She could hardly believe a kiss could incite such sensations in her skin!
His cheek was a bit red, although no bruising was evident. “It’s nothing, milady. A bit of horseplay with my son is all,” he added when her look of alarm remained on her face.
“I do hope the horse survived,” she replied with a hint of humor. “Perhaps a cold compress?” she suggested, about to ring the bell next to her place setting.
Henry’s hand settled over hers before she could lift the bell. “Perhaps the kiss of a fairy tale princess instead?” he suggested, a teasing light in his eyes.
Hannah grinned, her dimple appearing as she lifted her lips to his cheek and, ever so gently, kissed him. Moving his head just a bit, Henry was able to capture her lips and finish the kiss against his mouth. With the sound of footsteps just outside the servant’s door, the two were suddenly a foot apart, Hannah’s face pinking up and Henry staring at her with a look of amusement. Sheepishly, the two took their seats at either end of the table.
When the footman had departed, having filled their wine glasses and left plates of bread and cheese and bowls of savory stew, Henry waved at her from his end of the table. “I do believe we need a shorter table, milady,” he pretended to shout.
Giggling at his antics, Hannah lifted her wine glass. “And if I’m to call you Gisborn, you should call me Hannah,” she countered.
Henry sobered a bit. “Hannah,” he repeated, as if saying the name for the first time in his life. “I shall call you Hannah, but only when we are alone,” he stated finally. He took a drink and set his glass down. “May I ask, did our servants arrive from London yet?”
Shaking her head, Hannah said, “Not yet. But my maid, Lily, is very glad to be coming back to Oxfordshire.”
His brow arching at the comment, Henry regarded his wife. “Lily? Lily Parker?” he wondered. He remembered thinking the maid he had seen at Devonville House looked familiar.
“She’s your abigail?”
Hannah smiled. “Yes. You must have known of her before she went to London?” she asked, hoping Lily had left with a good character. She actually hadn’t hired the girl; Lily was sent from an agency shortly after Hannah’s mother died.
“Just knew of her, I suppose,” Henry replied carefully. “Her parents are in service to my new estate manager, Frank Coley,” he explained. Hiring the man to replace Grainger had been his second order of business following his return to the earldom; the first had been to order the building of two greenhouses. His construction foreman was seeing to their plans and building details and promised one finished structure, ready for covering in glass or oilcloth, in two weeks.
“What became of your old manager?” Hannah wondered, deciding she rather liked the stew Mrs. Chambers had made.
Henry seemed reluctant to tell her anything about Edward Grainger, but he finally cocked his head to one side. “I fired him.” At Hannah’s look of surprise, he added, “He could not ride a horse, and he did not share my desire to keep the tenant cottages in good repair.”
Hannah’s look of surprise had him wondering what he had said to evoke such a reaction. “How could a man claim to be an estate manager and not know how to ride a horse?” she asked rhetorically, obviously sharing his opinion on the matter.
“Exactly!” he agreed, holding up his wine glass in a salute. “By the way, what we might be having for dinner this evening?”
Surprised by the question, Hannah had to think a moment to recall the list of courses that would be featured at that evening’s dinner. She had gone to the kitchens, Harold following on her heels, intending to ask about creating menus for the next week’s meals. As the new countess, she knew she would be expected to complete certain duties, the menus for dinners being one of them. Mrs. Batey was not in the kitchens, but the cook, Mrs. Chambers was. Hannah nodded her head and introduced herself, but the cook took no notice of Hannah.
Her attention was on Harold, whose nose was sniffing everything he could get near, including the cook.
The woman let out a yell worthy of a Welsh milkmaid, the sound so startling to Harold, he froze in place and barked once. “Out! Out with ya’, ya’ big beastie!” Mrs. Chambers shouted, her meat cleaver pointing to the nearest exit. Harold backed up and then high-tailed it to the doorway that led to back door of the house, sounding one lone ‘woof ’ as his body plowed through it and toward the stables.
Hannah stood rooted to the floor, one hand at her chest as she regarded the large, rosy-cheeked woman who still wielded the meat cleaver as if Hannah might be her next target. “Pardon me,” Hannah managed to get out as she backed up against the wall. “Could you tell me where I might find Mrs. Batey?”
The cook turned her attention on Hannah, her eyes widening in surprise. The woman blinked, as if she thought Hannah was merely an apparition. Then she turned back to her stove and slowly looked over her shoulder. “Oh, my,” she murmured. “You are real, aren’t ya’?”
Her eyes darting to the right and left, wondering at first if the cook was referring to her, Hannah took a deep breath and nodded. “I am Lady Gisborn,” she introduced herself. “And you are ..?”
The cook’s mouth dropped open, a look of profound astonishment on her face. “So fired,” she whispered, her entire body seeming to sag with her words. “Oh, milady, please forgive my impertinence.” Her eyes drifted to the door. “That was your dog, wasn’t it?” she asked rhetorically. A whimpering sound, quite at odds with her size, emanated from her.
“Yes,” Hannah nodded hesitantly, trying to decide if she should put on airs at the treatment of her dog, or give the cook her due. But the kitchen was the cook’s domain. “His name is Harold. Harold MacDuff,” Hannah stated softly, deciding it was better to be nice. The woman would be cooking her meals, after all. “He is a very good kitchen dog. He’ll eat anything. And he’s a good mouser,” she claimed, realizing too late she needn’t make excuses for her dog.
The cook looked at the door again before dipping her head. “I never saw a dog that large, milady. Well, exceptin’ for Mr. Cavenaugh’s Maggie, but even she’s not as big as that … that …” She pointed toward the door.
“Alpenmastiff,” Hannah finished for her. “A very noble dog.” She took a deep breath. “I came … what may I call you?” she asked, realizing just then the cook hadn’t yet said her name.
Sighing loudly, the woman hung her head. “Mrs. Chambers,” she said quietly, apparently still thinking she was about to be sacked.
“I came, Mrs. Chambers, because … I believe I need to do menus for this week’s dinners.”
The large woman seemed surprised by the comment. “But Mrs. Batey does the menus, milady,” she said as she set the meat cleaver on the large wood block in the center of the kitchen. She backed away as if trying to distance herself from a loaded gun.
Hannah wondered if the woman was challenging her. Without a lady of the house, the housekeeper would be responsible for creating menus. “Very good, then,” she said. “Might I ask what we’re having for dinner this evening? I should like to know as I expect the earl will ask me.”
Holding up her hand as if she understood, the cook stood very still and listed that night’s dinner. “Onion soup, lobster patties, aspic, pot roast, potatoes, carrots, turnips, rolls, apple tarts and walnuts with coffee.”
Hannah blinked, thinking the combination seemed a bit off, but she didn’t offer her opinion. Perhaps the meal was her husband’s favorite. Perhaps the lobster patties would be better than those served at ton balls. “Thank you, Mrs. Chambers,” she said with a nod. “Carry on.”
The cook’s eyes widened. “You mean,” she paused, her eyes darting to the left and right. “I’m not to pack up and leave?”
Glancing back at Mrs. Chambers, Hannah shook her head. “No, of course not, Mrs. Chambers. Good day,” she said as she stepped out the same door Harold had disappeared through moments before.
So, when Henry asked Hannah if she knew what t
hey were having for dinner that night, Hannah sat up and proudly recited that night’s menu. “Onion soup, lobster patties, aspic, pot roast, potatoes, carrots, turnips, dinner rolls, apple tarts and walnuts with coffee.”
Henry’s eyes widened at her list. From her recitation, she had obviously memorized it, but he knew she wouldn’t have been the one to combine such disparate dishes together in a single meal. “Oh! My favorite,” he said, a look of appreciation appearing on his face.
Hannah couldn’t hide the surprise she felt at hearing his words. “My lord?” she countered, stunned he would think the meal worthy of being his favorite.
But a footman came from the kitchen and placed a note next to Henry’s plate. She watched as Henry lifted and read the missive, his face taking on a look of worry.
“Is anything wrong?” Hannah wondered, seeing his brows furrow.
Henry glanced up. “One of the men digging the east trench has been injured. The foremen has taken a horse to fetch the physician from Bampton. I should get back there,” he said as he stood up. “Please forgive me, my lady. I will see you …” He paused to consider just when he would next see his wife. “At dinner,” he decided as he gave her a bow and left through the door to the kitchen.
Hannah watched as her husband departed, feeling as if the air had left with him. It was at that moment that Hannah realized Henry Forster was truly a unique member of the ton. The man would probably never claim his seat in Parliament— he would always be too busy working his estate. And men who were busy with their lands had less time for leisure pursuits, like drinking and gambling and whor …
The last word of that thought was quickly squelched before she could think it. The only woman her husband would bed besides her was Sarah.
A small smile of appreciation lit Hannah’s face. I’m married to a working gentleman!
Chapter 12
Hannah Meets Sarah and Nathan
Hannah walked with purpose but was still a bit uncertain about her intent. She only wanted to meet Sarah. She wanted to put a face with a name, and, should the mistress seem the least bit, well, likable, she thought to appear as approachable as possible and offer her friendship. Although she was a countess and Sarah was apparently a low born commoner, Hannah wished desperately for them to be friends. Sarah was the mother of Henry’s son Nathan, and they had Henry in common, after all.
She slowed her step to regard the dowager house on the edge of the Gisborn property. If she continued past the flagstone path that led to the front door, she would be on the main road to the earldom’s village, its collection of cottages and businesses clustered almost another half-mile down the lane.
The stone house, which featured well-maintained shutters on all its windows and a newly painted front door, was smaller than Hannah would have imagined given Henry’s mistress and son lived there. She regarded the cut stones that made up the exterior walls. They had no doubt been dug up from the nearby fields when they had been converted to farms. There was a stately elegance to their arrangement, although their shades of gray made for a somber backdrop. The darker gray shutters did little to liven the look, but the front door’s cheerful yellow paint and a cluster of brightly colored flowers near the single front step proved welcoming. For a cottage that was to have housed the earl’s mother, it was passable. At some point in the future, that earl’s mother would be her, Hannah realized with some surprise.
Walking up the flagstone path to the door, Hannah took a deep breath and knocked three times. She carried two baskets of fresh-baked scones and loaves of bread from Gisborn Hall’s kitchen, the cook having been goaded into the show of hospitality by Mrs. Batey the day before. Apparently, the cook had little regard for Sarah, although she seemed to accept Nathan without question. Hannah wondered at the disparity. Sarah had borne Henry a son nearly ten years before; why would Mrs. Chambers begrudge the woman some baked goods? She set one of the baskets down on the stoop, intending the contents to go to some elderly ladies she would visit in the village after she concluded her call on Sarah.
The door opened slowly as a woman, who looked to be about thirty, peered around the opened edge. “Yes?” she let out, her voice a bit apprehensive at the sight of the pink-clad female who stood at her door with a covered basket and a tentative grin on her face. Hannah nodded, thinking the butler must have the day off. “Lady Hannah … Gisborn to see Miss Inglenook,” she quickly corrected herself, not having much practice in using her new name. She wondered if the woman at the door was a maid or the housekeeper. The house didn’t seem large enough to accommodate more than a few people. She held out her calling card, realizing too late she hadn’t had new ones printed with her correct name and title. “I am Hannah … Forster,” she offered, hoping her face wasn’t displaying her sudden nervousness.
Sarah Inglenook stared at the young woman who stood on her doorstep. This is Henry’s wife. So, the rumors were true. That Henry had returned from his trip to London with a countess on his arm. Well, the woman was quite lovely. Fair in coloring, with blonde hair that fairy tales described as flaxen.
Young and glowing and … quite the most ridiculous thing she had seen in the way of a woman in some time.
A rather large dog had seated itself just below the front step. Large brown eyes stared at her as if she might do harm to the young woman, but its overall expression was one of comical boredom. Sarah wondered for only a second if she should be fearful of the Alpenmastiff, but quickly decided the beastie meant no harm. “Sarah Inglenook,” she finally replied, her oval face splitting into a grin as she curtsied. Laugh lines crinkled near the corners of her eyes, and her green eyes seem to be lit from within.
“Oh!” her visitor replied, stunned that the woman before her wasn’t a servant. Sarah was dressed in a serviceable muslin day gown, her golden brown hair wound into a simple knot on the back of her head. Although she was of an age to wear a mobcap, she chose instead to leave her head uncovered when she was indoors.
Sarah stepped back to allow the countess into her home. The woman seemed friendly enough, but if she should find out about her and Henry … or had Henry told the woman about her? And about the son they shared? She would have to guard her every word until she learned how much the young lady knew.
“You have a beautiful home,” Hannah said as she moved into the front room. Obviously set up as a parlor, the furnishings and draperies seemed new, as if the house had undergone a recent remodel. If she noticed Sarah’s lack of a curtsy, she did not show it in her expression nor in her bearing. “Have you lived here long?”
Sarah regarded the countess for several seconds before taking a deep breath. “Almost two years,” she finally got out. “Oh, where are my manners? Please, have a seat, won’t you?” Again, she allowed a tentative smile, not sure if Henry or any of his servants might have told the new countess about her. They must have, though, for why else would Henry’s new wife pay me a call?
Hannah’s eyes widened. “You mean, you’ve never lived at Gisborn Hall?” she wondered, surprised that Henry wouldn’t have insisted on having his son and his lover living with him.
Her eyes widening a bit, Sarah swallowed. “No, of course not,” she replied, stunned at the comment. As she wrung her hands together at her waist, Sarah regarded Hannah carefully. She knows. “I would not expect the earl to provide hospitality at his house,” she explained, waving Hannah to a settee in the middle of the room. “Would you like tea?” she asked, suddenly nervous. She found herself hoping Hannah would decline the invitation and take her leave of the cottage. Then she could find Henry and determine what he had told his new countess.
“That would be lovely,” Hannah said with a smile. “I hoped we might have the opportunity to get to know one another,” she said brightly. “I realize most women would probably cringe at the thought of meeting their husband’s mistress, but I have to admit, I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance ever since Henry told me about you.”
Already on her
way to the kitchen, Sarah spun around, her mouth open in surprise at Hannah’s comment. Mistress? She expected to find the woman glaring at her, expected her eyes to be daggers, her manner to suggest Sarah would be cast out of the dowager house at first light. But her visitor appeared quite sedate as she lowered her covered basket to the floor and took a seat. “He is quite in love with you,” Hannah added, wondering why her hostess would stare at her so. “Of course, you must already know that,” she added with a knowing grin and a wave of her hand.
Sarah stared back, the words still making their way into her addled brain. Had the countess just claimed Henry loved her? And had she really said it as if it … as if it made her happy? “I wasn’t aware he felt … such affection for me, my lady,” she countered, having decided long ago that his repeated requests for her hand in marriage were not claims of love but were instead desperate attempts to secure her as a wife so he wouldn’t have to search for one during a Season in London.
She wondered at what kind of event he had found the chit that was taking a seat in her parlor. A ball, perhaps? Or a rout? Not a rout, she decided. Henry wouldn’t even attend such an affair, and she rather doubted the delicate looking thing before her would, either. She pointed toward the kitchen. “I’ll just be a moment,” she added as she disappeared into the other room.
Sarah’s heart beat in a staccato she was sure was visible through her plain gown. Henry’s wife was in her parlor! Henry’s beautiful embodiment of a fairy tale princess wife was sitting on her settee! What is she doing here? Sarah calmed herself with a slow inhalation of breath as she set up the tea service she used when Henry called on her. Thank goodness she kept it at the ready—she did not want the countess left alone in her parlor for longer than was necessary, or the woman might discover the hole in the upholstery of the wing back chair where Nathan had stabbed a small knife, or the place in the Aubusson carpet where his muddied shoe had left a stain the year before. “How do you take your tea, my lady?” she asked when she returned to the parlor with the tea service. She placed it on the low table in front of the settee and took the chair opposite from Hannah.
Love Regency Style Page 274
