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

by Linfield, Emma

  “What a lovely lady I am…” she scoffed scornfully to the dark air.

  Leaning back in the chair, Penelope closed her eyes and tried to ignore the presence she felt at the doorway but could not.

  Without even opening her eyes she said, “Come in.”

  “My Lady,” Mr. Moore’s voice said, “You left this behind.”

  Blinking her eyes open she sat up to see the footman holding her abandoned cup, and she slowly reached out for it.

  He brought me my tea…how…wonderful of him.

  It was still warm enough to drink, and she sipped it. Mr. Moore stood aside, and she was grateful for his silence. She supped the tea and focused on the warmth of the rosemary herb instead of the pain in her chest.

  The weight of Mr. Moore’s eyes was on the back of her head, but it was not heavy. She did not feel any judgment or reservations in Mr. Moore’s eyes. She sipped the tea until it was done but did not have the heart to look up at the man. Instead, she stared into the cup and ran her fingertips over the rim.

  “He’s right you know…” she said softly.

  “My Lady—”

  “Don’t pretend you do not know what he’s speaking about,” Penelope sighed wearily. “I’ve always been the odd duck in the pond. Never had I ever been attracted to knowing the difference between silk and satin or following the fashion trends escaping from France. Whenever I speak about riding or horses, I get this look as is if I am not a lady. I suppose I am not, and I’ve never been really. Every day I am threatened with the shelf. I was not scared about it…but now, now that my dear brother has pointed it out so callously…he might be right. I don’t go anywhere. I don’t meet anyone. Soon, he might have to stash me in the attic.”

  She was speaking mostly to herself but did not mind if Mr. Moore heard. Sighing into her cup, she looked at the silent man, “You may speak your mind, Mr. Moore. I will not penalize you for it. And please, do not give me that it is ‘not proper’ speech. Do not hold back what you think.”

  Then he cleared his throat, “My Lady, His Lordship might have a point, but you do not have to be pressured into it.”

  “In a few years, I will be a social pariah,” Penelope said matter-of-factly. “The single daughter of an Earl with a dowry that is rotting away in the bank is a travesty to this world.”

  “Do you want to marry?”

  “It is needed of me,” Penelope said.

  “That was not my question,” Mr. Moore said quietly. “Do you want to get married?”

  Did she want to? Provisionally, yes but not because of a business contract or just to follow tradition. Perhaps the notion of love was too farfetched but as she had not met any man in over two years and no man had given her his interest—Lord Hillbrook excluded—so, the chances were that she would get a business marriage.

  “I…” she trailed off then laughed quietly, “I do not know.”

  “If it is any consolation, I do think His Lordship is right in making me your guard,” Mr. Moore said. “If you do choose to go somewhere, I’ll be right beside you.”

  “Considering that I am now revising my social life—or the lack of it, rather—I do plan to go places,” Penelope mused. “I will probably be the exotic wallflower in the room….and a notorious one at the same time, considering a man has died in my home.”

  She looked quickly at Mr. Moore and mentally cursed at his stoic face. Does the man ever show his emotions? He’s just a bit too perfect in manners, perfect in figure, and perfect in demeanor. Is he a prince, and I don’t know it?

  “Do you wish to go to your bedchamber, My Lady?” he asked.

  “I suppose,” Penelope’s spoke quietly. “I can’t hide in this old music room much more…it's musty.”

  Standing, she fixed her dress and was about to take the cup when it was taken for her. Mr. Moore held it as he opened the door for her. “Please.”

  Knowing that her brother was in his study and not wanting to see him, she skirted that room and went directly to her bedchambers. There, she was greeted by a very-worried Martha, and Mr. Moore gently handed her care over into her maid's hand.

  “Good morning, My Lady,” he bowed in a farewell.

  “Morning?” she gaped. “It’s morning already?”

  He chucked and the soft rumbling sound in his chest made her warm. That was the first time she had heard much emotion coming from him, and it was pleasant. “I suppose it is. Good morning, Mr. Moore.”

  Entering the room, Penelope looked at Martha who was looking out at the departing man, “I have never heard him laugh before.”

  “Me neither,” Penelope said as the door closed in front of her. “But I would not mind hearing it more.”

  * * *

  She did not wake until noon that day as Edward’s attack, one that had hit her like hot lances but had settled into cold numbness, had drained her. She hated that her brother was right, but he was. She had hidden behind the flimsy excuse that she had found no solid connection to any man after her debut in London.

  From ten-and-eight years to her twentieth, she had gone through the motions of attending balls and soirees. Some women shone under the attention, preening under the lavish lifestyle the peerage lived, but not her.

  The sessions had drained her at the sheer routine pointlessness of them all. Though her disdain for the very notion of the London seasons, she still had to bow to the rules set for her and get married.

  Shifting under the covers, Penelope yearned for company, but the company of Bessie, her horse. Getting up, she stretched and cleaned up quickly. Dressing in an old soft lilac dress, she braided her hair and wrapped it in a bun at the nape of her neck. Ignoring the need for tea, she slipped out from a lesser-used door and went to the stables.

  Just from outside she could hear the whinnies and pawing of the horses’ feet and sighed in relief. She went directly to Bessie and fondled her ears. The horse’s large chestnut eyes were so innocent, wide and accepting that she felt more love there, with a four-footed animal, than in her own home.

  And isn’t that just a little sad?

  Petting Bessie’s ears, Penelope sidled into the stall and coaxed Bessie to lie down. With her on her haunches, she took a blanket, sat near her and rubbed Bessie’s head. She did not feel like going back to the house to see Edward’s repentant look for hurting her, but knew he was not sorry for telling her the truth.

  “I suppose I have myself to blame,” Penelope sighed.

  The sound of muffled footsteps on the floor told her someone was coming toward them, but she did not move. One thing she was sure was that it was not Edward as he hated the smell of hay and horseflesh.

  “My Lady,” Mr. Moore’s measured voice was relieved. “I’m glad I found you. His Lordship was about to call in the Major-General’s forces to find you.”

  An unladylike snort came from her before she could contain it. “You don’t say.”

  He came closer and from her place on the floor, she was eye level with Mr. Moore’s shined boots and knee-high stockings. “Have you eaten, My Lady?”

  She shook her head, “No.”

  “Would you like me to carry you some food?” Mr. Moore asked.

  Her eyes ran around the small spartan wooden stall. “Here?”

  “That is unless you would rather go back to the dining room,” Mr. Moore said. “But I have a feeling that you are not so inclined.”

  She craned her head to look up to him and saw the intuition bright in his gaze and warmed. “Er…you are right. I would rather not go back. Thank you. Tea and toast, please.”

  “My Lady,” he bowed.

  Watching him walk away sent ripples of uncertainty through her. Mr. Moore continued to puzzle her. His stoic walls did not seem to have any cracks…except that time last night when he had laughed.

  She sat there, petting Bessie until his quiet footsteps came back and he knelt to hand her the tray loaded with the covered teacup. A tiny white bowl with a matching band of gold filigree and scalloped edges held c
ubes of sugar and the matching jug held milk. Resting beside them was a tiny plate piled with three thick slices of buttered toast.

  “Thank you.”

  Penelope took the cup first and spooned in a few cubes of sugar and poured in a dash of milk. Sipping it, she hummed in appreciation and rested it on the floor. She then took her toast and rested it on her lap.

  Drinking in silence, she did not say a word when Mr. Moore did not leave. The silence between then was soft, and she thanked all angels in heaven that there was no strain between them. She nibbled on her toast, “Forgive me, but shouldn’t you be taking care of…what my brother needs you to do?”

  “I am assigned to you, My Lady,” Mr. Moore replied with the left side of his lips twitching into an almost smile. His eyes were still soft. “So, I am doing what your brother needs me to do.”

  She blinked and the toast stopped halfway to her mouth and swallowed over thin air. His eyes were close…too close. Shying away, she went back to eating, but the butter tasted strange in her mouth, sweeter somehow.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she mumbled. “I hate to think I’m keeping you from more important matters. This is a large estate, surely your strength is wanted somewhere else.”

  “I am sure it is wanted elsewhere, but it is needed here,” he replied.

  Warmth—tingling warmth—flooded her at his words. “Thank you.”

  She finished her makeshift breakfast and settled the cup and the saucer on the tray before brushing her fingers off. Bessie was nosing at her hand, and she giggled. The horse was clearly smelling sugar, and she reached over to pluck a lump from the tiny bowl and fed it to her. Bessie’s lips tickled her, and she smiled. “Thank you for last night.”

  “You are welcome,” Mr. Moore said. “At least you were out of danger.”

  “After you took me from the balcony, you mean.” Penelope eyed him understanding that he probably felt it was improper to speak of their borderline tender moment.

  “I assume you have never seen a dead body, much less one by gunshot,” Mr. Moore said. His words were not a question.

  She nodded, “Have you?”

  His gaze was guarded, “Once, when I was younger.”

  His words sparked a line of interest, but she did not ask why that had happened. Again, it was too soon, and Mr. Moore would say it would cross the line of impropriety. But the reminder of the dead lord made her feel ashamed.

  “I did not even get to send my condolences to his family. My mother must be frowning on me from heaven because of my lack of manners.”

  “I am sure Lord Allerton took care of all the etiquette required,” Mr. Moore replied.

  “Do you have all the perfect answers?” Penelope asked amused.

  Bessie was getting restless, and Penelope shook her head and moved to stand. It was about time she left her hiding place anyway. She could not be so childish to hide away with a horse as company for much longer, and she felt guilty for keeping Mr. Moore away from his real duties. It was better for her to suck down her shame and prop herself into a library chair with a good book. She might have to suffer Edward’s apology too.

  With her hand braced on the wall behind her, she tried to help herself up when Mr. Moore loaned a hand to her. She took it and stood, mechanically brushing her dress off. “Let go inside.”

  Nodding, Mr. Moore collected her tray and moved off. Admittedly, her steps were lingering as she left the stall and moved off. Halfway back to the door she stopped and twisted her head to the side when Mr. Moore stopped. She stepped back to see the head of a strange dark horse standing regally in a stall by itself.

  “Is that your horse, Mr. Moore?”

  “He is,” the footman replied. “One of my few prized possessions. My old master, Lord Masseur gave it to me as a gift for my service.”

  Forgetting about going back to the house, Penelope slipped the latch and stepped inside the stall. The stallion eyed her with a set of dark eyes, and his whole demeanor was a regal as when she had first seen him. His coat was coal black with the soft shine of health to it, and his mane was a soft curtain over his side.

  “He’s glorious,” she murmured while edging up to him as if mesmerized. “What is his name?”

  “Duke,” Mr. Moore said.

  If that is his name, there is no wonder that he is regal.

  She reached out a hand to touch him, but he tugged his head away and she smartly stopped. Her fingers curled in on themselves in the rejection, but Mr. Moore’s voice was a comfort, “He is just not used to you. I am sure he will get accustomed to you soon.”

  “How?”

  She was faintly aware of Mr. Moore settling down the tray somewhere and then he asked. “May I touch you, My Lady?”

  Her heart lurched without reason, but she nodded, and he took her hand. With the other he took hold of the horse—Duke—and he approached at the sight of his master. His hand on her was rough, from palm to fingertips, but she did not mind as he pressed her hand to Duke’s nose.

  She did not know which fluttered harder, the soft silky nostrils under her hand or her heart.

  Chapter 9

  This is not proper.

  The words were a mantra in Heath’s mind as his hand stubbornly ignored his mental orders and pressed Lady Penelope’s hand to Duke’s nose. It was the best way to get a horse to scent a person, and it was safe. At least that was what he had thought.

  This proximity was probably not what the lady had factored in when she had asked him how she was going to get familiar with Duke. He had not thought of it either but as futile as resisting the tide of an ocean, he had succumbed, came closer, taken her hand and laid it on his horse.

  Her skin was soft, but he cringed knowing his was not, so as soon her hand was on Duke’s nose, he removed his hand and stepped back to put a more than a respectable distance between them. A look of—rejection?—quickly flickered over her face but it was gone in a half breath.

  “He’s magnificent,” Lady Penelope said quietly. “Lord Masseur must have held you in great regard.”

  “I can only think so,” Heath replied while looking her over. Her braid had unraveled from the unpinned bun at her neck and was over the middle of her back.

  She lifted her hand away and stepped back, “So, er, home?”

  Heath was amused at how her insecurity was reflected in her questioning tone, even when her intention was not to be quizzical. “Yes, My Lady.”

  Balancing the tray on his hands, Heath fell in step with Lady Penelope as they left the stables. The warm air and deep-blue skies overhead were calm, and he shouldered the door in and stood there as she passed by with a smile in her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said then her chest heaved in a deep sigh. “I suppose I will have to speak to Eddie—oh drat—Edward, er Lord Allerton.”

  Her face was softly red and her embarrassment did not bother him. In fact, if Heath was honest with himself, her discomfiture was entirely charming. He nodded sagely.

  “Very well, My Lady.”

  A muscle in her jaw ticked as she walked away and muttered under her breath, “Now, I just have to figure out how to tell him that I am amiable to trying courtship again.”

  Heath did not move from his place for a moment. Had he heard her correctly?

  Yes, I have. She has decided on going back to the marriage market just because Lord Allerton had…well, insulted her yesterday. His stomach soured.

  Moving toward the kitchen, Heath sat the tray down, and the scullery maid came up to take it, blushing a little while doing so. He smiled kindly to her but, with a calm greeting and a thank you, he moved off to do his household duties.

  He went to shine the silver, but felt pressed to find out if Lady Penelope had truly gone to tell her brother about going back to seeking out a husband. The doorway to Lord Allerton’s study was open a fraction, and he sidled up to it. Eavesdropping was not something to be proud of, but he just could not come to peace knowing that the lady would become someone else and do thing
s she was uncomfortable with just to prove herself to her brother.

  Or perhaps, she had looked into herself and felt that it was time?

  Though the rules of propriety were hammering at his common senses and the threat of discovery was very high, he still leaned in to hear.

  “Is this some sort of jest, Penelope?” Lord Allerton asked with disbelief coloring his tone.

  “No, it is not,” Lady Penelope said defiantly. “I do want to try again, Edward. If anything, just to lessen some of the burdens on your shoulders.”