Page 33 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
“I talk to her,” Penelope said while fondling Bessie’s neck then laughed quietly. “Eddie thinks I’m fit for Bedlam when I do it…but Bessie is the perfect listener.”
“I speak to Duke too,” Mr. Moore said. “There are times when I wish he would speak back, but I can see his replies in his eyes. I do think though, that if he did speak, I’d beg for Bedlam myself.”
She looked over to him and took his dark livery and dark hair. His green eyes were soft verdant. “I don’t know why Eddie thinks that horses are only beasts of burden.”
“The night my mother died was a cold winter night. I ran out of my father’s house and took his one horse, Colt, the sole stallion we had who doubled as a packhorse,” Mr. Moore’s words surprised her. “When I was a child, I had spent many hours talking to him, and he knew me, so in my pain, I took him out and just rode. There were miles and miles of open fields in Staffordshire and thick woods too. I had not been thinking straight, all I could feel was pain.”
Penelope swallowed over a suddenly dry throat. This was the first she had heard him speak, even more, speak so candidly.
“Though it was not the harshest part of winter, I had left everything behind that could have kept me warm. I thought putting miles behind me would ease the pain, but it did not. The agony went with me all the same. I found myself lost in woodland and cold and fatigue were creeping in. When I got off the horse, my legs did not work and I sank to the ground….” he paused, “I was tired, cold and hungry, a part of me was prepared to die that night when Colt laid down and curled around me.”
His eyes were staring out into nothing, “He kept me warm that night. I can remember how he would snort through his nose to put warm air on my face. It smelled horrible but it was warm and kept the hoarfrost from turning my lips blue and my nose into ice.” Turning to her, he smiled faintly, “I was not all that smart, but I knew sleeping was a death sentence, so I forced myself to speak to him that night. I babbled on for hours on end and even allowed myself to cry too. I know why speaking to them is necessary.”
Penelope was stunned. Absolutely, undeniably, irrefutably stunned. When his words finally sank into her soul, she knew she had found herself a kindred spirit when it came to horses. But she knew one more thing, that story had not been one many knew. It took her a while to form her answer.
“Is Colt dead?”
His brows furrowed as that was certainly not the reply he had been looking for, “A few years now, why?”
She smiled at him, “Because I would have liked to give him my thanks for saving your life.”
Mr. Moore laughed deeply, “I think I thanked him enough by the sugar cubes I fed him and apples I spoiled him with, My Lady. Perhaps, I might have sent him on the way to his grave by doing it.”
Her lips pulled into a smile, “It was a happy death, I reckon.”
“I suppose,” Mr. Moore said simply.
Stepping out from the stall, she closed it behind her and began walking out with Mr. Moore beside her. “Did my brother send you after me?”
“No,” Mr. Moore said. “He did not have to. I pledged to protect you and though the stables are not far off, I was not taking any chances. Factoring in…”
His words trailed off and she knew exactly what—or who rather—he was silently referring to, the ill-fated Lord Shirlling. At the closed doorway, she stopped and turned to him.
“Thank you for confiding in me…about your Mother and Colt. I have a feeling that not a lot of people know that story.”
“I don’t have a lot of people to tell it to,” Mr. Moore said calmly while reaching for the door’s handle. “But I had a feeling you would understand, My Lady.”
Again, that fluttery feeling danced across her skin when their eyes met. But before entering she stopped short, “Mr. Moore, I was wrong in painting such a dismal picture about Lord Hillbrook, and I apologize to you.”
He frowned lightly, “My Lady, why would you need to apologize?”
Because you hate him, don’t you?
“I just thought it best to do so as he made amends with me today,” she said while feeling her cheeks heat. “He is keener on me than I thought.”
Mr. Moore cleared his throat, a perfunctory reminder that he was supposed to be privy to the details of his employers’ lives. It was professional curtsy and basic wisdom, but Penelope felt like it could be discarded for Mr. Moore.
“I still feel that you need to know,” she said. “Good day, Mr. Moore.”
Walking away, she felt his eyes on her back as she stepped into the foyer to take the stairs to her room, only to stop in the middle of the doorway. Two uniformed men and a man in trousers and a thick coat with a monocle were standing there and so was her hassled-looking brother.
“Edward…” she said cautiously as Mr. Moore came to stand beside her, “why are the constables here?”
Chapter 13
The Bow Street Runners in their buttoned-down coats, shiny top hats and stern expressions did not leave much space for comfort. Heath stepped toward Lady Penelope, angling his body to block any approach while she seemed nailed to the floor. He did not speak, but Lady Penelope did.
She turned to Lord Allerton and asked him again, “Edward…what is going on?”
