An Object To Crave

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Penelope Crane had been forced to live with her uncle when she lost her parents to a shipwreck at the age of eight. Her uncle Cecil was a cruel man who, along with his son, Wendell, delighted in tormenting Penelope and he claimed all that was hers as his own. All seemed to be a nightmare that would never end until she is approached by a man named James Keziah Delaney, who has a proposition that is almost as terrifying as the life that she has been living…but much more intriguing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the world of Taboo. I am simply borrowing a few of the characters for this work of fanfiction. The only things that belong to me are my OC, Penelope, as well as her loathsome uncle and his son, as well as the staff of Crane Manor.

Author's Note: Please be aware of the fact that James will be a bit kinder in this story. Not cuddly and overly sensitive by any means, just not quite as rough and uncaring.

Just So You Know: This work of fanfiction is rated M for violence, sexual harassment and attempted rape, in addition to a variety of citrus, both limes and lemons.

Chapter One

Penelope's POV

I thought of my parents every day, there were some days that I recalled happy memories for hours at a time. Uncle Cecil, Wendell and I were traveling to the house in London. At one time, I'd lived in that house with my father and mother, but when they had perished at sea, Uncle Cecil had laid claim to the house, the property, the servants and me. He felt at one time that I would be a good match for his son Wendell when I was of an age to marry, but I knew that I'd rather live my life as a lightskirt than to have to give myself to Wendell, who was odious and obnoxious.

Uncle Cecil feigned sleep the entire journey, knowing that if he did so, Wendell would attempt to molest me, which he did. While I was guarding my breasts, I was also safeguarding the area between my legs. I had to move my head all about to keep him from kissing me, and when that didn't work, I removed a hatpin and jabbed the back of his hand. His face contorted quite comically when I did that, and I could tell that he was doing his best to keep from screaming.

He didn't try any shenanigans after that and chose instead to stay on his own side of the carriage, pouting like a small boy who'd had his lolly taken away. Uncle Cecil opened his eyes the moment that we started down the long drive that was covered with loose gravel. I glanced out of the window, eager for a glimpse of the house that I knew so well.

It made me guilty, but I could not help but wonder why my parents had not drawn up a will. The proper documents would have provided me with a decent guardian and would have assured that I would be the one who took ownership of Crane Manor, not to mention Crane Shipping, when I came of age. But there'd been no testament amongst Papa's papers, and I'd been shipped off to his brother Cecil and his toadish son, the former who now owned everything that my father had worked so hard for.

It seemed to take us forever to make the journey down the driveway. I was eager to see the garden that Mama had the gardener plant before I was born. From what I'd heard, Mr. Jessup, the gardener, was the only one of the original employees who still remained in residence at Crane Manor. Uncle Cecil had fired all of the others, most likely because he knew that they did not want to work for a man who was widely known to be a tyrant and a crook.

The carriage had barely come to a stop in front of my childhood home, but I opened the door and jumped out. The household staff was lined up to greet us and a rather stuffy looking gentleman stepped forward and looked me over from head to toe. I knew that my clothing was perfectly respectable, my cream-colored rosebud printed dress was proper and stylish. I'd paired it with a soft pink twill spencer jacket, a straw bonnet with a pink ribbon, and cream-colored kid slippers. All in all, I looked like a very dignified young woman, so why on earth was he looking down on me…and more importantly, why did I care?

"Greetings, Mr. Crane and Mr. Crane, I trust that your trip was pleasant?"

The gigantic oaf stepped around me, as if I didn't exist, and immediately fell into the role of sycophant to my uncle and my cousin. I suppose that he thought that I was an ill-mannered young woman who ought to have known to take my place behind my betters, but that was all a bunch of hogwash as far as I was concerned. I might not have had perfect manners, I might speak out of turn on occasion and I might be too headstrong, but that was far better than being a thief or a lecher.

"It was tolerable, at best," Uncle Cecil replied, looking 'round the man at the household staff. "I trust that there is someone who will see to our luggage?"

The other man seemed momentarily insulted that my uncle had felt the need to ask that question, but the emotion was one that momentarily flashed in his eyes, then departed before it was noticed by my uncle. "Your belongings will be seen to immediately, Mr. Crane," he said. "I am the butler, Higgins. This is the housekeeper, Mrs. Sloan, the cook, Mrs. Harris, and the gardener, Mr. Jessup. The rest that you see are various housemaids, kitchen maids and footmen, none of whom hold any importance, therefore allow me to show you to the Blue Salon for tea and refreshments."

As Higgins was leading my uncle and cousin into the house, he barked an order to someone named Morris to see to our luggage. My eyes momentarily locked with those of Mr. Jessup, who nodded at me in greeting. Goodness, he'd aged a great deal from the last time that I'd seen him. I returned the nod, along with a smile, then, once I saw that all of the staff had retreated back into the home, save for Morris, who, along with Mr. Jessup, was wrestling with our trunks, I made my way to Mama's garden.

Mama had designed the garden, with a bit of advice from Mr. Jessup, and it was beautiful. There was a pond in the middle, filled with goldfish, and a large fountain that sat in the middle of the pond. Rock paths ran all through the garden, which included a small hedge maze. There was a canopy off to one side, offering shade and shelter to those who sat in the white wicker furniture beneath. There were several lilac, honeysuckle and peony bushes, and everywhere else, there were flowers that filled the air with a variety of perfumes.

There were roses in red, pink, yellow and white. There were lilies in the same colors, along with tiger lilies and stargazers. There were also carnations, irises, hyacinth and tulips. It was just as I remembered it, and there, in a circle of oak trees, was the playhouse that Papa had given me when I turned five. It was painted white, with pink trim, and inside there was a pretend kitchen, a tiny table with four chairs and, if my memory was correct, three china dolls named Susie, Molly and Abbie.

I had to stoop to enter the playhouse, and though it was dusty, everything was still the same as it had been the last time I'd been here. I would have to fetch some cleaning supplies and give everything a good dust and a wash. I had a feeling that this tiny house would be a sanctuary for me, so that I could escape my horrid uncle and cousin, but not while it was filled with spiders.

I would have liked to have gathered a bouquet while I was outside, but I knew that Uncle Cecil would be livid if I dawdled. It made me nauseous to walk into the home that was rightfully mine, knowing that it wasn't, and that my awful relatives would redecorate everything and make it just as tasteless as their home in Devonshire was.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Sloan, was waiting for me when I walked through the door. "I was just about to send someone out to look for you, Miss Crane," she said affably, taking my coat and bonnet from me. "This is Fern and she will take you to the Blue Salon."

There was a young woman with carrot colored hair and large green eyes standing beside Mrs. Sloan. Her face was covered with freckles, her skin was the color of cream and she had a bright, friendly and genuine smile on her face. That was going to be another trial on this journey, discovering which of the staff was sincerely kind and which ones were prepared to stab me in the back. I felt as though I had Mr. Jessup on my side, and perhaps Mrs. Sloan as well, and it pleased me to think that I might be able to add Fern to the list.

I was hoping that Fern might feel the urge to chat as we made our way to the Blue Salon, but undoubtedly, she had been told that she oughtn't do so. It was a long walk to the appointed room, and I was pleased to see that the house looked as it had when I was a child. I did not know how long that would last, but I could enjoy it for the time being.

I felt my temper spark when we reached the Blue Salon and I saw that Wendell was sprawled across the Recamier that rested between two large windows. The piece was rosewood with brass inlay, upholstered in pale blue striped silk, and had been one of Mama's favorite pieces of furniture. I would have liked to have given him the sharp side of my tongue for his behavior, but if I did so, it would only encourage him to behave more abominably.

"Where in blazes were you, you twit?" Uncle Cecil bellowed, earning a surreptitiously pointed glance from Higgins, who undoubtedly did not approve of such language in mixed company. "You knew that it was teatime, yet you chose to la-di-dah your way through the bloody garden."

"Forgive my tardiness, Uncle," I said quietly, taking a seat on the empty scroll end sofa. There were two facing one another, each which matched the Recamier. "I was simply admiring the garden and recalling moments from my childhood."

Another housemaid, this one with golden curls, cobalt colored eyes and a smirk that she aimed in my direction unloaded a cart that held my mother's favorite bone china tea set, along with a plate of scones and tarts on the mahogany center table that rested between the two sofas. Wendell perked up when he saw the maid and did everything in his power to catch her attention, but his actions were nipped in the bud by a withering look from his father.

"Do try to control yourself, Wendell," Uncle Cecil said in that malicious tone that he usually reserved for me. "If we are to find you a wife, it would be best to control your lustful ways until after you have wooed some dimwitted woman with a hefty dowry and convinced her to be your bride."

Higgins looked especially outraged as my uncle continued to behave in a manner that was undeniably vulgar in nature, but he didn't say word as Fern entered the room. She seemed to notice that the atmosphere was strained, but she knew better than to mention the tension. She undoubtedly knew that she was to serve her "betters" and not to speak unless she was spoken to.

Fern served the tea, beginning with my uncle, followed by the pastries, again offering the plate to Uncle Cecil first. I was the only one who offered a word of thanks, and I could tell by the look on her face that she was pleased, but also surprised. She finished her duties under the hawklike gaze of Higgins and quickly left the room, leaving the tray, in case any of us wanted a second helping.

"How do you mean to find me a suitable spouse, Father?" Wendell asked, helping himself to another scone, as well as a couple of tarts. "We don't really know anyone in Town."

My uncle sighed and shook his head, a sound and a motion that indicated that he considered his son to be a helpless idiot, but his only son, therefore his shortcomings would have to be ignored. "You do not know anyone, but I have several acquaintances, and invitations for a grand ball will go out to every respectable and notable family on the morrow. Surely one of them has a daughter who will meet our requirements and she will acquiesce to be your bride, though I imagine it will take a good deal of negotiation on my behalf to make you seem like a good catch."

James' POV

Brace left my breakfast outside the door, knocking once before he left. I roamed the house at night, seldom sleeping for more than a couple of hours at a time, yet he seemed to have an uncanny habit of finding me. I waited a moment or two, to be sure that he was gone, and opened the door to find a tray that held a cup of tea, a plate that held two eggs, fried sunny side up, along with several rashers of bacon, and four triangles of buttered toast. He had placed a pressed linen napkin on one side of the plate, topped with a knife and a spoon, and on the other side was a fork, sitting atop an envelope with my name on it.

Who in blazes would be corresponding with me on such fine stationary? I knew that Zilpha would never do so, therefore it made for one hell of a mystery. I hadn't realized that I was hungry until I got a good whiff of the food on my plate, so I left the envelope where it was and quickly devoured everything that Brace had brought me. I was tempted to leave the napkin where it was, just to show the old bugger that I was just as much of a savage as I seemed to be, but I went ahead and wiped my hands and mouth like a decent and well-mannered bloke.

My curiosity finally got the best of me and I picked up the envelope, thinking as I did that the sender must have a good amount of coin to afford the postage that something like this would have cost to send. The handwriting on the front was obviously feminine in nature, but once more, I knew that it hadn't come from Zilpha. The hand that had addressed the envelope produced script that was softer than my sister's. The envelope was sealed with the mark of the Crane family, and I recalled, in the back of my mind, that the family had owned a shipping company.

I broke the seal on the envelope and found an invitation to a grand ball that was to take place in two weeks' time at Crane Manor. I stared at the details printed on the ivory colored vellum for several minutes, wondering why in hell I'd been invited to a ball given by people that I'd never met. I wasn't exactly the sort of fellow that found himself on the guest list of these types of get-togethers, so why had they invited me? It was a mystery, that was to be sure, but the fact that they owned a shipping company made me think that it might not be a bad idea to make an appearance.

I opened the door and called for Brace several times before he made an appearance, huffing and puffing as though he'd been running through the house. "Why would the Crane family invite me to social event at their home when we've never met?"

Brace leaned against the wall and regained his breath. "Begging your pardon, but I was a fair distance away and had to run," he said, coughing a couple of times before he continued. "You probably don't have any memory of the Crane family, because you were a small child when they were lost at sea. Harrison Crane started Crane Shipping when he was seventeen and by the time, he was twenty-two, the business was a booming success. That was when he married his childhood sweetheart, Annette, and two years later she gave birth to their daughter, Penelope. By the time that the child was three, they'd completed Crane Manor and there they stayed, until five years later, when Harrison and Annette were aboard one of their ships when it sank"

"What happened to the child?" I asked, picked at a threadbare spot on my shirt.

Brace looked disgusted, as if he'd suddenly caught a whiff of something that was rotten. "Harrison's older brother, Cecil, arrived in Town and declared that his brother had not left a will behind, so he claimed that it was his right, as the deceased party's only living relation, to take claim of Crane Shipping, Crane Manor and little Penelope Crane. He fired all of the household staff, save for the gardener, hired new employees and retired to his home back in Devonshire. The gossip around Town is that he's throwing this ball in a desperate attempt to find a wife for his loathsome son, Wendell, and he's invited every family in Town, whether they are still of some importance or their star faded long ago, to attend, and that is why you have been invited."

I thought on what he'd said, then I fetched the tray that held empty dishes and a soiled napkin and handed it to him, shutting the door behind him. It made no sense that a man who owned a successful shipping company had not left a testament behind to provide for his family. The wheels in my head began to turn as I prepared myself for the day. I would have to look into this matter, there would have to be an investigation, because the more that I thought about that shipping company, the more it occurred to me that an asset like that would be invaluable to me and the plans that I had for the future. If there was a will to be found, everything would undoubtedly switch hands, so that Penelope Crane owned the business. I could therefore marry her, and I would be one step closer to the company that would provide me with not just one ship, but with a small fleet…or so I hoped.

Zilpha was determined to sell the land that Father had left behind, but I would not allow that to happen. A plan was forming in my mind, one that might be considered insidious by some, but as I plotted, I decided that I would not let any harm come to Penelope Crane. From what Brace had said, she'd already suffered a great deal and I had no desire to hurt her…I just hoped that she was willing to do everything that I asked of her.

Penelope's POV

I could hardly believe that Uncle Cecil had allowed me to go shopping on my own…well, I was accompanied by one of the housemaids, a woman named Myra who was heavy and rather plain and hardly spoke a word, but when she did, she displayed a pleasant disposition. I needed to find something to wear to the ball and my uncle wasn't about to have me measured and fitted at the house, a luxury that he only bestowed upon himself and Wendell.

I chose a lovely gown in a delicate shade of cream, that was decorated with lace around the short, puffed sleeves and around the hem as well. Uncle Cecil would be pleased, because I already had slippers that would match the dress. I was delighted to find a pearl hair comb and matching earbobs that would compliment my ensemble, and once my shopping was complete, I decided that I would stop at a pastry shop before I returned home.

Uncle Cecil had arranged for a carriage to fetch us home at two o'clock, but that was an hour and a half away, and I was drawn to the smell of sweets. Myra asked for permission to visit her mother and I granted it, provided that she met me in the park in an hour, which was where we were supposed to meet the carriage.

I purchased an apple turnover and a goblet of milk, then chose a table where I could sit, unobserved, and revel in the delicious pastry and the fresh, ice-cold milk. I was halfway through my snack when a soft, yet thoroughly masculine voice asked if the owner of said voice could sit with me. I looked up in surprise and my eyes met those of one of the handsomest men that I'd ever seen.

I swallowed the mouthful of turnover that I'd been chewing and somehow found the courage to say yes. For a moment I was terrified that he was playing a trick on me, but a furtive glance at my surroundings told me that he was by himself. He had a chocolate pastry and a glass of milk and I waited for him to begin eating, but he watched me instead with a small smile curving what could only be described as the most beautiful lips that I'd ever seen on a man.

I wondered if he was admiring my dress. It was a lovely shade of Dresden blue, with Venice lace at the neckline, three lines of grosgrain ribbon trimming the hem of the dress and I wore white lace gloves on my hands and white slippers on my feet. All in all, I felt quite pretty, but as he continued to smile at me, I began to fear that he did so in humor, as opposed to admiration.

I was starting to feel very uncomfortable and my distress must have shown on my face, because he finally put me out of my misery by leaning over and wiping a bit of sugar off of my lower lip with his thumb. I could only imagine how long that had been lingering there, I knew that it had been there the entire time that I'd been speaking to him, and I might have felt terribly self-conscious, but he didn't seem to think that I was untidy or foolish, and I was able to relax.

"Thank you for your assistance," I said, feeling nervous about eating in front of him, until he took a large bite of his pastry and chased it with a huge gulp of milk. "My name is Penelope Crane and I am very pleased to meet you."

He looked at me as if I'd just told him something that he already knew and replied, "The pleasure's all mine, Miss Crane. My name is James Delaney and I believe that I got a glimpse of your handwriting a couple of days ago."

I'd been furious with Uncle Cecil when he'd forced me to hand address all of those invitations, but the idea of Mr. Delaney receiving his and inferring that the handwriting on the envelope belonged to me thrilled me. His had been one of the first that I'd addressed, and my script had been particularly neat and appealing to the eye.

"If I may be so bold, Mr. Delaney, will you be able to attend the ball?"

He didn't say anything for several moments and I feared that I might have asked too much, too soon, but then he almost smiled and I felt a fluttering in my tummy in response to that slight curving of his lips. I'd never responded this way to a man, and I hoped that my reactions weren't showing on my face and making me look like a besotted nincompoop.

"I will definitely be there, Miss Crane, and if I may be so bold, may I ask for three dances with you, including the final waltz?"