Page 36 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
“Mr. Moore?”
“Do you hunt, Mr. Brady?” He asked.
“Erm, here and there when I have time an’ the season’s right, why?” Brady replied a bit nervously.
“So, you know how a short shot would bruise and break bones, right?”
“Yessir,” Brady was a little surer now. “Last time I close shot a deer—the poor thing’s hip was shattered to bits.”
Brady had given him confirmation about his theory, and once again, he looked up from the spot and remembering how he had seen the fallen lord, twisted on the spot and angled his body to where he had found the Viscount.
Directly, from his line of sight was a window, a third-story window where a gun could have been pointed out, high enough to where no one could have heard it and far enough to hit without breaking a bone.
God’s blood.
A thought, so despicable and horrifying came to him like a flash flood of sudden awakening. He hated to think it, but angles and geometry did not lie…the shooter might have come from the house!
Chapter 14
Nervousness does not become you, Penelope.
No matter how she tried to make it a mantra, her heart did not listen, and she found herself undeniably nervous to meet Lord Hillbrook, a man, that before then, she had only thought of like a family friend. Now, however, he was thrown into the role of the prospective husband.
She was standing at the window in her favorite room, the library, with a deep-green dress and her hair combed in an elegant chignon. Martha had taken over an hour to tame her wild curls into a smooth silky curtain that could be twisted into the bun.
Her fingers were drumming against the sill, and she glanced down to the once-uneven nails where Martha had shaped the ragged ends into half-moons. Her anxiety was a heavy lump in her chest and normally when she got this anxious, her reaction was to bite her nails. Martha had strictly forbidden her to do such a thing.
“Beyond the rainbow's hues or peacock's eyes, not Judah's king in eastern pomp array'd. Whose charms allur'd from far the Sheban maid, high on his glitt'ring throne, like you could shine.” Lord Hillbrook’s voice came from the doorway and red flushed up to her neck.
“Did you just quote Rector Warton to me?” Penelope asked while turning around, hating the warmth she could feel in her cheeks. She was sure she had blushed a dozen-and-a-half shades of red. And for good reason—never had she had anyone, even more a man, quote poetry to her.
Lord Hillbrook smiled while offering her a bouquet of lovely wildflowers, meadow saffron, chicory, and sneezewort, “Would you have rather the Bard?”
Taking the fragrant flowers, she smiled into the soft petals, “I…that was not really necessary. These flowers are beautiful, thank you.”
He took her hand and led her to the chaise; her lady’s maid was sitting close by. Martha held the flowers so her mistress could smooth her skirts before sitting. Penelope took the flowers, and both women exchanged smiles.
“You know my favorite autumn flowers.”
“I do listen,” Lord Hillbrook smiled, “Well, until Dawson insists on blabbering gibberish, then I tune him out.”
She snorted, “And here I thought I was the only one. He does prattle on at times.”
“See,” he smiled pleasantly, “we already have a kindred spirit.”
“On that,” she replied, “but not on other matters. I am sorry that I found you an irritant for so many years. You must understand, I thought it strange for you to show me any notice at all. You are my brother’s dear friend after all.”
He exhaled deeply and a placid look settled on his face, “I thought it strange myself that you drew my attention more than the debutantes in London. I find you much more humble and sensible than the ladies born under the notion that a husband is the only way to progress, or that have the closet of Marie Antoinette is the key to a wonderful future. Your individually is a breath of fresh air, to be honest.”
She flushed harder under his keen gaze, “Thank you….” she laughed. “Do you remember that day when I thought you and my brother had gone out, but you had stayed in, and I went riding? When I came back, my hair was madder than Medusa’s, and I had mud all over because Bessie had kicked up mud in her sprints. I looked dreadful.”
“You did,” Lord Hillbrook agreed.
Penelope eyed him with shock, “Aren’t you supposed to say that I was not that bad or something of the like?”
“I am not one to lie, My Lady,” Lord Hillbrook’s eyes were lit with mischief. “You’re look was inexcusable, but it was a charming inexcusable.”
She narrowed her eyes, “Your charms, sir, leave a lot to be considered.”
