Authors: Love Is in the Heir
“But I must thank you. You—you cannot possibly understand what this means to me. What you are offering . . . well, I’ve wanted it my entire life. A position within the Society is my grandest dream come true.”
“Then do not disappoint me, St. Albans. Bah, I know you will not falter in this task.” She thumped her hand to her heart. “I have a feeling about you. You, sir, are destined for greatness in our mutual field.”
A little twinkle lit her eyes then. “But, if you
truly
wish to show your appreciation, a peck on the cheek might be nice.” Her withered lips drew up into a cheeky smile.
Griffin laughed as he rose and placed a chaste kiss on the old woman’s cheek.
“Oh, St. Albans, how you make me wish I was a younger woman,” Miss Herschel teased. “If you truly wish, I shall not object if you wish to
thank
me . . . again.”
Once again, the Octagon was fair bursting with too many bodies wedged into too few seats.
The Featherton sisters, no doubt owing to boldness borne of advanced years and heavy purses, walked directly to the front row.
Lady Letitia wasted no time in dribbling gleaming coins into the eager hands of two young scholars, and a moment later she and her sister were seated directly before the podium.
Hannah, however, did not join them, despite their frenetic waves and gestures for her to do so. Instead, she preferred to stand in the back of the octagonal room nearest the doorway. In this position, should she feel the need to quit the room, she would be able to do so without delay. And this was important.
She had no doubt that with the topic of the oration being the coming Bath Comet, Mr. St. Albans would be in attendance.
This disturbed her. But there was no help for it. Miss Herschel was to be the speaker, and that fact was the only reason Hannah had ventured out of the house with the Feathertons that afternoon.
She had a plan—one that might divert Mr. Lestrange from pursuing his investigation of her mother. It would be her greatest matchmaking challenge ever.
In the front of the room, a lean, wigged gentleman tapped a long wooden staff twice upon the floor. The audience fell silent as Miss Herschel made her way to the podium.
As Hannah gazed at the tiny, frail woman, she realized that her plan was destined for immediate failure. Miss Herschel had to be at least twenty years older than Mr. Lestrange. Why had she not considered this fact? What had she been thinking, hoping to match the tiny pair?
There was no use staying a moment longer. Hannah brought her hand to her forehead and sighed as she slipped through the doorway to leave.
Suddenly there were strong hands on her upper arms, and before she even looked up she knew instinctively that Griffin stood before her, holding tightly.
Warily, she inched her eyes upward until her gaze met St. Albans’s shimmering green eyes.
“Hannah.” His tone was soft, so as not to disturb those inside the Octagon, and she felt her whispered name sweep warmly over her cheekbones. “My God, ’tis you. ’Tis really you, my love.”
Griffin tightened his hold on her arms. He couldn’t let Hannah go, not now. This was the closest they had been to one another in weeks. “Hannah, please come with me to the Tea Room. We must speak.”
Hannah’s eyes glistened as she peered up at him. Her lower lip trembled. “I think not, sir.”
Damn it all. She had to come with him. He had to tell her about Garnet. He had to.
To hell with the earldom.
He knew Hannah. She would never reveal the secret, no matter how badly her heart ached.
“Please, Hannah. There is something I must confess. Something that I am sure will mend the break between us.”
“Pray, what might that be? I can think of no conceivable confession that could ever make up for the way you treated me.” Her voice now trembled with emotion.
“Then consider the
inconceivable
. For that is exactly what my confession is.” Just then, he heard Garnet’s voice coming from the Bennett Street entrance. His breath caught in his throat.
Hannah would see him within moments.
No, not this way.
He couldn’t let her see Garnet. Not yet. He needed time to explain everything to her, to make her understand why he had kept such a great secret from her.
Garnet’s voice grew louder. Griffin spun Hannah around so she faced the door to the Octagon.
Then Garnet appeared . . . with Miss Howard on his arm.
Bloody hell.
Griffin flashed an imperious warning with his eyes, hoping that Garnet would see him and recognize Hannah from behind, and would whisk Miss Howard away before they ruined everything for him.
Hannah struggled against his grip, but there was no way he was letting go.
“Mr. St. Albans,
please
. You are hurting me.” Anger, not tears now filled her flashing silvery blue eyes. “Release me now, or I shall scream.”
He looked up and met his brother’s shocked gaze, just as Garnet belatedly recognized the woman in Griffin’s arms and the situation at hand.
Garnet whirled and raced back toward the Bennett Street entrance to the Upper Assembly Rooms, dragging a confused Miss Howard along with him.
Griffin let out a sigh of relief and loosened his hold on Hannah. “Please. I only ask for three minutes of your afternoon. Then, if you wish to go, you may, and I will never inconvenience you again.”
Please.
In her heart, Hannah wanted to allow Griffin the few minutes he requested.
It truly wasn’t so much that he was asking, was it? She could see in his wide green eyes how badly he wanted to speak with her. It was important to him for some reason.
Deep inside, Hannah knew that if she was truthful about her own feelings, she, too, wanted to spend time alone with Griffin—except perhaps more than the few moments he requested. She needed to feel him in her arms once again. Needed to feel his lips pressing warmly against her own.
She needed to love him and to feel his love.
And she knew were she to give him three minutes, he would ease himself back into her life, and she would give him so much more than she ever intended.
But this her pride would not allow her to do.
He was a rake. He had used her, hadn’t he? For certain, he would use her again if she allowed him. And maybe next time she would not have the strength to walk away from him.
Griffin seemed to hold his breath as he awaited her reply. His eyes shifted from her eyes to her mouth and back again.
This was so hard. So dreadfully hard, but she had to remember she had been the
victim
of his rakish game.
“I am sorry, sir, but I cannot.” She opened her mouth, hoping something polished, controlled, and clever would occur to her, but nothing did. And so, she resorted to the one thing she knew she could do to extricate herself from the painful moment.
In one quick, fluid movement, she twisted from Griffin’s hands and ran down the passage for the Bennett Street doors.
He did not follow, though she somehow knew he would not. There was something in his eyes that told her that.
Something, too, that made her want to forgive him for what he had done. Made her want to turn around and go back to him.
But she could not. No matter how much she needed to forgive him, to hold him in her arms again, she could not.
Hannah leaned against one of the pillars at the entrance to the Upper Assembly Rooms, resting her forehead in her hands.
She could not catch her breath. She waited for several minutes, trying her best to calm herself. Trying to forget about Griffin.
Lifting her face from her hands, she looked up into the gold, sun-brightened sky, blinked back the moisture in her eyes, then resolutely lifted her hem and started to walk the short distance back to Royal Crescent.
Hannah began to round the Circus. Her steps were fast, as if a coming storm threatened, but she knew the tempest resided within her, and no matter the distance she put between herself and Griffin, she could never outrun the pain and emptiness that lay within her heart.
Then, suddenly she heard a familiar laugh coming from the direction of Gay Street. She froze midstep and rested against the iron-and-brass rail nearest her for support. Her heart pounded like rain on a carriage top.
It couldn’t be. She knew that laugh though. Had heard it countless times when St. Albans lived with the Feathertons during his recuperation.
Then, at that moment, she saw him.
With
her
.
Less than a quarter of an hour ago, he had begged her to hear him out. And now, here he was with Miss Howard, making merry while she wallowed in heartache. It was too much to bear. Too much.
A biting pain filled her chest, and she clasped her hands to her heart. Dark speckles fluttered like ravens across her vision. With her other hand, she feebly gripped the rail as beads of perspiration erupted on her brow.
Lord help her.
He had not noted her presence yet, however, and so to spare herself yet another humiliation, Hannah hurried down a staircase leading below street level and to someone’s kitchen door.
There she stayed, hidden, dabbing away a few errant tears as Mr. St. Albans and Miss Howard walked around the Circus in the direction of Bennett Street.
Once they had gone, Hannah tilted her head back and drew a shallow breath into her lungs.
Why did she allow the man to affect her so?
Why?
W
hen the Featherton sisters returned home from the Octagon that evening, they immediately summoned Hannah to join them in the drawing room, as she knew they would.
She had not left them word of her sudden departure from the Upper Assembly Rooms, which likely worried them, but she was quite sure that when they learned the reason for her hurried exit, they would not scold her for the transgression. Rather, she was certain they would compassionately hug and coddle her, for indeed she had been through quite a lot that day already.
And so, when prompted, Hannah confessed her ordeal to the elderly ladies. But instead of rushing to hug her as she had expected, they simply sat quietly in their places and eagerly awaited Edgar to circle toward them with their nightly dosing of cordial.
With a childish huff, Hannah threw herself deeper into the cushion of the wing-backed chair nearest the hearth. “As I told you before. There is no longer any connection between me and Mr. St. Albans anyway. At one time, perhaps, I might have held some modicum of hope that there was, I know now that I was merely fooling myself.”
A little tingle tickled the back of her throat. That familiar worrisome sort of feeling that came upon her just before a flood of emotion.
Well, she wasn’t going to give in to it. She felt nothing for Mr. St. Albans anymore. It was just that she needed to remind her mind—and perhaps her body, too—of that fact once in a while.
Hannah waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It isn’t like I have any additional time for romance anyway—not for myself at least. After Mr. Lestrange’s mention of my matchmaking in his column yesterday, I have more paying customers than I can service. Why, at this racing horse pace, I shall be as rich—I mean as
comfortable
—as the two of you by summer.”
“Yes, dear, it is true that you will have plenty of coin and will no longer need to rely on your brother, Arthur, for pocket money.” Lady Viola accepted a cordial from Edgar, pausing before continuing her thought to gaze at him in that loving, heavy-lidded manner of hers. She took a small sip from the crystal glass, then turned her watery blue eyes on Hannah. “You have more than enough business to occupy your days, ’tis true. But you are not happy, Sister and I can see as much . . . even with our aging peepers.”
“I was plenty happy . . . that is until I saw Mr. St. Albans walking arm in arm with Miss Howard—directly after he begged me to join him in private for a confession of some sort.”
Heavens, just remembering the sight of the two of them together made the back of Hannah’s eyes prickle. Just a bit. But that didn’t mean anything, such as she still cared for him or anything remotely like that.
It was just as she told the Feathertons. He no longer held a place in her heart. Yes, she was completely over any feelings she might have had for him at one time. Had been for some time, in fact. Only, she just hadn’t been entirely certain she no longer loved him until she viewed him with another.
Now she was sure. Quite sure.
Because now . . . she hated him.
Lady Letitia wrinkled her nose. “Why should Mr. St. Albans being with another vex you so, gel? You are acting the ninny. You said yourself that any match between the two of you is an impossibility now.”
Hannah straightened herself in the chair and thought about Lady Letitia’s sharp question. “Well . . . because Miss Howard is simply not the right match for him. They have nothing in common, except for the fact that they are both more handsome than most, I suppose, but certainly nothing more.”
The Featherton ladies both leaned forward at once, as though a puppet string had drawn them toward her.
“Dove, were you not the very person who introduced them as part of one of your ‘matchmaking for coin’ schemes?” Lady Viola touched her index finger to her lower lip and tapped it twice. “Hmm, I do believe you were. And forgive me if I am incorrect, but Miss Howard paid you for that foreordained introduction, did she not?”
Hannah slid down just a bit in the chair. “It is conceivable that I rushed matters somewhat with the two of them. And mayhap I should have taken more time to acquaint myself with Miss Howard first. I mean, she is beautiful, plump in the reticule, a woman of quality. And yet, she is all of six-and-twenty . . . and still, not married. It should have occurred to me that something was amiss.” Hannah lurched upright. “In fact, I believe it is my responsibility to warn Mr. St. Albans of my suspicions. I did, after all, as you have reminded me, introduce them.”
“No, you should not!” Lady Letitia scowled at Hannah. “How could you even conceive such an idea? Yes, the gel is advancing in her young years and is not
yet
married. However, that warrants no reason for suspicion. Look at sister and me. Neither of us is married, and yet I do not believe you think either of us dangerous.”