Dressing into a worn blue dress, she put her thick-soled shoes on and went directly to the stables. Bessie was…in a mood. That was the best way Penelope could put it. Bessie tossed her head and danced away when she tried to approach her. Laughing, she reached out, but Bessie shied away again.
Suspecting how to solve the issue, Penelope stepped away and went to Duke. There she reached up, and though the dark stallion eyed her, he bent his head to allow her to pet him. Bessie whinnied in indignation, and she bit her lip to keep in her laugh. Duke did yank his head away to look over to Bessie, but she took his head back to her.
“Don’t look over at her,” Penelope chided. “She is not being agreeable with me at the moment.”
Bessie whinnied again, and Duke yanked his head over to her. Bracing her hands on her hips, she mock glared at him, “Oh, I see how it is. You would prefer her than me.”
“You should not be surprised, My Lady,” Mr. Moore’s voice said behind her. She turned to see him at the doorway bearing a tray with a cup of tea and a covered plate. “He is a gentleman after all. I trained him to be that way.”
“I consider myself fortunate then to have three gentlemen in my life,” Penelope said.
His brows crinkled a little and she clarified, “Lord Hillbrook, Duke, and now you, Mr. Moore.”
“Me?” He asked.
“Of course, you are included,” Penelope added with a slant to her head. “You are sophisticated.”
He snorted, “What about Lord Allerton? I believe he should be on your list too.”
“My brother is blooded…” she said musingly, “but primitive in many ways.”
“Because of his disinterest in the arts? My Lady, haven’t we had this conversation?” Mr. Moore said while offering the tray to her and she took the cover off the cup of warm tea.
For a moment, she wondered why there was no jug of milk or sugar but one taste and knew he had already added them. It warmed her heart that he knew exactly how she took her tea.
She met his eyes, “I’ll concede to that…eventually. But may I ask you a question, Mr. Moore.”
“Of course.”
“Do you hate Lord Hillbrook?”
Chapter 19
Heath felt struck between his eyes with Lady Penelope’s question and felt rooted to his place. When he got over the shock, he stopped the urge to step away from her. His instinct was to tell her that yes, he did not like the Baron. But aside from explaining his ire at the Baron’s first snub to him, telling her more would call for him to answer more questions than he was ready to.
“My Lady, I—”
Her look stopped his plan to avoid the issue, and he sighed deeply through his nose. She was looking for his honestly and though he felt horrible giving it, he spoke his mind. “No, My Lady, I am not partial to him. His rudeness the other day is not the issue…”
“Then what is?” Lady Penelope asked as his words had run out of steam and hanging in the air.
“He or his company rather…puts you in danger,” Heath replied. “Despite the lull in peace that we have, any connections with a Bonapartist directly or indirectly is actively seeking trouble.”
Large golden eyes were above the rim of the steaming tea-cup, and a wayward lock of her hair curled with the steam. She seemed to have forgotten to swallow before pulling the cup away and her heavily-lashed eyes blinked thrice. “I understand and that…that is a cause for concern,” she swallowed. “But that was not my real question. Do you, personally, not like Hillbrook?”
Yes.
“No.” he lied.
That slow, knowing smile tugged her lips and he knew—just knew—that she had seen through him. “You’re lying Mr. Moore. Will you just speak your mind?”
Heath prayed that his composure was still in place, but her calm, placid eyes felt more intrusive than a knife buying itself into his ribs. “Fine, I do not like him because his condescension is enough to fill a hot-air balloon and drift across the pond—with the fumes from his conceit lifting him up.”
Lady Penelope spewed tea in an arch but luckily, she had twisted to the side to avoid showering him. She slapped her chest hard to stop her cough, and her hair fell over her shoulder. He rested the tray on the nearest flat surface and reached to help her. He took the cup away before it could fall and then held her shuddering shoulders.
She was laughing and coughing at the same time, which did not make her situation better. She took in a deep breath, and he held her shoulder as she calmed. Her whole body shivered under his touch.
“Breathe, Lady Penelope,” he advised.
Her hand reached up to grab him and her hand gripped his arm. He looked quickly to see nails with shaped half-circles instead of the bitten nails he had seen before—and felt a bit cross. He felt—without logical reason—that the uneven nails were more fitting to her than these neat circles. She took in a deep gasp, still struggling to breathe.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes,” she said though her voice was hoarse, “I believe so.”
Her eyes met his and the flushes over her cheeks were so inviting. Her golden eyes were light, and her curved bow lips had slipped open. He felt arrested under her gaze, and his eyes slipped to her mouth briefly before lifting from them again. Her amber orbs had dimmed to honey, and she had begun to nibble on her bottom lip. Her throat was working, and his fingers were half-a-thought away from tugging her right into his arms.
She cleared her throat, and he dropped his hold faster than a hot iron and stepped away for good measure. He refused to acknowledge the warmth that was steadily making its way through his body. In the lull, he reached for the cup of lukewarm tea and handed it to her. She drank a mouthful in silence.
“So…erm. Duke?”
“Yes,” Heath said, happy for the change of subject. “He has seen me assist women many times. I would like to think he has learned the rules of chivalry by now.”
“But how would you convert that to a horse?”
“Well, he learned to pick up a stick from a dog and bring it to me so I could toss it to him, so I have hope,” he replied while facing the stallion. “Isn’t that right, Duke?”
Perhaps it was serendipity, or the horse actually understood his master, but Duke seemed to dip in his head in a nod. Penelope giggled and the mirth on her face spurred him to smile. Over her turned shoulder, he nodded approvingly to the horse. Then Penelope spun to Bessie and held out her hand over the door. This time, the mare came to her.
He watched as she fondled the horse’s jaw, “I agree with you, Mr. Moore.”
It was dangerous for him to ask. “On?”
“On Hillbrook,” she said making him tense. She was still facing Bessie, so she did not see his sudden wariness. “He can be a proud one, but there is a reason for that. His father was absent for a good part of his life, and he was raised by servants.”
Or perhaps he was just born conceited.
“Do you really think that is the reason?” Heath dared ask.
“Until I get another one, I will have to use it,” Lady Penelope said.
Which tells me that you are not satisfied with that one. I must agree with you, albeit silently, it is a flimsy one.
She pulled away from the horse and smiled. “Now that I’m back in her good books, let us go back, Mr. Moore. I hate that I take you away from your duties.”
“You have not eaten yet,” he reminded her.
Taking the tray, Penelope smiles, “I’ll just have it in my room. Thank you for your candidness with me, although forced, I must admit.”
With her out of the door and him closing it behind them, they took a slow walk to the house. He held the door open and she entered. They had made it to the dining room when Lord Allerton came around with a smile lightening up his face when he saw them.
“Mr. Moore, wonderful,” the Earl clapped his hand. “I need your help. You did say you assisted Lord Masseur with his hunts correct?”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“I need you to assist me in mine,” Lord Allerton said. His eyes flickered over to Lady Penelope and said dismissively. “You can go, Penelope, I doubt you would be interested in this matter anyway.”
The Earl did not notice the flash of pain on her face, but Heath did. It was as if his words had slapped her across the face. Her jaw went tight and her eyes hard. She spun and strode away without a word, and Heath felt his chest tighten. Did the Earl not know—or worse, did not care—how his dismissive attitude aggrieved his sister?
Still, he swallowed his anger and asked, “What do you need of me, My Lord?”
“My study, please.”
With the Lord a few steps ahead of him, Heath followed to the study and stood a few feet away from the desk as the Earl circled it. He then sank to the seat with a heavy slump. “I have decided to put on a hunt. The last one was done by my father, and that was over fifteen years ago. The lands are teeming with game and pheasant, and I think it fair to give the opportunity to my fellow peers to trap as much as they want.”
“And how may I assist you?”
“I need you to organize with my field hands and make sure the dogs, springer spaniels and cocker spaniels are ready. I also need you to take an inventory of my personal pistols and assign a number to be loaned out to lords who might needs replacements on the fields,” Lord Allerton said. “Since you told me you have experience with skinning and pelts, I will ask you to supervise the fixings of my kills.”
“I don’t see any troubles with either of those tasks,” Heath surmised. “Are there deer on these lands?”
“Roebucks,” was his answer. “And the birds are pheasant and woodcocks. My guns are muskets, rifles, and flintlocks. My father had a persistent curiosity for the Windbüchse, or wind guns, as they are known. However, as there are only a few of those, they are to be exempt. Only muskets and rifles will be allotted to my guests.”
“And when do you plan this hunt, My Lord?” Heath asked feeling a bit antsy—for Lady Penelope. He felt pressed to go see her after the brusque dismissal her brother had given her.
“A week from today,” Lord Allerton replied. “Formal preparations start tomorrow.”
“And these guests, My Lord,” Heath pressed, “as any more incidents like the last one will be very problematic.”
The Earl’s jaw tightened at the mention of the dead Viscount. “This time, only twelve men will be with me, all are close friends with lax attachments to the crown. Some are older and very droll. I doubt any of them will be…an incentive for an assassin.”
He took in a deep calming breath, “I can only hope so, My Lord.”
Lord Allerton leveled a low squinting look to him, one tinged with suspicion, and Heath made sure to keep his face mostly neutral with visible concern running at the edges of his eyes.
“I too,” he then sighed and waved dismissively. “You are free to return to your duties, Mr. Moore. Thank you.”
“Good day, My Lord.” Bowing, Heath left to find Lady Penelope. It was nearly noon and he felt pressed to find her but that was where his thought process stopped. He didn’t know what he would do when he found her, as only God knew how she could take to any comfort from him.
“Mr. Moore,” Mr. Gastrell broke through his thought, stopping his stride also. A faint sense of foreboding ran through him as he faced the butler.
“Yes, Mr. Gastrell?”
“We need you in the outhouses,” the butler said, oblivious to Heath shifting on his feet in anxiety. “A cartload of coal had arrived, and we need your help putting it away.”
Blast!
“I will go change,” Heath said calmly while stopping his fists from curling at his sides. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Good man,” the butler said while checking his watch fob. “I will look about luncheon for you.”
Groaning mentally, Heath went to change to his previous attire of simple black clothes and hurried to the coal outhouse. A cartload that he had been told turned out to be five, and Heath joined the couriers to bucket the loads into the storehouses.
It was hard, arduous work and every muscle he had felt strained by the end of the three hours of work. He probably had himself to blame too as he had forced himself to carry three five-gallon buckets at a time in a rush to get it done quicker.
Dusk was creeping in when he bade the coal miners goodbye and went to the house, shaking of coal dust from his person with every step. He took a few trips around the yard while brushing off the rest, as he did not want to leave a trail of black dust through the immaculately-polished floorboards inside the house.
Lifting an arm to see the dark smears on his forearms, palms, and fingertips, there was no question that he needed a good washing. Trudging to his room, he barely made it across the threshold, to slide down to the floor with his head back on it. Every muscle in his body was exhausted.
Mechanically, he lifted to his feet and gathered his things for a bath in the servant’s shower rooms. Thank God, Lord Allerton kept up with times and had retrofitted his house with modern pump showers instead of using cumbersome bathtubs, making it easier for the servants to get ready quicker.
Darkness had fallen completely when he, feeling a bit more human, went to the kitchens to get his late meal.
“A slice of pie, Mr. Moore,” Mrs. Burcham smiled while sliding the plate to him and just as he was about to protest, her eyes narrowed, and her arms crossed over her chest. “You will not refuse me, young man, and you will eat it. It is not in your best interest to irritate the person who cooks your meals.”
For a diminutive lady, Mrs. Burcham was very intimidating, and Heath even felt fear trickle down his spine, “Yes Ma’am, thank you.”
Taking the fork, Heath cut into the flaky crust of the pie and ate it, savoring the very-succulent taste. He regretted that he had not gotten to see Penelope at all. He had not been there for lunch or dinner, and he could not dare go to her rooms. It was most likely that he’d see her tomorrow.
Finishing the last piece, he loaded his used plates into a sink for a scullery girl to take care of, and then decided to take a trip to the stables in a faint hope that she was there. She wasn’t. Sighing, he attended to Duke and fed Bessie an apple but then went away with regret in his soul.
His bedroom was silent, but sleep was far from him. He lay with his hands behind his head, staring silently at the ceiling until he could not take it anymore. Scrubbing a callused hand over his face, he sat up and tugged his boots on. He needed a walk.
The moon was a crescent sliver in the sky and the grass, instead of being laden with dew like the last time he had taken a night walk, was dry. He circled the garden in hope of the cool wind or some beneficial sign from God himself to calm his mind, but nothing happened.
In fact, he felt even more disturbed and gravitated to the stables. He paused wondering what in the name of God was he doing. This made no sense, but the feeling coiled tighter in his chest, and he began walking again. It might be inexplicable to others, but he had learned to trust his gut a long time ago.
Perhaps Penelope was there after another one of her night rides, but possibly just seeing Duke could give him a measure of peace. The stables were dark and silent and just as he was about to enter, a speck of something in the distance caught his eye. Narrowing his eyes, he saw that it was a horse, and as it came closer, it was Bessie, Penelope’s horse. Only this time, her back was saddled…. with no Penelope.
His blood became ice. A saddled horse without a rider meant—God’s blood—something horrible had happened. She could have been thrown off, trampled, yanked off and taken by a blackguard or even…killed.
Rushing to the mare he grabbed her by her chin and forced his voice to calm. “Where is Penelope, girl? Where did you leave her?”
The horse began to pace backward, and her head was jerking away from him. He caught her head again, but this time she yanked it harder away and she stomped. Her nostrils flared while throwing her head back. Realizing that she was trying to tell
him something, Heath grabbed the pommel and lifted himself up into the saddle. “Take me to Penelope.”
Bessie trotted off briskly, and Heath’s heart was in his throat with every thud of her hooves. Thank God, he had listened to his feelings and had not forced himself to go to sleep. The wind was cool, but he did not feel it because of the ice of fear freezing through his veins.
He was taken to a far section of the large field near a broken fence when Bessie stopped with a small whinny, but Heath overheard a human whimper. He was off Bessie in a flash and down to Penelope who was half crumpled in a ditch. He spotted a large rock with its bottom side faceup and muddy. He could bet that Bessie had tripped over the rock and thrown Penelope from her seat.
The Rise of a Forsaken Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 16