While absently minding them, his attention swerved to Lady Dawson, specifically, when their eyes had met. She had been shocked, but then, a soft sheen of red had run over her speckled cheeks while she darted her eyes away.
I haven’t seen a lady wear her freckles out in the open lately…most use those vinegar absolutions to wipe them away. Is she that much of an original to disregard the fashion craze?
The whistling of the kettle and the smell of toasting bread dragged Heath out of his musing, and he grabbed a kitchen cloth to ease the kettle off the hook. He then plucked the bread out—earning himself some smarting fingertips in the process—and dropped them onto a nearby plate. Reaching for his heavily-treasured carafe of butter, he coated the warm hunks and then made his coffee.
Sitting in the old wingback, purposely placed with its back to the wall and facing a window, Heath ate his meal. Again, his mind went back to Lady Penelope. She was intriguing. From what he had been told, not much was known about the lady other than that her brother had taken her under his wing after their parents had died.
Speaking of parents, Heath remembered Lord Allerton’s words—what his father had told him when he was a boy—an enemy is only a friend in disguise.
“Smart man,” he murmured.
Finishing his meal, Heath closed all the windows and doors before going back to his bedroom, where the bed was pushed against the farthest wall. He took little time in packing his belongings into a cloth sack and readied it at the door. At dawn, he was no longer an independent man, but one of Dawson’s household. Before he left the next morning, though, he was going to wield a hammer, some nails and planks of wood to close up this home.
He had told Lord Allerton his skills, but what he had told him was only a fraction of them. Viscount Messuer had a host of men at his beck and call, and Heath had shadowed them when he had the time.
One was a falconer, one was a fisherman and diver, and another one was a hunter. Another worked in carpentry, the fifth was capable of fixing carriages and the last one he had shadowed was an in-house chemist. He did not outline all his skills for a reason. He thought it better to reveal them as the need arose.
Settling in for the night, Heath folded his hands under his neck and stared up at the dark ceiling. His things were packed, and he was ready to leave to his new position.
“Tomorrow, another chapter in my life will begin…”
* * *
The Dawson House
Love potion…the nerve!
Penelope was gulping down water like it was the cordial version and not just plain water. The wafer was long gone, but she swore she could feel a different sensation running through her veins.
“Easy there, Penelope!” Edward reached over to take the glass from her, but she brushed it off. He then turned his attention to Baron Hillbrook who was doing a poor job of hiding his laughter and leveled an admonishing look at him, “Russell, that was not needed.”
“It was a harmless jest, Dawson,” Stephen shrugged while sitting back and taking up his wine. “Let up a little.”
The glass was now empty and Penelope almost slammed it down, “Lord Hillbrook—”
“Stephen,” the Baron inserted.
“Lord Hillbrook,” Penelope stressed. “I am not—” Edward’s warning look made her swallow her heated words and then switch to, “Pardon me, I was not anticipating your jest which is why my reaction was so…severe.”
She kept her eyes from her brother and focused on the man on the other side of the table. “But I should have expected something of the sort, you always did have a rather…a peculiar sense of humor.”
Lord Hillbrook’s eyes drifted up, “Thank you, I suppose?”
Edward cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence in the room, “So, Russell, what else did you do in America?”
Sliding the box of confections—which Penelope firmly decided was going to meet its fate in the middle of a furnace—away from her, she refilled her glass and sat back to listen with half an ear as the Baron spoke about his business endeavors. Her mind drifted off to think of the best time to go riding when Edward was not there.
“You should come, Dawson,” Stephen said. “I would really appreciate your ability in haggling to get me the best price on that thoroughbred.”
“I don’t know Russell,” Edward sighed while swirling his wine. “Tattersall’s horse fair is sort of a fish market sometimes.”
And here he goes again with this arrogance, Penelope sighed. “Is it that much of bother, brother? If I recall, you do need another horse yourself.”
“I do,” Edward mused while reaching for the wine jug. “But I can easily send someone to get it for me.”
“Why?” Penelope asked. “Are you needed here?”
“Not particularly.”
“The town then?”
“I do not think so,” Edward replied.
“Then go,” Penelope said. “Besides, you have not seen Lord Hillbrook in months, take this time to get familiar and get yourself a horse that does not have a buttress foot and a lazy eye.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “You just want me to leave.”
Penelope’s eyes widened in mock shock, “Oh, was I too subtle?”
“I love seeing you two interact,” the Baron laughed. “Indulge our lady, Dawson. Come with me to London tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Edward huffed. “But Penelope, I will leave Mr. Gastrell in charge. Please do not disobey him.”
“I will do my best,” Penelope replied with the edges of her lips curving.
“You are just saying that to placate me,” Edward sniffed.
Taking her refilled glass of wine, Penelope smiled over the rim, “Not too subtle at all then.”
* * *
The Dawson manor was an old Tudor-style house with a steeply-pitched gable roof, ornate masonry chimneys, and embellished doorways. As Heath cantered his mount down the large driveway that parted impeccably-trimmed lawns on both sides, he could see the wide groupings of ground floor windows and inserts of old sun-burnished timber between the brick walls.
His packed bag was nestled behind him and the back of the saddle. The pleasant temperature of the month was much more pleasing than the torrential rains of August. The few light clouds drifting over the cerulean skies, the cool air of the day and even little drizzling dew did not sour his composure.
By arrangement, he took the side road to go to the back of the manor and there met with Mr. Gastrell who showed him to the servants’ entrance, the ground floor of the left wing where the servants lived and then, to his room. A wide double-hung window gave him a clear panorama of the backyard. Bare wood was under his feet, a simple armoire was to the side and a single bed framed with functional iron rails was in the center. Laying on the drab grey sheets was a simple uniform of black shirt and trousers.
“The uniform is temporary,” Mr. Gastrell said. “The tailor is making the right one with the family arms on it. Until then, you will be wearing this. Two other sets are in the drawers. I understand that you know that you are responsible for the upkeep of your apparel.”
“I do. Is Lord Allerton awake yet?”
“No,” Mr. Gastrell shook his head. “But when he is, he will not be here for long. I believe he is going to Tattersalls this day.”
“Understood. What is my first task, Mr. Gastrell?”
“I will introduce you to the staff this morning, and then your task is to open the shutters in the main rooms and take the coal from the cellar outback into the three sitting rooms,” the butler explained. “And then I believe our stablemaster, Mr. Cowell, needs a hand in the stables also.”
“I will be out in a moment,” Heath replied. “Thank you.”
“Very good,” Mr. Gastrell nodded and promptly left the room.
Heath closed the doors behind the butler and then took out his meager belongings, hair combs and brush, and bathing rags. In the drawers, he settled his few pants, shirts, nightshirts, and underclothes. Swiftly changing o
ut into the dark clothes given to him, he took a moment to comb his hair and brushed a hand over his chin. Luckily, he had shaved a day ago so there was no unseemly stubble on his chin.
Nodding, he went out, and Mr. Gastrell took him to the kitchen where they met the cook, a few scullery girls, and some blushing maids. He then began his duties, opening the indoor window shutters and fastening them. Making the rounds throughout the ground-floor sitting rooms he opened all and then went left by the servants’ door to the coal cellar, only to stop.
The problem? “Where in God’s name is the place?”
Mr. Gastrell had given him little information on where exactly the coal cellar was as the row of uniform brick buildings about a hundred feet from him, looked exactly alike.
“It is the one to the far right,” a soft voice said.
Twisting the origin of the voice, Heath spotted a young dark-haired girl with a shy smile. “Pardon me?”
“I assume you need to find the coal cellar,” she said. “It is the last one on the right.”
“Thank you…?”
“Martha Bell,” she replied reservedly. “I am Lady Penelope’s lady maid.”
Relieved, Heath nodded. “And I am Heath Moore. Lord Allerton just hired me as a footman. I would like to stay and talk but I have many tasks to do. Thank you, Miss Bell.”
Nodding his head, Heath strode to the end row and entered. There the thick earthy smell of coal filled his nose. Thank God his clothes were black as the dust from the coal would have blighted lighter clothes. He filled the buckets, went back to the house and made his trips throughout the sitting room. He had to make one more trip and then stopped just outside the coal cellar to brush his clothes off.
A short man with grass stains on his clothes passed by and nodded, “G’ day mister. Brady here, and you?”
“Heath Moore,” he replied. “Lord Allerton’s footman.”
“Welcome then,” Brady said while tugging a glove off to shake his hand. “You look like the good sort.”
“Thanks,” Heath nodded while releasing Brady’s hand. Over the man’s head, he spotted a flash of Lady Penelope’s body walking into fairly-removed stables. “Er, does Lady Penelope visit the stables this early?”
“Yes,” Brady grinned. “The Lady is a big rider. The Lord does not agree, but she is who she is. I think she can ride better than Lady Lade, I’d wager my whole life’s saving on it.”
Heath’s eyes lifted from the gardener to the door of the stables, “Better than Lady Lade you say…”
“Stick around, chap,” Brady grinned. “Sooner or later you will see for yourself.”
With those parting words, the grounds man was off, and Heath hurried back to the house. He got there in time to see Lord Allerton tugging his coat on while a man, dressed in dark trousers and a dove grey pinstripe waistcoat tug his on as well.
“Ah, Mr. Moore,” Lord Allerton greeted. “Good to see you. How are you fitting in?”
“Very well, My Lord,” Heath replied. “Mr. Gastrell has given me all I need.”
They were interrupted by feet thumping down the hallway and Lady Penelope came in, flushed from running. Her hair was escaping from her braid and the tails of her dress were a bit mud stained. “Edward, could you get a—oh! My apologies!”
“Lady Penelope, what a delightful surprise,” the stranger said smoothly. Too smoothly in Heath’s opinion, rather like a serpent. “Forgive me for saying, but disarray suits you as well as neatness does.”
“Lord Hillbrook,” Lady Penelope did not step away, but she did shift her weight to lean away from him and Heath noticed it. Why though? “You’re here.”
“Stating the obvious,” Edward rolled his eyes. “What do you need from me, sister?”
“Um…could you get those honey-flavored gingerbreads I like and a new horse brush for Bessie?” Lady Penelope said directly to her brother. Once again, Heath noted that she deliberately focused on Lord Allerton and not Lord Hillbrook. Why?
“Excuse me,” Heath said and was about to leave when Lady Penelope reached out for him. She touched his arm, but instantly dropped it.
“Mr. Moore, before you go, could you put some coal in my grate…please,” she finished with a blush.
“Of course, My Lady,” Heath bowed and as he came up, Lord Hillbrook’s blue eyes were ice chips and nearly as cutting like knives. Again, what was going on there? Holding his composure, Heath said his partings words to the lords and left to get the coal for the lady.
He went back to the coal cellar and got what the lady needed, decidedly perturbed. Why does Lord Hillbrook look at me that way, like I stole something from him? I do not even know this man…
Chapter 4
Watching Mr. Moore leave, Penelope turned back to her brother and Lord Hillbrook who was smiling at her. Her brother, however, was not as amiable. She swallowed over her sudden irregularly-thumping heart.
“We are going to a horse auction, sister,” Edward said. “Driving halfway across London to Stratford is not exactly in my plans.”
“I understand,” she replied dejectedly. “Be safe and I wish you a safe journey.”
“Oh, come on Dawson,” Lord Hillbrook tutted as Penelope’s back disappeared from the room. “What hardship is there in taking twenty-minutes out of our time to get Lady Penelope’s treats?”
Edward looked between her and his friend and shook his head, “You spoil her then.”
“Gladly,” Stephen smirked.
Though she was out of the room, her brother and Lord Hillbrook’s voices were still in earshot and she overheard them. It felt unnatural that it was her brother’s friend that had more mercy on her than her brother himself.
Shaking her head, she went to the upper drawing room that had a balcony over the driveway. She was going to watch them leave and then take her mare, Bessie, out for a run.
Many women shied away from riding but not she. She and Edward’s late father, Lord Herschel, bless his soul, had allowed her that one whimsy, of knowing how to ride when others chose needlepoint. She had begun lessons at the timid age of five but by age seven, riding came easy to her as breathing. It was one of the reasons she and Edward had disagreements. He thought her way of riding astride was unseemly and she thought his opinions were outdated.
From the window, she watched at Lord Hillbrook’s dark carriage trundled on, down the road and rounded the corner. She waited on tenterhooks to see if they would turn back and when five minutes passed and they did not, she grinned in joy.
Hurrying back, she changed into stolen breeches and a shirt and then ran to the stables, Penelope hastily greeted Mr. Cowell and had him saddle Bessie.
“Aye My Lady,” the stablemaster grinned. He and his stable boys had long ago learned to turn a blind eye to her riding, and even a blinder on to when Bessie’s stall was empty some nights. The house staff was the same, not one maid, scullery girl or footman slipped a word to her brother. It was a harmless conspiracy.
Mr. Cowell tightened the last girth, and then slapped the horse’s rump. “She’s ready for you, My Lady.”
Grinning, Penelope easily swung into her saddle, glorifying in how Bessie moved under her. With a delighted laugh and expectancy building in her blood, she turned her horse, nudged her flanks, and sped off. The animal was moving at a steady clip when she got to the fields.
The wide-open stretches of land nearby were an invitation for unrestraint. Bessie shifted and snorted under her as her hoof pawed and she paced. Leaning over, Penelope rubbed Bessie’s ears. Leaning back, she dug her heels into the horse’s flanks, and Bessie took off like a shot.
Bessie’s hooves did not even seem to touch the ground with the speed she was going. The wind whipped around Penelope so briskly that it tore at the fasteners of her hair and, unfastened, the tresses began to billow behind her.
This was freedom. This was exhilaration. This was life unabridged. Daring herself to, she stood in the stirrups and raced like never before. It was risky riding, but she did it
anyway. Even if a few servants saw her, no one would tell on her. They all understood it was one of her few freedoms.
If only the rest of her life could be this way, with her at the reins guiding it to where she wanted it to go. Instead, it was at the mercy of men, primarily her brother who she suspected would soon force her into marriage. If this was the only free time she had, she had decided to live it to the fullest.
I hope that my husband, whoever he is to be, will allow me to ride this way.
Three times she turned Bessie to run full tilt and, with the wind whipping through her hair, it was going to a tangled mess and a pain for Martha to comb out when she got back to the house. Penelope, however, wanted to prologue her fun as long as she could, but knew her time was limited. Sadly, she turned and guided Bessie back to the stables. Just outside, she nimbly hopped off.
Scratching Bessie behind her ears, she led the panting animal into the stable only to stop short. The new footman, Mr. Moore was there mucking out a stable…shirtless.
His back was turned to her, and she could see the flex of his back muscles and the smooth motion of his corded arms. She did not move while watching his shoulders rise and fall and the glimmer of sweat on his golden skin.
“Ahem,” Mr. Cowell cleared his throat from behind her and Penelope turned fifty hues of red knowing she was gawking. Sadly, Mr. Cowell’s interruption also called Mr. Moore’s attention to her too.
“Er….” Penelope hedged as she knew she looked a fright. There was no way the sight of a woman wearing breeches and a shirt with hair as mad as Medusa was a usual occurrence.
“Good day, Mr. Moore,” she uttered to her feet as Mr. Cowell took up the item he had come for. He left with a jaunty wave over his shoulder.
“Excuse me, My Lady,” he said and then passed by her to grab a shirt hanging on a hook.
Shrugging it on, he came back to her and wiped his palms on his thighs. “How may I help you, My Lady?”
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