Page 10 of The Rise of a Forsaken Lady
“Lord Allerton and Lord Hillbrook are friends then,” Mr. Moore asked as he finished wiping down the saddle.
“Best of friends, from Eton to Oxford,” Penelope clarified. “They are business partners too. But…” she paused, knowing that it might be a mistake admitting this to a servant other than Martha but took the chance anyway, “he is confusing at times. When I first met him, he was nothing but a teaser and irked me to no end…but lately, he’s become somewhat of a suitor but the way he presents himself…I cannot decide if he is jesting or not.”
She looked over at Mr. Moore who had not said a word. It was a smart move as lower servants were not privy to their masters’ affairs as those who were in closer contact were. She laughed nervously.
“Forgive me for putting you in such a position,” she shook her head while her eyes were down. “It was not right of me to do so and I apologize. Thank you for your help, Mr. Moore. I’ll better be going on my way. Good evening.”
“Good evening, My Lady,” he replied.
Penelope felt his eyes on the back of her head but did not turn. It was best if she did not as she was not sure how she would react to the look in his eyes. Perhaps he viewed her as strange. What lady would not want to marry a well-to-do man who was in close contact with the family?
She walked through the backdoor, climbed the stairs and entered her rooms. She and Martha had a standing agreement—when she was out riding there would be a tub of cool water waiting for her to bathe in.
“My Lady,” Martha sighed as she came in. “Your hair is a fright.”
“I know,” Penelope replied as she sat down and watched Martha go for the comb. “But it was all worth it.”
Sitting, she was still as Martha painstakingly parted her dark hair and combed the snags out from the ends to the root. The tangles hurt when the comb dug into them and she winced heavily. Sometimes she even bit into her bottom lip to keep the pained cry from coming out. Eventually, her hair was in order and plaited into a braid as she went to take her bath.
“I spoke with Mr. Moore,” Penelope mentioned as the cool water caressed her skin. “He does not seem like much of a talker.”
“I have the same impression too,” Martha replied as she used the sponge on her mistress’ arm. “He is different, that I am sure off.”
Thinking back to Mr. Moore, Penelope blushed at the memory of his shirtless back. She did not dare speak of it to Martha. In fact, she did not dare speak of it with anyone at all. It was a memory she would push to the back of her mind and try to forget about it…. if she could. That memory would probably overlay itself upon Mr. Moore every time she saw him in the next few days.
But would she keep her composure if it happened?
Martha rose from her seat as Penelope stood from the water, stepped out and dried off. With Martha’s help she was she was soon dressed in a dark-blue evening gown and soft kid slippers. Her brother should be along anytime now, and she did not want him to have to search for her. Even if he did suspect that she had gone riding, no evidence was there, and no one was going to tattle on her.
Finding herself in the lower drawing room with a book on her lap, Penelope opened the book but instead of reading began to daydream. Sadly, she did not get to do it for long.
Mr. Moore came in to light the lamps, and she dipped her head as her daydream wasofMr. Moore. The memory of his bare skin and muscles were still stuck in her mind.
“Good evening My Lady,” he nodded.
“Same to you, Mr. Moore.” She tried to focus on her book.
Mr. Moore was methodological, if anything, closing the outer shutters with precision while lighting the lamps in the intersections. When he was done, she asked him. “Mr. Moore, would you please send for some tea for me?”
She knew it was not one of his assigned tasks, but she had asked anyway. He nodded. “It is no trouble, My Lady.”
As he left, she could hear the telltale sound of carriage wheels announcing the arrival of her brother and Lord Hillbrook. She calmed and focused on her book just before she heard Mr. Gastrell receiving the two. She felt her body tensing as their footsteps came closer and she could hear their conversation.
“That stallion was of a good Arabian breed, Dawson,” Lord Hillbrook said. “I have no idea why you did not bid on him.”
She closed the book and sat up just as Edward and the Baron entered. Lord Hillbrook was holding a box in his hand and instantly, she went tense. The box of Biscotti was still in the kitchen waiting for the bonfire.
“Because I do not want a horse that looks like an old knight’s destrier,” Edward huffed. “His thighs were as thick as your carriage wheel. I would be unlikely to live if he threw me, thank you very much.”
Lord Hillbrook rolled his eyes, “You should learn a thing or two about riding…probably from our lovely Lady Penelope.” His tone was lightly teasing, but Penelope took it as an indirect compliment.
“Lord Hillbrook,” she said while straightening her posture. “While I take your compliments with grace…” Penelope then looked at Edward who was souring and slyly added, “My brother…does not like to hear that I ride better than he does.”
“He should be used to it by now,” Lord Hillbrook smiled. “I’ve ragged him about it for years. Here are your biscuits, My Lady. It was a pleasure getting them for you.”
Pretending surprise, Penelope stood and curtsied before taking them. “Thank you, My Lord.”
Mr. Moore had entered with a tray of tea, and suddenly, the air had gone icy. The brittle atmosphere was about to shatter in shards when Penelope, looking between the two, leaped into action.
