by Amy Corwin
What was clear to Hannah was that the dowager had a soft spot for Henry Hodges, unaccountable though it was. He was far too glib and too sleek for Hannah’s taste. In some strange way, with his gray coat and black gloves, he reminded her of the gulls wheeling over the beach outside.
As he drew off his gloves and placed them on the top of the pile of garments in Hopwood’s arms, a ring on his right hand flashed. Hannah stared at it, a shiver trembling down her back.
“What is it, Miss Cowles?” the dowager asked. “You have gone quite pale.”
“Just a draft from the door,” Hannah replied quickly, her gaze locked on the ring.
The piece of jewelry appeared to be identical to the one Lord Blackwold wore.
“The day has grown quite cold. I suspect we shall have another storm this evening.” The dowager patted Mr. Hodges’s arm. “You must stay the night, Henry. You cannot ride home in the rain.”
“It is not that far, but I shall do as you wish.” He smiled and kissed his grandmother’s wrinkled cheek.
When she turned to Hannah, she caught the direction of Hannah’s gaze. With a grin remarkably similar to Mr. Hodges’s, Lady Blackwold said, “You have noticed the family ring, I see. Each of my sons wore one—a conceit of my late husband’s to give each of our sons a ring with the griffin’s head from our family seal.” A shadow of pain crossed her face, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth and sad eyes. “My two eldest sons are gone, so Adam and Henry have inherited their rings.”
“Naturally, as the son of the second son, the jewels in my ring are merely rubies. Blackwold’s has diamonds,” Mr. Hodges said in a deprecating tone as he held up his ring and tilted it to catch the candlelight. The griffin’s eyes flashed blood red.
Hannah moved closer to the fire, crackling merrily in the library’s wide fireplace. “So there are two rings,” she murmured, relieved that the cruel man on the beach need not have been Lord Blackwold after all. Some of the tension gripping her chest eased.
“Four,” Lady Blackwold said. “I had four sons, and two are still living. Brian has the sapphire-eyed griffin and Carter—the youngest—has the topaz.” Her eyes brightened and she smiled. “Brian was a captain in the navy—we were all so proud of him.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Hodges said, gazing at the fire, his brows drawn together over the bridge of his nose.
Hannah thought he looked less proud of his uncle than mildly irritated.
“And his daughter, Georgina, is due to come to me at the end of the week,” the dowager continued, her voice rising with pleasure and excitement. “We will be leaving shortly thereafter for London. I am to present her to Society as her mother—poor, weak thing that she was—died when she was born.” She winked at Hannah, her hands fluttering to the ribbons of her lacy cap. “And I trust you will join us, Miss Cowles?”
“I—well, perhaps—if my trunk is found.” Hannah stumbled over her words. What was she going to do if her trunk was never found? She couldn’t cling to Lady Blackwold forever.
Lady Blackwold caught her grandson’s arm. “Did I tell you that Miss Cowles is the daughter of Richard Cowles?” Her gray brows rose, touching the fringe of gray curls framing her forehead.
Mr. Hodges smiled politely, but his eyes were devoid of comprehension.
Lady Blackwold’s grip on his sleeve tightened, and she shook his arm. “Richard Cowles,” she repeated. “That silly man who decided that wandering about in foreign parts was more important than his title. The Baron—Lord Rothguard! Or he would have been Lord Rothguard, if he’d bothered to apply for his title.”
“Ah,” Mr. Hodges nodded and gently pried his arm loose from his grandmother’s grip. “I begin to see the importance of this trunk, Miss Cowles.”
“I am not interested in the title.” Hannah crossed her arms. “I merely want to settle all questions concerning my identity.”
“Of course,” Mr. Hodges agreed politely, though the speculative gleam had returned to his eyes. “Well, I beg your forgiveness, but I have other matters to attend to.”
“You will join us for dinner, though, will you not?” his grandmother replied swiftly.
Mr. Hodges smiled and gave his grandmother a reassuring kiss on the cheek. “Of course, my dearest. How can I resist such charming company?”
A flush of pleasure brought color to the dowager’s round cheeks. She grinned and said, “You are a tease and flatterer, but you have my permission to abandon us ladies to our own devices.”
He bowed to her and Hannah and strode out, shutting the door behind him.
When Hannah turned back to Lady Blackwold, the dowager’s gaze was fixed on her. “Now Henry would not mind a bit of scandal, Miss Cowles. It would not matter to him in the least, assuming you can locate this trunk of yours.”
Hannah felt her cheeks grow warm and stepped closer to the fire, hoping the dowager would believe it was the heat from the flames that brought the color to her face.
The last thing she wanted to do was to attract Mr. Hodges, if that was what the dowager alluded to in her comment about her grandson. Hannah felt no interest in him and wasn’t about to sacrifice her freedom for the dubious safety of marriage with someone she barely knew.
“Come, Miss Cowles, it must have occurred to you—you must consider your future.”
“Perhaps my trunk will never be found,” Hannah replied demurely. She smiled at the dowager. “Perhaps I could become your companion.”
The dowager laughed. “You are not placid enough to engage in that employment, even if I wished it.” Her face seemed to crumple, though, and her eyes grew sad as she moved over to sit in a chair by the fire. Leaning on her cane, she waved to the wing chair next to hers. “Please sit, my dear. I am a silly old woman at times, as you already know.” She sighed and shook her head. “I wish I could offer you better gowns than my old cast-offs. If I had the dressing of you, you would look magnificent. But Blackwold keeps me on a strict allowance.” Her voice drifted off as she stared into the crackling flames.
Reaching over, Hannah gave the dowager’s wrist a squeeze. Despite the dowager’s sharp tongue and bluster, she was clearly lonely and sad. Hannah couldn’t forget Blackwold’s claim that his grandmother had been hurt before—cheated by other women who just wanted to get what they could from an old woman, who was clearly too kind-hearted and generous for her own good. Her sharp words were merely a thin disguise for a tender heart.
Loneliness had made her easy prey, and it bothered Hannah deeply that Blackwold thought she was of the same stamp as the tricksters who had taken advantage of Lady Blackwold and left her nearly destitute.
“Lady Blackwold, it does not matter to me in the least. You have been very generous to me when I am virtually a stranger to you. I am exceedingly grateful to you, and am very pleased with the wardrobe you’ve granted me.”
The dowager sniffed, holding her handkerchief up to her nose, and laughed sadly. “It is little enough. It is simply too bad that Henry has such a superb eye for fashion. He will surely recognize my old gowns, and I’m sorry for it. Still, you are a handsome girl, despite your scrapes and bruises.” Her eyes gleamed in the firelight. “We must have our lawyer look into this title of yours—it may yet be salvageable.”
When Hannah opened her mouth to protest, the dowager slapped her wrist.
“Oh, you cannot claim it—you are only a female, after all. But I have heard of cases… Are you the only living child of Richard Cowles?”
“Yes, but—”
“Excellent. I have heard of cases where the husband of the last child remaining alive might apply for and be granted a title.” Her smile widened, and she clapped her hands before clasping them tightly in her lap. “It would be a marvelous thing for Henry to claim a title—even the title of baron. And he would be an excellent husband, my dear. Very considerate and exceedingly fashionable. You could do far worse.”
“I’m sure I could,” Hannah replied in a strangled voice. Suddenly, she hoped her trunk might never b
e found. “But that would only be possible if I could prove I am the daughter of Richard Cowles beyond all doubt.”
“Naturally, my dear. But once Henry is made aware of what might be gained, I am very sure he shall comb the village most diligently. We will find this missing trunk. I have no doubt of it.”
“Or perhaps I should concentrate on learning how to behave as a proper companion,” Hannah said. “Which strikes me as a much more practical solution.”
The dowager laughed. “Nonsense. Your reputation is in tatters, thanks to my gossiping coachman and the villagers. No one wants a scandalous companion. But a wife—a touch of scandal would not bother anyone in the least—particularly the wife of a baron. After all, you have no need to apply to those stuffy patronesses of Almack’s if you are already engaged to be married. You would have security and a home—it would be ideal.”
“Ideal,” Hannah repeated in a faint voice, much of her previous sympathy for the dowager fading.
Dinner was an informal affair and, feeling drained, Hannah excused herself as quickly as possible to retire to her room. Unfortunately, when she awoke the next day, she felt just as exhausted as she’d been the previous night, and an ache hovered behind her eyes and in all her joints.
The dowager was pleased, however, that Henry decided to spend the day at Blackrock. As if sensing Hannah’s dilemma, Mary allowed her to assist in altering more of the dowager’s old gowns, saving Hannah from the responsibility of entertaining him for several hours.
By evening, her eyes burned, the ache in her head had spread to her joints, but Hannah’s attempts to excuse herself from dinner proved fruitless. The dowager simply ignored all of Hannah’s efforts.
“Well, it is getting late—we should prepare for dinner. Thank goodness you still have your jewels. Henry may not notice you are wearing one of my gowns if your neck is graced with diamonds and emeralds.” She frowned thoughtfully, her forehead creasing. “Although perhaps that is too much for an unwed girl… Pearls! You must wear your pearls. They are beautiful enough for even the most discerning eye and entirely appropriate for a young woman. You must wear your pearls, Miss Cowles!”
“Yes, Lady Blackwold,” Hannah replied, feeling doomed. She almost wished she hadn’t stumbled onto the road and been rescued by the dowager. Drowning was reputed to be a gentle death, after all.
She helped the dowager to rise. Lady Blackwold leaned heavily against Hannah’s arm as they crossed the room and headed for the staircase.
“I truly wish I had a new gown to give you,” the dowager said as they climbed the stairs.
A new gown was the last thing Hannah wanted. “Don’t worry, Lady Blackwold. There is no need for such extravagance. After all, I may never be able to prove who I am.”
“Do not be absurd, Miss Cowles. We shall, and we will do so.”
Was it too late to quietly walk into the ocean? She didn’t want to be a churlish and ungrateful guest, but suddenly, she dreaded dinner at Blackrock.
Chapter Six
Bemused, Hannah stared at the pale rose silk dress that Mary had laid out on the bed. The gown was lovely, despite the suggestion in the lines that it had been remade from a gown that originated in the previous century.
“Lady Blackwold sent this for you to wear to dinner tonight,” Mary said in a toneless voice. Her downcast gaze seemed to be focused on the tips of her black shoes, and she clasped her red chapped hands in front of her crisp, white apron.
“Thank you,” Hannah responded for want of a better reply. A sense of being maneuvered into place assailed her.
Certainly, the dowager had made it clear earlier that, while Hannah’s reputation might be too damaged for acceptance by Polite Society or her titled grandson, she was not so ruined that she wouldn’t do for her other grandson, Henry Hodges. Particularly since the possibility existed that Henry might obtain the title of baron if he ignored the deficiencies in Hannah’s reputation.
What the dowager failed to realize was that if Mr. Hodges could gain a title that way, so could any other gentleman Hannah cared to consider.
Which might make her very popular, despite her damaged reputation.
She studied the silk dress with distaste. She had no desire to flirt with Mr. Hodges or attempt to attract his attention. Earlier in the day, her feelings concerning that gentleman had been lukewarm, at best, when he insisted she leave her sewing for a walk in the garden. She neither craved his company nor disliked him.
Now, however, since the dowager’s inexplicable decision to throw Hannah at his head, she felt a distinct distaste for both him and the silk dress.
“The dress will suit you,” Mary said grudgingly as she reached out to smooth a small wrinkle out of the softly glimmering fabric. “With your fair coloring and all.”
“I’m not sure I wish to wear it.”
Mary stared at her, her mouth hanging open. “Miss?”
Turning away, Hannah glanced at the gowns neatly folded on the shelves of the open wardrobe. Her response had been churlish—beneath her. “Never mind.” Hannah sighed. “It is lovely. Lady Blackwold is too generous.”
“Yes, she be that, Miss.”
At last, something on which they could both agree.
Hannah was beginning to realize that she was unlikely to ever make a friend out of the taciturn maid, but she had to admit that Mary never let her personal feelings—whatever they might be—interfere with her performance of her job.
After helping Hannah into her dress, Mary wrapped a linen towel around Hannah’s shoulders, and with extraordinarily gentle strokes of the brush, created a simple but becoming hairstyle. She swept Hannah’s hair up into a fashionable knot, threaded with a pink ribbon that matched the silk gown, and created cascades of delicate ringlets on either side of Hannah’s face.
Gazing into the mirror, Hannah caught the maid’s reflected gaze and smiled. “You have done a beautiful job with very poor material, Mary. You are to be commended.” She turned her head from one side to the other to view the results. “I don’t believe I have ever looked better.”
“Thank you, Miss.” Mary removed the linen cloth from around Hannah’s neck and busied herself putting everything away. “You’d best be getting along to the sitting room—Lady Blackwold will be waiting.”
A sigh escaped from Hannah as she stood and shook out her dress. Her pearl earrings swayed and her fingers went to the matching necklace. Its pearly sheen echoed the lustrous silk of her dress, and a few pearls picked up a touch of the pale rose, giving the necklace richness and warmth.
The bruises that had developed on her back and hips after being buffeted by the storm were invisible under her elegant dress, but they reminded her of their existence whenever she moved. Her headache made her feel too ill to eat, but she had to at least try. She cast a lingering glance at the bed before she took a deep breath, straightened her back, and walked out of her bedchamber.
Dinner turned out to be much less tedious than Hannah expected. When Blackwold appeared, his neat appearance caused a moment of stunned silence. His valet had worked miracles for the marquess’s evening attire was immaculate, his neckcloth was well-knotted, and even his thick hair had been brushed until it gleamed.
The flutter in Hannah’s stomach made her clasp her hands together tightly and stare down, afraid of what her eyes might reveal.
Once they recovered from the surprise, the dowager and Henry Hodges vied to outdo each other with amusing stories of their experiences in London.
To Hannah’s dismay, course after course was served. Oysters and a thick, aromatic fish soup were followed by a venison roast, larded with bacon, crispy-skinned roasted potatoes, and asparagus in a delicate cream sauce laced with sherry. By the time the final course of dried fruit and cheese appeared, Hannah could only sip her Madeira and hope that no one noticed that she failed to take any of the proffered delicacies.
As they picked over the final course, a sidelong glance at Blackwold made Hannah grin. She bit her lower lip to avoi
d laughing.
A thick lock of hair hung over his brow and somehow, his neckcloth seemed to be slowly unraveling itself from its previous careful arrangement. The top button of his waistcoat had also come undone, though she could not imagine how, for the button was still tightly sewn to the pale blue and silver-embroidered silk.
The fluttering sensation she’d experienced earlier returned. There was something endearing in his increasing untidiness, and a feeling of warmth filled her.
“Shall we leave the men to their secrets?” Lady Blackwold asked, pressing her palms against the tabletop as she stood.
“Of course,” Hannah replied, flushing. Had the dowager noticed Hannah’s glances at Blackwold?
She felt embarrassed and flustered. The fingers of her right hand brushed over her pearls, playing over their smooth, warm surface. Like a child unable to resist the one thing she had been denied, she couldn’t seem to stop surreptitiously gazing at the marquess. In fact, she was worse than any schoolroom miss besotted by her brother’s tutor, she reprimanded herself.
Thankfully, the dowager either didn’t notice, or chose to ignore Hannah’s blushes. She took Hannah’s arm and drew her to the sitting room, continuing a rambling story about her first Season in London, where she appeared to have been the toast of the town and quite ensorcelled at least a dozen fashionable young men.
“I must say, you are looking very well this evening, Miss Cowles. Mary has quite outdone herself,” Lady Blackwold said as she sat with a gusty sigh in the red damask wing chair nearest the fire.
“Yes. She is a very skilled maid.”
“Have you considered what I said earlier?”
Hannah’s brow wrinkled as she sat down in the chair next to her. “What you said earlier?”
“About my grandson. Henry. He is much taken with you, I believe.” The dowager laughed and wriggled her small feet with delight. “I knew that gown would suit you and that Henry would notice. And those delicious pearls—you could not have chosen more wisely. Well done, girl.”
