Kathryn Caskie (7 page)

Oh, what had the Feathertons done to bring about such a visceral response in her? It had to be their doing, for there was no other explanation for this sudden fondness for a man she had professed to be the most irritating in all of Bath.

Hannah recalled hearing that the ladies, while in the last shank of a matchmaking scheme, had actually sprinkled some mysterious powder into their own grandniece’s cordial. They were shameless when it came to serious matchmaking.

Perhaps they had done something similar to her. She had just taken tea with the two clever spinsters, after all.

Mr. St. Albans turned his green-eyed gaze to her when they reached their place on the floor. He encircled her waist with his muscled arm and gently took her right hand in his. He smiled at her then, and all of her blood seemed to drain into her Turkish slippers.

Hannah’s breathing grew thinner still.

Devil take you, Annie, for persuading me to wear this oversnug corset. I do not give a fig how it shapes my form. I need to breathe!

Several times as Mr. St. Albans whirled her around the dance floor, she tried to break the gaze that held her so firmly, but she could not.

What was happening to her? She had danced the waltz a number of times, both in Bath and London, but this time—though there was no accounting for the notion—the proximity to this man seemed all too . . . intimate.

Just then, she felt his fingers trace a small circle upon her back, sending a tingle darting into her middle, and lower as well. She was horrified. Such incredible nerve the man possessed!

“Dear, s-sir,” Hannah sputtered, curiously noting that she did not miss a single step. “I will have you know that I am not as naive as you might believe.”

Mr. St. Albans’s eyes grew impossibly large and round. “I beg your pardon, Miss Chillton—”

“I admit, I do not know what game you play, Mr. St. Albans”—Hannah leaned close to make sure he heard her next words with total clarity despite the din of music and idle chatter that filled the ballroom—“but I certainly know its nature.”

Inexplicably, Mr. St. Albans released her hand and waist, and stilled his step. He stared into her eyes, his mouth opening and closing as if he meant to reply, but could not.

Hannah suddenly felt every pair of eyes in the ballroom upon her. Heat rose into her cheeks and burned the tips of her ears as she turned to see elderly matrons pointing at her and her statuelike dance partner. Young misses giggled at her predicament, and gentlemen grinned.

And they had every right to stare, hadn’t they?

Mr. St. Albans had ended their dance abruptly and was creating quite an embarrassing moment for them both. She turned to walk from the floor. Indeed, had walked several steps toward the door when suddenly she stilled her step.

No. No.
She’d not give in. She’d not feel shame for this. She had done nothing wrong, after all!

Hannah whirled back around, intending to walk up to Mr. St. Albans and demand he finish the dance—as any polite gentleman would do.

But he was no longer standing where she’d left him. There was only a blatantly unoccupied bit of floor space where the man had once been.

Oh, jolly good.
Now her humiliation was nearly complete.

Well, she wasn’t going to allow him to do this to her. Not tonight. Not ever!

Hannah’s angry gaze swept the ballroom, weaved through the crowd, and even sought out the door.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

Mr. St. Albans was gone.

Chapter Five

G
riffin charged through the outer doors of the Upper Assembly Rooms and into the street. At once, a stiff wind ruffled his hair, and in the night air the scent of coming rain became plain to his nose.

Still, it was only a short walk around the stately Circus and down Gay Street to his lodgings. If he hurried, and luck was with him, he might reach Queen Square before the first droplet fell.

But good fortune had not danced with him this eve, and now was no different. Just then, the sky rumbled above him. He glanced down the dark street for a hackney or chairmen but saw neither.

Griffin started around the Circus, his pace quick. A misty curtain, more wind than rain, swept around the curved rows of imposing houses. He raised the collar of his coat. But then wondered why in Hades he bothered.

What did a smattering of water matter anyway? In truth, a little rain might be just what was needed to cool the searing anger he felt for his blasted brother at this moment.

Damn Garnet.

He should have known this brilliant plan of his brother’s would not succeed. He was a fool to have ever believed it would have.

“Griff,” came his brother’s call. “Come on, now, stop! Trying to keep up with your horselike pace is making me perspire. I’ll mar my neckcloth.”

“I care not.” Griffin quickened his strides.

“Please.” Garnet sounded breathless. “Ouch—damn it! I’ve clocked my ankle on the fence. Stop, or slow down for god sakes, just for a moment.”

Even from the sound of staggered footfalls on the flagway, Griffin knew that Garnet would catch him at any moment, but he’d be damned if he was going to stop and make it easy for his worthless brother.

“Damn it, this hurts. Hold up—have a little mercy. I’m injured here.”

But he kept walking. The so-called injury was likely a ruse anyway to make him stop. That’d be just like his brother.

“Griff, talk to me. I need to know what the hell happened on the dance floor.”

As if Garnet didn’t know.

Griffin stopped abruptly and jerked himself around. “She
knew,
Garnet. She bloody well knew about the switch.”

Garnet’s jaw seemed to slacken. He was clearly gobsmacked.

“What do you mean,
exactly
?”

“I mean precisely what I said: Miss Chillton knew I wasn’t
you
.” Griffin ground his teeth as he took a step toward his brother.

Obviously seeing the heated look in Griffin’s eyes, Garnet raised a palm and double-stepped backward. “Hold off now. Hold off. No need to be angry. I have no doubt that this is all a grand misunderstanding.” He shook his head in apparent disbelief. “I assure you, my scheme was foolproof; it could not go wrong. You simply haven’t told me enough. There has to be more to it.”

“I’ve had enough of your conniving games, your
schemes
.”

“My schemes, dear brother, have never failed.”

“Never failed
you
in your conquests.” Griffin swallowed deeply. “But Miss Chillton is not a naive milkmaid, a lonely widow . . . or—or a bored shopkeeper’s wife from Penzance. She is a respectable woman of Society. And resorting to tricks and plots to win her heart, well, it’s disgraceful, that’s what it is. And . . . it’s beneath honor.”

Griffin turned away from his brother and grabbed the wrought-iron fence railing before him with both hands. He squeezed the cool metal until the blood leached from his knuckles, whitening them. Leaning forward, he dropped his chin to his chest in defeat.

“But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” he said resignedly. “It’s too late. I’ve lost any chance with her. I am sure of it.”

Garnet caught Griffin’s shoulder and pulled him back into step along the curved flagway of the Circus. “It’s not too late. I was watching from the door of the musicians’ gallery. I saw the way she looked at you. The way she bent against your chest. Her interest was ever so clear. You must have felt her attraction. You must have. I will not believe you if you tell me otherwise.”

Griffin turned his head and looked up at his brother. “I did. We both did. I know it. But then, suddenly, everything changed. She changed. And at that moment, everything I thought I knew, thought I felt, was wiped cleanly away. When I looked into her eyes, saw the betrayal she felt in them, I knew with all certainty that Miss Chillton was aware she’d been deceived.”

“Now, now, we don’t know that.” The fine sprinkles of rain began to bead atop their coats like tiny diamonds.

“There is no other explanation I can fathom.”

Garnet pulled up his lapel to protect his starched neckcloth from the rain. “Let us return to the house, with haste, and you can tell me exactly what happened and what was said.”

Griffin nodded resignedly, but he knew the coming conversation would be utterly useless.

He had played his brother’s deceitful game, and in the process had lost all hope of winning Miss Chillton’s affections. Of that, he was quite certain.

Edgar, the ever-efficient butler, opened the door at Number One Royal Crescent before the footman had even turned the handle on the carriage door for the Featherton sisters and Hannah.

By some stroke of fortune, the rain momentarily raised its gray mantle and allowed the women to take the stairs into the house without so much as a single water stain on any of their silk ball gowns.

“My ladies,” Edgar said quietly, “I have prepared a fire in the drawing room for your comfort and have taken the liberty of pouring three crystals of cordial.”

“Oh, a fire and cordial. How thoughtful of you, Edgar.” Lady Letitia passed her fringed shawl to the butler and hurried through the drawing-room door.

As Hannah shrugged off her pelisse, she happened to glance up, and despite the residual sting of humiliation she felt from being abandoned on the dance floor, she did not miss the exchange of warm glances between Edgar and Lady Viola as he took the frail old woman’s wrap from her.

Good heavens!
Annie had been right. How could she have possibly missed the connection between the two before? Hannah tried very hard not to allow her gaze to linger on the unlikely couple overlong, but the thought of their love for each other, having gone unacknowledged for years, was simply astonishing.

Yes, it was her duty to correct this injustice. In fact, she would begin making her plans the very next morn.

What better way, she decided, to repay Lady Viola for introducing her to Society. Why, she would never have made the matchmaking connections on her own that she had made through the Featherton sisters.

Without them, she would surely have no business or income of her own—save the pittance of a portion she received from her miserly brother, Arthur.

Lady Viola, wearing a fresh smile, glided into the drawing room as light as gossamer and floated into the unoccupied seat beside her sister.

She looked up and frowned, however, when it became evident that Hannah was not following her lead. “There is a cordial on the salver for you. Do come inside, dear child, and join us by the fire.”

“I should be delighted.” Hannah raised her pelisse, as if to hand it to Edgar, but when he reached for it, she caught his gloved hand and pulled him away from the drawing-room doorway. “Is
he
here?”

“Do you mean Mr. St. Albans, miss?”

Hannah widened her eyes and nodded wildly. Yes, she mouthed. Is—he—here?

“No, miss, he is not,” the butler whispered in a tone so low that Hannah could hardly hear a single word. “He has not yet returned from the ball.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He said, Hannah, that Mr. St. Albans has not yet returned from the ball.”

Hannah lurched at the proximity of the voice and whirled around to find Lady Viola standing close behind her.

“Come join us by the hearth, dove. Perhaps a cordial will calm your nerves.”

Hannah gave her duenna a smile and dutifully left the entry hall for the drawing room. But a relaxing close to the evening was not precisely what the Featherton sisters had in mind, it seemed. For she had scarcely rested her weight upon the wingback chair when the interrogation began.

“Dear gel, I know you do not wish to discuss it, but I fear we must know what passed between you and Mr. St. Albans on the dance floor. You both are guests in our home, after all, and if something must be done to douse any flaring rumors, sister and I must know at once.”

Hannah swallowed the rather large lump that congealed in her throat. “N-nothing happened . . . not really.”

The elderly sisters said nothing. Instead, they sat looking at her, not even bothering to blink.

“I swear to you. Nothing happened that should have necessitated Mr. St. Albans’s charging from the ballroom floor, leaving
me
the focus of the entire assembly.”

Still, the ladies spoke not a word. It was clear they doubted her opinion.

“
I
am the wronged party here. Not
he
!”

“Ah, here it comes now, Viola.” Lady Letitia gave her sister a nod, then turned back to Hannah. “How did he wrong you, gel, and what, pray, did you do about it that sent the poor fellow retreating to the street?”

Hannah looked down at her wringing hands. “There was something . . . different about him when we took to the floor after tea. An intensity I had never witnessed in him before. I own, I could feel it.” She allowed her gaze to travel slowly across the Aubusson carpet to the settee where the two inquisitors rested.

“But what did he
do,
Hannah, to cause you such worry?”

It took Hannah several seconds to find the words to express his transgression. “He . . . ran his fingers in tight circles on my back as we danced.”

Lady Letitia chortled at that. “Well, that is a very egregious offense, to be sure. Viola, I vow we should summon the constables, at once!”

“Letitia, do not mock her. She is a young woman and mightn’t have realized that there might have been an alternative reason for his fingers’ movements.” She focused her faded blue eyes on Hannah once more. “Feeling nervous might be an example.”

“Oh.” Something seemed to sink inside Hannah. “I had not considered that.” In fact, she had been so focused on possible rakish behaviors that it never even occurred to her that there might be any other explanation for his touch.

Hannah lifted the small crystal goblet, allowing the liquid to touch her lips, but she was too absorbed in thought to swallow. She replaced the glass upon the polished tea table.

“No, I don’t agree with you. I do not believe Mr. St. Albans was nervous at all,” she told the Feathertons. “We had danced the entire first dance together, and not once did he appear the least unnerved. In fact, were I to describe his behavior to anyone earlier in the evening, I would have said that he was his usual supremely confident self.”