by Regina Scott
Daphne stumbled. David caught her easily, but after a few more steps, she broke away from him, blushing. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’m still learning.”
He bowed again. “I’m sure you’re a delightful pupil, Miss Courdebas.”
Priscilla stepped eagerly forward as if intent to be his next partner, but David had played the dutiful host long enough. He turned to Hannah. “Miss Alexander, as you’re a teacher, perhaps you’d be willing to demonstrate to your students how it’s done.”
He thought she might refuse him, but she rose gracefully, black skirts nearly purple in the candlelight, and dropped a deep curtsey. “With pleasure, my lord.”
He knew his smile was tender as he pulled her into his arms.
His eyes never left her face as he swept her about the room, seeing his happiness mirrored in her depths. They moved perfectly together, bodies in tune to each other and the music. He thought he could keep dancing this way forever.
The piano let out a squeak, and David drew to a halt, Hannah safe within the confines of his embrace.
“This instrument is out of tune,” Lady Brentfield announced, rising. “Either that, or I simply don’t have my niece’s ability with it. Who’s for a hand of whist?”
He had no choice but to relinquish his hold on Hannah. Before he could think, Lady Brentfield set up the tables with Priscilla as his partner and her ladyship with Lady Emily. Asheram had joined them at some point during the waltz, and he organized the Courdebas sisters and Miss Alexander into another group. He didn’t have another chance to speak with Hannah before it was time to retire. He thought she looked as regretful as he felt as she escorted her charges from the room.
He retired for the night, but sleep held no interest. Why not go searching instead? He left a light burning in his room and slipped into the passage with a candle. Just as he was closing the panel behind him, he heard a nose. He froze, peering through the crack.
Priscilla Tate tiptoed into his room, gowned in a frilly nightrail trimmed in satin ribbons, hair tossled and cheeks pink as if she knew how bold she was being.
“My lord?” she murmured, glancing around. “I’m having trouble sleeping. Can you help me?”
Not if he wanted to avoid leg shackles.
She scowled and turned for the door. “He isn’t here.”
Head cocked as if she expected to be caught any moment, Lady Brentfield moved into the room. She at least was fully dressed. David could see her head turning to note the book open on the table near the bed, the bed turned down and slightly rumpled.
She let out a noise that sounded a bit like a cat hissing. “How did he escape?”
Priscilla tossed her head. “Why are you so determined that I capture him? I promise you, Aunt, wait until my Season, and I’ll catch you a duke!”
“A bird in the hand,” Lady Brentfield muttered, glancing about the room again as if she could spy David’s feet sticking out from under the curtained window. “Besides, most of the dukes I know do not have funds to rival the Brentfield legacy. This earl has no refinement. It should be a matter of a moment to get him to ignore the trust and sell this beastly art. Come along, now. It seems I will have to resort to more drastic measures to gain my ends.”
David shook his head as they exited his bedchamber and shut the door behind them. Brazen indeed. He didn’t want to know what she considered more drastic, but he had every expectation of thwarting her yet again.
But if she was determined that he sell the art, it didn’t seem likely she was the one hiding it. Who then? And why?
He could hardly wait to find out.
Chapter Seven
Hannah began arguing with herself from the moment she woke at a very early hour the next morning, and she was still arguing as she approached the breakfast room in the west wing.
She knew she was not the most practical of females. It had not been practical to reject Reverend Timken’s kind offer of marriage to take a job teaching school when she had never been particularly fond of children. It had not been practical to agree to postpone a most promising commission to play chaperone, but it had seemed the only solution at the time. It was terribly, horribly impractical to be falling in love with David Tenant, yet she seemed to be doing just that.
When she had gone to bed that night, she had scolded herself for her attitude. She had known him less than two days, for all that it felt like a lifetime. Even when he had said in the passage yesterday that he liked her and wanted to become better acquainted, she had not let herself hope beyond a friendship. He was an earl; she was a nobody. He certainly couldn’t marry her, and she did not think he would insult her with an offer of a carte blanche.
Not that she would have agreed to be his mistress even if he had asked. Her mother was the daughter of an Anglican minister; Hannah had been raised to a strict set of principles. She sometimes thought her grandfather’s reference, rather than her talent with canvas, had been the deciding factor in her being accepted to teach at the Barnsley School.
“All our teachers are of stiff moral fiber,” Miss Martingale had informed her on her first day at her post. Since then, listening to the sometimes spiteful gossip and bickering of her colleagues, Hannah had wondered whether that fiber was actually straw. Still, she tried to live her life according to the guidelines her mother and grandfather had laid out for her. Becoming David Tenant’s mistress was not compatible.
But it would have been so delightful. She allowed herself a shiver as pleasure as she remembered his kiss in the passage. He seemed to have been as affected by it too, yet he had not pressed his advantage. In every way, she found him charming. His clever teasing made her smile. He was open and honest, a refreshing change from Miss Martingale and most of the other teachers, for whom life seemed a series of posturing and petty grievances. It seemed to her already that she knew what he would say before he said it. She had never felt so comfortable with another human being.
Dancing in his arms last night had felt so right. She had wanted to pull him closer, to feel her heart beat in time with his. She had wanted to bask in the warmth of his smile forever. She shook her head to clear the feelings that crowded her. She could not be in love! It was ridiculous. She was destined to be a painter. It was not as impressive as a countess, to be sure, but she might achieve some stature of her own. She would enjoy David’s company, help him find his art treasures, and be on her way.
She turned the corner of the west wing, and he fell into step beside her as if he belonged there. After her recent thoughts, she dared not look at him. Surely her face was flaming. Just knowing that he had to have been waiting for her made her heart beat faster. Silently he handed her a single red tulip. She lowered her head in the pretense of examining it, anything to avoid his eyes.
“Asheram tells me her ladyship and the girls have been invited to tea at Prestwick Park. Plead a headache and stay back with me. We can go exploring.”
Although it sounded suspiciously like a command, the tone was beseeching. Her heart longed to obey, but she knew she couldn’t. “I really must start putting my duty first, my lord. Besides, I wouldn’t feel right misleading Lady Brentfield.”
She glanced up to find that he was regarding her steadily. It would have been a contrite look if she hadn’t seen amusement lurking in the depths. “I’m leading you astray, aren’t I, Miss Alexander? You could neglect your duty all day for all I care. It’s for a good cause. You agreed the art treasures should be shared. To share them, we have to put them back in their rightful places.”
“But with your guests gone for the day, you can surely take Mr. Asheram with you,” she pointed out. “You don’t really need me.”
His grimace looked more like a pout. “But it will be more fun with you along. I told you, I’d like to get to know you better.”
“In a dark, dusty passage?” she accused. “My lord, you do protest too much.”
He hung his head sheepishly, and had they been outdoors, she would not have been surprised to see him digging a ho
le in the dirt with his toe. “But I really do enjoy your company, Miss Alexander. I guess when I’m interested, I continue to move forward until I succeed or hit a brick wall. Have I hit a wall?”
Was he truly interested in her? Was he actually attempting to court her? Suddenly all her ruminations seemed to be unimportant. David, Earl of Brentfield, wanted to get to know Hannah Alexander better. He might actually be falling in love as well.
She stopped in shock, and he stopped beside her. Looking up into those vivid blue eyes, the half-smile on his tender mouth, the determined set of his chin, Hannah swallowed. “No, my lord,” she whispered. “You have not hit a wall.”
His smile softened. “I’ll see about a special luncheon. Go in without me. I’ll join you in a moment.” He took the tulip from her unresisting fingers and brushed the soft petals across her lips. The touch reminded her of his silken kiss in the passage. As if in promise, he pressed the flower to his own lips in salute. Then he strolled way. Warm from head to toe, Hannah floated into the breakfast room.
The relatively small room, by Brentfield standards, had a wall of windows facing the morning sun. The bright glow exactly suited her mood. Lady Emily actually smiled as Hannah took her place next to the girl at the oval table that graced the room. Ariadne and Daphne called greetings from across the table as well. The only one who looked at all unhappy was Priscilla.
The beauty slouched in one of the scroll-backed cherry wood dining chairs, perfect lips compressed in a decided pout. The apple muffin that lay before her on the gilt-edged china had not been touched. Hannah could easily attribute the girl’s sullen glances in her direction to Priscilla’s usual preoccupation with herself. Clearly the girl was not getting the attention she thought she deserved, which was all of it. Although Hannah felt a twinge of guilt, she knew it was time the girl learned to share.
It was Lady Brentfield’s manner, however, that most surprised her. The countess sat complacently behind her cup of chocolate, paying little attention to the conversation that ebbed and flowed around her. But she lifted her eyes and smiled when Hannah seated herself, asking after her health. Hannah had expected anything from a ringing denouncement to complete snubbing by the woman. After all, she had been monopolizing their host’s attention, something the countess could like even less than her niece did.
Yet Lady Brentfield was charm itself. She even encouraged Hannah to partake of the succulent strawberry tarts that lay on the sideboard along with the other delicacies prepared for their morning meal. Hannah shook her head.
“Tea and toast are all I find necessary in the morning,” she assured the countess. A footman obligingly brought her a cup and plate.
“Are you sure, Miss Alexander?” Ariadne piped up, blue eyes gazing fondly at the tempting pile of pastries. “They look wonderful to me.”
Lady Brentfield reached out to pat the girl’s hand. “I’m certain they do, dear, but you must consider your figure. Miss Alexander is of an age where a few more pounds do not matter. You, on the other hand, still expect to attract a mate.”
Ariadne colored, clearly crestfallen, and Hannah busied herself with spooning honey into her tea. She hoped no one noticed how her hand shook. Another morning, the stinging comment would have nearly reduced her to tears. At the moment all she could think about was how unkind the remark was to Ariadne.
“Besides,” Lady Brentfield added as if she had not noticed the havoc she had wrought, “those are his lordship’s favorites. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to deprive him of his pleasure.”
“I wish someone would,” Priscilla muttered.
Despite herself, Hannah frowned. Both Lady Brentfield and Priscilla were out of countenance, for all that her ladyship kept smiling. She only hoped she was not the prime cause of the anger.
David chose that moment to saunter through the doorway, his smile of welcome somehow blotting out all the unpleasantness of the last few minutes. Hannah smiled in return as he helped himself to an orange off the sideboard. She noticed Ariadne watching him as well as he considered the tarts. The girl sighed as he turned without taking one, and Hannah had no doubt that if Lady Brentfield left before Ariadne did, the girl would stuff herself.
“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, seating himself at the foot of the table and setting about peeling the orange. Hannah watched his long-fingered hands tear into the meat with as much fascination as Ariadne had watched the tarts. “What are you doing today?”
Three pairs of eyes looked expectantly at Lady Brentfield. Priscilla yawned. Hannah stiffened, knowing that she would soon have to fulfill her promise to David. Lady Brentfield’s manner notwithstanding, Hannah wasn’t sure she had it in her to lie.
“We’ve been invited to visit Prestwick Park,” Lady Brentfield announced. “The Earl of Prestwick is most particular as to who visits. We are quite fortunate.”
The three girls managed polite smiles, but Hannah could tell they did not appreciate the honor.
“Besides,” Lady Brentfield smiled, raising her cup of chocolate, “Lord Prestwick is very handsome, extremely rich, and quite unattached.”
Instantly, Hannah’s charges were preening, all except Priscilla, who rolled her eyes. Hannah wondered what there could be about the purportedly handsome earl that would make him uninteresting to the normally predatory Priscilla.
“I haven’t met the fellow yet,” David mused, pulling off a wedge of orange. His tone was interested, and Hannah thought perhaps he had changed his mind about staying behind. Disappointment coursed through her, and she told herself she should be grateful that she would not have to lie.
Lady Brentfield apparently heard the interest as well, for she hurriedly responded. “As I said, my lord, Lord Prestwick is most particular. I think it best that only the girls and I attend.” She turned to smile over-brightly at Hannah. “Which means we won’t be needing your services either, Miss Alexander. Feel free to paint or do whatever you like.”
The last few words had a decided edge on them again, and Hannah caught herself blushing even though she really wasn’t sure why.
She spent the rest of the morning helping the girls prepare for their upcoming visit. It was rather amazing to her that it took over three hours to dress and coif four young ladies. The choice of gowns alone took over two hours, with much trooping from room to room to match ribbons to gowns and gowns to pelisses and spencers and spencers to shoes. She was quite glad to stand in the rotunda and wave them all goodbye.
David, who had joined her for the farewells, turned eagerly to her as the footmen shut the doors. Mr. Asheram offered Hannah a smile.
“I understand his lordship has a job for you,” he said, and she realized he said it as much for the footmen’s benefit as to make conversation. “I’m sure you’ll do quite well.”
“I’ll try,” Hannah assured him.
He nodded. “I’ve always found serving Lord Brentfield a privilege.”
David clapped him on the shoulder. “Listen to him. You’d think he’d been serving me for years. And he wouldn’t be ‘serving’ now if I had my way about it.”
“Someone has to see to administering the estate,” the older man reminded him.
“And glad I am that that person is you,” David quipped. “What is it today, Ash, taxes or tithes?”
“I am still attempting to inventory the house based on the previous earl’s will,” his friend replied. “So, in my own way, I’m also helping in your work. I’ll go over my findings with you later as you requested.” He nodded to David and bowed to Hannah, then disappeared for the back portions of the house. Hannah let David lead her forward.
They spent the next hour wandering about the passageways. Unfortunately, they found not a single piece.
Hannah frowned as they came out in the west wing. “Are you sure there are still more missing? Perhaps you’ve found them all.”
David shook his head. “I don’t see how. There are still several paintings and a number of smaller pieces unaccounted for, according t
o the inventory. How about if we stop for a time and try again later? I asked Mrs. Abbot to make us a picnic lunch. Will you join me?”
Hannah nodded, suddenly shy. “But won’t your servants talk? I thought you wanted to avoid Lady Brentfield’s censure.”
He looked thoughtful. “I suppose someone might notice at that, although I get the impression most of the servants like Asheram and me better than they like her ladyship. Why don’t you pretend to be drawing in the sunlight in the garden? I’ll meet you, and we’ll make our escape.”
She grinned at him. “Sometimes, my lord, you are entirely too inventive. I’ll get my cloak and bonnet.”
His plan worked, and soon they were strolling down a country lane toward the fields beyond the house. The day was bright, the fields showing signs of spring. Green tufts of wheat turned formally barren ground to an expanse of ocean that rippled in the breeze. Clumps of crocus dotted the edges of the lane they followed, and jonquils waved above the new grass. David walked beside her, knapsack slung on his back. When he reached for her hand, she gave it gladly.
He chose a spot on the lee of a gentle slope, the field rolling away before them until the wheat ended in a stretch of wood. The oaks were stiff and dark, a line of winter across the hope of spring. He spread a plaid blanket on the ground, and she set her back to the view of the trees and opened her sketch book.
“All this is yours, then?” she asked as he pulled bread, cheese, and fruit from the knapsack. Her hand strayed across the surface of the open page of her sketch book, and she had a sudden desire to draw him. She watched his profile, strong yet gentle. It would be a challenge to capture so complex a gentleman. The idea was heady, and she found her hand trembling. She shut the book and reached instead for the food he had set out.
“As far as the eye can see, or so they tell me.” He dug out a silver flask and poured cider into two tin cups. They were dented and scratched, and somehow she did not think they had come from the Brentfield kitchen. “Everything you see belongs to Brentfield, except for that stretch of wood. Supposedly that marks the dividing line between the estate and the lands of Prestwick Park. I’ve been trying to find the records that show exactly where. I even wrote to the Earl of Prestwick, but he hasn’t answered. He probably suspected I was trying to take more than is mine. That’s more likely the reason he hasn’t introduced himself, not her ladyship’s excuse of my lack of pedigree.”
