Page 39 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
Instead of letting him go alone for the horses, Penelope went with him to get Bessie. Both horses looked up when they approached; Duke went to Mr. Moore while Bessie stayed eating. She rested her hand on the mare’s side and the horse looked up. She scratched Bessie’s ears while looking over and smiling at Mr. Moore with Duke’s head in his hands and was staring at Duke’s eyes.
That is a connection I wish the man I chose will have with me and my horse.
Over Bessie’s head, she admired Mr. Moore, with his thick brows, square jaw and the dark hair that seemed to trap the sunlight. He looked unaffected, but the more she looked at him she wondered, what can I do to make him smile. I want him to smile…I would love to see him smile.
Then the wordlovenailed her feet to the ground.
Chapter 15
Dinner time had passed, and Heath was still struggling with how to tell Lord Allerton his suspicion of how the Viscount had died. How could he possibly tell the Earl that a person, probably someone on his guest list had shot the Viscount, without being looked at as though he had lost his mind?
News like that coming from a peer could be taken in stride, but coming from a servant, that could be seen as an impertinence. He imagined the questions that would instantly be on the tongue of any peer. How could a servant even suggest such a vile act, and what knowledge or expertise did he have to make such a judgment?
He had just finished up clearing the sideboard and sending the uneaten food back to the kitchens when he went to the Earl’s study. He knocked and was given permission to enter. The Earl had a pile of papers before him, and by the looks of it, was working by the gaslighted chandelier. However, he was leaning back in his chair in his shirtsleeves and sipping a glass of scotch.
“Mr. Moore,” he greeted with a steady voice, a welcomed sound as he did not want to deliver such distressing news to a man who might be half-drunk. “Please, come in. How can I help you?”
Standing three feet away from the table he clasped his hands behind him. “My Lord, I must tell you something that I know will sound brazen, but I went back and looked around the spot where Viscount Shirlling was killed, and it is my view that he was not killed from far, My Lord.”
The Earl sat forward and set the glass on the table. His fingers drummed on his desk—long fingers like his sisters—and his gaze was grave. “How so?”
He took in a deep breath, “My Lord, I went with Lord Masseur when he went hunting, and I know the effects of gunshots in long- and short-range. If the man had been shot shorter, his breast bone would have been shattered more than it had.”
Lord Allerton nodded in an ‘of course, of course’ way and then he continued. “I then realized, it had to come from a long shot, and by the angle of Lord Shirlling’s body and the closest trajectory…My Lord, I believe it might have come from a third-story window.”
Shock painted the Earl’s face and his color went pale. Heath was beginning to rue even speaking to the man when the Earl chocked out in a tight voice, “You mean to tell me I had…may have had….anassassinin my house?”
Thankful that the Earl had not called him out for impertinence, and grateful that he was truly considering his words, Heath went on. “It is a possibility, My Lord, not a certainty.”
Nevertheless, the lord sank back into his chair rubbing his face with his palms. He kept silent as the Earl sank deeper and deeper in thought. Eventually, the man sat forward and steepled his fingers before his face. “Mr. Moore…”
He tensed in preparation for a set-down, but none came.
“Thank you for telling me. Your words jostled something in my memory, and I think I believe that the gunshot might have come from exactly where you said,” he breathed out deeply. “But it’s all away and done with now. The best I can do is to go over my invitees and try ferret out who might have done such a horrible deed.”
The unsaid words were: And who might have a grudge against him or knew about his position with the Crown.
“I am glad you understand, My Lord,” Heath said in relief before the Earl gave him a knowing eye.
“There is a lot more to you, isn’t there, Mr. Moore?” he said.
“I reiterate what I said, My Lord,” Heath said while bowing. “Lord Masseur was very particular and the men I shadowed at his estate did allow me a plethora of expertise.”
“And I thank him for it,” Lord Allerton said. “Thank you for the insight, Mr. Moore, have a good night.”
Bowing, Heath bid his farewells and went to his room. The bed was made and empty while the open window allowed the moonlight from the full moon to stream in. He disrobed to his pants and took his shoes off before going to the wash basin and wetting a rag, wiped his face. There was not much of a mirror, but the small circle reflected an image of his father’s face with the same tiredness around the edges of his eyes.
Replacing the mirror, he stripped the bottoms off and then got the floor. With his feet stretched out, he placed his hand under him and began pushing up. It was an exercise lauded by the Greeks and one that had benefited him those times he had tried his hand at boxing. Exercise was one thing that centered his mind, and did not fail into exhausting him enough that he would slip into sleep without a murmur.
He appreciated that the Earl had kept an open mind to what he had to say, but he doubted what Lord Allerton was going to do about it. He doubted the man would really try to ferret out who might have killed the Viscount in favor of not angering any of his friends.
While exhilarating in the burn in his muscles, he tried to remember if Lord Swanville had been in the room before the Earl had ran in with blood on his chest. If anyone had anything to gain by killing a man who was loyal to Bonaparte, it was Swanville.
Lady Penelope had already voiced her distaste of the man and his impression of the man had not been that much better. Then, his mind took a turn to rest upon Lady Penelope and her open-wide eyes and innocent smile. He stalled and then pushed up and away to sit against the side of the bed.
It pained him thinking that the lady might be caught up in this malaise. She does not deserve that…not when she had just decided to put her life back in order. But then, Lord Swanville, where was he?
Again, he raked over his memories to see if the Bonapartist had been there, and then his blood ran cold—he had not been in the ballroom. His instant urge was to go back to the Earl and tell him, but as he was halfway up, Heath stopped and sank back to the ground as a line of thoughts seamlessly flowed into each other.
