The Seduction of an Earl

by Linda Rae Sande

  “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, dinner 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 they 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 could not 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 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. 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’d 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 in 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 not 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, she was lovely. Fair in coloring, with blonde hair that fairy tales described as flaxen. Young and glowing and ... quite the most ridiculous thing she’d 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 visitor into her home. The countess seemed friendly enough, but if the woman 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?”

  Sara
h 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’d 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 was 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.

  “Oh, you must call me Hannah,” her visitor insisted as she leaned forward. “I do not want there to be any formality between us,” Hannah added. She lifted the basket. “I had Cook make some scones and bread. I daresay she makes the very best scones,” she added as she held out the basket toward her hostess.

  Sarah took the proffered basket, the expression on her face one of surprise. “Thank you, my lady,” she said in awe, realizing from the weight that the basket probably held enough baked goods to see her and Nathan through a week or more. Probably much more.

  “Hannah,” her visitor said by way of correcting her. “May I call you Sarah?” she wondered then, her head tilted in such a way as to suggest she really hoped they could be friends.

  Sarah swallowed, surprised at Hannah’s friendly nature but suddenly suspicious of the gift she bore. Were the baked goods poisoned? Mrs. Chambers had never much cared for her. If the cook knew the baked goods were for her, she might have made them with too much salt or ...

  “I told Mrs. Chambers I was going to make some calls in the village,” Hannah offered, once she realized Sarah wasn’t going to answer her question. “Mrs. Batey made a list of several households that require a bit of charity, so I will visit those later – perhaps a couple of them today.” She didn’t add that there was another basket of bread out on the stoop, covered with a cloth, and under Harold’s protection. She hoped Harold hadn’t suddenly developed a taste for bread.

  “Oh, of course,” Sarah replied, realizing the bread and scones were probably just fine. She took a deep breath. “So, the earl ... told you about me?” she ventured, still expecting a fit of jealous rage to replace the rather calm façade the countess was displaying.

  Hannah dipped her head. “He did, indeed. The very first day he called on me, in fact,” she said as she remembered their ride in Hyde Park.

  Sarah poured a cup of tea as she struggled to keep her face impassive. “Milk? Sugar?” she wondered, glancing over the tea tray to be sure she had all the pieces in the proper place.

  “Yes to both,” Hannah replied with a smile. “I really wish you would consider moving into Gisborn Hall,” she said with a sigh, noting there were no servants present. “There are plenty of bedchambers, and although there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of a household staff, I’m sure we can find someone to see to your needs. And to Nathan,” she added, wondering if Sarah would even consider the arrangement given she’d probably lived in the dowager house since Henry inherited the earldom. “Is he here? I would so like to meet him.”

  Pouring a cup of tea for herself, Sarah shook her head. “I quite like having my own household,” she replied gently, “Especially since Nathan will never inherit Gisborn’s property.” This last was said with a hint of regret, as if she had just then realized that by not marrying Henry Forster, she had relegated the boy to life as a bastard. “The boy is with his tutor now. In the village,” she explained, in answer to Hannah’s other query. “Gisborn is quite adamant that he be ready for Abingdon School. He’ll start there in the fall. It’s close enough that Nathan can come home for the weekends, but he’ll board during the weeks. It’s a good thing it’s still another five months away. I know it will be harder on me than on him when he leaves,” she said, stopping suddenly when she realized she was prattling. Dipping her head, she added a lump of sugar to her tea and stirred it quietly.

  Hannah sipped her own tea. “I think it’s so romantic that you and Gisborn have known one another since childhood and would remain a devoted couple even now,” she commented, wondering why Sarah would seem so nervous in her own home. Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?

  Nearly spilling the cup of tea she held, Sarah stared at Hannah. “Romantic?” she repeated, not intending to sound surprised by the word. But never in the years Henry Forster had insisted on providing protection for her and her son could Sarah claim romance was involved. “I think ... perhaps I need to ...” She stopped, not sure what to say. The countess had obviously jumped to conclusions about Sarah’s relationship with Henry, but those conclusions must have been based on what Henry had told Hannah. Just how did the earl describe his relationship with me? “Oh, dear.” Sarah realized she had better set the countess straight on a few details while she had her alone.

  Hannah waited for a moment while Sarah seemed to have a discussion with herself. She wondered then if her visit was a mistake. She was beginning to think she should have allowed Henry to make the introductions, to help smooth thin
gs over between the two women. But since she felt no jealousy, nor any animosity toward the mistress, Hannah thought it only proper she make the first move. “I have always believed that a man only ever loves his mistress, and that he only marries so that he might have a mother for his children,” she stated, the mantra something she was quite sure was true. She’d spoken the words often enough, sometimes to nods of agreement while other times to slightly shocked ladies who found the word ‘mistress’ to be an especially foul word.

  Sarah stared at her as if she was one of those who found the word ‘mistress’ especially foul. Oh, dear. She hasn’t considered herself in that light, Hannah realized as she regarded the mother of Henry’s son.

  “Well, I can tell you’ve spent a good deal of your life in London,” Sarah said finally, a smile appearing along with a blush. She’d heard the ladies of the ton could be quite glib about the men in their lives, but to hear one announce her total and complete acceptance of a mistress in her husband’s life left her stunned in an amused sort of way. “I ... I don’t know what to say,” she finally admitted. “Except that ...” She leaned forward, her back quite rigid. “I have no intention of ever living under the same roof as Henry Forster. I have never considered myself his mistress. Nor do I expect to do so now that Henry has married,” she announced with a firm shake of her head. She was still smiling, although it was more out of nervousness than of joy at having learned that Henry had finally married.

  Hannah regarded her hostess, her face taking on the pink blush that showed her embarrassment. She struggled for a better word to use. “Paramour, perhaps?” she ventured carefully.

  Sarah’s eyes widened, but her shoulders sunk a bit. Taking a sip of tea, she fought the tears that threatened in the corners of her eyes. “Perhaps,” she agreed, holding onto her teacup as if her very life depended on it. “But I must inform you, Lady Gisborn ...”