Page 6 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
The windows were dark and the sole tree to the side was swaying in the invisible wind. His meeting with Lord Allerton had gone well, and he was interested in working with the man, but it was his sister who intrigued him the most.
Lady Penelope Dawson had a look in her eye he remembered his mother had—that of a marvelous intellect and a jovial character. Her face had meandered between that of a teenage girl and a young woman, so he was not sure how old she was.
Alighting from his trusted horse, Duke, Heath guided the dark standard breed to his single-box stable—if he could reasonably call it such. Heath unsaddled him, gave him a soothing rubdown, pitched some straw back into his trough and some water into another before he rubbed his horse’s ears and went to his home.
The interior was a spartan cave, with only the bare necessities—a bed, wardrobe, cast-iron tub, and a kitchen nook. He instantly gravitated to the washbasin and cleansed his hands. From there, he filled an old copper kettle and hung it on the hooks before rousing the fire. Then he took a wrapped loaf of bread, sliced two hefty slices, dropped them in a pan and placed on the grate.
While absently minding them, his attention swerved to Lady Dawson, specifically, when their eyes had met. She had been shocked, but then, a soft sheen of red had run over her speckled cheeks while she darted her eyes away.
I haven’t seen a lady wear her freckles out in the open lately…most use those vinegar absolutions to wipe them away. Is she that much of an original to disregard the fashion craze?
The whistling of the kettle and the smell of toasting bread dragged Heath out of his musing, and he grabbed a kitchen cloth to ease the kettle off the hook. He then plucked the bread out—earning himself some smarting fingertips in the process—and dropped them onto a nearby plate. Reaching for his heavily-treasured carafe of butter, he coated the warm hunks and then made his coffee.
Sitting in the old wingback, purposely placed with its back to the wall and facing a window, Heath ate his meal. Again, his mind went back to Lady Penelope. She was intriguing. From what he had been told, not much was known about the lady other than that her brother had taken her under his wing after their parents had died.
Speaking of parents, Heath remembered Lord Allerton’s words—what his father had told him when he was a boy—an enemy is only a friend in disguise.
“Smart man,” he murmured.
Finishing his meal, Heath closed all the windows and doors before going back to his bedroom, where the bed was pushed against the farthest wall. He took little time in packing his belongings into a cloth sack and readied it at the door. At dawn, he was no longer an independent man, but one of Dawson’s household. Before he left the next morning, though, he was going to wield a hammer, some nails and planks of wood to close up this home.
He had told Lord Allerton his skills, but what he had told him was only a fraction of them. Viscount Messuer had a host of men at his beck and call, and Heath had shadowed them when he had the time.
One was a falconer, one was a fisherman and diver, and another one was a hunter. Another worked in carpentry, the fifth was capable of fixing carriages and the last one he had shadowed was an in-house chemist. He did not outline all his skills for a reason. He thought it better to reveal them as the need arose.
Settling in for the night, Heath folded his hands under his neck and stared up at the dark ceiling. His things were packed, and he was ready to leave to his new position.
“Tomorrow, another chapter in my life will begin…”
* * *
The Dawson House
Love potion…the nerve!
Penelope was gulping down water like it was the cordial version and not just plain water. The wafer was long gone, but she swore she could feel a different sensation running through her veins.
“Easy there, Penelope!” Edward reached over to take the glass from her, but she brushed it off. He then turned his attention to Baron Hillbrook who was doing a poor job of hiding his laughter and leveled an admonishing look at him, “Russell, that was not needed.”
“It was a harmless jest, Dawson,” Stephen shrugged while sitting back and taking up his wine. “Let up a little.”
The glass was now empty and Penelope almost slammed it down, “Lord Hillbrook—”
“Stephen,” the Baron inserted.
“Lord Hillbrook,” Penelope stressed. “I am not—” Edward’s warning look made her swallow her heated words and then switch to, “Pardon me, I was not anticipating your jest which is why my reaction was so…severe.”
She kept her eyes from her brother and focused on the man on the other side of the table. “But I should have expected something of the sort, you always did have a rather…a peculiar sense of humor.”
Lord Hillbrook’s eyes drifted up, “Thank you, I suppose?”
Edward cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence in the room, “So, Russell, what else did you do in America?”
Sliding the box of confections—which Penelope firmly decided was going to meet its fate in the middle of a furnace—away from her, she refilled her glass and sat back to listen with half an ear as the Baron spoke about his business endeavors. Her mind drifted off to think of the best time to go riding when Edward was not there.
“You should come, Dawson,” Stephen said. “I would really appreciate your ability in haggling to get me the best price on that thoroughbred.”
“I don’t know Russell,” Edward sighed while swirling his wine. “Tattersall’s horse fair is sort of a fish market sometimes.”
