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

by Linfield, Emma

“Thank you for confiding in me…about your Mother and Colt. I have a feeling that not a lot of people know that story.”

  “I don’t have a lot of people to tell it to,” Mr. Moore said calmly while reaching for the door’s handle. “But I had a feeling you would understand, My Lady.”

  Again, that fluttery feeling danced across her skin when their eyes met. But before entering she stopped short, “Mr. Moore, I was wrong in painting such a dismal picture about Lord Hillbrook, and I apologize to you.”

  He frowned lightly, “My Lady, why would you need to apologize?”

  Because you hate him, don’t you?

  “I just thought it best to do so as he made amends with me today,” she said while feeling her cheeks heat. “He is keener on me than I thought.”

  Mr. Moore cleared his throat, a perfunctory reminder that he was supposed to be privy to the details of his employers’ lives. It was professional curtsy and basic wisdom, but Penelope felt like it could be discarded for Mr. Moore.

  “I still feel that you need to know,” she said. “Good day, Mr. Moore.”

  Walking away, she felt his eyes on her back as she stepped into the foyer to take the stairs to her room, only to stop in the middle of the doorway. Two uniformed men and a man in trousers and a thick coat with a monocle were standing there and so was her hassled-looking brother.

  “Edward…” she said cautiously as Mr. Moore came to stand beside her, “why are the constables here?”

  Chapter 13

  The Bow Street Runners in their buttoned-down coats, shiny top hats and stern expressions did not leave much space for comfort. Heath stepped toward Lady Penelope, angling his body to block any approach while she seemed nailed to the floor. He did not speak, but Lady Penelope did.

  She turned to Lord Allerton and asked him again, “Edward…what is going on?”

  “Nothing, Penelope,” he said hurriedly to step between her and the constables. He clasped her shoulder, ensuring that she looked straight at him. “It is a routine check about Lord Shirlling. Nothing for you to worry about. Mr. Moore, please take Lady Penelope to the library. I will be with you two shortly.”

  “My Lady,” one of the constables bowed to her. “It is just as he said, please don’t worry.”

  Heath was antsy to get Lady Penelope away from the room as he was suspected that the reason given to them about the dead Viscount was not the only reason for the constables' visit.

  Lady Penelope might not have seen it—as she probably was not familiar with the ranks of the constables—but he saw the insignia of a chief superintendent on one of the men’s coats. That called for concern. He did not know who the other man was.

  Admittedly, a dead member of the peerage did call for such ranks to be drawn to a case but wasn’t a chief inspector enough to handle such?

  “My Lady?” Heath said softly beside her.

  Lady Penelope’s jaw stiffened a bit, but she nodded to him and said, “Yes.”

  Bowing to Lord Allerton and the constables, Heath ushered Lady Penelope out of the room and up the stairs to the library. She went directly to the shelves and stood at there with her spine ramrod straight. She ran her fingers over the spine of the books and plucked one out.

  “Mr. Moore, how much do you know of human behavior,” she asked.

  Standing beside the chaise lounge, his eyebrow arched, he replied, “Any specific aspects, My Lady?”

  “How do you know when someone is lying?” she asked while paging through the book without reading a thing. It was more of a tactile distraction than anything else. “Or if not exactly outright lying, but telling a half-truth?”

  “You suspect that Lord Allerton is telling a half-truth about Viscount Shirlling,” he said, not as a question but as a statement. “Why?”

  She looked briefly at him, “Why else would the superintendent of the Bow Street Runners be here?”

  His eyes darted up. Clearly, Lady Penelope was not the wide-eyed naïve woman some might have taken her for. “I cannot say, My Lady, perhaps it is really the truth about Lord Shirlling.”

  “And probably there is something more to it,” Lady Penelope asserted. “The constables who were here before said they did not have many clues to follow up on. They questioned every staff member and my brother twice over. Aside from my brother, there was no one to witness the shot, and he was so frightened that he could not even tell where the shot had come from. So if they are as flummoxed as they say, why are they back here with higher ranks?”

  His respect for Lady Penelope’s intuition kept growing. “They could be here to clear Lord Allerton of the crime, My Lady.”

  She blinked and realization dawned over her. “You might be right.”

  “I don’t think there is much to worry about, My Lady,” Heath said though his suspicions mirrored Lady Penelope’s. There was much more to this policemen’s visit than they had been told.

  “By now, news about the Viscount’s murder on Lord Allerton’s lands must have reached London. For him to be under suspicion of murder is not good for business relations, My Lady,” Heath added. “The constables would be doing a disservice to not clear His Lordship clear of the heinous act.”

  His explanation was both logical and sound to both of their ears and he could see his words settling on her mind. “Do you need anything, My Lady?”

  “A real explanation would be more satisfactory than anything else,” she sighed. Then looked up at him and said. “I know what you mean, Mr. Moore but, I suspect that even when Eddie is done with the constables, he won’t even tell me what really happened. He tends to ignore me at times. I believe he thinks that I am just another one of the Ton women, who do not care for reality instead of the glimmering gloss of the peerage,” her tone was heavy. “Sometimes, it’s like he does not know me at all.”

  He tried to form the words to comfort her but could not find many. He had not been there long enough to know the history between Lord Allerton and Lady Penelope, so, instead of saying the wrong words he said nothing at all, and hated doing so. Comfort giving—soulful empathy—was a primary indicator of a person’s soul and to know he was not able to give it to her, pained him.

  Lady Penelope was staring blankly at the book in her lap with her eyes not moving. He hated the silence between them and had opened his mouth over three times to speak, but not a word had come out. The fourth time was coming when Lord Allerton came inside the room.

  She looked up but did not say anything. Lord Allerton’s face was stoic, but a bit pale if one looked closely. “It all cleared up, Penelope. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Why did they come?” she demanded.

  “As I said before,” he replied. “Just clearing up the after effects of the Viscount’s death.”

  “Any specific after effects?” Penelope pressed.

  A fleeting flash of irritation went across Lord Allerton’s face, but he masked it quickly. “Just clarification of what we were doing outside when it was more prudent to have stayed inside. I told them—like I had told them the first and second time—that the Viscount had asked me to go somewhere private to talk business. He had a few ventures in South Manchester that he needed a capable eye to look over as he suspected there was some stealing going on. Since as I know numbers, and could detect if someone was thieving from him, he asked me if I was amiable to look over them as he did not want any of his people—the very same who might be stealing from him—to do it.”

  The Lord had answered, but his response was a careful but obvious distraction from the real issue, and everyone in the room knew it. Lady Penelope looked at him blankly before she shook her head slowly, “And there you go, coddling me again.”

  Heath’s eyes shot to the young Earl as a muscle in his jaw twitched, “Mr. Moore, a word in my study.”

  “Excuse me, Lady Penelope,” he bowed before following the already absent lord.

  Hurrying after the Earl, he got to the study and had barely pulled it open when the Lord said, “Close it behind
you.”

  He did and came close to the desk where the Lord was sitting rigidly and the muscle in his cheek was spasming again. “Mr. Moore,” he scrubbed a hand over his face, “the constables were here with Magistrate Kellerton, and they told me something very disturbing about Lord Shirlling. He was an important ally of the Crown with information from France and the war.”

  “The war is almost at its end,” Heath said carefully. “Isn’t it?”

  “As far we know,” the Earl said. “But the Crown is not exactly reliable when it comes to giving us, the people, any solid knowledge about their affairs in the war. The most we get is watered-down tales about victories and even less about the losses.”

  “So…” Heath said quietly, “do they think you had any hand in the Lord’s death?”

  “They tried to imply it, but they cannot,” the Earl said staunchly. “My father was a great asset to the Crown with no ties to any anarchistic, anti-government or revolutionary groups. To even hint that I had any prior knowledge of the Lord’s position would be ludicrous and even more, to think I had any traitorous ideation.”

  Heath knew there was more to this conversation than discussing Lord Shirlling. “What do you need of me, My Lord.”

  “Just…keep a close eye on Lady Penelope,” he said quietly. “Now that there is some measure of scrutiny on us, we need to be transparent in all we do.”

  “Should I tell her any of this, My Lord?” Heath said. “I rather think it best if it comes from you.”

  “No, no,” he waved. “It will only make her worry too much.”

  “But Lady Penelope will suspect something is afoot, My Lord,” Heath said. “Pardon me for overstepping my bounds, but she is very observant and will not take it lightly when she knows you have been hiding this from her.”

  His face went tight. “It…it is a risk I will take.”

  Heath was about to protest but felt that he had already maximized his length of leniency with the Lord when it came to speaking his mind. “Understood, My Lord.” He then cleared his throat, “I understand Lord Hillbrook is slated to visit Lady Penelope today.”

  “Oh…” he frowned lightly, “well, that will be acceptable, wonderful actually. For years, I’d hoped she could bend to see how Russell meant well for her all this time even as he went around it in loops. Just keep an eye on her.”

  “If you don’t mind, My Lord,” Heath said evenly. “I think Miss Bell would be best for his visit. I am needed otherwise.”

  The Earl nodded absently while reaching for something in his desk, “Of course, of course. Attend to your duties, Mr. Moore. You are dismissed.”

  “Good day, My Lord,” Heath bowed and left the room. Lord Allerton did not need to know that Hillbrook would have wanted to see him, Heath, on the other side of the country than be near Lady Penelope.

  He went directly to the stocking the hearths in the room with coal, polishing the silver in the key-locked cupboard, making sure the sideboard was in order, and the windows were cleaned. The last thing he needed to do was to take care of the horses, knowing that though Lady Penelope had cared for Bessie already, went to make sure the loved horse was brushed down and had something to eat.

  Leaving the stables, he hesitated for a moment ,then went to the spot where the Viscount had been shot. To think that the man has been an Agent of the Crown with secrets that could do the country well. His eyes were down on the patch of grass where he had seen the immobile Viscount with blood on his chest.

  His feet pressed against the spot of green and looked around. There were too many advantage points where a gun could have been leveled against the man. What did puzzle him though was why the assassin had left the Earl alive.

  Could it be that the shooter—as these days a man or a woman could have done so—had left the Earl alone as he was innocent of it all, or was it that they wanted to implicate him in some way? There was hereditary proof that the Earl was solidly tied to the Crown by his political beliefs and his father’s activities with the government.

  The most troubling thought was that an assassin from France had somehow snuck into England and unto the Earl’s land to kill the man. He circled the spot before the gruff country-voice of Brady, one of the gardener’s called out to him.

  “Eh, Mr. Moore,” the capped grounds-man greeted him as he came closer but stopped short at the edge of the spot. His grass-stained fingers tugged his hat off and twisted the battered material in his hands. “The lord’s mercies, this place is not a good one. His Lordship, Viscount Shirlling died here.”

  Heath nodded as his mind began a line of contemplation. “Yes.”

  Something in the peripheral of his mind was niggling at him, prodding him to look again at the place where he had found the Viscount dead. It was true that the shot could have come from anywhere, but again, something niggled at him.

  Frowning, he remembered how Lord Masseur’s killed game would look from various lengths of kills. The game that got killed from near had skin and bone blasted apart from the velocity of the bullet, however, the ones that got killed from afar had less injury or broken bones.

  Then he remembered how the Viscount had felt under his touch, or rather what he had not felt. He had not felt any shattered bones coming from his chest. The Viscount had not been killed from near.

  Spinning, Heath overlooked Brady’s curious look and traced his eyes over the boundary walls and calculated the distance from the far walls to where the Viscount had died. It was over a thousand feet at the shortest points, and one-thousand-and-five-hundred the longest. A bullet’s trajectory would have decelerated and fallen short from that far and for it to be done in that dark…did the shooter have eagle eyes to be so keen?

  No. Something else had happened. The bullet had come from somewhere else, somewhere nearer.

  “Mr. Moore?”

  “Do you hunt, Mr. Brady?” He asked.

  “Erm, here and there when I have time an’ the season’s right, why?” Brady replied a bit nervously.

  “So, you know how a short shot would bruise and break bones, right?”

  “Yessir,” Brady was a little surer now. “Last time I close shot a deer—the poor thing’s hip was shattered to bits.”

  Brady had given him confirmation about his theory, and once again, he looked up from the spot and remembering how he had seen the fallen lord, twisted on the spot and angled his body to where he had found the Viscount.

  Directly, from his line of sight was a window, a third-story window where a gun could have been pointed out, high enough to where no one could have heard it and far enough to hit without breaking a bone.

  God’s blood.

  A thought, so despicable and horrifying came to him like a flash flood of sudden awakening. He hated to think it, but angles and geometry did not lie…the shooter might have come from the house!

  Chapter 14

  Nervousness does not become you, Penelope.

  No matter how she tried to make it a mantra, her heart did not listen, and she found herself undeniably nervous to meet Lord Hillbrook, a man, that before then, she had only thought of like a family friend. Now, however, he was thrown into the role of the prospective husband.

  She was standing at the window in her favorite room, the library, with a deep-green dress and her hair combed in an elegant chignon. Martha had taken over an hour to tame her wild curls into a smooth silky curtain that could be twisted into the bun.

  Her fingers were drumming against the sill, and she glanced down to the once-uneven nails where Martha had shaped the ragged ends into half-moons. Her anxiety was a heavy lump in her chest and normally when she got this anxious, her reaction was to bite her nails. Martha had strictly forbidden her to do such a thing.

  “Beyond the rainbow's hues or peacock's eyes, not Judah's king in eastern pomp array'd. Whose charms allur'd from far the Sheban maid, high on his glitt'ring throne, like you could shine.” Lord Hillbrook’s voice came from the doorway and red flushed up to her neck.

  “
Did you just quote Rector Warton to me?” Penelope asked while turning around, hating the warmth she could feel in her cheeks. She was sure she had blushed a dozen-and-a-half shades of red. And for good reason—never had she had anyone, even more a man, quote poetry to her.

  Lord Hillbrook smiled while offering her a bouquet of lovely wildflowers, meadow saffron, chicory, and sneezewort, “Would you have rather the Bard?”

  Taking the fragrant flowers, she smiled into the soft petals, “I…that was not really necessary. These flowers are beautiful, thank you.”

  He took her hand and led her to the chaise; her lady’s maid was sitting close by. Martha held the flowers so her mistress could smooth her skirts before sitting. Penelope took the flowers, and both women exchanged smiles.