Page 18 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
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, what 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.
