The Rise of a Forsaken Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  But would she keep her composure if it happened?

  Martha rose from her seat as Penelope stood from the water, stepped out and dried off. With Martha’s help she was she was soon dressed in a dark-blue evening gown and soft kid slippers. Her brother should be along anytime now, and she did not want him to have to search for her. Even if he did suspect that she had gone riding, no evidence was there, and no one was going to tattle on her.

  Finding herself in the lower drawing room with a book on her lap, Penelope opened the book but instead of reading began to daydream. Sadly, she did not get to do it for long.

  Mr. Moore came in to light the lamps, and she dipped her head as her daydream was of Mr. Moore. The memory of his bare skin and muscles were still stuck in her mind.

  “Good evening My Lady,” he nodded.

  “Same to you, Mr. Moore.” She tried to focus on her book.

  Mr. Moore was methodological, if anything, closing the outer shutters with precision while lighting the lamps in the intersections. When he was done, she asked him. “Mr. Moore, would you please send for some tea for me?”

  She knew it was not one of his assigned tasks, but she had asked anyway. He nodded. “It is no trouble, My Lady.”

  As he left, she could hear the telltale sound of carriage wheels announcing the arrival of her brother and Lord Hillbrook. She calmed and focused on her book just before she heard Mr. Gastrell receiving the two. She felt her body tensing as their footsteps came closer and she could hear their conversation.

  “That stallion was of a good Arabian breed, Dawson,” Lord Hillbrook said. “I have no idea why you did not bid on him.”

  She closed the book and sat up just as Edward and the Baron entered. Lord Hillbrook was holding a box in his hand and instantly, she went tense. The box of Biscotti was still in the kitchen waiting for the bonfire.

  “Because I do not want a horse that looks like an old knight’s destrier,” Edward huffed. “His thighs were as thick as your carriage wheel. I would be unlikely to live if he threw me, thank you very much.”

  Lord Hillbrook rolled his eyes, “You should learn a thing or two about riding…probably from our lovely Lady Penelope.” His tone was lightly teasing, but Penelope took it as an indirect compliment.

  “Lord Hillbrook,” she said while straightening her posture. “While I take your compliments with grace…” Penelope then looked at Edward who was souring and slyly added, “My brother…does not like to hear that I ride better than he does.”

  “He should be used to it by now,” Lord Hillbrook smiled. “I’ve ragged him about it for years. Here are your biscuits, My Lady. It was a pleasure getting them for you.”

  Pretending surprise, Penelope stood and curtsied before taking them. “Thank you, My Lord.”

  Mr. Moore had entered with a tray of tea, and suddenly, the air had gone icy. The brittle atmosphere was about to shatter in shards when Penelope, looking between the two, leaped into action.

  Deliberately placing herself between Lord Hillbrook and Mr. Moore, she took the tray, “Thank you, Mr. Moore.”

  “You are welcome, My Lady. Good evening My Lords,” Mr. Moore bowed and greeted. “Do you need anything else, My Lady?”

  Before she could say a word, Lord Hillbrook said icily, “No, she does not. You are dismissed.”

  Mr. Moore bowed, said his calm farewells and exited. Holding the tray, Penelope spun to the two and said tightly. “That was uncalled for.”

  “Penelope—” Edward tried, but she cut him off.

  “Thank you for the biscuits, My Lord,” she said to the Baron. “But that dismissal was and still is uncalled for. If the trip to London took a toll on you and you are tired, I understand, and I will leave you be. Good evening, Edward and Lord Hillbrook.”

  With the tray in her hand and halfway across the way to the house, she stopped and groaned. Ominous threads were tangling themselves around her soul. Something was going to go wrong, horribly wrong, but she did not know what…and that scared her dearly.

  Chapter 5

  So that is why Lord Hillbrook does not like me. He thinks he has ownership of Lady Penelope, and I might be a rival.

  Flipping on the bed, Heath rested on his stomach and the cool night air from the window played over his bare back. With his head braced on his arms, he shook his head slowly.

  Some of these peers are so insecure they see everyone as a rival.

  His mind shifted from Lord Hillbrook and reflected on his first day; overall, he deemed it was a success. The responsibilities were reasonable, and his efforts matched what he was tasked with. There was one tiny regret he had—seeing Lady Penelope in motion.

  The lady had looked, frankly, glorious when she had come into the stables. Her golden eyes were glimmering, her skin was flushed with exertion, and her hair an untamed tangle of natural beauty.

  He had never seen a woman in such a state, and he would treasure that memory for years to come. Seeing her in breeches too was another shock—a wonderful shock as she showed she was not afraid to flaunt some rules of society—but tactfully, he had kept his reaction to the sight under control.

  I have a job to do at the Dawson house, and God help me, I go am going to do it right.

  Those words circulated in his mind as he drifted to sleep. Even as a child he had slept light; the slightest noise and shift in the room would make him wake up, and he was thankful, he slept undisturbed that night. His body clock woke him before dawn, and he cleaned up quickly. Dressed in the second set of his dark uniform, he went to open the shutters, and with that done, went to get the coals for the fires.

  “Good morning, Mr. Moore,” Mr. Gastrell said while striding in, fully dressed and attentive.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gastrell,” Heath replied as he began cleaning and trimming the lamps. “What is on the roster for today?”

  “Same as yesterday, Mr. Moore, with the single exception of you laying filling the sideboard, while I set the table,” the butler replied. “Mrs. Burcham is finished with breakfast I believe.”

  Taking the cue, Heath went to the kitchen, greeted the cook and her helper and collected the trays. He took the first trays to the sideboard and set the food in order.

  Heath had seen sideboards before, but this one was different; this one wasn’t veneered, it was made of deep, dark mahogany wood. He slid his hand along the polished top and the carved gadrooned edge. The intricate carvings looked to be custom designed. This piece of furniture reflected old money and rightly so. The family certainly had it.

  He searched for the traditional cellarette drawer for the glasses he would need.

  “Do I smell cinnamon?” Lady Penelope waltzed in dressed in a light-yellow morning dress. Her hair was styled differently with soft ringlets down her cheeks instead of her bun and he admired it.

  “Good morning, My Lady,” Heath replied while making sure the trays were in order. “And yes, there are cinnamon rolls, chocolate tea, milk, white bread, preserves, butter, and fruit for your repast this morning. What can I plate up for you?”

  She made to sit, and he hurried to pull out her chair. Her soft smile of thanks was beautiful.

  “Thank you,” she smiled to her plate. “You’re certainly up early Mr. Moore…” she stopped before rushing on, “of course, you are up early. What was I thinking? It is your position after all, so of course, you would be up early. Why would you not? I mean—oh, heavens, I’m rambling. My apologies. A cup of chocolate please.”

  Heath’s lips quirked as he donned gloves and poured her the cup. “I do not mind, My Lady.”

  “Eddie always tells me that I ramble,” she sighed. “But that was the first time I actually heard it. Gadzooks, I sound horrible.”

  Resting the cup beside her, Heath spotted her hands twisting on the table. Her fingers were long and elegant like her brother’s, but her nails were uneven, and some were bitten.

  Not the type of lady to fuss over her nails. Then again, she is into riding, why would she be concerned ab
out her nails?

  “Do you need anything else, My Lady?” he asked while stepping back.

  “Er…a sugar bun?” Her voice was very unsure and very timid. Heath went to fetch the roll and laid it before her. “Thank you.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Moore,” Lord Allerton greeted as he strode into the room fixing his cuffs. He then looked up and saw his sister, “Oh, Penelope, good morning to you too. Coffee, Mr. Moore, please.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Fetching the carafe, Heath poured the cup and laid it before him. “Anything else, My Lord?”

  “No, thank you,” Lord Allerton shook his head.

  Taking his place in the corner, Heath scanned the room and noted the placement of the windows and the dangling chandelier overhead. There was one framed painting on the wall, that of lovely countryside meadow, blanketed with wildflowers and a quaint cottage in the background.

  The conversation between the lord and the lady was casual; Heath, however, made a point to not be obvious of following their every word.

  “I did not get a chance to say it last night, Penelope,” the Earl said. “But you were out of place. You know better than to speak thus to a lord of the realm. It is called tact, sister. Anyhow, I have apologized for you.”

  Lady Penelope sipped her tea, and when she spoke, her voice was calm, “Why was an apology needed? Perhaps if Lord Hillbrook had remembered his tact, there would not have been an issue in the first place.”

  “Mr. Moore,” Lord Allerton said tightly. “Would you please see Mrs. Burcham and have her make me a plate of coddled eggs, grilled kidney, and her seasoned potatoes? Thank you.”

  Bowing, Heath gave an affirmative and went to the kitchen, not even trying to pretend that going for a meal that would take time to cook was not a request for privacy. Entering the domain of the diminutive cook, he wondered what Lady Penelope had said to Lord Russell to get her brother so riled up.

  “Mrs. Burcham,” he greeted formally. “Lord Allerton is requesting coddled eggs, grilled kidney, and your seasoned potatoes.”

  The cook smiled, “It’s best for you to take a seat, Mr. Moore, that request would take a while.”

  “Do you need any help?” Heath asked while peering over at the lady’s five-foot statue. “It is not in my nature to sit down if I can help.”

  “Do you know how to dress potatoes with oil and bake them with herbs?” Mrs. Burcham asked, knowing full well he did not.

  “Er, no,” Heath said. “I can do a lot of things, but I cannot do that.”

  The cook tapped him on the arm, “Then relax, Mr. Moore, I know you don’t. Why don’t you take up another pot of tea up while I get on it? Tell His Lordship that I will be with him shortly.”

  “I was sent away because His Lordship and Lady Penelope have delicate matters to discuss,” Heath replied. “If it’s the same to you, I will wait a few more minutes.”

  “Wise decision, young man,” the lady patted his arm. “We need a few more men like you with that kind of discretion.”

  Heath lingered in the warm kitchen, looking keenly on how the lady went about making His Lordship’s breakfast until the cook gave him a whistling teapot. Nodding, he took a cloth and grasped the handle. His steps were measured going back to the dining room in case the siblings were still speaking about the private matter, but he arrived into a whole different conversation.

  “We really need another ball?” Lady Penelope’s voice was loaded with exasperation. “It’s been only a month since the last one.”

  “I would like to celebrate Russell’s arrival,” the Earl said. “It is not as if we cannot afford it, and you need some socialization. Come on, Penelope. You cannot hide in this house for the rest of your life.”

  “I…” Lady Penelope’s eyes flitted up to see his and her lips pressed tightly, “may we speak on this later?”

  Lord Allerton picked on her cue, and his eyes darted to Heath for a fleeting moment, “Certainly.”

  “Pardon me, My Lord,” Heath replied. “Mrs. Burcham says she will be right with your breakfast.” Settling the teapot on a serving tray, he stepped away.

  “I am finished,” Lady Penelope said while standing and facing her brother. “I’ll be in the garden when you need me.”

  Heath watched her leave, knowing that she was hurting but knew it was not his place to do anything about it. Lord Allerton sat at the table, sipping his coffee with stiffness in his jaw. He wondered what had occurred between the time he was gone and returned.

  A bell rang and he realized it was coming from the kitchen; and excused himself to get the requested meal.

  Lord Allerton was standing at a window with his hands clasped behind him and staring out with his shoulder in a rigid line when he came back. It was as though the old-world god Atlas had taken his celestial burden off his shoulder and laid it on the Earl’s.

  Health politely cleared his throat to get his attention and Lord Allerton spun around to see the meal served.

  “Thank you,” he sat heavily and taking up his utensils. “Mr. Moore, can you please go check on Lady Penelope for me? She tends to get absentminded sometimes and wanders off.”

  He fleetingly wondered why the Lord would not go see his sister himself but did not question it. “Yes, My Lord.”

  Health exited through a French door leading to the garden. In the center, a maze of hedges was laid out waiting to be explored. Heath passed through rows of meticulously-planted flowers at the entrance. He followed the trail of Lady Penelope’s footsteps left on the carefully-raked gravel.

  She stopped in the middle of the maze, sitting on the wooden bench with her back turned to him. He found her focused on a swarm of butterflies fluttering in a patch of flowers. Her profile was fit for a portrait if Heath could paint. Her legs were folded to the side and her hair was in a long braid draped over her shoulder, but it was the look on her face that sparked his compassion. Her brow was laced in pain.

  “Edward, I don’t want to go to this ball,” she said without even looking over her shoulder.

  “I am not Lord Allerton,” he said quietly.

  She spun and her lips parted a bit before red raced up her neck and cheeks. “Er, I am sorry, Mr. Moore. I thought you were my hardheaded brother.”

  He stood with his arms clasped behind him. The silence was not stifled, but it was not easy either. Lady Penelope eyed him, “You are a quiet one, aren’t you?”

  “I have never been overly talkative,” Heath replied.

  She snickered, “That does not answer my question. Being overly talkative is not equal to talking overall.”

  “I will concede to that,” Heath replied. “As I do prefer to observe than anything else.”

  Lady Penelope shifted on her chair, “Why did he send you to me?”

  “In his words, My Lady, he said you tend to be a bit absentminded,” Heath replied as he admired how she constantly brushed her tendrils back from the blowing wind.

  Her nose wrinkled, “Mr. Moore, I might have to give you prior warning about my brother and me. We don’t exactly see eye-to-eye…on many—many—matters. Like this ball, he is throwing for Lord Hillbrook. I hate these things, and he knows it, but he insists on throwing them and tossing me into the middle of the fray.”

  Heath knew it was not proper for her to divulge all this upon him but then felt it inappropriate for him to stop her either.

  “And then he is going to invite all these snooty colleagues of his and Lord Hillbrook. And if he is not irritating enough, Lord Hillbrook has these friends that make my skin crawl, like Lord Swanville. Ugh…” she shuddered, “that man is like a snake slithering through the mud.”

  “What is so repugnant about Lord Swanville?” Heath asked.

  She looked at him with widened eyes, as if wondering how he could not know who the man was. “Lord Swanville is a known devotee of Napoleon. Everyone in England—and probably half of Europe—knows how sympathetic the man was to the disposed emperor. He’s made no qualms about hiding it
.”

  Heath nodded, “I can see how that might rub with the traditionalist-minded amongst you.”

  “Yes. On this half of the continent, he is the leading supporter of Bonaparte,” Penelope grimaced. “It is not unknown that some peers are known supporters of Napoleon. They can voice their backing of the emperor to their heart's content as speech is free, but I am thinking that it is only when they begin conspiring to send the man shipments of arms or plans to escape his exile, that the Crown’s blind eye will suddenly narrow.”

  Heath blinked. “Does Lord Allerton not understand your aversion to Lord Swanville?”