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A woman in a green riding habit atop a horse thundered along the road, her arm waving until she caught up to the speed of the coach and she slowed the horse, looking in at the two of them. “Mr. Hoppler, please, slow the carriage. I must speak with you.”
{ Chapter 13 }
With one look at the woman atop the horse, Strider reacted, his fist banging on the roof.
Her gut twisting, Pen stared at the woman—she had the same blond hair, the same face, the same eyes as Anne, but was easily fifteen years younger.
The driver immediately slowed the horses. Once the carriage hit a slow roll, Strider opened the door and bounded down, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the woman. “You are?”
Pen jumped from the still moving carriage as the words left his mouth.
She glanced at Pen and then looked to Strider. “I am the youngest daughter of Lord Jacobson.” Her stare landed on Pen. “I know what happened to your mother.”
Her look lifted and she glanced around, then pointed to a lone, gnarled oak tree in a field down a gentle slope away from the road. “There. I’ll not speak of this on the road.”
She set her horse off the road and into a direct line to the oak tree.
Pen’s heart pounded madcap in her chest as she looked to Strider. “Can we believe this?”
His eyes narrowed as he watched the woman dismount and walk the last twenty yards to the tree, leading the horse. “She has the exact same look about her. She’s your kin of some sort.”
Pen looked to the woman. So poised. Elegant even in riding clothing. Beautiful, just like she always imagined her mother to be.
“Do you want to talk to her alone?” Strider asked.
She shook her head, reaching out to grab his hand. “No. Please come with me. I don’t…whatever she has to say, it is just like in Baron Jacobson’s house. Anything she says will be easier if you are with me.”
He nodded, flipping his hand over under hers and entwining his fingers with hers.
A lifeline, for she wasn’t sure what this woman was going to tell her. But with Strider next to her, she could hear anything and not crumble.
They walked, her hand gripped tight in his, onto the field until they stopped under the cover of the oak tree.
The woman turned from tying the reins of her horse onto a low branch, pulled off her leather gloves, clutching them in one hand as she looked both of them up and down, almost exactly as Baron Jacobson had done. With a slight nod, she moved to stand in front of them. A weak smile crossed her face. “I must apologize for my family—I was eavesdropping in on the conversation you had with them in the drawing room, which is why I felt the need to come after you.”
“You were?” Pen asked.
“I only caught a side glance of you as you got into the carriage, but I knew I needed to catch you.” She stared at Pen, her green eyes shifting about, taking in everything about Pen. “And now that I see you straight on, there is no doubt in my mind. Let me explain. My name is Florence and I am your mother’s sister. I’m your aunt, dear child.”
“You—you think I am your niece?” The words squeaked out of Pen’s tight throat.
“I don’t think it, I know it. You are the exact image of her. Penelope? Did I hear that correctly?”
Pen nodded.
Florence reached out and grabbed Pen’s free hand. “My family won’t speak of Margot—your mother—and I don’t know if this will give you peace or not. But if you want to hear what I know, I will tell you.”
“Yes.” Pen drew in a quivering breath. “Yes, please.”
“This is…delicate.” She released her hand, looked to Strider and then back to Pen. “Would you rather hear it privately?”
Pen shook her head, her fingers twitching around Strider’s. “No, whatever you have to say, Mr. Hoppler can hear as well. His discretion is unimpeachable.”
Her lips pulled inward for breath, considering, before she nodded. “My sister, Margot, she was six years older than me and I adored her the most out of all my sisters.” She paused, wiping at tears that suddenly brimmed along her lower lashes. “I am sorry, it is just that I haven’t spoken her name in so long. Margot. Not since I was young. She was here and then she wasn’t and I have never been able to speak her name since that time. There are—were—eight of us. Eight girls. No boys. My mother has always seen that as her failing, so has lived her life to make the best matches for us. Though two of us are spinsters and I am a widow.”
Pen’s grip on Strider’s hand tightened, her words breathless. “What happened to my mother?”
“I can only offer what I have pieced together from my older sisters. I was only thirteen at the time all of it happened, so I understood little of it.” She took a breath, her right hand splaying across her belly, her fingers playing with the gold military-styled buttons lining the front of her riding habit. “As far as I know it, my sister, Anne—who you met—she had fallen in love with a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. He was much below our station, but she fell in love regardless. A fool to begin with—I cannot fathom what she was thinking. She’s the eldest, so she was to set the bar for the rest of our matches. Mother and father were ruthless—they never allowed Anne to marry him and made certain all contact was broken between the two. Anne is stubborn—so stubborn she was willing to throw her life away on this man. She put herself on the shelf and has been there ever since. Wasted. Her life wasted over this.”
