Had someone stolen one and used it to frame him?
Racing back to Duke who was quietly munching on tall blades of grass, Heath swung into the saddle with ease and spurred the horse back to the manor. This was not good!
He made to the house just as the carriage for the physician came around the bend. Heath directed Duke to the service backroads and went directly to the stables. He had to find Lord Allerton. Quickly unsaddling Duke and promising him a few apples for his quick run, Heath went back inside.
Most of the Lords had changed from their hunting attire and were reclining in the sitting room with bottles of wine and newly-added card tables. He scanned the room—Lord Allerton was not there. Spinning around, he went to the Lord’s study. He was not there either.
Wasting no time, Heath went to the gun room hoping that everything would be all right while fearing in equal measures that something had gone wrong. The room was locked. Frustration burned bright under closed eyes. Now, there was no way to see if a gun had been taken from the Lords’ vault.
Raking a hand through his hair, he felt at a loss. Feeling that bleak hopelessness was a decidedly strange feeling for Heath as somehow, his mind always came up with another way out. If someone was framing the Earl, as he suspected from the death of Lord Shirlling, this was the best time to find out who. The party was smaller this time, and the suspect could easily be ferreted out.
Someone wants to send Lord Allerton to prison, I am sure.
“What are you doing here?” a strong voice laced with contempt arrested him.
Heath spun to see Lord Hillbrook seething at him. He barely got a word out when the Baron advanced, “Was it you?”
“Pardon me?” Heath asked.
“You,” the Baron challenged, “did you shoot Sir Stratham?”
Him? Shoot the knight? That was the definition of preposterous.
“Answer me, servant,” Hillbrook ordered, “You were nowhere to be seen and suddenly the man is shot.”
“Russell?” Lord Allerton came around the corner, a deep frown in his face deepening as he looked at the two. “Mr. Moore, what is going on here?”
“My Lord, I—”
“Detain him, Dawson, he could be the one who shot Stratham,” Hillbrook said flatly.
Heath finally found his voice, “I did no such thing.”
“Really,” the Baron’s blue eyes were hard as ice and just a malleable. “weren’t you the last one in this room? Did you not have a key and where were you for the last few hours?”
Damnation. He truly had no excuse.
“Dawson tells me you have experience with guns and weaponry,” Hillbrook added. “And your last master was an addled old soldier who probably trained you to hate the Crown. It does not take a mathematician to add up the pieces. I say again, Dawson, detain him.”
Heath turned to the Earl and began to speak when Allerton’s jaw went stiff, “I think I agree, Mr. Moore. Until you can tell me where you were, I am afraid I have will have to turn you over to the authorities.”
Chapter 24
Another discreet peek over the banisters told Penelope that the men still had not left—four hours after they had come. Huffing under her breath, she went back to her room and sank into her chaise with a huff. Her arms crossed over her chest like a petulant child.
How long was it going to take Eddie to get these men out?
“Stop sulking, My Lady,” Martha said while coming and bearing a tray of food. “You know this is what His Lordship does.”
“I know,” Penelope sighed while toeing the rug. “My brother, Edward Phillip Dawson, the social butterfly of the Dawson family. I wish he would get married already and stop these gatherings.”
“He would say the same about you, but instead of gatherings, it would be riding,” Martha said.
“I’ll be riding until I am old and grey,” Penelope said with a roll of her eyes. “If he thinks I’ll give that up, he might expect the sun to stop shining.”
Sitting up, Penelope shook her head, “I can’t hide in here forever. I’ll just have to talk to him.”
“If you think that’s worth the trouble,” Martha added.
Patting her hair to make sure no unruly strands were sticking up, Penelope left to her brother’s study, hoping Edward would see sense and send these men home. As she approached, she heard voices coming through the closed door—her brothers, Lord Hillbrook and…Heath? What in the world?
She did not knock as Edward might just turn her away and pushed the door open to see her brother behind his desk, Lord Hillbrook looking too smug behind him and Heath, standing in front of the desk with a tight, harried look on his face. Something was not right.
“Penelope,” Edward's eyes were narrowed. “You cannot just barge into here as you like.”
Disregarding her brother’s words, her eyes flit from one man to the other before she asked, “What is going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Edward said while motioning with his hand for her to leave.
She did not. In fact, she stepped in further and crossed her arms, pinning her sibling with a narrow-eyed glare, “I will not.”
“Penelope!” Edward was truly getting irritated, and if his glare were daggers, she would have been stricken through with holes. “This is no matter of yours.”
Lord Hillbrook then reached over and laid a hand on Edward’s shoulder, “What’s the matter in not telling her, Dawson? She will learn soon enough.”
“Fine,” he huffed and then gestured to Heath. “There was an unfortunate incident on our hunt, Sir Stratham got shot. Almost everyone was accounted for except Mr. Moore. We just got him here to explain his coincidental absence.”
“And you think he shot the man?” her jaw gaped at the only logical inference. “Edward, how utterly ridiculous that is…when….” she looked at him to see quiet desperation in Heath’s eyes. The fear of his dismissal was so profound, she knew she had to do something. “when he was with me.”
Heath’s head suddenly jerked up, nearly snapping to her but with he managed to stop the move before anyone saw it. Edward and Hillbrook’s were trained to her however with widened eyes and confusion.
She did not know what ridiculous notion would have made Edward suspect Heath and though she had no proof herself, she knew he did not do it. Turning back to her brother she explained.
“When you were gone, I…” she dropped her head, “I took a ride…a gallop, and I asked Mr. Moore to stay with me. I knew you would be angry, Eddie so I swore him to secrecy.” Looking up at Heath, Penelope pressed him with her eyes to follow her lead. “I know it was not right of me, Mr. Moore, as Edward was the one to hire you and ultimately, you are under his authority. I am sorry for forcing you to keep my secret.”
Her voice had dipped to timid and her eyes flicked up to see Edward’s lips tighten. His eyes were still suspicious and a dubious eye lifted, “Is that right, Mr. Moore?”
Crossing her fingers behind her back, Penelope prayed he would take her lead.
“It is, My Lord,” Heath’s voice was apologetic. “I am thankful I can explain myself now. Lady Penelope did ask me to stay with her during the ride. We took advantage of your absence, and time strayed from us.”
“We?” Lord Hillbrook’s tone was acidic.
“Yes, we,” Penelope said staunchly, “I roped him into my deception, so yes, it is we, My Lord.”
Giving up on this ludicrous line of suspicion, Edward sagged. “You know, Russell, it could really have been a stray bullet, not an assassin. It can be a mix-up. It was a hunt after all.”
The Baron did not look pleased as Edward unknitted his brows.
An assassin? Is that what Hillbrook suggested? And that it was Heath who did it? How could he think such a thing? What a bounder in a coxcomb! I cannot believe I was about to think he had changed. She held in her bristle.
“Edward, are you saying that the man got shot while hunting?” She said tightly. “While hunting?”
“Yes, Pe
nelope, while hunting,” Edward replied sourly. There was a line of fatigue deepening around his eyes.
He was stressed, and she could see it, but that did not let up for his lack of basic logic. Anyone was in danger of getting shot during a hunt.
“I would want to scold you about those rides but since you’re not going to stop, and I’ve wasted too much time and breath shouting at the wind, it makes no sense to. You are excused, Mr. Moore. I apologize for the mishap. You must understand the pressure I am under.”
“I do, My Lord,” Heath nodded and bowed, “My Lady?”
“Oh,” Penelope blinked, remembering the reason she had gone to Edward in the first place. “When are these men going to leave?”
“When they are good and ready,” Edward rolled his eyes.
Huffing, Penelope turned, “Good day, Eddie!”
She stalked out with Heath in step with her. Though wanting to look at him, Penelope stopped from doing so and strode from the house out into the back, heading toward the stables. She had to ask Heath why she had just lied to her brother for him and there was no safe place to do so except the stables.
As she got to the door, Heath reached around and opened one half of the large double-doors for her and she slipped inside with a thankful smile over her shoulder. “Ever the gentleman.”
Stopping at Duke’s stall, she spun to him and placed her hands akimbo. Leaning in she said, “Will you tell me why I had to lie to my brother?”
He came closer and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Penelope, I simply lost track of time.”
“Why do I feel that you are lying to me?” She asked while searching his eyes. “Are you lying to me, Heath?”
Mirthless, he slid his hands to her arms. “I have no reason to.”
Penelope stared at him, wishing she could believe him. Wanting to turn a blind eye to how mysterious Heath was and how he knew so much about her brother’s ignoble friends. Leaning forward to rest her head on his chest she sighed, “I know you’re keeping something from me, Heath. I just ask that you tell me the truth soon.”
His hand pressed on the small of her back and his lips brushed against her ear. “I forgot how perceptive you are.”
Nuzzling into his chest she smiled, “Shame on you.”
The rumbles in his chest made her laugh softly. “Can you dance, Heath?”
In answer, her hand was taken, and a large palm slipped to the small of her back, a more intimate hold than one used in formal dancing. She was also held much closer, with merely an inch of space between them. Gemstone eyes were lit with a smoldering fire in their depths, and Penelope was mesmerized.
The walkway was wide enough for her to be twirled but she did not want to part from his arms for the mere seconds it would take for him to do so. He tried but she stopped him and with a kiss to her forehead, he kept swirling them around only to hear a voice clearing a throat. Heath was about to lurch away when she stopped him, “It’s only Martha.”
Nevertheless, he still stepped away. Over his shoulder, she looked at the maid who had an arched eyebrow and said, “You are in an open space, My Lady. You’re lucky I was the one who walked in or you would have had hell to pay. You have to be more discreet from now on.”
“She’s right,” Heath said while brushing her hair back and briefly brushed her jaw. “We should be.”
Temporarily ignoring Martha, Penelope smiled to him, “Do you promise to tell me?”
His face was placid, “I promise. You should go, Penelope.”
Martha’s swift intake of breath as his familiarity was lost in the feel of the relief that unfurled in her stomach at his words. “I will hold you to that promise.”
Her fingers pulled away from his grip as she walked backward to the door and then turned to follow Martha out. She did look back to see Heath’s fists clenched at his sides before he slumped and one had gone to his face, a gesture of frustration.
“I see what you meant,” Martha said, halfway to the house. “There is much more to him than we think.”
That question, coming from another set of lips kept running through Penelope’s mind all through the rest of the day to nearly dusk. She watched from a high balcony as a few men helped an injured man—Sir Stratham, she had learned—into a carriage with her brother looking on.
Another injury in my home…I don’t know what to make of it.
She wrapped a thick wrapper around her, trying to belay the cold air from sinking into her skin. Her mind then strayed to Heath and the cryptic promise he had given her that afternoon. Why did she feel there was not only one thing that was off about Heath, but many, like layers of an onion, one under the other?
Her nose wrinkled at the comparison. Not onion…a book. A good book that has many plots and subplots. That is what Heath is like.
She went back inside and sank to the nearest seat. She had to tell Edward that she was not going to go any further with Hillbrook. Her hesitations and annoyance about the man were heightening and if he had suggested that Heath had shot the knight, her annoyance was moving to anger.
How could anyone think that Heath, gentle, wonderful Heath could do something so heinous? Then again, her staunch defense of him also led to the same measurement of doubt. Did she really know the man that much to be so sure he was innocent?
Heath had told her his last employment was under an ex-soldier who had succumbed to deep suspicion and possibly a total mental breakdown. She had heard what war could do to some soldiers, affecting their mind so deeply that they became worthless to society. Had Heath bowed to any conspiracies the man might have conjured? Did he hate the peers?
“Do you love him?” Martha’s question came out of the thin air.
Jumping a little, Penelope shot a wide look to her innocently looking maid and frowned. She knew who Martha was referring to but tried to play ignorant. “Who?”
“Stop trying to play dull-witted,” Martha scolded. “You know who I mean…Mr. Moore, do you love him?”
Love? Infatuated, yes, intrigued, yes but…love? She knew she had not reached that point yet.
“No.” She eventually replied and those words carved a hollow pit into her stomach. Laughing quietly, she then said, “But, then again, I am no expert in that sort of love.”
“But do you think you could love him?” Martha asked. It was a question any other servant would have quivered in their shoes to ask their superiors, but Martha was her friend first and servant second.
Looking down on her hands resting on her lap, Penelope considered the question and knew the answer was yes. She could love Heath, but nothing would come from it. It was not as if society would allow them to marry. It was unheard off, a horror that would be a dark mark on Debrett’s for generations to come. Women from old families could marry members of the gentry, but one from the serving class? She’d be the scorn of London.
“I could,” she eventually replied with disparaging breath as her fingers scratched at the material, “But I…I could not dare.”
“You could,” Martha added with a sympathetic smile. “But I understand why.”
“Would you marry him?” The tactless question was out before she could reel it back in. “I mean…if you were inclined to.”
“No.” Martha said smiling softly. “We don’t have a connection.”
The unsaid words were, ‘like you two do’.
Shaking her head, Penelope shied away from her lack of a romance and remembered one she had vowed to mend—the one of her brother and Lady Cheltenham. “Martha, prepare my wardrobe for today. Since I cannot do anything about me and Mr. Moore, I can do something about my brother and his lost love. We’re going to visit Lady Cheltenham.”
The drive to London passed with an hour of quiet conversation and soft anticipation. She did not know what exactly she was trying to achieve with Helena, but she had to try. If she had only one thing to celebrate in her pending spinsterhood, it could be that she had gotten her brother married to the lady he had loved since he was nine-and-ten
.
Edward had stiffened when she had mentioned going to visit the lady but had relented when she had pointed out that she was trying to be social.
“Is not that what you wanted, Eddie?” She had smiled.
“Yes,” he had said irritably.
Lady Chatham’s home was a four-story brick townhouse with tended hedges and cut grass in front. They were received by an ancient butler who though stooped and bent at the shoulders had eyes as sharp as a hawk.
He had taken her card a moment ago, leaving her, Martha and Heath to linger in the richly-furnished drawing room. While she and Martha sat, Heath stood stiffly, with his hands clasped behind his back and head shifting from side to side with an analytical eye, surveying the room.
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