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Hannah Heywood slipped out the kitchen door of Beasley Park, her hooded velvet cloak drawn up over her head against the winter chill. There was a full moon tonight. It shone, luminous as a pearl, in the midnight sky above, shimmering over the snow that covered the empty stable yard.
After an evening of dancing and merriment, she’d been too restless to sleep. It didn’t help that she hadn’t successfully settled into her room. Her first night as a guest at the grand West Country home of the Earl and Countess of Allendale had been marked by much tossing and turning, and this night promised to be no better. She was missing her pets, of course. Hannah supposed it was to be expected. This was the first time she’d left them—or her parents—for any length of time.
She and Charles were traveling back to Heywood House in the morning, their brief stint as the guests of the vivacious Lady Kate Beresford, daughter of Lord and Lady Allendale, at an end. Hannah was eager to return home. In the meanwhile, her restlessness was best assuaged by checking on the only animals of hers that were still readily within her control. She let herself into the darkened stables. Her family’s team of carriage horses—Dandy and Walter—had been housed inside since Hannah’s arrival three days ago. Along with Evangeline and Tippo, they’d never been far from Hannah’s thoughts during
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There was someone else in the darkness of the stable. A gentleman stood in front of one of the looseboxes at the end of the aisle, his tall, broad-shouldered frame just visible in the glow cast from her lamp.
She recognized that icy blond profile. That height, those shoulders, and the adamantine firmness of that uncompromising chiseled jaw. It was James Beresford, Viscount St. Clare. Lord St. Clare was the eldest of Lady Kate’s three older brothers. He was also, quite possibly, the handsomest gentleman Hannah had ever beheld. So disturbingly handsome that, from the minute they’d been introduced to each other, Hannah had found it difficult to look him in the eye.
He’d been nothing but civil to her. Coldly, excruciatingly, civil. But she’d felt his penetrating gray gaze on her at the dance this evening—both during the giddy, stomach-fluttering moments when they’d waltzed together, and du...
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No doubt he found her an oddity. Her mismatched blue and brown eyes were often an arresting sight to strangers, and her extreme shyness frequently put them off. Even the warmest people sometimes found it trying to converse...
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Hannah’s growing sense of discomfiture increased exponentially. She supposed that, given her shyness, she didn’t strike him as much of an advocate. Naturally he underestimated her. He knew nothing about the strength of her convictions or about the lengths she was willing to go to for a noble cause. “An admirable philosophy,” he replied at length.
Despite her shyness, despite the butterflies in her stomach and the apprehension buzzing in her veins, she was eager for her chance at romance. How could she not be? She had been an observer of romance all her life. Her parents were still deeply in love after decades of marriage. Her brother was in love too. His engagement to Lady Kate Beresford had been announced only last month.
“Her older brother has joined them unexpectedly,” he said. Hannah nodded. “Ivo, yes. I already know that.” “Not Ivo.” “Jack?” Hannah had met the youngest of Kate’s older brothers on several occasions.
“I’m not likely to see much of him, am I?” “That depends. I can’t imagine him taking part in the season. Not in Bath. Kate expects him to remove to London in the coming weeks.”
James Aldrick Nicholas Beresford, Viscount St. Clare, handed his sister, Kate, down from the black lacquered carriage. He didn’t agree with calling in Camden Place so early. Lieutenant Charles Heywood and his sister had only arrived in Bath half an hour ago. They’d scarcely had time to refresh themselves, let alone settle in.
Such maidenish reticence in another girl would have been off-putting. In Miss Heywood, it had only served to intrigue him. Perhaps it was because her shyness wasn’t the whole of her. Underneath her blushes, she was a young lady of peculiar conviction. She loved animals, and was prepared to fight for them, even if she couldn’t yet summon the courage to speak up for herself.
She was graceful. Thoughtful. Beautiful. And entirely ill-suited for the role of his future countess.
Turning another page, Hannah found her article on the benefit of horses to a person’s health and happiness. It was a short piece, not more than five hundred words, included among dozens of other essays, poems, and short stories written by animal welfare advocates. Among them, none of the authors were identified by gender. Only their first initial and surname were used. Hannah’s piece was attributed to H. Heywood.
Mama took Hannah’s hand gently in both of hers. “Your brother tells me that Lord St. Clare called yesterday.” Hannah tensed. “Along with Kate, yes.” “And how do you feel about that, darling?”
They had always treated her opinions with respect, never judging or ridiculing her, even when they must override one of her decisions for her own good. But confiding her feelings—such feelings that she had—about the cold, handsome viscount was a different matter. Hannah found herself unusually reticent.
Hannah shouldn’t be comparing gentlemen to Lord St. Clare as though he was the secret standard of her heart. She wasn’t looking for a man with a striking appearance. She wanted one with an admirable character.
Thus far, the waltz had remained unclaimed on her dance card. Hannah anticipated Lady Carleton would supply her with a partner for it just as she’d done the other dances. But as Hannah approached her parents, it wasn’t her ladyship she spied standing with them along the edge of the ballroom. It was Lord St. Clare.
James had been invited to the Carletons’ ball along with the rest of his family. He hadn’t planned on attending. He’d already indulged his unwilling attraction to Hannah Heywood far more than was good for him.
As he looked at her, James experienced a rare, and totally unfamiliar flicker of masculine insecurity. What if it wasn’t only shyness that made her behave as she did toward him? What if she simply didn’t like him?
It had been months since they’d waltzed together at Beasley Park. She’d forgotten how it felt to be held by him. The heat. The decisiveness. The lean, muscular power.
“He claims you’ve danced every set.” “I have,” she acknowledged. “Though never twice with the same gentleman. I fear I’m not a very congenial partner.” “No? I find you quite congenial.” His arm tightened around her waist holding her closer. Her rose-festooned skirts swirled about his legs. “See how well we fit together?” Hannah’s heart quickened. “It’s owing to your mastery of the dance, not to mine.”
His reasons for remaining in Bath were a mystery to her. Aside from Ivo’s engagement, there was nothing to keep him here. Unless Hannah’s mother had been right. Her words echoed at the back of Hannah’s mind. Your brother fears Lord St. Clare has developed a tendre for you.
His gaze was intent on her face. “Miss Heywood.” His voice deepened. “Hannah.” “Yes?” Her own voice came out unusually thin and high pitched. “It has been sometime since I’ve begun to think of you in terms that are—” “Oh, you needn’t—” “May I speak?” he asked her. “Your father has given his permission.”
“I own that I have struggled with my feelings,” he said. “You are not, it is to be admitted, the sort of young lady I had anticipated attaching myself to. However, since almost the first moment of our acquaintance, I have found myself unable to fix my attentions on anyone else. I admire you greatly, despite my justifiable misgivings, and believe that, with effort and mutual endeavor, we would ultimately do well together. I beg you would accept my proposal of marriage.”
Hannah returned to her seat on the sofa, her throat tight with emotion. She’d never received a proposal of marriage before. And she certainly hadn’t anticipated receiving one from James Beresford, Viscount St. Clare. She hadn’t even known he admired her until he’d said so. But admiration wasn’t love.
