“Intriguing?” he said with a laugh. “I suppose I am at that. So, tell me, when you are not reading, what do you enjoy doing for entertainment?”
Hannah glanced toward the door and then back at him. Would the man laugh if she told him the truth? She did not know him, but for some reason, she felt her secrets safe with him. “Butterflies,” she replied. “I find myself watching them in the garden and then sketching them and reading about them later.”
His jaw dropped, and Hannah braced herself for his taunt. Well, you did it to yourself, you know.
“That is amazing,” he said, yet again surprising Hannah. “May I share something with you? You must promise you will never tease me or tell another soul.”
“Never,” she whispered as she leaned forward in her chair. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” Her heart fluttered as she said the words, and she realized they were the truth.
“I have no skills in drawing, but I am fascinated with winged creatures as you are. However, my interest lies with the birds. The freedom they possess and the manner in which they rise above us all, to journey through the skies to undiscovered faraway lands…” He sighed. “It is as the poet MacArthur once said. ‘To be as the bird is to be free.’”
“So beautiful,” Hannah said, although she had never heard of the poet. “You also read poetry?”
“When I am not writing it.”
Hannah had to take a drink of her wine in order to cool herself. She had to learn more about this man, thus the wine could lend aid in that arena, as well.
However, as she set her glass back on the nearby table, a woman of great beauty entered the room. Her hair was a darker blond than Hannah’s and her blue dress emphasized a nearly perfect figure. The woman was indeed lovely, far more so than Hannah could ever hope to be.
“My Lady,” John said, rushing from the chair and smiling a broad smile that showed dimples Hannah had not seen before. “This is the finest chair in this establishment. Please, take it.” He moved aside and offered her his hand to allow her to sit.
“Thank you…”
“Lord John Stanford,” he finished for her as his eyes looked her up and down with appreciation.
“It is a pleasure,” the woman said. “I am Miss Catherine Oakley.” She batted her eyelashes at him, and Hannah could do nothing but stare as John brought a chair and set it between her and Miss Oakley.
Was the woman so blind that she could not see that she and John were sharing a special moment? Then, as the woman answered yet another question John had asked, the realization of what had occurred came over her. The woman had seen John’s smile and wanted it for herself. Caring nothing for Hannah’s feelings, she arrived to steal him away from her.
She wanted to laugh. What a foolish thought. Who was John to her anyway? They were merely traveling companions and nothing more. Furthermore, John would never be fool enough to be led away by any woman, let alone this Miss Oakley. He was clearly more sophisticated than to allow such a thing to happen.
“Alas, another season,” John said with a laugh. “Perhaps it will be my last; although, I suspect this may be the best season yet.”
“Why, that is my hope, as well,” Miss Oakley replied with that titter men seemed to find delightful. “Though I grow bored of the endless parties, at times. It is my dream that one day life shall be much simpler.” The woman sighed and looked past John to Hannah. “Do you not agree?”
“It is her first season,” John replied for her. “It would be unwise to make a judgment before experiencing it, would you not say?”
Miss Oakley giggled. “Oh, then you are but a babe just out of swaddling? I shall speak no more of the season, then.” She leaned in closer to John, and John turned so his back was to Hannah. “I must know someone you know. In what businesses are you involved?”
John laughed. “Too many of which to speak,” he replied. “Although, I can assure you there is nothing on which I do not have my hands.”
Hannah’s jaw dropped. Was he being crass? From the tiny giggle Miss Oakley gave, she assumed he was.
“This is good to know,” the woman said as she rose from her chair. “I should find my father before he drinks every bottle of spirits in the inn.”
“He sounds like a man I would like to meet one day.”
“I will arrange that,” Miss Oakley replied. “In fact, I shall leave my father’s address with the innkeeper. Do send a card when you arrive in London. I believe my father would be most eager to do business with a man such as yourself.”
Hannah could not help but glare at the woman. How dare she disguise pleasure as business!
John went to speak, no doubt to tell the woman that he would not be able to meet because he would be much too busy, but Isabel entered the room before he could say anything more.
“Hannah,” Isabel said in a chastising tone, “it is late. We should be off to bed.”
With burning cheeks, Hannah clasped her book to her breast and stood. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said to Miss Oakley, although the lie burned on her tongue. What she wanted was to throw her book at the woman!
“Good night,” John said, and Hannah let out a sigh. She had nothing about which to be concerned; John was much too intelligent for this woman, and he would not be led astray.
Once in her room, she found herself staring at the ceiling, her mind once again thinking of John. As many peculiar thoughts had raced through her brain that day, two in particular pushed their way above the others.
Why was she concerned with whom John spoke? And why had that concern made her want to hurt Miss Oakley, a person with whom she had just been acquainted?
***
As Hannah left with her sister, John let out a sigh of relief. Not because the woman had left but rather for the string of tales he had told through the day in order to appease her. He had no interest in birds or reading, nor had he ever read a line of poetry outside of what had been required at university, and even then he found it dull. However, he saw the effect his words had on Hannah by her smile. She had seemed fascinated with his every word, and his progress with her was bound to please Laurence.
Yet, a peculiar feeling had come over him as she left the room, for a part of him had not wanted her to go.
“I should retire, as well,” Miss Oakley said, interrupting his thoughts. “Father wishes to leave at sunrise, and the hour is late.”
The woman was pretty, like most other women with whom he had made an acquaintance, but that made her much too typical for his tastes. However, he could not resist making a woman, any woman, smile. He was not the rogue many believed him to be, but neither was he a prude, and he justified his actions by remembering the smile he gave them.
“Such a travesty to miss another moment of your company,” he said with a bow and a secretive smile that had never let him down when it came to women. He was not disappointed when she honored him with a deep blush. It was not the same pinkness of the cheeks he received from Hannah, but rather a more knowledgeable reddening that said she was accustomed to such attention. However, he enjoyed the game as much as most men enjoyed playing piquet. “Perhaps fate will allow us to speak again one day.”
“That would be lovely,” Miss Oakley replied, that blush deepening. “My father has many businesses, and I am certain when I tell him what a gentleman you are, he will be pleased to invite you to dinner and share in some of his fine brandy as you engage in business dealings together.”
John smiled, but his mind raced. The fact of the matter was he was in need of some new business connections, and if this woman could initiate such a connection, it might be exactly what he needed. If it meant pretending to find her interesting in the process, then so be it. “That would be wonderful. I am eager to meet him.”
“Then I will await your card,” she said before turning and leaving as gracefully as she had entered.
John returned to his chair. On most occasions such as these, those occasions where he piqued the interest of some woman
such as Miss Oakley, he felt a sense of pride in his accomplishments. These encounters typically were followed up with him sending a card, calling over, and engaging in conversation. It was a ritual much like a hunter stalking his prey. There was a thrill in the game.
In the end, when he had completed his task, he found such women boring. Oftentimes they would speak of embroidery or other mundane tasks that held no appeal to him. That was when he would break their hearts. He never set out to hurt anyone, but as he continued to play his game, he no longer saw the woman but rather a conquest of sorts.
The problem now was that, a month earlier, he had sworn off the game.
He trembled at the memory and grabbed his glass to take a swift drink. Not only had he met his match, but it had not ended as he would have liked. For that reason, he had left his home in Cornwall and sought refuge with his cousin.
The room was now empty, as was the seat beside him. The woman who had occupied it earlier intrigued him. He did not feel a bit guilty for lying concerning his love for nature and books, but he had done it for a noble cause. Regardless, something about the woman caused him to pause. By all appearances, she was a bluestocking through and through, but she lacked the plainness of many of the women he knew who preferred books to men.
When he had first laid eyes on her that morning, he had to exaggerate his bravado lest he be consumed by her beauty. When she spoke, it was with authority no matter how quiet her voice was.
And then there was the mention of the cobbler, Hans, and his son.
John was no fool. He had heard quite clearly that she had called him handsome, but he enjoyed teasing her in the carriage by inquiring more about this supposed cobbler. The more she tried to explain, the more improbable was her story, but as she spoke, he found himself drawn in by her voice.
“It is the drink,” he mumbled into his glass. “You can have any woman you choose, and it will not be a bluestocking, I promise you that.” He finished off the rest of his drink and then gazed into the fire. Although he was intrigued with Hannah, they had nothing in common.
That was not true; they both were equally handsome.
He chuckled. No, he would have to find a different woman by the end of the season, one he could finally marry and put the troubles he left behind in Cornwall away for good.
“You have not retired to bed?” Laurence asked as he stepped into the room.
John smiled at his cousin, who took the seat Hannah had vacated earlier. How strange that this recluse—made so of his own doing because of his embarrassment over his leg—was going to London. John wanted to know what Isabel had done to make such great changes in this man.
“No, I have been thinking on a few things,” John replied to the question Laurence had asked.
His cousin chuckled. “Fires tend to do that with men.”
A server entered the room with a tray that held two mugs. He placed them on the table, bowed, and then left the room. John looked down at the ale and smiled.
“Indeed, fires can bring about many thoughts,” he replied as he picked up one of the mugs. “Thanks for this.” He lifted the mug as if to toast.
Laurence lifted his in reply. “It has been some time since I have enjoyed a good mug of ale.”
John chuckled. “Indeed. Concerning that, and I do not mean to be rude…”
“We are family. Speak freely.”
“You were never one to leave your home, and now you are on your way to London for the season? What has changed that made you decide to do such a thing?”
Laurence pursed his lips in thought. “There are many factors, but in truth, I must admit it was all due to Isabel.”
“She is making you attend?” John asked in surprise. Was the man so in love that he would allow his wife to dictate his comings and goings? If this was the case, the dukedom was in dire trouble.
“No,” Laurence said with a laugh. “Isabel, she has the strength many women, and perhaps even men, lack. It was in that strength that I confronted my past.”
“That is good news,” John said, thinking about his own past. “I am pleased for you. I have not seen you this cheerful since…”
“Yes, since before my parents’ untimely death. I am at peace now, as much as they are.”
John considered the man’s words. To be at peace was something for which he longed, but he doubted the existence of another woman such as Isabel for himself.
“How was your conversation with Hannah?” Laurence had a twinkle in his eyes John was unsure if he cared for or not.
“Intriguing.” He glanced to either side to assure himself no one could overhear. “The woman loves to read. I must admit that, although I care nothing for such activities, she did make it sound interesting.”
“She is a good woman, but I fear she has become so engrossed in her books, she has forgotten the outside world. I did the same, but for different reasons, and I believe this season will force her out into the world.”
“I will do what I can to help,” John said. “Judging by our conversation tonight, she is excited about the season. I have no doubt that she will find the perfect suitor before she is to return home.”
“That will make both Isabel and myself, and her mother, very happy,” Laurence said with a smile. “But what of you? This is your fourth season. Will you come away with a woman you believe is worthy as a bride?”
“Oh, yes,” John replied. “By the end of the season, I will have a bride-to-be.”
“Then we shall drink to luck, for both you and Hannah.” He raised his mug. “May you both find what you seek.”
John raised his mug in agreement. He was unsure about Hannah, but he knew he needed as much luck as he could get.
Chapter Six
As Hannah followed Laurence and Isabel through their London residence, a townhouse much larger than she had expected with its nine bedrooms, a ballroom, and a library, as well as the typical drawing and other necessary rooms. Granted, it was not as large as Scarlett Hall, but it was impressive, nonetheless.
Scarlett Hall. Just the thought of her childhood home gave her a longing to return there, to return to a time when these heavy burdens to attend the season were not forced upon her. A time when she was allowed to read whenever she liked, wherever she wished, and rarely called upon to pretend to be someone she was not. She also missed the open fields, but the small park nearby would have to do.
Hannah perked up when she went to the bedroom assigned her and found she had been assigned a lady’s maid, Sally by name. To most women of the ton, having a lady’s maid was as common as owning a pair of stockings. However, Hannah’s mother thought the cost of such a servant was unnecessary, especially when one had three daughters.
“You may have a lady’s maid when you marry,” she had told her daughters often. “Until then, rely on one another for aid in dressing.”
To be honest, Hannah could not have cared less if she had a maid or not, but the fact she had one now, she had to admit, was a bit exciting. Juliet was not a patient companion when it came to dressing, especially on those nights when full-dress was required.
After an early dinner of which Hannah ate little—traveling did that to her—she gained permission to visit the library. Laurence did not seem surprised at the request; Hannah wondered if she was that obvious and realized she should not be. Regardless, she was glad for the distraction.
The sun had yet to set, and it streamed rays through a grand window that brought light to the otherwise dark room. Stained bookshelves filled two of the walls floor to ceiling, the rich dark-stained wood crafted with intricate lines. Two large club chairs sat before a fireplace, a dying fire popping from time to time in the grate. To some, the room had a stuffiness that would have sent them running to the open airiness of the drawing room. However, to Hannah, it was like a comfortable blanket.
She would have enjoyed it much more if a problem were not gnawing at the back of her mind. Thoughts of John and the night before persisted, and although she did not wish ill will
on Miss Oakley, Hannah could not help but wonder how long the two had spent talking beside the fire after she retired.
Against her will, her imagination took root. She could picture them, their chairs pushed close together, Miss Oakley seducing John with her beauty and wit and leaving poor John to cower in fright when the woman made an attempt to kiss him against his will. He was a gentleman and would never strike a lady; however, Hannah would be happy to do it for him. With steps as quick as lightning, she would give the woman a right slap for her forwardness, and Miss Oakley would beg for forgiveness. Then, when the woman ran away in shame, Hannah would allow John to hold her.
A loud pop from the fireplace brought Hannah back to the library, and she placed a hand on her cheek in horror. What was wrong with her? Never in her life had she ever thought of striking a girl—or a woman—because of a man! Juliet, yes, for her moments of foolishness, but never had she grown so jealous she wished to strike someone. Then again, she had never had any interest in a man before….
“You have a guilty expression.”
Hannah turned to see Isabel enter the room, a wide grin on her face.
“Have you been caught in something you should not?”
Is she so strong and wise that she could read my thoughts? Hannah wondered in a panic. No, that was ridiculous.
“Do I need to inform Laurence?”
She did know!
“I…” The words stuck in Hannah’s throat. What would Laurence do when he found out she had found an attraction for his cousin?
Isabel came to stand in front of Hannah, her arms crossed over her breasts. “Imagine his horror in learning you have stolen one of his books.”
Hannah sighed as her body deflated with relief. She would not have to confess the truth to her sister!
Echoes of the Heart: Secrets of Scarlett Hall Book 2 Page 6
