Page 4 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
“I have. I was there when Lord Dawson gave him his room and spoke to Mr. Gastrell to get his measurements and arrange his livery.”
Trying to suppress her blush while they left the library, Penelope asked, “What do you make of him?”
“Make of him…how?” Martha asked cautiously.
Groaning internally, Penelope asked, “Do you think he’s…handsome?”
“If I am not getting out of line…” Martha said as they entered the drawing-room. “I do.”
Eyeing her maid at her judicious answer, Penelope went to the set table and sat. Observing the assortment of fruit, tiny crustless sandwiches, and sliced cake, she sighed. Edward was prone to working in his study for hours and left her to eat alone. Mr. Gastrell had placed a tiny table at the window, so she would be able to look out to the grounds below.
After a moment of grace, she poured a glass of lemonade and sipped it. She cut into a thin sandwich, soft with butter and peppery beef, and swallowed it.
She was taking a sip of her drink when through the window she spotted Mr. Moore. His back was turned to her, and she openly admired his tall, fit form. By the fair bulge in his arms, she knew he was muscular too. To be fair, some of the men she had met in her past two seasons were tall and handsome, but they were sons of peers and did not have muscles.
Oh, why couldn’t any of the men I had met look like that?
Her glass lingered at her mouth and she watched a stable hand bring around a horse. The new footman spoke to the young man, then shook his hand before grasping the pommel and hoisting himself up smoothly on the horse. With his chin up and his back ramrod straight, his hand grasping the reins he looked…regal.
A rich velvet cape and dark hair fluttering in the breeze would befit his posture…he looks like a prince of old.
Her finger traced the rim of the glass while watched him settle and ride off. He must live a simple life, Penelope mused then sighed. “Not like mine.”
After she had come of age, Edward had pushed her to get married, but no matter how she tried, not one of the men she met had connected with her on an emotional level. She had come to realize that men of the peerage were linear. There was no speck of mystery or intrigue or even spontaneity. Every man followed the same pattern—meet a lady at a dance, send her flowers the next day, take her to a ride in Hyde Park and then, papers traded between the father and the prospective groom where X’s marked the signature line.
Frankly, she considered that kind of marriage a step above buying beef in the marketplace, in three cut and dry steps—an item was found, it was haggled over and then bought. After that, there was just…nothing.
Where was the romance she had read in the books of old? Where were the sacrifices, the almost-insurmountable hardships both the hero and heroine had to conquer before falling into the blissful happily-ever-after? When did the notion of romance die off?
Unless…desperate pestering was what many men found as an alternative to romance. Case in point, Edward’s closest friend, Stephen Russell, the Baron of Hillbrook. Just thinking of the man made her hand tighten on the glass. Many women would give half of their fortune to have the blond-haired, blue-eyed charmer to give them a moment of his attention. But not her, she got hisunwantedattention for free.
From the very night of her first season, Lord Hillbrook’s advances had not been too overt, but then, he had not been too subtle either. Thank God, the man had taken a trip to America a month ago and given her some breathing room away from his incessant prodding. At first, it had been charming, but now, he was more of an irritant, like a fly that won’t buzz away. Every day she prayed that he would set his sights on marrying another woman, thus escaping his attention.
“Oh, there you are,” Edward said with a silly grin on his face. “I just got wonderful news, Penelope…Russell is back and is coming for dinner tonight.”
Her glass nearly dropped out her hand.Dash it all!Instantly, her spirit soured. This had to a joke of cosmic proportions. There she was, happy that the thorn in her side was gone, only to hear that he was coming back that day. Was God laughing at her?
Surely, surely, God would not be that cruel to destroy her cheer the moment it had sprung up? She pushed her food away as her stomach began to turn. She cast a look at the nearby clock and grimaced; the next four hours of waiting for Lord Hillbrook to arrive were going to be torturous.
* * *
While Edward was all agog for his friend to appear, Penelope was much—much—more reserved. In fact, she would rather be pulling her teeth out than standing in the foyer dressed in a dinner gown with a white shawl about her shoulders waiting for Lord Hillbrook to appear.
The crunch of carriage wheels made her teeth grit, but she breathed through her reluctance to see the Baron. She stepped back when Mr. Gastrell opened the door, and her nemesis stepped in with his signature overdone style: a black tailcoat pinned with a silver watch fob, and a light blue waistcoat that perfectly matched his eyes.
He was holding a bag in his hand, and Penelope immediately felt scared.Lord, I pray those are not gifts.
“Russell!” Edward went forward with a beaming smile on his face. “I am happy to see you back home.”
“Thank you, Dawson,” Stephen said while his eyes lit and stayed upon Penelope. “I am happy to be home. Lady Penelope, you even more beautiful than I remember.”
“Thank you, Lord Hillbrook.” If her reply sounded rather awkward, it was. She hated getting compliments from him.
“How many times have I requested that you call me by my given name?” the Baron’s words were a light tease.
“Considering this time, a hundred-and-thirty-one,” Penelope replied glibly. “But my bother does not call you by your given name, so I will not break precedent, thank you.”
“I pray one day you will,” Lord Hillbrook smiled. “Anyway, I come bearing gifts.”
