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

by Linfield, Emma

  “I will not marry you,” she reiterated.

  Hillbrook did grab her hand, “How about a little incentive, my dear.”

  “And what could that be?” She was afraid to ask.

  “Follow me,” he said softly.

  Glancing up she saw a cold hatred in once-mellow orbs. Her throat locked up, and she could not speak. He tugged her into his side and walked her like a marionette from the room to outside. To anyone looking on, it seemed like a lovers’ stroll, but instead of love, it was fear like she’d never known that held her was tight.

  They arrived at the stables and Penelope was amiss at what they were doing there until Hillbrook let her go and went to Bessie. He opened her stall, took out a pistol from his coat and leveled it to Bessie’s head.

  Triggered by fright, she screamed, “Stephen!”

  He laughed coldly, “All these years of asking and now she calls me by my name.”

  “Please,” she cried while inching toward him and the unsuspecting horse. “Please, do not do this.”

  “Marry me,” he ordered.

  She swallowed. Choose him to release Bessie or choose Bessie to set her free. “Stephen, please. She had nothing to do with this.”

  He turned to look at her, “Are you saying yes, then?”

  Penelope nodded, but a tad too long and Hillbrook tutted. “No, you’re not.” He cocked the gun and the click of the safety sounded like a gong to her ears.

  “Stephen—”

  The sound of the bullet slamming into Bessie’s head, right between her eyes had Penelope screaming, a high agonized sound of pure horror. Her heart—or what was left of it—pounded in her chest.

  She fell to the ground blinded by a flood of tears while Hillbrook just dropped the gun to his side and kicked the bleeding horse’s head to the side like a bucket of slop.

  “I did not want to do that,” he said with a downturn of his lips. “But you forced my hand.”

  Penelope’s breath was static in her lungs, sharp and bitter. Bessie’s eyes were blank and her chest still. Her beloved horse was dead. Dead! Shuffling forward on her knees, she reached out and touched the bloodied head finding it inconceivable that Bessie was dead. The warm blood was pungent evidence of it.

  “B-Bessie…” She groaned through her tears. “I am so sorry…”

  Hillbrook only sidestepped her, “Which one of you is next?”

  She looked up to see the Baron holding his gun to Duke, and she shot to her feet, lunging herself at him to wrench the weapon away. “No!”

  She was easily pushed off, “Why is this one so special to you, hm.”

  “Because, I gave him to her,” a familiar voice from her dreams was suddenly in the air.

  Heath was standing at the door with a pistol aimed at the Baron. “Give it up, Russell. You’ve been found out. Drop the gun and let Penelope go.”

  “So, it’s Penelope to you,” Hillbrook sneered. “I always knew there was something off about you, footman. Who are you?”

  “An Agent of the Crown,” Heath spoke assuredly. “Your lies are being unraveled, Hillbrook. You are broke, and only the money by that investment with Duke Stratham is your daily bread. You will not get anything from Theodor von der Recke, even if you marry Lady Penelope.”

  A vein bulged in the Baron’s cheek, “He will. Stratham assured me of it.”

  “Stratham is tricking you,” Heath said while inching near. “Do you really think a Duke is going to share any wealth with a lowly Baron? He will throw you under a trampling horse the moment he gets what he wants.”

  “You don’t know that,” Hillbrook said while the wavering in his eyes said differently.

  “You are only a pawn in his game of chess,” Heath said. “Think about it.”

  “Lies,” the Baron snapped. “We have it all agreed to, I get the Duke’s contacts by marrying Penelope and he will dispose of Allerton to make it easier. If I got my way, Dawson would rot in prison for the rest of his life, but Stratham sees it best to kill him.”

  That had Penelope’s head snapping up. “K-kill him? You’d kill him? My brother was your best friend for…years, and you would kill him?”

  Hillbrook was nonplussed. “Sacrifices have to be made, My Lady.”

  “A sacrifice? You would sacrifice another human being for what…money?”

  “Untold riches,” Hillbrook clarified. “But I think this diatribe had gone long enough.” The moment he released the safety and pulled the trigger, Heath’s shot clocked him in the shoulder.

  Enraged, Hillbrook dropped the gun and launched himself at Heath. He tackled the agent, slamming his opponent’s body against a wall, and with Heath’s quick response, they both fell to the ground. The pistol clattered to Penelope’s feet, and she yelped at the hit.

  Hillbrook broke away from Heath, and the Baron reached for something in his boot. Heath thrust both his hands out, nearly blocking the Baron’s blade swooping downward in a murderous arc. Penelope’s heart was in her throat as the lethal point of Hillbrook’s weapon hovered inches above Heath's throat.

  The gun lay at her feet, and she knew what she had to do. She grabbed it, pointed it with shaky hands to the man, and with a prayer, pulled the trigger. Her eyes clenched tight at the resounding blast. The echoes of the gunshot slowly petered out through the air until there was only deathly silence.

  Penelope forced her eyes open to see Hillbrook’s bloodied body canted to the side. By amazing chance, she had shot him in the shoulder and not where he could have died from. She felt a heavy weight drop on her shoulders and her knees buckled under her. She staggered, step by step, until her back hit a wall. Then, she slid to the ground, wide-eyed and astonished.

  The cruelty she just witnessed was a nightmare. Bessie’s blank eyes were mere feet away from her, Hillbrook’s bloodied body was being hoisted up by two blue-clad constables. When had they gotten there? Looking down at the pistol in her hand, her mind went blank.

  Heath slowly took the weapon from her; she looked at her empty palms and muttered, “Did I just do that?”

  She was enveloped into his warm embrace. “Yes, sweetheart, yes, you did.”

  Her numb fingers clutched at his clothes and her voice was a bit hollow. “You’re back.”

  “And I will never leave again,” Heath said in her hair. “I promise you, Penelope, never again.”

  Epilogue

  When the layers of Hillbrook’s plan peeled away layer by layer on the pages of the London Gazette, week after week, the whole city of London took an audible gasp of delightful horror. Day after day for over three weeks straight, the newspaper sheets could barely get off the press before they were devoured by a populace, seasoned by the scandals surrounding the Regent, to gleefully swallow down any more gossip of a disgraced peer.

  Lord Hillbrook has been remanded by the Crown in correlation with a crime.

  That simple mention three weeks ago had not been too bad as it was only a footnote, but when the injuring of a knight had grabbed the attention of the public, the newspaper writers noticed.

  “Is it now known that Lord Hillbrook had arranged for the killing of Viscount Shirlling, the shooting of Sir Stratham, and setting a stable on fire by an aide at Lord Allerton’s Estate. He later admitted to killing and staging the death of the aide as a suicide to deter deeper investigations.”

  The next week's addition expounded. “In accordance with an agreement with Duke Stratham, a claim the Duke stridently denies, Stephen Russell, the Baron of Hillbrook, has admitted to using an air gun from Edward Dawson’s collection, in order to frame the Earl of Allerton and to get access to higher political connections. He planted evidence at Lord Swanville’s estate to shift attention from him.”

  “The Lord had confessed to being a part of an English fascist sect, advocating for an authoritarian centralized government, with anti-elitist rhetoric, army support, and conservatism. According to a written report, Hillbrook has fingered Duke Stratham as a prominent member but the Duke has, again,
denied those claims.”

  Heath dropped yesterday’s paper with a snort of disgust. He was in London, dealing with the fallout of the Baron’s crime. One of which, Heath was happy to say, was the exoneration of Lord Allerton. The Earl was slated for release that evening and he was proud to be the one ushering him home.

  The Inn room was clean, his bed—by force of habit—was spread and his few bags were resting on it, ready to be taken and loaded into the carriage soon. His bottle-green waistcoat paralleled his eyes, and he fiddled with the cravat before shrugging his jacket on, then his coat, scarf, and mitts as it was the dead of winter.

  Three weeks and five days apart from Penelope had taxed him. He had hated leaving her there, at the house by herself, while he had taken the injured Baron to his new quarters, a bare, dank, rancid cell at Newgate. It was a testament to Heath's words about the Duke using him like a pawn as no matter how Hillbrook reached out for help, none of his “friends” would do much as bat an eyelash to aid him.

  Shaking his head at the man’s blind gullibility in thinking he’d share a Midas fortune with a Duke, Heath knew his work with the Baron was done, and he would prefer that it stayed that way. With a resignation letter submitted to Wethington, he was halfway in putting his life as a Crown Agent behind him to move on as the Viscount he was, hopefully with Penelope as his wife.

  Heath heard the knock on the door and answered it. The innkeeper had been instructed to notify him when the carriage arrived. After giving his bags to the driver, Heath left the Inn. He nimbly entered the carriage and smiled as they trotted off to Newgate to get Allerton. There was a bit of a ride before them between London and the Earldom and during that time, Heath fully intended to clarify his status and state his intentions to the Lord.

  Peering out at the streets, Heath thanked the Crown for putting him at the Allerton’s house as he had finally found the missing piece in his life—Penelope. And to restore her brother to her, free of all accusations, felt even better.

  Heath waited at the exit of Newgate, and ten minutes later, the Earl stepped through it. Allerton looked like he had aged ten years in over ten weeks. His skin was pale and his cheeks sallow but the relief in his eyes trumped his pallor.

  “Allerton,” Heath said while stretching his hand out. “How does it feel to be a free man?”

  “Better than you think,” Allerton sighed. “So, it’s only Allerton now, eh? Where did, My Lord go?”

  “I left out the fact that I am a Viscount.” Heath smiled while gesturing the open door of the carriage. “My Father, Lord Erasmus Murray was a Recorder of London and the last High Steward of Staffordshire.”

  Allerton sat back with shock painted over his features. “Son of the Recorder of London and the last High Steward of Staffordshire, you say?”

  “And an Agent of the Crown for over twenty years,” Heath added. “I followed in his footsteps.”

  The mention of being an agent from the Crown made the Earl grimace deeply, and Heath offered his commiserations. “I am glad that I was placed with you as you are now free, and I am declaring my intention of courting Lady Penelope.”

  Allerton’s lips twisted, “I would say I am surprised, but I am not. She would have denied any other suitor but you. I will give my consent, Murray, but I don’t think she would count it any, she would follow her heart, whether you were a prince or a pauper.”

  “I drop somewhere in the middle,” Heath sighed out in relief.

  A slow hour trot to the Allerton’s Earldom, had them speaking over Heath’s impending courtship and skirting the issue of Hillbrook. They arrived just under noontime, and Heath’s anxiety had ratcheted up a notch when they entered a silent home.

  Mr. Gastrell came from around a corner and his relief and delight were seen from halfway across the room. “My Lord, welcome home.”

  Allerton nodded, “Is my sister here?”

  The butler nodded, “She is, but she has company, My Lord, Lady Cheltenham is here.”

  Heath cocked an eyebrow at the red line running across the Earl’s face. He cleared his throat, “Would you ask Lady Penelope to meet me in the library, Mr. Gastrell?”

  He needed not ask, as Penelope came out with Lady Cheltenham. The fairer lady was in lovely demure rose pink that gave her the appearance of spring in the dead winter, but she did not hold Heath’s eyes. Penelope was in modest dark blue, with her hair in a braid over her shoulder and those stubborn curls popping out.

  She stopped mid-step then rushed into his arms. He buried his nose in her hair briefly, knowing this show of affection was not seemly, but at this moment, he did not care. Her golden eyes were glimmering with relief.

  “You’re back…” her eyes ran over with a longing that he knew he mirrored, “I am so glad you’re back.”

  Heath looked over her shoulder to see Allerton and Lady Cheltenham talking to each other in stilted sentences. “Would you care to walk with me?”

  She turned and smiled to see the two had reconnected. “I’d love to and I think they need to talk.” Tugging him from the room, Penelope clung to him as they entered the bare garden. They had left so quickly that she had not stopped to grab her coat.

  Heath stopped and unwrapped his scarf to twine it around her neck before he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. Her breath made white mist between them as she clutched the coat. The freckles on her face were speckles of burnt gold across her nose, and he hoped she’d never lose them by those popular vinegar absolutions.

  “I owe you an explanation,” Heath said, lowering his eyes to stop her from interrupting. “I owe you an explanation, and you are going to allow me to do it.”

  She nodded and he tugged her under his arm. Bundled up and snuggled in, Heath said. “I did not lie to you, I never lied to you. When my mother died, I had run out to get Colt and got lost in the forest in Staffordshire. We had miles and miles of forest, and I had access to all of it. My Lord Erasmus Murray was a Recorder of London and the last High Steward of Staffordshire. I had wealth, Penelope, I have wealth.”

  “Lord Erasmus—” Penelope mused with a tiny furrow before her expression cleared and she hopped up on her toes and smacked his chest. “Lord Masseur! Erasmus is Lord Masseur. You just rearranged his name! How deviously imaginative of you.”

  “Thank you,” Heath grinned. “I love how quick your mind is. And he was an Army Man with the same quirks that I told you about. He left me an Estate, Penelope but my job with the Crown took me away from it. My steward takes care of all it. I am a Viscount.”

  She glared at him. “And you had me wishing for a man like you with a title when it was you all along? How dare you?”

  He picked her up and spun her around, and her feet kicked up a flurry of snow as she giggled and blushed, “I dare. I do dare. So much that I dare to ask you—.”

  “Yes,” she interrupted him.

  Heath’s head canted to the side, “Yes to what?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked.

  “I could be asking you to jump over a cliff with me, and you’d say yes to committing suicide?” Heath asked.

  “Stop acting thickheaded, Heath,” Penelope rolled her eyes. “It does not become you. But yes, you can court me…and yes, to answer that question I can see in your eyes…I will marry you.”

  “Thank you,” Heath whispered while wrapping her up in his arms. Snow fluff was beginning to drift down like soft down, and some landed in her hair. Her golden eyes were now honey with delight. and he smiled, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

  “No,” she smiled coyly. “But you can start right now if you’d like.”

  “Do you only want me around for the compliments?” Heath mocked an aghast expression. “For shame, Penelope.”

  Her smile slipped a little, “I was…scared you’d go back and never return. Your job was done, after all.”

  “But my heart was here,” Heath said. “How many men do you know can walk around with without a heart?”

  Penelo
pe’s face clouded and this time her eyes went grim, “I know of one.”

  “And he’s facing execution,” Heath said. “For crimes against the country. His estate and assets are being taken by the Crown, his international connections broken, and his name stricken from the peerage. I am just sorry that you had to suffer too.”

  The vague implication of Bessie had her lips flatten but then she sighed and came closer. “I will always remember her,” she sniffed. “Was it foolish of me that I once considered that she and Duke would have foaled. That they would be happy even when you and I weren’t.”

  “They could have been,” Heath said. “I am sure that Bessie would have never loved anything more than for you to be happy and I pledge my life to make you happy.”