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

by Linfield, Emma

  “Why?” her voice was frail, edging unto a whimper. “I have made a massive mistake.”

  “No, you have not. You only took me by surprise.” Heath aimed to calm her fears a breath away before he tugged her closer and solidified the kiss. The inner of her mouth tasted like rosemary tea and sugar, but he did not dare deepen the intimate touch knowing she was not used to this kind of intimacy. He quickly felt like he was getting drunk on her touch, soft lips and the swell of her hips under his hands.

  Pulling away, he rested his forehead on hers. “Where did this come from, Penelope?”

  Her voice was unsure and with every word, her voice dipped until the last came out in a whisper, “Weren’t you going to kiss me that night in the stable…or earlier today?”

  He could feel that she was on the verge of running so he kept his grip sure. “Yes, but I didn’t feel it my place to do so.”

  “Was it because of Hillbrook?”

  “No. He had nothing to do with it,” Heath replied, feeling bitter gall rise in his throat at the mention of the man. “It felt…wrong.”

  “Why?”

  Pressing his lips to her temple, he replied, “I’m a footman, Penelope.”

  “With a wit that I admire, skills that intrigue me and a reading of history that I find mirroring mine,” Penelope said matter-of-factly as her hands trailed up to his shoulders. “I do not care that you are a footman, Heath.”

  She then pulled away and looked at him deeply. Heath knew her shrewd eyes would see what he had hoped to keep secret. “What are you not telling me?”

  “That I hate how Hillbrook even looks at you,” he confessed. “I hate how he believes that he has first rights to you or even ownership of you as if you’re a head of cattle. I don’t trust him, Penelope. I don’t.”

  “Stephen is—” he grimaced, and she corrected herself with a contrite look. Of all the times to say the man’s given name. Wonderful, Penelope.

  “Hillbrook is harmless. He’s conceited yes, most if not all my brother’s friends are, but they are all reared that way, Heath. They cannot help it.”

  His lips press together, stifling the words that Hillbrook was more of a threat that she might think. His political affiliations were changing her brother to radicalism and his company was slowly pushing her into their focus and told her so.

  “I’d rather you not be a part of their company,” he said while stepping a foot away. “They are dangerous, Penelope. Swanville is a Napoleon sympathizer and Hillbrook is a Whig. Their idealisms are too close for me to be comfortable.”

  Her head tilted, “How do you know that Hillbrook is a Whig?”

  Drat! She probably would not take it lightly to know that I had gone snooping in her brother’s study.

  “I overheard him speaking at the ball Lord Allerton gave,” Heath replied. “It was not hard to discern which side of the political curtain he stood on.”

  She took his answer with a sigh. “I know. He’s not exactly subtle about it.”

  “But your family is sworn to the Crown,” Heath’s voice was vacillating. “If you did get…with him, how would you cope?”

  “That’s the thing,” she shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever marry him. I don’t even know why I’m allowing him to court me anyway. Perhaps I’m just humoring my brother.”

  A struggle began to tug in Heath’s chest. He wanted to tell her everything, every secret resting on his chest about how he truly saw her and how he wanted to protect her from all the danger lingering around her, like almost invisible mist, hard to define but was still present. “You have to be careful.”

  “About Hillbrook.”

  And me. Reaching out, Heath slipped a hand around the back of her head and brushed his nose against her as her hand fluttered against his cheek. “I fear that if I start kissing you, I might never stop.”

  Her breath was felt on his lips as he slowly ran them over hers and pulled back with deliberate control, “Goodnight, Penelope.”

  She held his jaw for a moment, and he twisted his head to kiss her palm. She uttered a goodnight to him, and he stood and watched as she walked off. Halfway down the hall, she stopped, braced a hand on the wall and looked over her shoulder. He smiled softly and she nodded with her lips curving.

  After her back disappeared around the corner, he let out a shuddering breath and went to close the windows. He braced his palms on the sill, hating himself for kissing her or the emotions for her tightening his chest in a ball.

  This is too dangerous Heath…this goes against all protocol of your post. You cannot be falling in love with her.

  Because that was truly what it was—he was falling in love with her. Pressing his face on the wall, Heath tried to remember that he was not supposed to fancy her. Unfortunately, his heart did not agree with his head, and he drifted to sleep later with her smile as the forefront of his mind.

  Dawn came with him dressed, shaved and back on the floor to open the shutters and douse the lamps. His coal runs were repetitive, and he did them mechanically. He was about to pass by Lord’s Allerton’s study when the door opened and the two constables and the magistrate from before exited. He bowed and greeted them, offering to show them to the door, but they declined.

  As they walked off, he wavered. Looking at the door, Heath dared to knock. “Come in.”

  Lord Allerton’s voice was low and tight with tension. Entering, he spotted the Earl hunched over his desk with his hands scrubbing over his face. “My Lord?” he asked. “Do you need anything?”

  With an audible sigh, the Earl pulled his hands away from his face. “A reset of the last month or so would be divine,” he said as he nudged a slip of paper toward Heath. It was a fragment of a paper, parchment and Heath frowned a little. What was that?

  “It’s what the physicians pried from Shirlling’s body,” the Earl said tightly, “The bullet had not even gotten through the casing when he got shot.”

  Spinning the fragment to his, Heath felt every drop of blood fall to his feet. In the corner of the fragment was a loopy insignia—a trademark—but on closer examination, it was very different from the one he had found in Hillbrook’s carriage.

  “That is a sign of Böhn Family of Guns and Artillery,” The Earl grimaced. “It’s a German company and the chosen company my father preferred and loved for many years. I’m all clear for the hunt and any other activities for the time being but…but now they are investigating me for the viscount’s murder.”

  Chapter 22

  Buried in the current book on her lap, Penelope admirably tried to ignore the curling in her stomach when she remembered how tender Heath had been last night, but it still crept in. She did, however, resolutely ignore how bold she had been with kissing him first.

  Not ladylike, her consciousness threatened to scold her, if she did pay attention to it. She preferred to think about how Heath’s eyes had glimmered with care and had gone sharp like shards of glass when he had spoken about his dislike for the Baron. She understood though and smiled.

  His concern for her, how he had warned her about being in company with Hillbrook and his sort, had felt visceral. Like she could reach out and touch his concern.

  There is something he is keeping from me, I know it and I can tell. He has the perfect stoic demeanor, but I have seen his mask slip once or twice to see under it. What is he not telling me?

  “I know there is nothing that amusing in that book,” Martha said. “No one smiles when reading Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra.”

  She tried to school her emotions into a scowl but could not do so convincingly. Martha did not look amused at her attempt and lowered her eyebrows in expectations. “What is it?”

  “Why do you think something is?” Penelope tried to deflect her maid’s attention.

  “Because something is,” Martha said while coming closer. “What is it?”

  Closing her book in defeat, Penelope sighed out. “I don’t think I can go on with letting Stephen…I mean Hillbrook, court me.
”

  “You what?” the dual appalled voices of Martha and Edward said, and Penelope flinched. She had only wanted Martha to hear that, but luck had not been on her side.

  Looking to Martha she mouthed, “You’re excused.”

  Martha was a blur through the door, only saying a quick greeting to the Earl before disappearing. Penelope sat up as Edward came closer, his brows thick and nearly meeting in the middle. He sat across from her, taking Martha’s abandoned seat and then placed his elbows on his knees. His eyes dug into hers.

  “What’s this about Russell?” Edward asked tightly.

  “I—” she hesitated. “I am not sure where to go with Hillbrook, Eddie. He’s sweet and all but I…it still feels strange to have him court me.”

  “I thought everything was going well,” Edward said, and his tone made her think that there was much more behind his words than her changing her mind about Hillbrook.

  “It is…was, erm, is…” she said quietly but then eyed her brother. “What is wrong, Eddie?”

  His jaw went tight and a muscle spasmed there. His shoulders lost the steel inside it and his body seemed to fold in on itself. “The magistrate’s office is investigating me for Viscount Shirlling’s murder.”

  “What?” she almost screamed.

  Edward winced, and she lowered her tone, “Why Edward? You had nothing to do with it. You were almost killed too! How can that make you a suspect?”

  “There are some…” Edward sighed again. “Knowing who the Viscount was to the Crown and that I had a known Bonapartist in my home, they are…it’s just a suspicion, Penelope. There is no proof against me, and despite the connection, they had made with a bullet casing that they recovered from the Viscount’s body and the ones Father used to use—”

  “Heaven forbid, Eddie!” Penelope exclaimed. “Father’s guns! They think he got shot by Fathers guns?”

  “No,” Edward said, “No, no, no! They only made a connection with the casing, Penelope! There are many people who use the same bullets, so there is a high chance they will find someone else.”

  Many people with the same unique casing as an air gun bullet…not likely.

  Tension was running through her like a beating drum and she felt all the worries about Hillbrook and Heath being shoved to the back of her mind in light of her brother’s predicament.

  “Eddie,” she said soberly. “Are you sure about this hunt? Don’t you think it best to lay off on such things until you’re clear of all this suspicion?”

  Shaking his head, Edward’s face was resolute, “It would make me look more suspicious. I cannot do that, Penelope. I have to maintain my reputation.”

  “I would rather think your reputation is one that the Crown would approve of more than your friends,” Penelope said, every word laced with logic. “Don’t you think this is the prime time to step back, assess your friends, and cut a few from your list, Eddie? Lord Swanville comes to mind.”

  Edward’s gaze went heated, “That, I cannot do! Swanville might be…an individual but—”

  “An individual?” Penelope’s was aghast. “That’s what you call it? An individual? The man supports Napoleon, Edward! He supports dissention!”

  “Penelope,” Edward’s tone, though quiet had the steel of stubbornness. “Not everyone is as happily blind and deluded with the state of our country’s affairs as you are.”

  The realization hit her like an avalanche, and she sat back with a shudder. “You! Edward! Are you leaning to that side? Are you becoming a…dissenter?”

  “No, no I am not,” Edward said, but the conflicted look on his face told her otherwise.

  Darting from her seat, Penelope shot him a disgusting look, “Yes, you do. You do, Eddie! I can see it! You’re eschewing everything moral good and values that Father stood for! I cannot even look at you now.”

  Penelope was halfway through the house with anger spurring her heels and disbelief in her chest. Her brother’s thinking was skewed. Who in their right mind, that was under a criminal investigation, would throw themselves into the spotlight? Was there even a speck of logic in Edward’s mind, or was he so caught up in proving himself to his friends that he would forsake the basics of common sense?

  She wanted to scream…or cry. Did Edward not see the danger he was putting them in? Heath was right. Heath was so right when he had told her Swanville and Hillbrook were swaying Edward to their side. Did her Oxford-educated brother not see that? What was it going to take to make Edward see sense? His being shot like the Viscount? Was that it?

  She blindly turned a corner and nearly sent Mr. Gastrell into the wall with her collision. Throwing an apology over her shoulder she hastened off and out to the one place she felt could calm her—the stables. When she got to Bessie, she could feel aggravated tears brimming under her lids. She reached out to her horse and pressed her face to the mare’s side.

  “And they say animals are hard to make heel,” she scoffed. “You have your ways, but you are not half a stubborn as Eddie. Heath was right.”

  “Who?”

  It was Edward. Drat. He had overheard her.

  “Hm?” She tried to play ignorant, but Edward’s eyes were narrowed.

  “Who is Heath?” Edward pressed.

  “Heath who? Care to be more specific?”

  “Penelope,” her brother said tightly, “Stop being obtuse. I know that you know what I said, but I don’t have the strength to press the issue. Penelope, you need to know that though it looks b…”

  She snorted in derision.

  “but you have to understand, that the political scene is not as black and white as you think it is,” Edward said. “If you would understand, Napoleon might be a despot, but his ideas to revolutionize his country were exceptional. There are ways to incorporate those underlying ideas into England.”

  “But they are anarchist ideas,” Penelope stressed while scratching Bessie’s ears. “Even you can see that mere contemplation or those ideals much less implementation is a terrible idea.”

  “Penelope, the ideals the government has are archaic,” Edward pressed. “If it takes a bold person to take those ideas and use them to our advantage, then it must be done. England will suffer under this outdated regime.”

  “And are you that person?” Penelope asked pointedly. “And are you willing to forfeit your life and family to do it?”

  “There is no forfeiting as I will not be doing any of it,” Edward clarified. “There is a difference between appreciating the theory behind the science and applying it. I will not be applying any of the sort, but I cannot promise that if someone does apply them, I will not support the effort.”

  “Which is just as bad,” Penelope rolled her eyes. “Goodbye Edward. I’ll be happy to talk to you when you regain your senses.”

  Taking back the brush, her attentions were back on Bessie as Edward huffed audibly and left the stables. “Still a stubborn as when we were little.”

  Mid-stroke she remembered that Edward had hired Heath and knew his name. A name she had uttered. Dash it all! The brush fell to the floor as she ran out with her heart was firmly lodged in her throat. She made it in time as Heath was rounding a corner, a corridor coming from Edward’s study.

  His expression was blank, emptier than usual, and she knew what had happened before and his voice was monotone, “Good afternoon, My Lady.”

  She sagged on the wall as he passed by and felt the last shred of hope she had that Edward had not chastised him. Spinning, she hoped he was not going to pack his things after a dismissal. Wasn’t there enough emotional upheaval for that day? Aggravated, Penelope marched to her brother’s study and pushed the door open to see Edward at his desk stacking some papers nonchalantly.

  “What did you do?” she demanded with her fists clenching at her sides.

  “Care to be more specific?” Edward asked coolly.

  “Don’t you dare spin that on me,” she said heatedly while her mind began spinning horrible theories about what Edward could have done
with Heath, the man she was begging to love. “What did you do to Mr. Moore?”

  “I did not do anything,” Edward said. “You did by calling him by his first name. I only reaffirm the line of propriety between you two.”

  Her fears grew colder, “What did you do?”

  “From now on, you will call him by his name, and he is to speak to you with your proper title.”

  Does he know he now calls me Penelope? Praying that Heath had not slipped she said cautiously, “He had only called me by my proper title.”

  “I know,” Edward said while not looking at her at all. “And from now on you will call him by his surname. You must adhere to the boundary lines of the given station, Penelope.”