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

by Linfield, Emma

  “And I wonder what that could be, My Lady?” he asked, daring to be facetious.

  Her eyes rolled as she went to the stairs, and Heath hurried to offer his arm to her. She took it and they descended the staircase easily. However, by the time they got to the ballroom, the dance had already started, and Lady Penelope went off to make apologies to her slighted partner.

  The room was full, but Heath noted two absent persons, Lord Hillbrook and an older man Lord Allerton had told him was Duke Quinton. Looking over to where Lady Penelope was sitting, he decided to take a quick look over the ballroom from the upper levels. Turning back to the staircase, he went back up and took the corridors over the large room.

  The windows on this level were closed, and Heath breathed a sigh of relief. No one would come from those. There were only a few rooms up over the ballroom, meeting rooms or libraries most likely. Eased that no attack could come from there, he went back to the ballroom and saw that Lady Penelope was on the floor as a new dance had begun.

  He was headed to a place near the refreshment room when his attention was drawn to the men who were inside.

  “…must speak for everyone when I say that Allerton must have worked a magic charm or bargained with the Devil to get that sister of his out from seclusion,” one said.

  “I believed she had gone to a nunnery,” the other laughed. “I don’t think I was off the mark though. Like a fine wine, she’s grown into a beauty.”

  “Fit to be sold off,” the first said coyly. “I heard the old man was rich and smart enough to leave a part of her dowry in investment and the rest in the bank to gain interest. Even if that was five-thousand-pounds, three years ago, think of what it would be today.”

  Heath’s stomach soured. These men only saw the lady for the money they could get for her. Did they even think of getting to know the lady?

  “I wonder if she’s truly talented on the horse as they say,” the second said coyly, “Not many a lady can ride better than a man. Mayhap she could enter those competitions and earn her keep as I suspect she’s not good enough for anything else.”

  His fists clenched. Perhaps a facer would be good enough for you.

  “My good man, how perfectly heinous of you!” the first man guffawed.

  “Posh. Layton, I know you were thinking the same thing, I just said it aloud,” the first snorted.

  Righteous anger, burning red for the sake of Lady Penelope was dancing at the edges of his vision. The audacity of these men, planning to pander the lady of the show horses like a trained pony. These men did not deserve to have the lady’s name in their mouth much less have her around them.

  “But even if we even tried, we’d be on the last leg,” one said. “I believe Hillbrook is the first runner for her hand, and no one might even match up soon enough. I heard that his business ventures might take him to the top of the new-money ladder. There are whispers about new openings in trade with colonies…and possibly France.” the last came out hushed.

  “France!” the second’s voice was strangled in fear. “Is he mad?”

  “It’s just a rumor,” the first speaker said. “Gossip, my good man. It is not final, just pure speculation.”

  “Speculation might get him killed,” the first said in an unimpressed tone. “But then again, with him gone, some of us might have a chance with the lady.”

  The conversation went back to Lady Penelope, but Heath’s mind was still replaying how Lord Hillbrook might have a connection with the seeder side of France even considering the embargo Napoleon himself had declared against England seven years ago in 1806. Then again, the restriction was being waived as the despot was incarcerated in Elba, and merchants were using the loophole to get as much as they could. Smuggled goods from France were a goldmine.

  Heath realized they were possibly speaking of Swanville, the Bonapartist and not Hillbrook. Since the two were close, they might have mistaken one for the other. Hillbrook would never be so foolish to endanger his best friend, business partner, and his sister with such a risky business.

  God forbid that Lady Penelope got in the middle of it. He moved off just before the two Lords came out. He went back to the ballroom, active seeking out Lady Penelope and sighed in relief to see her sitting with Miss Bell.

  His calm evaporated when Lord Hillbrook came over to her, and knowing what he then knew about the lord, began to see the Lord in with a new set of eyes. A set of watchful eyes.

  It had to be Swanville, Heath declared. It must be.

  Whichever it was, speculation or the uncertainty of who was doing what and what might come after, it felt like a lit mortar bomb waiting to explode, and he hated it. Thank god, Lady Penelope was ignorant of it all, and he hoped to keep it that way as she stood for another dance.

  She leaned in to hear something her partner was saying and pulled back with a smile to the lord. She looked so innocent, so…pure. She did not need to be involved in her brother’s friends’ mess.

  Let her ignorance be bliss as long as it can be, he prayed.

  Chapter 12

  Balls are certainly not for me, Penelope mused while covering a yawn.

  She was in the middle of a midday breakfast but her late night—or early morning rather—at the Blackwoods was catching up with her. Her toast was only half-eaten, but she already drank three cups of tea. Edward, on the other hand, was as bright as a lark and she was getting sour with every spirited look he gave her.

  “I’m telling you again, Penelope,” her brother said with infuriatingly chipper. “Have a cup of coffee and you will wake up.”

  “Not if you paid me to,” Penelope grumbled. “That smells make me nauseous. I will stick to tea, thank you.”

  Mr. Moore came in with a knock and a silver tray with a card on it, “Pardon me My Lord and Lady, but Lord Hillbrook has arrived. He is requesting a visit with Lady Penelope.”

  Her head snapped to that. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Russell’s here?” Edward said with a delighted tone.

  “For Lady Penelope,” Mr. Moore deadpanned which earned a frown from the lady in question. Mr. Moore did not show many emotions, but she had a distinct impression that he did not like the Baron much. It was not by his expression—or lack of it—or even his words. It was just a peripheral feeling she got, one more spiritual than physical.

  Shifting her eyes from Mr. Moore to her brother, who was looking frankly put out, she cleared her throat, “I suppose I’ll see him in…five minutes in the sitting room. I need to get a tad more presentable. Don’t tell him that though.” The last words came out in a rush as her nerves had made a sudden appearance. Mr. Moore nodded and left the room toward the foyer while she took toward the staircase to her rooms.

  What does Lord Hillbrook want from me now?

  She did not need Martha to help as she only needed to change into a better dress and found a soft lilac one. She fussed with her hair and ran a bush over the top. Ready, she left to the sitting room to see Lord Hillbrook standing at the window, staring out at the side yards.

  “Lord Hillbrook,” she greeted, with Martha a step behind her. “What a perplexing surprise.”

  The Lord spun and smiled at her. His eyes flickered to Martha and dismissed her before going back to Penelope. “I hope not too perplexing, please. I need to speak to you.”

  Now, the anxiety from before grew stronger as she smoothed her skirts and sat. She did not speak as her curious look said it all. Lord Hillbrook sat near her and reached over to take her hands. She flinched a little at the sudden touch but did not tug her hand away instantly. His blue eyes were soft and somewhat apologetic.

  “I need to apologize to you, Lady Penelope,” he said. “I realize that I have been bewildering to you for many years and a bit of an irritant in trying to sway you to me, but I swear on my life that I only meant well in a bumbling sort of way. I truly am sorry. I only wanted—and still want—for you to understand that I only wanted to gain your enchanting affection.”

  She blinked on
ce, twice, then thrice. That was not what she had expected from Hillbrook at all. Flabbergasted for a moment, she sat and let the silence drag on until it was edging into awkward.

  “Um…thank you,” she finally said with her fingers twisting in her skirts. “I think I must apologize too, as I cannot let you take all the blame. I am not the most receptive person when it comes to such cues, even as bad as you were in giving them.”

  Relief swamped Lord Hillbrook’s eyes, “May we start over then? Erase the last years of miscommunication?”

  A tingling sense of suspicion that Lord Hillbrook was aiming for something more than a renewed friendship between them ran through Penelope, but she ignored it. “I’d like that, thank you.”

  His angelic blue eyes were near, and she looked away for a moment. Something strange was fluttering over her skin and she dared to look back at him.

  “Lady Penelope,” Hillbrook said, “I will not push you, but I must have you know that I am fully decided on courting you whenever we work through these lingering hesitations between us. I think it’s best for us to know each other first.”

  “But I think I know you….” Penelope said. “Don’t I?”

  He smirked, “What is the name of my favorite horse?”

  “Er…” she wracked her brain, knowing that Edward had uttered something of the sort some day in the past. It was named after a Roman Emperor, that she knew, but the exact word kept flickering away from her, “um…Vespasian?”

  He shook his head, “Try again.”

  “Gaius?”

  Blue eyes were dancing. “No, but you are on the right track. It is a Roman Emperor.”

  “Tiberius?” she tried, cringing a little.

  “Caligula,” the Baron smiled as he sat back. “See, we do need to learn about each other.”

  Huffing out a breath, Penelope castigated herself. Caligula, now that he had said it, the word rang with the bellows of gongs in her head. Caligula, of course, it was Caligula, the nickname of Gaius Julius Caesar. How could she have forgotten that?

  “I suppose you are right,” she admitted.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her left, “I will call on you tomorrow.”

  The feel of his kiss shocked her a little, and she tugged her hand out of his hold. “I…look forward to it.”

  Her words surprised her, and she blinked again. Lord Hillbrook was as thrown as she was, but he collected himself faster than she did. She stood as he did and curtsied when he bowed, said his farewells and left. Numbly, she sank back to the chair and stared out blankly. When it all came together, she shook her head.

  “Did that just happen?” she asked disbelieving to the thin air.

  “I suppose it did,” Martha said to her. “I must admit, I am a little baffled too.”

  Lifting her hand to her face, Penelope looked it over to see if there were a mark resting there to prove that Lord Hillbrook had kissed her hand.

  Standing, she left the room only to come across Edward who had a wide smile across his face. If figured Hillbrook had told Edward about his ‘getting to know her’ push, and she did not need to hear how happy he was about it. He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

  “Stow it, Eddie.”

  His smile morphed into a frown, “But Penelope—” Calling out to her back did not stop her from walking away, and she went directly to the stables, needing the presence of Bessie to center her mind.

  The stables were a sanctuary to her, a place of peace and calm where the glaring issues she found herself mired in gradually faded into the background. She went over to Bessie and entered her stall. The chestnut mare tossed her head up when she saw her, and Penelope smiled.

  “Been a while, eh, Bessie,” she greeted. “Two days I suppose is not that much of a long time, but it is for me.” She reached out and rubbed Bessie’s nose. “It’s been a busy few days. I made a vow to go back to finding a husband, and then, out of the blue, Lord Hillbrook comes and apologies to me for years of, er…miscommunication, between us for years. And then he promises to court me if and when I am ready. What do you think about that?”

  Edward had chastised her for speaking to Bessie as if she was a human who could reply to him, but she kept on doing so. Bessie was a part of her, and if she had problems, why wouldn’t she want her best friend to know? Bessie cocked her head to the side and her ears twitched.

  “I know,” she murmured. “Stephen Russell, the Lord of Hillbrook, a resident thorn in my side for so many years is now…wanting to be a true friend to me. I know he admired me for a few years but I…I still feel it strange to enter into a relationship deeper than a friendship with him. Edward would be glad to the ends of the earth though.”

  She tickled Bessie’s jaw and smiled. “I might humor him for a while but…I cannot tell where the wind will blow me. Could it be that I had not given Hillbrook, er Stephen—gads, that is strange to say—a fair chance over these years?”

  Familiar footsteps from outside told her who was coming, and she did not have a faint illusion that Mr. Moore had not heard her. He had probably been out there for a while, just giving her some privacy. He came to stand beside her but did not say a word. His presence was just as calming as Bessie was, but he did not enter the stall, just lingering outside.

  “I talk to her,” Penelope said while fondling Bessie’s neck then laughed quietly. “Eddie thinks I’m fit for Bedlam when I do it…but Bessie is the perfect listener.”

  “I speak to Duke too,” Mr. Moore said. “There are times when I wish he would speak back, but I can see his replies in his eyes. I do think though, that if he did speak, I’d beg for Bedlam myself.”

  She looked over to him and took his dark livery and dark hair. His green eyes were soft verdant. “I don’t know why Eddie thinks that horses are only beasts of burden.”

  “The night my mother died was a cold winter night. I ran out of my father’s house and took his one horse, Colt, the sole stallion we had who doubled as a packhorse,” Mr. Moore’s words surprised her. “When I was a child, I had spent many hours talking to him, and he knew me, so in my pain, I took him out and just rode. There were miles and miles of open fields in Staffordshire and thick woods too. I had not been thinking straight, all I could feel was pain.”

  Penelope swallowed over a suddenly dry throat. This was the first she had heard him speak, even more, speak so candidly.

  “Though it was not the harshest part of winter, I had left everything behind that could have kept me warm. I thought putting miles behind me would ease the pain, but it did not. The agony went with me all the same. I found myself lost in woodland and cold and fatigue were creeping in. When I got off the horse, my legs did not work and I sank to the ground….” he paused, “I was tired, cold and hungry, a part of me was prepared to die that night when Colt laid down and curled around me.”

  His eyes were staring out into nothing, “He kept me warm that night. I can remember how he would snort through his nose to put warm air on my face. It smelled horrible but it was warm and kept the hoarfrost from turning my lips blue and my nose into ice.” Turning to her, he smiled faintly, “I was not all that smart, but I knew sleeping was a death sentence, so I forced myself to speak to him that night. I babbled on for hours on end and even allowed myself to cry too. I know why speaking to them is necessary.”

  Penelope was stunned. Absolutely, undeniably, irrefutably stunned. When his words finally sank into her soul, she knew she had found herself a kindred spirit when it came to horses. But she knew one more thing, that story had not been one many knew. It took her a while to form her answer.

  “Is Colt dead?”

  His brows furrowed as that was certainly not the reply he had been looking for, “A few years now, why?”

  She smiled at him, “Because I would have liked to give him my thanks for saving your life.”

  Mr. Moore laughed deeply, “I think I thanked him enough by the sugar cubes I fed him and apples I spoiled him with, My Lady. Perhaps
, I might have sent him on the way to his grave by doing it.”

  Her lips pulled into a smile, “It was a happy death, I reckon.”

  “I suppose,” Mr. Moore said simply.

  Stepping out from the stall, she closed it behind her and began walking out with Mr. Moore beside her. “Did my brother send you after me?”

  “No,” Mr. Moore said. “He did not have to. I pledged to protect you and though the stables are not far off, I was not taking any chances. Factoring in…”

  His words trailed off and she knew exactly what—or who rather—he was silently referring to, the ill-fated Lord Shirlling. At the closed doorway, she stopped and turned to him.