?”

“Not yet, Georgina. Let’s go look at the house first.”

The woman who’d also gotten out of the car and opened the back door, picked up the younger boy from the backseat. The young family came to me.

“You must be Penny,” the woman said, her smile bright and eager. “I’m Reagan and this is Tommy.”

The little boy of perhaps four or five waved shyly at me then nuzzled into his mother’s neck.

“I’m Richard,” the man said, his hand out for a firm handshake. “And this wildcat is Georgina.”

“Hi!” the little girl said, her eyes wide and ready to take it all in. “Is this your house?”

I nodded and backed away from the door. “Come on in and have a look.”

“Wow,” Georgina let out. “It’s so old.”

I smiled. “Indeed, it is.”

Richard pressed a tight grin. “Sorry about that.”

I waved the comment away.

“Mom,” Georgina shouted, her right foot on the first step of the stairs. “Can I go up to see my room?”

Reagan looked at me for permission.

“It’s your house for the next months. Enjoy.”

“Okay, then,” Reagan said to Georgina. “Let’s go take a look upstairs.”

I turned to Richard. “Would you like to see the main floor?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I believe you have a few final documents for me to sign.”

“Right.” I went to the side table where my father had left the documents. I handed him a pen and fanned out the pages. “This is to authorize this payment from this bank account every first of the month.”

He signed on the line.

“And this is to authorize the cleaning deposit from the same bank account.”

He again signed.

“And this last one states that you understand what parts of the house you have access to or not.”

He nodded. “All good.” He signed.

I looked at the three signatures. “Richard Healy?” I said, suddenly interested in who he really was.

“That’s right.”

“Where in the States are you from?”

“Illinois,” he said. “I grew up in Effingham and now live just outside Chicago.”

“Really?” I said. “Effingham?”

“Yeah. It’s a small town in the central/southern part of Illinois.”

“Right.” I said, my memory working overtime. “Do you have any siblings?”

He looked at me with a curious gaze. “As a matter of fact, I do. An older sister, Riley and a kid brother, Cliff.”

“Cliff,” I muttered to myself.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said.

“In fact,” Richard went on. “If all goes well, Cliff should be joining us here in a few weeks.”

A silent gasp escaped me. “No,” I said softly.

“Is there a problem?”

“Um.” I looked through the documents he’d just signed. “Wasn’t there something in here about the number of people who can stay here?”