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

by Linfield, Emma

  The unsaid words were: And who might have a grudge against him or knew about his position with the Crown.

  “I am glad you understand, My Lord,” Heath said in relief before the Earl gave him a knowing eye.

  “There is a lot more to you, isn’t there, Mr. Moore?” he said.

  “I reiterate what I said, My Lord,” Heath said while bowing. “Lord Masseur was very particular and the men I shadowed at his estate did allow me a plethora of expertise.”

  “And I thank him for it,” Lord Allerton said. “Thank you for the insight, Mr. Moore, have a good night.”

  Bowing, Heath bid his farewells and went to his room. The bed was made and empty while the open window allowed the moonlight from the full moon to stream in. He disrobed to his pants and took his shoes off before going to the wash basin and wetting a rag, wiped his face. There was not much of a mirror, but the small circle reflected an image of his father’s face with the same tiredness around the edges of his eyes.

  Replacing the mirror, he stripped the bottoms off and then got the floor. With his feet stretched out, he placed his hand under him and began pushing up. It was an exercise lauded by the Greeks and one that had benefited him those times he had tried his hand at boxing. Exercise was one thing that centered his mind, and did not fail into exhausting him enough that he would slip into sleep without a murmur.

  He appreciated that the Earl had kept an open mind to what he had to say, but he doubted what Lord Allerton was going to do about it. He doubted the man would really try to ferret out who might have killed the Viscount in favor of not angering any of his friends.

  While exhilarating in the burn in his muscles, he tried to remember if Lord Swanville had been in the room before the Earl had ran in with blood on his chest. If anyone had anything to gain by killing a man who was loyal to Bonaparte, it was Swanville.

  Lady Penelope had already voiced her distaste of the man and his impression of the man had not been that much better. Then, his mind took a turn to rest upon Lady Penelope and her open-wide eyes and innocent smile. He stalled and then pushed up and away to sit against the side of the bed.

  It pained him thinking that the lady might be caught up in this malaise. She does not deserve that…not when she had just decided to put her life back in order. But then, Lord Swanville, where was he?

  Again, he raked over his memories to see if the Bonapartist had been there, and then his blood ran cold—he had not been in the ballroom. His instant urge was to go back to the Earl and tell him, but as he was halfway up, Heath stopped and sank back to the ground as a line of thoughts seamlessly flowed into each other.

  Swanville was Hillbrook’s dear friend and any accusation of the Lord could mean he was dragging Hillbrook into it also. Knowing how protective Lord Allerton was of his friends, he could bet his last shilling that lobbying such accusations would get him a swift dismissal.

  Swallowing over his cold awareness, Heath sighed and ran a hand over his damp face. He had sworn to guard this family and knowing that he had to sit on his hands with this revelation and only hope the Lord would really investigate this shooting felt like acid to his bones.

  The coldness of the board behind his back was as cool as the fear running through his veins. If Lady Penelope was to marry Hillbrook, she would be thrown directly into Swanville’s path and that pained him. She would never rest easy with her core believes being rubbed raw against by radicalism.

  He stood and went to the window to drink in the cool air and cool down his body. Resting his head against the sill, he sighed deeply. It was sweet of Lady Penelope to feel obligated enough that she thought she owed telling him how she had been after her mother had died.

  The lady needed a spouse who would see and understand who she was and not stifle the light she had inside her. As charming as Lord Hillbrook was he did not see the man as being fit. Hopefully, she would meet another suitor at another engagement her brother would take her to.

  Anyone but Hillbrook.

  The venom that thought came out with had the teeth of a rearing snake. Heath was not one to deny his emotions, and this was no different. Lady Penelope needed a man who was not as slyly perfect as the young Baron.

  Hillbrook did not like him, and Heath shared the sentiment. The man was too smarmy for his liking, and to make it worse, the company he kept was an execution in the making. He stayed there expecting the exertion to prod him to sleep, but no tiredness came.

  Shaking his head, Heath dressed in his old clothes and decided to take a walk. It was nearly ten o’clock and the house was silent with sleep. So, with soft footsteps he went through a servant’s door and left the house into the moonlit night.

  The yard was another existence under the moonlight. Every tree swayed with the night breeze and the blades of dew-covered grass were tinged with ethereal silver. The soft perfume from the night-blooming flowers was light enough to be pleasant enough but could get strong enough to be heady.

  He cut through the gardens with the aim of going to the stables and see Duke. He neared it, but as he was coming upon the long field near the stable, he spotted a figure in the middle of the field and stopped mid-stride.

  The slender figure in the middle of the paddock, sitting atop a golden-brown horse in breeches and a loose shirt sat like a Queen—it was Lady Penelope. One hand held the reins while her knees gripped the horse’s midsection. Her hair was in a braid this time and it trailed over her shoulder. Bessie turned toward the length of the paddock, and Lady Penelope sat forward. Heath knew exactly what was going to happen and in the next moment, he was proven right.

  Bessie took off like a shot and his eyes went wide when she stood up in her stirrups and galloped like a seasoned jockey. Her braid was whipping behind her in a long rope, and Bessie’s hind hooves were a blur under the Lady.

  Now he knew what Brady had meant when he said that sooner or later, he would see for himself. He surely saw it now. It was frankly…spectacular. He edged up to the nearest post and rested his hand on the wet wood and watched keenly as she rode and then reeled Bessie in to canter to a pause.

  Lady Penelope handled the horse effortlessly like part of her soul had merged with Bessie, but then, considering what she had told him about using Bessie as the only company she had preferred after her mother had died, she probably had. She turned the horse with a mere nudge of her knees and leaned over to rub Bessie’s head.

  As they turned, Heath sank to the shadows of the stables, knowing that she would probably be mortified that he had seen her. Cloaked in the darkness, he watched as she lightly came off the horse and took the horse’s head in her hands to fondle her muzzle.

  Bessie’s head reared up and her nostrils flared—scenting him most likely—but thank god, the animal could not speak. Lady Penelope reeled the animal back into her control and led her to the stable’s door. With her inside, Heath took the opportunity to return to his room, mind filled with Lady Penelope, and a heart bursting with affection for her defiance of the rules that controlled a lady’s life.

  Later that night…perhaps his dreams were full of her too. But the mystic images disappeared when he rose to get his duties done and he remembered none of them.

  After a bath and getting dressed, he attended to breakfast and kept his composure when Lady Penelope came in. Her rosy cheeks had a color that did not come from sleep and the brightness in her honey eyes did not come from the prospects of her favorite tea or scones. She was beaming.

  Lord Allerton, however, came in with dark circles under his eyes and a scowl. He took one look to his sister and scowled harder, “For God’s sake Penelope, it is too early for you to look so happy.”

  Her eyes narrowed, “And you are sour enough to curdle my milk, Eddie.”

  He groaned. “Coffee, Mr. Moore, please.”

  As he went to fill the cup with the heady brew, Mr. Gastrell came in with a silver tray in hand and atop it was a card. He greeted the Earl and the Lady Penelope and Heath before offering the card to the Lady.
Heath was busy pouring out the piping hot coffee.

  “Oh…” Lady Penelope’s voice was part shocked and part reserved. “Lord Hillbrook would like to take me on a ride to the town center.”

  Nonplussed, he took the cup over to Lord Allerton but was not prepared for the Earl saying, “I cannot go, so take Miss Bell and Mr. Moore.”

  Heath jostled the cup so hard the liquid splashed over his wrist. Apologizing, he went to redo the cup. Being in close contact with Lord Hillbrook was going to test his mettle. He groaned internally—this was not going to turn out well.

  Chapter 16

  Penelope was valiantly trying to focus on what Lord Hillbrook was saying but her mind was stuck on Mr. Moore who was accompanying the driver on top of the carriage.

  Her brother might not have seen it, but she had. The moment Edward had told the footman to accompany her and Lord Hillbrook, the man had gone stiff like someone had rammed a rod of iron down his spine. He was not going to like his assignment, at all. However, being the professional that he was, he only nodded and told her he would be delighted to assist her.

  Now, seven hours after breakfast at the three o’clock hour of the afternoon, she was driving with the charming Baron and could not recall a word he said, even if God gave her a miracle.

  She managed to drag her mind from the footman to the lord and focus on his words. He was dressed a bit differently with his blond hair combed back with a Napoleon-tied cravat, deep-blue waistcoat, and dark trousers.

  “…which was perfect for him and I still do not know why he did not buy that horse.”

  The words horse sparked a memory and then another one and then, by bits and pieces, she had a feeling what they were speaking about.

  “Edward is a stubborn one when it comes to picking horses,” she added only to see Lord Hillbrook smile, and then she realized another thing—they probably had not been speaking about horses at all.

  Flushing she sighed, “I am sorry for not listening.”

  “In any other circumstances and with any other lady I would be insulted,” Lord Hillbrook said teasingly. “But I am already intimately familiar with how you trip off into the recess of your mind, Lady Penelope. Your bewitching eyes never fail to give you away.”

  Bewitching…I have never been called that before.

  “How so?” she asked.

  “They get glazed over,” he said simply. “And I can see you go unfocused.”

  Exhaling through her mouth, Penelope said, “I truly am sorry. You took all this time to arrange a wonderful drive through the countryside and all I can do is sit and worry about my brother. I have not even looked out the window at all.” It was a tiny lie, but it was better than admitting the truth. “He’s still upset over Viscount Shirlling’s death.”

  The Baron’s brows furrowed neatly, “I thought that matter was cleared up?”

  “I thought so too,” she replied. “But the Bow Street Constables, a chief inspector and another man came to visit with a magistrate the other day.”

  “That sounds dire…” Lord Hillbrook said with his brow furrowing in deeper contemplation. “But I expect nothing will come from it. They were just clearing him from being a suspect.”

  “He said the same,” Penelope admitted then attempted to smile. She twisted her head to look out through the window and smiled at the countryside. It was blanketed with emerald grass that would soon die and reveal the bare ground of winter. The same was going to happen to the late autumn flowers that had survived to see the beginning of winter.

  She placed her palms on the window and smiled out. “I sometimes forget how beautiful these lands are. I have not been to these meadows since I was a child with father.”

  “Have I ever told you how I envied you for that?” the Baron spoke directly. To that, Penelope snapped her head around with a deeply confused look.

  “Pardon?”

  “My father,” Lord Hillbrook said nostalgically. “He was too busy with his tenants and in London to teach me such things. All my knowledge came from tutors at Eton and some masters who would come to my home during the breaks. Then when I was in my second year of Oxford, he died of complications coming from his gout. He had physicians but never took the medicine they prescribed. He told me that the quacks were not worth the breath they spoke with.”

  His blue eyes had gone with a far-away look before he shook his head. Swallowing, Penelope asked, “If he was alive, I am sure he would be proud of you.”

  “I would like to think so too,” he replied with a warm smile.

  Feeling a bit more connected to the Baron who, for the first time, showed more emotions than smugness or charm. “My father was special. Do you know that he even tried to teach me to shoot once?”

  That evoked a set of arched eyebrows, medium-thick lines that were almost at his hairline. “How did that work out?”

  “Mother and Eddie were in town shopping for something or other, and he took me out to the back paddock with a pistol,” Penelope smiled at the memory. “He told me that I needed to know how to use one in case a wild animal came a-foraging or…or if I had an unfaithful husband.”

  His laughter sent his head canting back and rows of pearly white teeth were shown to her. Penelope laughed softly with him.

  “That was a smart man,” Lord Hillbrook said. Once again, Penelope tried to think of him as Stephen, but it still rang wrong. “Remind me to teach that to my daughter if I have one.”

  She sighed over dramatically, “Well, I hope she will have a better go at it that I had, because if nearly shooting a window out, snapping a few twigs and scaring some blackbirds to death, almost ten feet away from the center of the tree I was supposed to shoot, is real shooting, then it was a crime for me to be near a pistol.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “Erm…about seven. Eddie had just come back from his first year at Eton.”

  “I am positive you would be much better now,” Stephen said. “I will be happy to teach you if you would like.”

  “I think that might be lovely,” Penelope said, not too surprised at the genial tone she had spoken with.

  Lord Hillbrook was so much different than she had taken him for, and it was beginning to show. She softly castigated herself for sticking to the single side of him she had thought was the only side of him, the cocky mischievous one. She felt like apologizing again but felt that she had done that enough.

  “I learned archery at Oxford,” the Baron added. “Studied German but failed at it, took a trip to India for a month but the climate did not agree with me, and then went to Scotland for a while but the haggis there did not agree with me either.”

  “India!” She latched on that word and smiled. “What was it like?”

  Lord Hillbrook then launched into a tale how his friend had taken him to a local Maharaja’s court and how touching a towering elephant’s tusk had nearly terrified him to death thinking the huge beast might have skewered him in half. Penelope was engrossed, hanging on every word he spoke. She was so invested that she barely realized they had returned home.

  When the door opened, Lord Hillbrook alighted first and helped her out. Mr. Moore was the one who helped a silent Martha out and they both stood aside when the Baron pulled a box from his coat.

  Penelope’s eyes darted from the box to the Baron. “What is that?”

  “That Maharaja gave me a few gifts from his possessions,” Lord Hillbrook said while opening the box and pulling out a necklace. It was a simple string, but dangling at the end was a glittering ivory elephant with a simple blue jewel as its lone eye. “Elephants are sacred in the subcontinent. They are revered for their strength and gentleness. If I could think of anyone who is like that majestic animal, it is you Lady Penelope.”

  She reached over and took the trinket from its velvet bed. She laid the small carved elephant in the middle of her palm and smiled. “It’s wonderful, thank you.”

  He them took the necklace from her hands and placed it over her neck. The white penda
nt rested on her breast and was a lovely contrast to her deep blue dress. She glanced down and fingered it while her breath caught in her throat. This was not what she had expected from the Lord.

  “Good evening, Lady Penelope,” Lord Hillbrook said.

  Looking up she smiled, and her voice was tender, “Good evening…S—My Lord.”

  She had tried to say his name, but it cut itself off halfway up her throat. It still felt abnormal to say.

  Penelope stood there, waving with one hand and fingering the tiny carving with the other as the Baron drove away. She smiled but the emotion nearly evaporated from her breast when she saw the look on Mr. Moore’s face. His face was dark and glowering and his eyes were flashing with anger before his eyes darted to her and his face suddenly went to that stoic blankness.