Two days had passed since the races, and the sky looked ready to unleash a torrent at any moment.
Dark clouds gathered overhead like an army preparing for battle, casting everything in shades of gray that matched Penelope's restless mood perfectly.
"Are you sure about this, Penelope?" Calliope stood in the stable doorway, her arms crossed and her expression dubious. "It's going to pour any minute now."
Penelope adjusted her riding gloves and checked the saddle girth on Moonbeam, her favorite mare, a dappled gray with a sweet temperament and surprising speed. "Yes, I'm sure. I just need to clear my mind."
"You could clear your mind inside. With tea. And no risk of pneumonia."
"Where's the fun in that?" Penelope swung herself up into the saddle with easily, settling her riding habit around her legs. "I'll be back within the hour, I promise."
"Your mother is going to have my head," Calliope muttered.
"Mama's at Lady Thornbury's for tea. She won't even know I've gone." Penelope gathered the reins, feeling Moonbeam shift eagerly beneath her. "Besides, you know Mrs. Wickham will tell her eventually anyway."
The head maid had a frustrating habit of reporting Penelope's unauthorized riding excursions to the Duchess. But Penelope had long since stopped caring about the subsequent lectures. Some things were worth the scolding.
"Hyah!" She pressed her heels to Moonbeam's sides, and they were off.
The wind hit her face immediately, cool and damp with the promise of rain. Penelope felt her chest loosen as they galloped down the path that led away from Carrington House, toward the forest that bordered their estate.
This….this was freedom. Not balls or presentations or suitors comparing her to flowers. Just her and Moonbeam and the open path ahead.
Her brothers had taught her to ride when she was six years old, much to their mother's horror. They had been sneaking her out for lessons ever since, though now that she was "out" in society, such activities were considered far too unladylike.
Well, society could hang for all Penelope cared.
She urged Moonbeam faster, her cloak streaming behind her like wings. The forest loomed ahead, filled with ancient oaks and twisted paths that she knew by heart. They stayed close to the edge usually, where the trees were sparse and the ground even.
But today, Penelope wanted to go deeper.
Her mind was a tangled mess. Lord Ashmore's confused expression when she haad called him a thief. The way his voice had cracked when he had called after her: I can explain. The feeling of his gaze on her at the races.
Thunder rumbled overhead, closer now.
"Just a little further," Penelope whispered to Moonbeam, guiding her down a familiar path between two massive oaks.
The rain started as a whisper, light drops that barely registered. Then, with shocking suddenness, the heavens opened.
Water poured from the sky in sheets, immediately soaking through Penelope's cloak and riding habit. Within seconds, she was drenched, her hair plastered to her face, rain running in rivulets down her back.
"Blast!" She remembered a place, a small stone structure, possibly the remains of an old folly or hunting lodge, that she had discovered years ago while exploring with Raphael. It wasn't far, just through the next cluster of trees.
She steered Moonbeam toward it, ducking branches and blinking rain from her eyes. The structure materialized through the downpour: four stone pillars supporting a partially collapsed roof, open on all sides but providing at least some shelter from the deluge.
"Come on, girl," Penelope urged, leading Moonbeam under the cover. The rain hammered on the remaining roof tiles, creating a deafening rhythm that drowned out all other sound.
Penelope dismounted, her boots squelching in the mud, and tried to wring water from her cloak. It was hopeless because she was absolutely soaked through.
She suddenly laughed, the sound swallowed by the storm. Calliope had been right. She should have stayed inside with tea.
That's when she heard it.
A rustling sound, too deliberate to be the wind. Movement in the underbrush just beyond the pillars.
Penelope froze, her hand automatically going to Moonbeam's bridle. "Who's there?" Her voice came out shaky, barely audible over the rain. "Who's there!"
More rustling, closer now.
Then she saw it, something dark and wet on the ground just outside the shelter. A liquid, catching what little light filtered through the storm clouds. It looked almost like...
No. It couldn't be.
Blood?
And then…..eyes. Red eyes, gleaming in the darkness between the trees.
Penelope shrieked, scrambling toward Moonbeam. Her hands fumbled with the reins, made clumsy by fear and cold. "Easy, easy girl—"
"Calm down, Lady Carrington."
She screamed again and whirled around to find Lord Dorian Ashmore standing at the edge of the shelter, rain streaming down his face and dark coat.
"Why are you here?!" Penelope's voice rose to something approaching hysteria. "Leave me be! Leave me alone!"
"Calm down," he said again, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Please, just—"
"I saw something!" The words tumbled out in a rush. "I saw something! There was blood, and eyes, red eyes—"
"What?" His expression shifted to something like alarm. He turned, scanning the forest beyond the shelter with sudden intensity. "What are you talking about?"
"I know what I saw!" Penelope was shaking now, though whether from fear or cold she couldn't tell.
Lord Ashmore looked back at her, his gray eyes searching her face. Whatever he saw there seemed to convince him of something, because his expression softened. "Are you alright?"
Before she could answer, he was shrugging out of his cloak, which was somehow less soaked than everything else, and wrapping it around her shaking shoulders.
The warmth was immediate and blissful. Penelope found herself leaning into it for a moment before remembering herself.
"No!" She pushed the cloak away, or tried to. Her trembling hands made the gesture less forceful than intended. "You're a thief. I don't need your help."
He sighed, a sound of pure frustration. "No. It's not that. Please, it's not that at all."
"Then what is it?" Penelope demanded, pulling the cloak tighter around herself despite her protests. "If you didn't steal from my father, then why did my brother tell me you did?"
"Because it wasn't me." Lord Ashmore ran a hand through his wet hair. "It was my twin brother."
Penelope rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fall out of her head. "What a useless lie. A twin brother? Really? That's the best you could come up with?"
"It's the truth," he said, his voice sounding desperate. "I swear to you, Lady Carrington, I have a twin brother. Identical twin. He's the one who conducted that fraudulent business with your father. Not me."
"Then why hasn't anyone mentioned this mysterious twin before?" Penelope challenged. "Why did my family blame you if there's another person who looks exactly like you running around London stealing money?"
"Because he's….." Lord Ashmore hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. "He's not well-known in society. We.….don't get along. Haven't for years. Most people don't even know I have a brother."
Penelope studied his face, searching for signs of deception. But his expression was earnest, almost pleading. Either he was an excellent liar, or...