“I just had to come and tell you that you play divinely,” Lady Cynthia said, eyeing the harp. “I play the pianoforte, as you will soon discover.”
It was ill advised, Hannah knew, to compare oneself to others. But she couldn’t help it. Standing next to this young woman, who was the epitome of grace, beauty, and fashion, Hannah felt decidedly drab, both in appearance and spirit. “Thank you, my lady,” she said. ”I look forward to hearing you play.”
Lady Cynthia smiled. “I hope you enjoy it. Please excuse us, Miss Hannah. Lord Nathaniel has promised to show me the ruins of Castle Canaan, which can apparently be seen from the terrace. I should like to see them before it gets too dark. Perhaps we might talk again later?”
“I hope so, my lady.” Hannah inclined her head, and allowed her gaze to flick to Nathaniel’s face. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met hers. “Till later, Miss Hannah,” he said.
Hannah smiled her response, and watched with a hollow feeling in her chest as Nathaniel and Lady Cynthia wandered out onto the terrace. The sun was setting over the hills, its fiery farewell leaching through gaps in the clouds. It provided a spectacular backdrop. Quite splendid. And romantic.
“Would you care for a drink, Miss?” a servant said, balancing a serving tray on his left hand. “I have Madeira or lemonade, but can fetch you something else if you wish.”
“Lemonade, please,” she said, helping herself. “Thank you.”
As she took a welcome sip, Hannah noticed a lady approaching. Tall and slender, with fine features, the woman was of middling years, her dark hair highlighted with veins of silver. Her beaded ivory gown sparkled as she moved. Quite beautiful, Hannah thought.
Relax, Hannah. And smile. She managed the smile, at least.
“Good evening, my lady,” she said, bobbing a slight curtsey.
“I simply had to come and commend you on your playing, my dear,” the lady said. “First rate. Simply splendid.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Hannah replied, blinking at the woman’s overpowering perfume. Had she tipped the entire bottle over herself? “I’m delighted you enjoyed it.”
“Very much.” The woman nodded toward the terrace. “I noticed you speaking to my daughter just now. I assume she told you of her own musical talents.”
“You must be Lady Scarborough,” Hannah said. “And, yes, I understand Lady Cynthia is a talented musician.”
“She is indeed,” Lady Scarborough replied. “I have to say, though, yours is a less traditional choice of instrument. May I ask how it came about?”
“My grandmother arranged lessons for me,” Hannah replied, with complete honesty. “I’ve been playing since the age of five.”
“Really? How fascinating.” Something minutely ominous had crept into the woman’s tone, and a prickle of apprehension brush across Hannah’s neck. “I understand your last name is Sedgewick, my dear, which doesn’t ring any bells, but you look awfully familiar. Would I know your parents?”
Bloody hell.
“I doubt it, my lady.”
“Well, may I know their names?” Lady Scarborough’s nostrils flared slightly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s bothering me. I simply need to put my mind at rest.”
“My mother’s name was Mary, my lady, and she died when I was young,” Hannah said, a feeling of panic rising in her chest. She was not prepared for this. In truth, she had never been prepared for it. “And my father’s name is, um, James. I very much doubt you would know him.”
Lady Scarborough’s mouth twisted. “I see,” she said. “Well, I didn’t mean to pry. Please excuse me. I have yet to thank your patroness for this wonderful meal.”
Prying is exactly what the lady meant to do, Hannah thought, praying the woman would not be rude enough to ask Lady Beatrice the same questions. Feeling sick, Hannah held her head up and assumed a benign smile as she made her way out into the hallway.
The front door beckoned, but to flee the house like a criminal seemed extreme. Instead, seeking sanctuary, she headed toward the library, its dark corners offering a safe place to hide. She left the door as she found it, slightly ajar, and sank into a wing-backed chair. Only then did she realize how hard she was breathing, and made an effort to calm herself.
Maybe she shouldn’t have left in such a hurry. Maybe she should have stayed, faced them, defied them. “Ridiculous,” she murmured. “You should have simply told the woman the truth. Lady Beatrice is right. You cannot hide for the rest of your life.”
But, had the truth emerged, what might that have meant for Lady Beatrice? Or Nathaniel?
The sound of the pianoforte drifted into the room. Lady Cynthia, did, indeed, play beautifully. Hannah imagined Nathaniel watching her, enraptured by the woman’s beauty and talent.
“Bollocks,” she said, and took a gulp of lemonade. Another regret. She should have taken the Madeira.
Chapter Seven
Lady Cynthia’s pale fingers danced across the keys of the pianoforte with practiced ease. Nathaniel, seated beside the girl’s perfume-soaked Mama, listened to the concerto with half-an-ear. Twice he had glanced at the door, waiting for Hannah to reappear. He now resisted an urge to do so for a third time. He’d seen the look on her face as she’d left, knowing full well her smile had been forced. For reasons apparent, he had not been able to go running after her.
Perhaps she had already returned, and was watching the proceedings from a quiet seat in a corner. Or maybe she lingered, unnoticed, behind one of Aunt Beatrice’s exotic plants. Yet, he knew, if he glanced around, he’d see no sign of her. Hannah had taken her leave for the night. Departed, without notice or apology. And he silently cursed her for it.
Had someone said something? Scared her off? He thought not, since he’d heard not a whisper of gossip. He’d noticed her speaking with Lady Scarborough earlier, but the conversation had seemed amiable enough.
Stifled by the cloying scent of the aforesaid lady, Nathaniel suffered through what would otherwise have been a masterful performance by Lady Cynthia. After standing to applaud and exclaiming, “Brava!” several times, he excused himself and went in search of some breathable air.
The terrace beckoned. He stepped out and surveyed the lands that would someday be his. The sun had now set, leaving nothing but a pale scar in the sky that stretched out over the western hills. The gardens beyond were already steeped in shadow, the effect accentuated further by the glow of candlelight at his back. Beyond the line of trees, up on the rise, the ruins of Castle Canaan formed an eerie black outline against the silent backdrop of the hills.
He belonged here. He felt it to his marrow.
The tread of a foot pulled him from his reverie. A man’s foot. Nathaniel linked his hands behind his back, feigning nonchalance.
“De Wolfe. Excellent meal, sir, I must say.”
He glanced at Lady Cynthia’s father. “Glad you enjoyed it, Scarborough. And allow me to commend Lady Cynthia’s pianoforte performance. Impressive, to say the least.”
“Yes, I can see you’re quite taken with her.” The man cleared his throat in an exaggerated fashion and looked over his shoulder. “It appears we have a bit of bother, however,” he said, lowering his voice, “and it’s ruffling Lady Scarborough’s feathers. You know how women are, how they love to gossip. Anyway, it seems she recognizes your Aunt’s young companion. Insists she’s Bracebridge’s disgraced daughter. Says the Christian name is the same, and that she resembles her mother. Do you happen to know if she’s correct?”
Damn.
“I couldn’t say, my lord.” Nathaniel threw the man a thin smile. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the young lady’s mother.”
“Very funny, De Wolfe,” Scarborough said, “but I notice you’re not denying it. Thing is, old chap, I really don’t give a fig, but Lady Scarborough does, and if you’re planning to pay suit to our daughter, which I suspect you are, this unfortunate issue may well hinder the proceedings. If you get my drift.”
Nathaniel clenched a fist. “Pl
ainly, my lord, but I shall have to speak to my Aunt about it, since the young lady in question is her companion.”
The man sniffed. “Lady Scarborough suggests you do exactly that, but not until after we leave, of course. She has no desire to upset or offend your aunt while we’re here, but she has to think of our daughter’s future. Might be an idea to keep the offending girl out of sight, too, till we’re gone.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Nathaniel said, barely able to keep his expression neutral. “Leave it with me, Lord Scarborough. I shall take care of everything and keep you informed.”
“Jolly good.” The man sniffed again. “I hope the weather stays fine tomorrow. The ladies are looking forward to this outdoor luncheon you have planned. Well, I’m off to placate Lady Scarborough. I’ll see you inside, De Wolfe.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, my lord.”
* * *
Hannah had remained in her hiding place and listened to Lady Cynthia’s performance. As a musician herself, she could only admire the woman’s skill. Had circumstances been different, she would have been on her feet with the other guests, applauding with genuine fervor.
She’d heard enough, however. More to the point, she’d had enough. When the hallway cleared, and the lady’s next performance began, Hannah intended to sneak out and go home.
At that moment a man’s voice spoke, right outside the door, startling Hannah.
“I had a word with De Wolfe,” the voice said. “He didn’t deny the gel was Bracebridge’s. Told him a betrothal announcement might be compromised unless he takes care of the issue.”
“Might be compromised?”
Hannah recognized Lady Scarborough’s voice.
“There’ll be no announcement of any sort till that libertine has been removed,” the woman continued. “What did De Wolfe say?”
“He assured me he’d take care of it. He said he’ll have to speak with his aunt, of course, but promised to do so.”
Hannah clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.
“Glad to hear it. I just knew it was her! She’s the image of her mother at that age. Perhaps it’s as well the poor woman is no longer around to suffer the shame of it all. Bracebridge completely disowned the girl.” A pause followed, then, “I wonder what became of the child? I heard a rumour it was deformed in some dreadful way. I simply cannot fathom why Lady Beatrice would allow her to live here. There has to be a good reason, I suppose. None of this is Lord Nathaniel’s fault, either, but I’m a little disappointed that he seems to tolerate the girl’s presence. Then again, Allonby Chase isn’t his yet. And I’ve said nothing of this to Cynthia, by the way. She appears to be quite taken with De Wolfe, and I’d like to think this will all turn out for the best.”
Lord Scarborough replied as they moved away, his words unintelligible.
Hannah sat in silence, hand still clamped over her mouth. To remove it would give freedom to the sobs that sat like stones in her throat.
She waited for what seemed like an eternity till the notes of the pianoforte rang out again. Only then did she dare to peek out of the doorway. Seeing the empty hallway, she hurried along to the back staircase.
Lanternlight seeped up from below, illuminating the enclosed stairs with a dull, yellow glow. Enough for her to see by, at least. She grabbed the banister and descended, her silk slippers as quiet as a whisper against the wooden treads.
All she wanted to do was go home and attempt to sort out her foolish thoughts. A few dreams, like old cobwebs, needed to be swept away, for they obviously served no useful purpose. What folly, believing even for a moment that Nathaniel de Wolfe would look at her in any other way than as spoiled goods. He had been kind to her and Griffin out of respect for her position with Lady Beatrice. Nothing more.
“Stupid, Hannah,” she muttered, hastening her step. “Utterly stupid.”
Ignoring a few curious looks from the serving staff, Hannah all but ran toward the rear door, eager to disappear into the night. Away from prying eyes, she might at last allow herself to release a tear or two. She doubted she could hold them back for much longer.
As she reached for the latch, a shadowy figure stepped out of an adjacent room. Hannah gave a yelp and clasped a hand over her heart.
“Boscombe!”
“Please excuse me, Miss Hannah, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Boscombe tilted his head and gave her a concerned look. “Is everything all right?”
“Y-yes. Thank you, everything is fine.” Hannah swallowed and summoned up a smile. “I wish to take some air, that’s all. I have a slight headache.”
Boscombe assumed a puzzled expression, and looked back along the hallway. “Are the doors to the rear terrace closed?”
Hannah shook her head. “Er, no. I just… I thought it would be quieter down here.”
“Indeed. Much quieter.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded her. “Then please permit me to accompany you while you rejuvenate.”
Hannah hugged herself and shook her head again. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”
He gave her a grave smile. “With respect, Miss, I’d prefer to be available to escort you home should you decide not to return to the gathering. Please allow me a moment to fetch my jacket.”
Hannah felt her cheeks warm. Not that she’d lied to Boscombe exactly, but he’d obviously seen beyond her fumbled explanation. Nathaniel’s words echoed in her mind.
He’s a wily old coot. Never could put anything past him. Still can’t.
It wasn’t only Nathaniel, it seemed, at the mercy of the valet’s intuitiveness. He reappeared, as promised, a moment later, shrugging on his jacket.
“After you, Miss,” he said, opening the door.
Hannah nodded her thanks and stepped outside. It served little purpose, she realized, to continue with her ruse.
“You’re very perceptive, Boscombe,” she said, striving to keep her voice steady. “I confess I have no intention of returning to the gathering, but my walk home is short and does not require an escort, so please do not trouble yourself.”
“It is no trouble at all,” Boscombe said, and offered his elbow. “Judging by your choice of exit, I also suspect your departure was of a subversive nature.”
“Er, yes, I’m afraid it was, though I doubt my absence will be of concern to anyone.” Oh, but how puerile her words sounded! As if they should be accompanied by a pronounced pout, Heaven forbid. Hannah sighed inwardly and placed her hand into the crook of the valet’s arm. “I was being truthful about the headache, however,” she said, wishing the throb in her temples would subside.
“Then peace and quiet is in order,” Boscombe replied. “And if I may be so bold, Miss Hannah, I must respectfully disagree with your statement. I’m certain your absence will indeed be noted, and likely to be of some concern. Will you not allow me to advise Lord Nathaniel of your––?”
“No!” Hannah cried, giving him a sharp glance. “You’ll do no such thing.”
The man’s face fell. “I beg forgiveness. I tend to forget my place, as my lord frequently points out. I didn’t mean to distress you.”
Remorse came in a rush, sending a flush to Hannah’s cheeks. “It’s all right, Boscombe. You’ve been nothing but kind, and I’m truly grateful, but I… I just want to go home.”
He inclined his head. “I understand.”
They followed the path around the side of Allonby Chase. As they turned toward the front of the house, faint sounds of merriment drifted into the night, and the light of dozens of candles spilled from the downstairs windows.
Eyes still brimming with anguish, Hannah felt a desperate need to release some of what made her want to escape into the night. Her heart felt as though it had been squeezed dry, and the urge to weep was like a noose around her throat. But to expose her true feelings to Nathaniel’s valet was, of course, out of the question.
Still, something about the servant engendered trust. Perhaps she could confide in him a little
. He’d already surmised that some kind of upset had driven her away from the soiree. Then she considered what he’d said about forgetting his place.
At least he had a place. Hannah was the daughter of an Earl, yet most of the ton considered her to have no place in their world at all.
If not for Lady Beatrice…
She took a breath.
“I was simply reminded of my place tonight, Boscombe,” she said, gazing up at the house’s grand façade. “I should have known better than to believe people would have forgotten.”
Boscombe’s arm stiffened beneath her touch. “I hope you were not mistreated, Miss.”
“Not directly, no.” She sighed. “Please don’t mention this to Lord Nathaniel, but I happened to overhear some less than flattering remarks about me and my son, that’s all, and I… I’m afraid I took it to heart. The ton have long memories, it seems.”
“They rarely forget a scandal, that is true, although not all of them are unforgiving.” Boscombe cleared his throat. “Lord Nathaniel told me of your situation. I can assure you, he does not stand in judgment. And, for what it’s worth, neither do I.”
Hannah couldn’t tell him that if Nathaniel had his way, her days at Allonby Chase were numbered. She tore her gaze from the lighted windows and looked to the darkness that lay ahead. It seemed prophetic, somehow.
“I must say, Lord Nathaniel has been very kind to my son. Griffin adores him.”
“His lordship enjoys the company of children,” Boscombe said. “He’s particularly fond of his nephews.”
“Yes, he often speaks of them.” Hannah smiled. “He’s very fond of you too, Boscombe.”
“I know he is,” Boscombe replied, without gloss or arrogance.
Soon, the gentle curve of Allonby’s carriageway led them into darkness, although the pillars at the main gate appeared as ghostly sentinels in the distance. Beside them, Bluebell Cottage formed a black shape, its small windows lightless. Florrie would already be abed, no doubt.
“All this must be quite a change for you, Boscombe,” Hannah said, as they approached the gatehouse. “After London, I mean.”
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