Taking a few moments to correctly comb his hair, he placed his shoes on and left for the front hall, moments before the hired orchestra began to play. With his hands behind him, he stood alongside Mr. Gastrell as the guests began to arrive.
“Lord and Lady Nottingham,” Mr. Gastrell greeted while taking their invitations. “Welcome to Lord Allerton’s home. Please, let Mr. Moore escort you to the ballroom.”
Bowing to the middle-aged pair, Heath spoke, “Lord and Lady Nottingham, please, follow me.”
He heard Mr. Gastrell’s voice behind him greeting another guest as he showed the couple to the entrance of the short staircase that took them to the ballroom. From the doorway, he spotted Lady Penelope sitting under a twisted canopy of dark blue and purple banners.
Sitting alone, she looked like a misplaced princess with her rich sable locks styled in ringlets around her uninterested face, the dark green material of her gown perfect against her fair skin. She was fanning herself with a lace fan, and her boredom was acute. He did not have time to mull over her isolation much as he hurried back to the entrance room. Just in time as another couple arrived.
The process soon became monotonous, greeting the guests and showing them to the ballroom. He kept a keen eye and ear out for Lord Hillbrook and his friend, Lord Swanville. He nearly missed it as an older lady nearly tripped down the steps, and he had to help her to a chair in the ballroom.
“Here you go, Mrs. Lathan,” he bowed. “Are you sure you are all right?”
She wavered her bejeweled hand, “I am, thank you, Mr. Moore. These old bones needed a reminder that I am not as spry as I was.”
Bowing to her, and her even-older husband, he wished them well and made his excuses to go back to the foyer. There he heard Mr. Gastrell greet Lord Swanville. Instantly, he knew why Lady Penelope was averse to him.
The man was truly serpentine, with his dark hair slicked back and dark, almost-black eyes that had a hint of carefully-controlled craftiness. His smooth voice was cultured and dignified with the token cadence of polite condescension most peers had. To hammer in the point about being obnoxious, the man was holding a cane in his gloved hand. A jeweled cane, but a cane, nonetheless.
“Mr. Gastrell,” he said sibilantly. “Wonderful to see you again.”
“And you, My Lord,” the butler’s words were coolly detached. “Please, enjoy the festivities. Mr. Moore will show you to the ballroom.”
Heath’s expression did not shift from calm even as caution made the hairs on the back of his head lift. On the political scene, this was not a man for the respectable Lord Allerton to have in his home and on a personal level, it rankled him that the Earl would subject his sister to a company that disturbed her.
He could not voice any of his concerns and only bowed, “This way, My Lord.”
Soft footfalls of the carpet runner were the only indication that the Lord was following him, and Heath stood at the entrance of the door to allow the Lord to pass by. He had sworn to protect the family and knowing that she did not like the lord, wanted to find Lady Penelope and warn her, but he still had a duty to do. So, with gritted teeth but a forcefully-relaxed jaw, he bade the man a good evening and went back to his post.
Every moment that passed by heightened his anxiety and he was not sure why. The tension should have dissipated after Lord Swanville had left his presence, but it steadily grew anyway. His anxiety had no place in the soft, soothing classical air in the home.
They stood at the foyer until it was clear there were no more guests to arrive. Heath was about to excuse himself to a washroom when a man, light-brown hair and watery blue eyes stumbled in, flushed and sweating in nervousness.
He handed his invitation to Mr. Gastrell and asked nervously. “I’m not too late, am I?”
“Welcome, Viscount Shirlling,” the butler greeted. “You are not too late, My Lord. Mr. Moore will show you to the ballroom and Mr. Moore, you are free to add to the serving staff there.”
The opportunity was a welcomed one as his sense of danger was now heavy on his chest.
“Understood, Mr. Gastrell. Right this way, My Lord.”
He entered in the middle of a dance, a waltz if he recalled correctly, as he took his place at the side of the dance floor. Instantly, his eyes were drawn to Lady Penelope in her lovely green dress. She was dancing with a man with grey at his sideburns. His eyes skipped over the pair to Lord Swanville who was speaking with Lord Hillbrook and Lord Allerton who was at the far side of the room.
At least all the trouble is at one side of the room.
Taking up a tray of filled glasses of water and punch from the refreshment table, he went back to his place and waited for the set to break. The dance stopped, and the dancers clapped the musicians as they gravitated to the refreshment tables. For those elderly matrons who were seated, Heath went and offered the drinks to them while receiving smiles and lovely compliments from the ladies. One dowager had even asked him if he was a lord in disguise. That had made him chuckle.
He turned to see Lady Penelope who had stopped dancing. Her brother, however, was gesturing for her to join them, and her grimace was fleeting but he saw it anyway. With hesitant steps, she went over to the three men, and from the way her body subtly leaned away from the men, she was not happy to be there. When she spoke to Lord Hillbrook, her face went guarded and her jaw stiffened.
Heath’s fingers tightened around the tray, but he stayed put at the edge of the room. Too many sensations were rifling through his mind. He was both sorry for Lady Penelope and very concerned for her. The sense of danger was still niggling at the edge of his mind, but it had dulled somewhat. Swanville, the Bonapartist, had not done anything to create concern, and he let his guard down somewhat.
Lord Hillbrook grasped her Lady Penelope’s gloved hand and kissed the back of it, and she took it back with a stifled laugh. The look Lord Swanville leveled at Lady Penelope ran down Heath’s spine like slick oil. His eyes ran over Lords Hillbrook, Allerton and Swanville but they did not look bothered. Did they not see the Lady three feet away from them?
The bell for dinner came, and Heath let out a breath that he had not known he had held in. Half of the night had gone and nothing of suspect had happened. The Bonapartist was not making any trouble—as far as he knew—and no one was making any sort of controversy.
He prayed his instincts were wrong and that it was only the aversion to the Lord Swanville’s political position that had abraded his sensibilities before. For his peace of mind and the oath he swore, he prayed the night would go smoothly.
He stepped aside when the guests passed by to go to the dining room, some fluttering fans at flushed faces. When the ballroom was empty, he followed them to his next post of helping in the dining room.
His eyes met Lady Penelope’s quickly, but the look broke quickly. She and her brother were speaking near a window while the doors to the corridor that led to the kitchens were open behind them. Lord Swanville was speaking to a lady across the room with luminous blond hair. Then he noticed that Lord Allerton was missing and so was Lord Shirlling.
Perhaps they had gone to the cloakroom.
Continuing to serve the guests, Heath made sure to keep an eye on Lord Swanville and Lord Hillbrook. The two lords were no different from the other peers around the rooms, socializing with ease and breaking for the refreshment table at times.
His anxiety tripled whenever they did so, fearing that they would drop something into the punch bowls. His fear went unfounded as no one came up coughing blood or turning green. By fractions, his body lost most of the fears for the lords but got anxious about the continued absence of Lord Allerton.
Then just as he went back to the refresh his tray, Lord Allerton burst into the room, almost mowing down a servant and knocking his tray away in his fright. He had wild eyes and his breast was splattered with blood. Instantly, Heath’s anxiety tripled. He dropped the empty tray and ran to his employer who was now the center of attention.
“My Lord, wh
at happened?”
“Shilling,” Lord Allerton gasped, “In the gardens. H-he’s been shot! Go!”
Heath took off, darting from the ballroom and ran to the dark gardens. The once-purple sky was now ink black, but he made his way to the gardens by memory more than sight anyway. Lord Shirlling’s immobile body was not hard to spot, and he ran over to him.
The man’s body was twisted on the ground, and his hand was clutching at his shoulder, right over his heart. From the way he was not moving, and the blood blooming on his chest, it was safe to say that Lord Shirlling was more than shot—the man was dead.
Heath knelt down beside the body just as a few more men came running into the garden. He managed to shift the man to his back and saw the lifeless eyes there. In a measure of mercy, he slid the lids down over unseeing eyes. Men were surrounding him then. He stood up and let the other men go before him. Instead, he twisted to look around with analytical eyes.
The garden was open so there were myriad advantage points the murderer could have come from.
Spinning in complete mystification, he went back to the dining room only to see people being ushered out and a flustered Lord Allerton at the doorway, offering apologies to the departing guests. They were horrified, anyone could see that, as they trickled out. He overheard the women’s hushed whispers and the men’s murmurs.
From the corner of the room, he searched for Lady Penelope. She was nowhere in sight. Anxious, he skirted the room to look into the nooks and crannies around the perimeter of the room. When he did not find her, his anxiety ratcheted up.
Is she hurt? Perhaps she is in her rooms?
He took to the stairs and crossed the landing. He spotted the open door to a balcony and there he saw the back of Lady Penelope’s dark green dress. His fear shot to the skies. There was a gunman on the loose, and she was on a balcony, in the open air, a direct line for any man who had come to kill.
Subduing his shock and managing to have a calm tone, Heath went to her, and the cool night air that hit him was a sudden contrast to the warmth inside.
“My Lady, it is not safe here. Please, come in.”
Lady Penelope turned to him with her face ashen. “I...is the Viscount dead?”
Heath decided not to answer her until she was away from the balcony. “I would rest easier, My Lady, if you came away from this balcony.”
She nodded woodenly and stepped away from the balustrade. Heath reached out for her hand and helped her over the threshold. When she was inside, he closed the door behind her in relief and dropped his hold. Her eyes were glassy, and Heath felt sympathy for her. It certainly was a horrible end to a day of merriment.
“Please,” he implored. “Let me take you to the sitting room and get you some tea, if you wish.”
Again, she nodded. Holding a respectable distance between them, he guided her to the sitting room. As she sat, he went to check the windows and made sure they were closed. Lady Penelope seemed to shrink into herself as the moments passed. He was hesitant to leave as no one should be alone after an incident like that, when her maid, Martha, came rushing in.
“My Lady!” Martha exclaimed. “Are you all right?”
Lady Penelope looked up at him, her lips bloodless, “Tea, please, Mr. Moore.”
Nodding, and knowing she was safe, he left the room and went to the kitchens. On the way there, Lord Allerton called his attention and going to him, the Earl bade him over, “Viscount Shirlling is dead.”
“I know, My Lord,” Heath replied. “Lady Penelope requested a cup of tea. Miss Bell is with her in the sitting room.”
“See to it,” the Lord spoke grimly. “When you are done with my sister’s tea, come to the—where did you say she is again?”
“The sitting room, My Lord,” Heath replied. “Miss Bell is there with her.”
“Please, make it quick,” he was ordered.
He strode to the kitchen where the staff, still visibly shaken, were moving mechanically to find some way to store the uneaten food. He found the cook and asked her to make a pot of tea for Lady Penelope as quickly as she could.
Mrs. Burcham did even say a word but put the kettle on. The water did not take much time to heat and the tray with the teapot and cup and tiny bowls of sugar and milk were added.
“Thank you,” Heath said as he took the tea to the sitting room where Lady Penelope was.
He entered to see Lady Penelope, Miss Bell there sitting, while Lord Allerton was pacing. All three had mirroring grimaces on their faces. He settled the tray before Lady Penelope whose lips attempted to smile but failed halfway. She poured a cup and cradled it to her face while the Earl paced.
Suddenly he stopped, shaken and angry. “I cannot help but think that shot was for me.”
Lady Penelope frowned, “Why would you think that?”
He waved his hands around, “I was with him in the garden, Penelope, and you must remember that Father was a highly-respected and sometimes reviled member of Parliament. Silent enemies have long—long—memories.”
“But why you?” Lady Penelope pressed. “What have you done to get someone to go after your head?”
“I do not have to do a thing,” Lord Allerton said seriously. “In any blackguard’s eyes, my death would be the payment for something Father did. Which is why, sister dear, I am making sure that you be guarded at all times until I can find out who killed the Viscount.”
He then turned to Heath, and his intention was known to the footman before it was even said, “Mr. Moore, from now on until we have this matter resolved, you are to guard Lady Penelope.”
She squawked, but Heath nodded, “Yes, My Lord.”
“Edward!” she said sitting up, “Is this needed?”
“Penelope,” the Earl said gravely, “being careless with our lives is no laughing matter. I will not take any objections to this. I will protect your life and I trust that you will take every precaution to save it as well, which means no rash actions.”
“But a guard?” she said and when she realized the tone she had spoken in, one laced with incredulity, she blushed and shot a repentant look to Heath. “I am sorry Mr. Moore, as I have the greatest respect for you, but I do not think to be under lock and key for an unknown amount of time is fair to you.”
The Earl snorted callously, “Please, do not abuse your own sensibilities, sister. You do not go anywhere, you sit here like an ornament on the shelf, or sit on the chaise lounge like a pillow, so what is the problem?”
Lady Penelope’s face was like one who had just gotten slapped across one’s face, and Heath winced. The Earl’s words were like bullets, and each one had landed squarely in the middle of the lady’s chest. Lord Allerton’s eyes widened as he realized what he had said, and before he could offer the apology brimming on his tongue, Lady Penelope spun on her heel and walked out.
The Earl pressed his hand to his eyes, and Miss Bell sat there clearly uncomfortable. Heath took the matter into his hands. “If you don’t mind, My Lord, may I speak to her?”
He was waved off with permission and Heath was out in the next moment. He did stop to take the still-warm cup of tea and then took to the direction Lady Penelope had gone.
But will she listen to me instead of her brother?
Chapter 8
Angry, mortified and eyes stinging, Penelope left the sitting room with tears brimming under her eyes. The words her brother had said stung fiercer than a sudden barrage from a full swarm of a hornet’s nest.
She had never seen her removal from the social life so acutely before. Edward’s words had dug deep and unearthed all the insecurities she had tried to cover. The worst part…he was right and it pained to know he was right.
Penelope found herself in an old room that held an unused pianoforte and other musical instruments, and she sat on the stiff wingback chair whose previously undisturbed seat squeaked with her weight. She both needed and hated the silence around her.
You do not go anywhere, you sit here like an ornament on the shelf, o
r sit on the chaise lounge like a pillow, so what is the problem?”
What was the problem, truly? Why did she not go anywhere? Why could she not remember what the inside of an assembly room looked like without the edges going fuzzy? Why did she not have any friends? Most ladies her age would have had a few lady friends around her, but she had none. Others would have been married, she had no husband or even a suitor.
The realizations were like bitter medicine, but that did not give her brother any right to shatter the thin illusion of happiness she had created for herself.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and twisted her hands in her lap. Her nails were uneven and bitten, the pads of her fingers were rough, and her palms were callused. Her touch was not buttery soft like any other woman, her mind was not bent to fashion and flowers nor was it focused on rings or roses.
The Rise of a Forsaken Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 6