Hannah jerked upright, her eyes suddenly wide open. “Oh, my apologies. I don’t know why I’m so sleepy.” She glanced around the parlor. “Where are our parents?”
“Off to bed, of course. It’s a wonder Father stayed awake through dinner,” Henry replied with a grin.
“Mother didn’t seem the least bit tired,” Hannah remarked as she straightened on the settee. She had come to her parents’ townhouse after Edward and the earl had left for Brooks’s, deciding a late night was warranted as a means to practice for the upcoming Season.
Her brother took her wine glass from her hand, the claret within barely drunk. “I don’t think she was tired until you started to yawn,” he said, rebuke evident in his voice. “She was very glad to see you, though, as was Father. They’ve been worried about you.”
“Me? But... but why?”
Henry gave his head a shake. “You’re a widow out of mourning. Mother expects you’ll have a string of suitors at your door starting this week, and Father fears you’ll end up married to a fortune hunter.”
Her mouth dropping open in shock, Hannah was about to respond when Henry reached over and placed his finger beneath her chin to lift it. She quickly closed her mouth but ensured her sound of disgust was audible. “I am not going to marry a fortune seeker,” she argued. “I don’t even think I shall marry again, in fact.”
Her attempt at stifling a yawn had Henry chuckling. “You’re welcome to spend the night in your old bedchamber, sister,” he offered. “If you’d rather not make the trip back to Harrington House. I can send the coachman back with word that you’ll return in the morning.”
Hannah gave her head a shake. “Although the offer is appreciated, I wish to have as much time with my son as I can whilst he’s home from school.”
Henry took a seat next to her on the settee, careful to avoid sitting on any of her wide skirts. He had frequently cursed the newer fashions, preferring instead the gowns of the era before George IV was coronated. Before William and then Victoria were crowned. The shape of a lady’s legs were more easily discerned, especially when the wind blew. At least the current gowns did a better job of displaying a woman’s waist and the extent of her bosom, but he was always terribly curious about their lower limbs.
“Well, you’d best sleep late in the morning,” Henry suggested. “Starting Tuesday night, you will have to stay awake well past midnight. The entertainments are due to begin, and your son tells me he has invitations for nearly all of them.”
“About that,” Hannah said as she turned her head in his direction. She regarded him with suspicion. “How is it a boy not even seventeen years of age has invitations to balls and soirées and such? Invitations I do not have?”
Henry’s eyes darted to one side, and for a moment, Hannah was struck by how much he looked like his nephew, Tom Grandby. “Well, he is a baron now, and you know these events are always in need of unattached males,” he reasoned.
Hannah’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”
Ignoring her query, Henry continued. “As for you, I suppose it’s not general knowledge that you’re out of mourning now. Perhaps you can mention it to your mother-in-law so she can include an article in the next issue of The Tattler?”
Hannah gave him a quelling glance. The very last thing she wanted was a mention in London’s premiere gossip rag. “What did you do?” she repeated. “With regard to my son, I mean.”
Rolling his eyes, Henry regarded his sister with another smirk. “Well, I may have made a few suggestions here and there,” he finally admitted. “Spread the word he would be home for Easter, so to speak.”
Hannah scoffed. “But, why? He’s too young to be considering marriage.”
Allowing a long sigh, Henry finally said, “But you and I are not.”
Blinking, as much to fight off sleep as to sort her brother’s words, Hannah asked, “You’re thinking to finally take a wife?”
Henry nodded. “It’s past time I do. I didn’t mean to wait this long.”
“Then why did you?”
Henry’s eyes darted to the side, and Hannah was once again struck by his resemblance to Tom. Only his blonde hair was different. “You looked just like Tom when you did that,” she accused. “The moment he told us he was marrying Lady Grandby,” she added as her eyes widened. “Have you... have you someone in mind for your wife?”
Shaking his head, Henry said, “I do not. Which is why I thought it best I accepted the same invitations as your son received and act as an escort for the two of you.”
Hannah furrowed a brow. “I’ll go with you, of course,” she said. “Make sure you’re not proposing to the first woman who gives you a passing glance.”
It was Henry’s turn to scoff. “I am not so easily impressed by the fairer sex.”
“You have always been rather harsh in your assessment of us,” Hannah accused.
Henry gave a start, his brows furrowing before his back settled against the settee. “Is it really too much to expect to find someone like... like Mother? Or you?” he asked rhetorically.
Dumbstruck, Hannah stared at Henry for several seconds. “The very last woman I would expect you to want for a wife is me, which has me wondering why you would be in pursuit of such a creature.”
“Well, now who is harsh in her assessment?” Henry countered as he leaned his elbows onto his knees. His head dropped into his hands. “I just mean that I do not wish to end up with an insipid English miss.”
“I was once an insipid English miss,” Hannah argued.
“But you didn’t fawn over every unattached male who glanced in your direction.”
Hannah’s gaze turned from his and looked inward. “True,” she whispered. “Because I had already set my cap on my future husband.”
Henry regarded her for a moment before his attention once again went to his hands. “I’m sorry he died,” he whispered. “I know I believed you only—”
“He is not dead,” Hannah interrupted. Then her eyes darted to one side, much like her brother’s did when he was sorting a problem. “At least, I’ve no reason to believe he is no longer of this earth.”
Henry blinked, his brows once again furrowing. “The future husband you spoke of was not Harrington?”
Hannah gave him an expression of annoyance. “You know he was not.”
“Then why did you marry Harrington?”
Hannah’s continued annoyance was apparent in her voice. “Because he asked. Because he was besotted with me. Because Mother didn’t tell me not to, and Father encouraged me to. Practically begged me to. Because...” She sighed. “Because it was the right thing to do at the time.”
Henry dipped his head back into his hands. “I guess I... I always thought you felt affection for Harrington.”
“I did,” Hannah replied, as she fought back the tears that threatened. The thought of climbing into the Mayfield town coach and spending the night in her own bed no longer held any appeal. She would only wake up to discover once again that her husband was no longer alive.
But Edward was home. She had him to look forward to seeing every morning at breakfast for the next week.
Well, she hoped he would be home by now. She had cringed when she learned Mayfield had insisted Edward join him for an evening at his club. Hannah feared her father-in-law had arranged for a courtesan to entertain her son until Henry told her Brooks’s didn’t offer that sort of service.
Mayfield will just play whist, Henry had assured her. And Edward will be left to find his own game of chance, or someone to engage in conversation.
That doesn’t make me feel any better, Hannah had said.
“There must be some young lady you have thought about making your wife,” Hannah reasoned, deciding it was time they discussed Henry’s prospects.
Henry was about to accuse her of changing the subject, but he had seen her eyes brighten with unshed tears and thought better of it. “There is a rather comely young woman who works for the Wellinghams,” he said on a sigh.
Hannah stared at him. “A housemaid?”
He nodded before he cleared his throat and grinned. “I am teasing, of course.”
For just a moment, Hannah was sure he wasn’t teasing, but she decided not to press the issue. “I suppose you’ve read the latest issue of Debrett’s?” she asked, referring to the book that detailed the progenies of the aristocratic families of Great Britain.
“Twice,” he admitted. “Although there are a couple of possibilities, I rather doubt their mothers will agree to a marriage to a commoner,” he argued.
“We are a bit on the fringe, are we not?” Hannah murmured in reply. Although their mother was the daughter of a duke and aunt to a current duke, their father could claim no relation to a peer of the realm. Given their parents’ ownership of about half the townhouses in King Street, Henry stood to inherit not only a vast sum of money, but the houses, as well.
Sometimes wealth was a better draw than aristocratic lineage these days.
“Have you been holding off taking a wife until Father dies?” Hannah asked in a whisper. “So you’ll have the inheritance?”
Henry shook his head. “No. He gave me most of my inheritance when I reached five-and-twenty,” he replied.
Doing her best to hide her surprise, Hannah furrowed a brow. Her dowry had been her inheritance, bestowed on Charles Harrington when they married. At least Charles had been quick to establish a settlement for her and any children they might have, claiming he hadn’t taken any of the dowry for himself. Given his allowance and what he stood to inherit once Mayfield died, it made sense he wouldn’t require the dowry. “So... why have you waited?”
Giving his head a shake, Henry allowed an audible sigh. “I haven’t waited, exactly,” he said softly. “I just haven’t... I just haven’t found anyone I wish to wake up to every morning.”
“Not even a housemaid?” Hannah asked in a whisper.
Henry stared at her for a long moment before he tore his gaze away. “Would you be vexed if I courted such a creature?”
Hannah shook her head. “Not if she made you a happy man,” she replied in a whisper.
“What do you suppose Mother would say?”
Rolling her eyes, Hannah reached out to place a hand on his arm. “She of all people would understand,” she replied in a quiet voice. “After all, she married a butler.”
A grimace appeared on Henry’s face before he could hide it. “I do not think the circumstances are the same.”
“Why ever not?”
Henry straightened in his chair. “A butler’s status is far higher than that of a housemaid.”
“They’re both in service,” Hannah argued. “Who is she?”
“I’m not sure.”
Hannah stood up from the settee and regarded her brother with a look of disbelief. Her hands went to her hips. “Of course you are.”
Henry shook his head. “I’ve seen her. I’ve never spoken to her,” he added, once he realized Hannah wasn’t about to give up her line of questioning.
“What’s her name?”
“I’ve no idea,” he claimed. “I’ve only seen her from my bedchamber window. When she was on the street.” When Hannah indicated he needed to continue, he allowed an audible sigh. “When she’s just stepped from a town coach in front of the Wellingham’s townhouse. Every Monday morning just after dawn. I only first noticed her about three weeks ago.”
Hannah stared at him for a moment as her brows furrowed. “Blonde hair? Cut short and curly? About my height?” She held a hand up level with the top of her head.
Henry frowned. “Maybe.”
“I’ve no idea who she is,” Hannah stated, her attention on the glass of claret he still held. Her eyes betrayed her delight, though.
“What?!” Henry’s mouth dropped open in exasperation, which had Hannah reaching out with a finger toward his chin. He snapped his mouth closed before she could do so.
“I really don’t. But now I have an idea of where to start with my inquiries,” she teased, an impish grin appearing that had her looking years younger.
His eyes once again darting to one side, Henry said, “I suppose you’ll ask Mrs. Wellingham?”
“I might,” Hannah hedged.
Henry stared at his sister for several seconds. “Will you tell me what you discover?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “You will be the first I tell,” she promised. “But this does not absolve you from doing what you can to discover her identity for yourself.”
Looking as if he’d been scolded by their father, he dipped his head and scowled. “Understood.”
Hannah waved for a footman to join them in the parlor. “I’ve decided to spend the night here,” she announced. “Could you let my coachman know and have him send word of my whereabouts to Harrington House? And return for me at ten o’clock—?”
“Eleven o’clock,” Henry interrupted. “Breakfast won’t be served until Mother is up and about, and that’s usually after nine on Saturdays.”
Hannah’s expression screwed into one of annoyance. “Eleven o’clock?”
The footman nodded. “Very good, my lady.” He turned on his heel and rushed from the parlor.
“What are you planning?” Henry asked, suddenly apprehensive.
Hannah gathered her reticule and took the glass of claret from Henry. “Other than going to sleep? Nothing,” she replied, just before she drained the glass. She leaned against Henry’s side and kissed him on the cheek. “Go to bed, Henry.” Without waiting for a reply, she took her leave of the parlor and made her way to her old bedchamber.
She was out of Henry’s hearing range when she added, “Tomorrow is another matter, however.”
Henry watched his sister’s retreating back, sure she was plotting something. He thought about chasing her down. Thought about insisting she forget everything he had said about the comely Wellingham housemaid.
But he also knew he wanted an introduction to the young woman.
What if she was who he had been imagining in the middle of the night? A young, blonde-haired woman tucked up against his side, one of her legs betwixt his, and a bent arm resting on his chest?
He let out a soft curse when he felt his body respond with desire, his pantaloons becoming far too tight. Although he had considered asking Emma Wellingham if she might introduce him to her maid, perhaps he would have his sister arrange an introduction.
At least it would allow him the courtesy of helping the young woman step down from her coach on Monday mornings and step into it on Saturday afternoons.
Perhaps after that, he could ask that she join him for a luncheon.
He shook his head, annoyed when a yawn interrupted his thoughts. Heading for his own bedchamber, he allowed his mind to imagine far too much of the housemaid wearing far too little.
Chapter 10
A Plan for a Reintroduction
Meanwhile, back at Brooks’s, Mayfair
“Did I say something wrong, sir?” Edward asked as he regarded the gentleman who sat across from him. When he noted Graham’s reaction—saw how the older man seemed to struggle to remain upright in his chair—he added, “Sir, are you well?”
The sensation of vertigo once again had Graham wavering as he stared at Mayfield’s heir. Failing that, he allowed a curse of disbelief as his eyes nearly rolled up into his head. Then he remembered Edward’s query. “Not wrong, exactly. Just... unexpected.”
If you’re still of a mind to marry her.
“How so?”
Blinking, Graham was about to allow his gaze to sweep the room when he noticed the footman had delivered his brandy. He took a long drink and then closed his eyes in appreciation. Although French brandy was easy to obtain in Boston—imports from France were frequent and lucrative for Wellingham Imports’ Boston office—Graham hadn’t drunk anything other than ale during the three-week Atlantic crossing. “Let us just say that I would never expect the whelp of my nemesis to encourage a marriage between his mother and me,” he said, hi
s brows furrowing in confusion. “Which has me wondering... what are you about?”
Feeling a bit foolish, Edward allowed a shrug. “My Mother is just now out of mourning. I am aware of rumors that there are several members of the aristocracy that wish to court her, or otherwise engage her... time,” he explained in a quiet voice. “But I do not want her subjected to their... attentions.”
Graham blinked. And blinked again. “I should think Hannah capable of making her own decisions with regard to whom she spends her time with,” he replied, not even realizing he had used her given name.
“Me as well, but shouldn’t we be a bit... intentional in all of this?” Edward countered. “See to it you are the only one she allows to court her?”
Graham couldn’t argue with the young man’s logic. “How do you propose I manage it?”
A brilliant smile appeared on Edward’s face. “Come for dinner at Harrington House. Tomorrow night,” he said with such glee, Graham was left wondering if this entire meeting was a ruse to make him out as some simpleton. As a pretender to Hannah Simpson Harrington’s affections.
“I expect I shall be having dinner with my parents on the morrow. I’ve only just returned to London today.”
“Sunday night, then.”
“The Harrington House servants don’t have the day off?” Graham countered, amazed he could come up with the excuse to beg off so quickly. “Besides, Sunday is Easter.”
Edward blinked. “Good point. Monday night, then.”
Deciding the young man wasn’t about to give up, Graham resisted the urge to sigh out loud. “What time?” he asked, suspicion evident in his voice. He thought of the dinner invitation he had received from Thomas, and he really didn’t wish to send his regrets. The opportunity to spend time in Hannah’s company couldn’t be missed, however. Even if the Earl and Countess of Mayfield and Hannah’s son were present.
“Dinner is usually at eight, so... seven o’clock? We’ll have coffee and walnuts in the parlor before the dinner bell,” Edward said with excitement.
Graham furrowed a brow. “Are you sure it would be acceptable to Mayfield?” he asked.
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