Page 83 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
He nodded and wiped his hand on his stained trousers. “I’m all right, I was just…” she looked at Duke and marveled, “stunned.”
“Are you sure, My Lady?”
“Very,” she said while inching to the animal. Reaching out, she took the horse’s head in her hands. Her chest was tight and tears, long held in, sprang alive. She smiled as the salty drops of her pain trickled down her cheeks. Stroking the long onyx mane and the silk of his coat, she vowed, “I’ll take care of you, Duke, I promise.”
Martha found her there, speaking to the astute animal, with shoes in hand. A tangible reminder that she was barefoot. “Breakfast is ready, My Lady.”
Stroking Duke one last time, she promised again, “I’ll take care of you.”
Before she went to eat, she washed her feet and her face, dressed in a clean gown, and went to breakfast. The table was set, and the sideboard was stacked, but the room felt empty—Heath was not there nor was Edward.
The coddled eggs were tasteless and the sweet bread, cloying. Mr. Gastrell was the one who served her, and as he had other issues to take care of, she dismissed him and dined alone. And the solitude dragged on for days.
A week felt like a month and a week and five days felt like a year. Martha was her only company and the absence of Mr. Moore felt like a lost limb. She was lost in monotony. Except when she went to take care of Duke. He was the only flash of color in her colorless life. There had been no more letters from Edward, and her fear for him increased every day.
What were they subjecting him to? Torture? Edward was as innocent as Heath had said, she knew, so why did they not know that too? Surely the Crown had more leverage over the Bow Street Constabulary?
Another morning came and she was staring, lethargically, into her bowl of porridge when Martha came in handing over a card she was too familiar with. “My Lady, Lord Hillbrook is here for you. He’s in the sitting room.”
Pushing away from the table, Penelope ignored her faint strains of hunger and went to see him. Lord Hillbrook’s face was grim and instantly, she felt anxious.
“Lord Hillbrook,” she asked. “What brings you here so early in the morning?”
His brows lowered and knitted together. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?” she asked as her fright increased. “Is it my brother?”
A blond head shook, “No. Not directly. Another Lord has been killed, Lady Penelope, and he is also affiliated with the Crown. Westminster is walking on a tight rope and—” he stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Where is the footman?”
“He left,” Penelope said succinctly, swallowing over the tightness in her throat. “What about Westminster?”
“They are holding anyone who was accused in correlation with these deaths and sadly, Dawson is one of them,” Lord Hillbrook said while coming closer, “Lady Penelope, the longer this issue goes on, the worse the scrutiny will grow and the social shunning will come with it if…if you are not secured. I know you are not fully assured, but I am asking you to marry me.”
She was blindsided. “Marry you?”
“Yes,” he said while coming in closer and taking her hands. “Think about it. I have all the standing to dissuade any snubs from our peers. I have a lovely home where you can live in peace and splendor. Anything you would desire would be at your fingertips and no one would dare give you the cut.”
Her hands were resting on Lord Hillbrook, and the meager calluses she felt there were indicative of a lord, who worked hands off. She suddenly craved Heath’s rough, fire-branded palms and strong hands. Slowly, she pulled away and fidgeted before putting her hands behind her back.
“Are you saying Eddie might not come back soon?” Fear was palpable in her voice.
“I think he will but I—we—cannot assume when,” Hillbrook said sagely.
She shook her head, “I cannot, Lord Hillbrook. I cannot marry you.” Not when she was so raw and empty with Heath’s departure.
“I am…disappointed to hear that,” Lord Hillbrook’s blue eyes were gentle, but there was a hard-sapphire glint of uncanny knowledge under it. “But will you promise me to think about it.”
An attempted smile faltered, and she let it drop completely. What was the sense of looking positive when all her emotions ranged from worrying to loneliness to despair? She felt she could be honest with Hillbrook, despite her wariness of him.
“I am worried about Edward. There has been no word from him and I…I feel something terrible has happened to him.”
His hands rested on her shoulder and he was closer than she liked, “Nothing untoward has happened to him, My Lady. He is just following the law as any upstanding citizen should. If you need me to take you to him, I will.”
Shaking her head, she stepped away, clamping down on the shudder of being too near to him. “That is not necessary, My Lord, but thank you. Er…I’ll think about…”
“Marrying me,” he smiled and winked cheekily. “I promise that you will not regret it. Good day, Lady Penelope.”
Her parting words died on her lips while watching him walk away. With him gone, she sank to the nearest seat. Was Hillbrook right? Was danger lingering over her head if she did not get married? The shelf was still looming over her head, but that and having to suffer the social cut too? Could she survive undue disrespect?
