Page 41 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
She managed to drag her mind from the footman to the lord and focus on his words. He was dressed a bit differently with his blond hair combed back with a Napoleon-tied cravat, deep-blue waistcoat, and dark trousers.
“…which was perfect for him and I still do not know why he did not buy that horse.”
The words horse sparked a memory and then another one and then, by bits and pieces, she had a feeling what they were speaking about.
“Edward is a stubborn one when it comes to picking horses,” she added only to see Lord Hillbrook smile, and then she realized another thing—they probably had not been speaking about horses at all.
Flushing she sighed, “I am sorry for not listening.”
“In any other circumstances and with any other lady I would be insulted,” Lord Hillbrook said teasingly. “But I am already intimately familiar with how you trip off into the recess of your mind, Lady Penelope. Your bewitching eyes never fail to give you away.”
Bewitching…I have never been called that before.
“How so?” she asked.
“They get glazed over,” he said simply. “And I can see you go unfocused.”
Exhaling through her mouth, Penelope said, “I truly am sorry. You took all this time to arrange a wonderful drive through the countryside and all I can do is sit and worry about my brother. I have not even looked out the window at all.” It was a tiny lie, but it was better than admitting the truth. “He’s still upset over Viscount Shirlling’s death.”
The Baron’s brows furrowed neatly, “I thought that matter was cleared up?”
“I thought so too,” she replied. “But the Bow Street Constables, a chief inspector and another man came to visit with a magistrate the other day.”
“That sounds dire…” Lord Hillbrook said with his brow furrowing in deeper contemplation. “But I expect nothing will come from it. They were just clearing him from being a suspect.”
“He said the same,” Penelope admitted then attempted to smile. She twisted her head to look out through the window and smiled at the countryside. It was blanketed with emerald grass that would soon die and reveal the bare ground of winter. The same was going to happen to the late autumn flowers that had survived to see the beginning of winter.
She placed her palms on the window and smiled out. “I sometimes forget how beautiful these lands are. I have not been to these meadows since I was a child with father.”
“Have I ever told you how I envied you for that?” the Baron spoke directly. To that, Penelope snapped her head around with a deeply confused look.
“Pardon?”
“My father,” Lord Hillbrook said nostalgically. “He was too busy with his tenants and in London to teach me such things. All my knowledge came from tutors at Eton and some masters who would come to my home during the breaks. Then when I was in my second year of Oxford, he died of complications coming from his gout. He had physicians but never took the medicine they prescribed. He told me that the quacks were not worth the breath they spoke with.”
His blue eyes had gone with a far-away look before he shook his head. Swallowing, Penelope asked, “If he was alive, I am sure he would be proud of you.”
“I would like to think so too,” he replied with a warm smile.
Feeling a bit more connected to the Baron who, for the first time, showed more emotions than smugness or charm. “My father was special. Do you know that he even tried to teach me to shoot once?”
That evoked a set of arched eyebrows, medium-thick lines that were almost at his hairline. “How did that work out?”
“Mother and Eddie were in town shopping for something or other, and he took me out to the back paddock with a pistol,” Penelope smiled at the memory. “He told me that I needed to know how to use one in case a wild animal came a-foraging or…or if I had an unfaithful husband.”
His laughter sent his head canting back and rows of pearly white teeth were shown to her. Penelope laughed softly with him.
“That was a smart man,” Lord Hillbrook said. Once again, Penelope tried to think of him as Stephen, but it still rang wrong. “Remind me to teach that to my daughter if I have one.”
She sighed over dramatically, “Well, I hope she will have a better go at it that I had, because if nearly shooting a window out, snapping a few twigs and scaring some blackbirds to death, almost ten feet away from the center of the tree I was supposed to shoot, is real shooting, then it was a crime for me to be near a pistol.”
“How old were you then?”
“Erm…about seven. Eddie had just come back from his first year at Eton.”
“I am positive you would be much better now,” Stephen said. “I will be happy to teach you if you would like.”
“I think that might be lovely,” Penelope said, not too surprised at the genial tone she had spoken with.
