Authors: Love Is in the Heir
Hannah turned her narrowed gaze up to Griffin. “I might have considered that once—but no more.”
Lady Viola released her hold on Hannah’s arm. “Dove, you have no clients this eve. ’Twas—”
“The
earl’s
doing, I fear. He hired several gentlemen to engage you so you would have to attend the ball this eve.”
Lady Viola waved her furled fan in the air. “’Twas not just the earl. Sister and I were in league with the earl at every step.”
Hannah exhaled. This was unbelievable! “You know how long and hard I worked on these matchmaking strategies—and it was all for naught?”
“Yes.” Lady Viola tried to look sympathetic. “But Sister and I had a strategy of our own . . . and, well, dove, we have been at this game far longer than you.” The old woman snatched up Hannah’s hand and placed it into Mr. St. Albans’s. “
Dance
. Listen . . . and above all else,
believe
what he tells you, for I have it on excellent authority that he speaks the truth.”
Hannah peered up into his eyes as Griffin positioned her on the dance floor, and despite her intent to remain cool and detached, her heart was sent pounding.
Just what would he say that might actually cause her to forget everything that had passed between them and forgive him?
The orchestra began to play—a slow, soothing melody. Griffin uttered not a single word, but rather gazed down upon her, his eyes glistening with deep emotion as they began to move. Her own heart swelled, and she looked away, feeling all too unable to endure this intimacy much longer.
“Sir, if you wish to speak with me, I should like to hear what is so all-important that you must involve the Feathertons and the earl as well in order to achieve your objective.”
“I did not involve them. They involved themselves, for it was clear to everyone that you would not listen to me otherwise.”
“Well, Mr. St. Albans, you have my undivided attention now. What say you?”
Hannah felt his arm tighten around her waist, as though he feared that whatever he was about to say would cause her to flee.
“After the comet passes, I am to leave with Miss Herschel for London. She has recommended to the Royal Astronomical Society that I receive a royal appointment.” He stared into her eyes then, and she knew he awaited her reaction. She fastened her gaze on Lady Letitia and the earl in the distance, who had collapsed upon a plump cushioned bench along the floor’s perimeter and were laughing as they took turns fanning each other with Lady Letitia’s lavender-lace fan.
So, he was leaving for London. What did that fact have to do with her? It made little sense to Hannah. “I am very pleased for you, Mr. St. Albans. I know your passion is wed to the study of the stars.” Hannah looked up at him through her lashes.
“No, my passion is wed to you, Hannah. From the moment we first met on the cliffs in Cornwall, I knew that
you
were my future . . . and I believe you felt the same.” The pupils in his eyes had grown incredibly dark. There was more to come.
“Dear God, I do not know what I might have done to vex you so, but I love you, Hannah, with all my heart.”
Hannah felt his hand, the one that held her waist, tremble.
How she wanted to believe him. Had she not had it proved to her not once, but twice, that the gentleman could not be trusted, she would have read the emotion in his eyes, his face, his body—and taken his words for the truth.
But she knew better this time. She would not be taken in by his words of love, only to see him gallivanting off with Miss Howard in the very next instant.
Thankfully, the set ended with that dance, and a tea interval was announced. As the crowd bustled their way into the Tea Room, Hannah and Griffin were left standing in the center of the dance floor alone.
As he belatedly lowered his hands from her waist and gloved fingers, Hannah steeled herself for the harsh reply she was to deliver. “Griffin, you tell me you love me, then in the next moment, you share your affections with another. How can I possibly believe you now?”
Hannah stepped past him, ignoring his pleas for her to stop, and hurried to join the Featherton sisters in the Tea Room. She pressed through a throng of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen who congregated just inside the open Tea Room doors, and made her way to the core of the room, a vantage from which she hoped to spy the Feathertons.
“Hannah.” Griffin was only steps from her now and was gaining on her with amazing speed as people practically leaped from the huge gent’s path as if to avoid being crushed. “Hannah, there is something more—something you must hear.”
Keeping her gaze on Griffin behind her, Hannah struggled to slice her way through the gathering.
Then, suddenly, Griffin stopped midstride for no apparent reason. His eyes rounded, and an oath fell from his lips.
This was her moment, the few seconds she required to put distance between them. Lifting the hem of her gown and overdress, she made to run. She glanced once more behind her, and in that instant made a fatal mistake, for she ran headlong into a gentleman.
“I beg your pardon—,” she began. But then all the blood seemed to drain from her head. For when she looked up, she met those familiar green eyes.
Heaven help her, somehow it was Mr. St. Albans she had careened into! Then she noticed the flaxen-haired beauty at his side, glaring at her.
“
Griffin
—how . . . ?” Hannah stammered. This could not be happening. It was impossible.
She felt a firm grip upon her wrist and turned her head only to see . . . Griffin—
again
.
She didn’t understand how this could be. But there was no denying her own eyes.
“Hannah,” the man who held her wrist began, “allow me to introduce my twin brother, Garnet . . . but then, you already know one another, don’t you?”
Good heavens.
Hannah swallowed deeply.
There are . . . two of them.
M
ind-reeling confusion quickly matured into an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Hannah’s body began to tremble uncontrollably.
She looked from Griffin to his more-polished brother, Garnet. How could she not have seen how different they were?
Griffin’s shoulders were broader, his waist trimmer, and his body quite a bit more muscled than his leaner, more-aristocratic-looking brother.
His clothing was well cut, but devoid of sparkle and ornamentation . . . and for goodness’ sake, he had worn Hessians to a ball!
Garnet, however, was dressed in the height of fashion, every detail of his appearance was studied, perfect, right down to the silver-shot dancing slippers that coordinated precisely with his gleaming waistcoat.
She must have been blind to have let these details slip beneath her notice. The twin brothers, though they occupied the same space, were as different as the sun and the moon.
Hannah rubbed her temples with the tips of her gloved fingers.
Or had she noticed but been too naive to realize it? For now she could recall moments when cocky, rakish Garnet had posed as his brother. She struggled to remember if
that
incarnation of Mr. St. Albans had kissed her . . . or more.
No, no. ’Twas Garnet who vexed her, who taxed her patience at every turn.
And ’twas Griffin, the kind and gentle soul, whom she loved.
Now, knowing the two halves of Mr. St. Albans, she didn’t know what to do next. Instead of feeling joy that the man she loved had not forsaken her for another, her heart ached—for both had lied to her. Both had betrayed her trust.
They had made a fool of her.
She just didn’t know why.
Her lips quivered. Words were beyond her grasp, and it took everything within Hannah to find a way to express the pain she was feeling.
Drawing back her hand, she landed a stinging palm across Garnet’s cheek. The shock of her action had barely registered on Garnet’s face when she whirled around to Griffin.
Hot tears were already streaming down her cheeks. She curled her fingers into fists, but at that very moment Griffin moved against her, and she collapsed against his chest.
She felt his arms come up around her, felt him kiss the top of her head.
“Hannah,” he whispered into her hair. “I am sorry. If you will just listen . . . Damn it all, I know there is no excuse for not telling you, but—”
Hannah pulled back and peered up at him through her wet lashes. “On that, Mr. St. Albans, we agree.”
She twisted in his embrace until she broke it.
A hush fell over the Tea Room. All conversation seemed to stop at that exact second. Even the tinkle of spoons swirling in china cups ceased.
Save a few gasps from the balcony above, the only sound Hannah registered now was the beating of her own heart as the upper reaches of Bath society witnessed her humiliation.
Slamming her palms against Griffin’s chest, she pushed away and, near blind from her tears, ran for the doors.
Griffin’s eyes met Garnet’s, and the two stared at each other for several seconds in stunned silence.
“Griffin . . . I-I’m sorry.” Garnet reached out a hand to his brother, but Griffin stepped backward, avoiding his touch.
“No,
I
am sorry. Sorry that I did not confess everything to Hannah sooner. For now, it may be too late.”
Pushing past his brother, Griffin raced out into the cool night after Hannah. But there was no sign of her anywhere.
The moonlit street was empty, save for a few chairmen lined up along the flagway, smoking pipes and conversing to pass the time until the ball adjourned and the attendees sought conveyances to transport them to the Crescent Field to await the coming comet.
Damn it. Damn it all!
He’d bungled his last chance with Hannah.
Griffin leaned his head back against the outer columns of the Upper Assembly Rooms and closed his eyes.
“Bloody hell, lad! What have you and your thickheaded brother done?”
Griffin opened his eyelids slowly to find the earl standing not a breath away from him. “Did you not witness it? Everyone else did.”
“Of course I saw what occurred! At least one member of the House of Commons did as well.” The earl began to pace, wringing his hands as he stalked back and forth before Griffin. “The earldom is done for. It will not take long for the
ton
to discover I have no clear heir. If there is one notion I have discovered during my stay, it is that no secret can survive for long in Bath.”
Griffin pushed up from the column. “There is a clear heir to the title—Garnet.”
“No, he had his heart set on Miss Howard, and I cannot risk the chance that she is barren.”
“My lord, should anyone investigate, I will tell them that Garnet is firstborn. He is your heir. I shall never contest the line. Your course of action is simple. Name Garnet your heir, and the earldom will be preserved.”
The earl grimaced. “This does not please me. Not one bit. You are my choice. I-I . . . can assist you with Miss Chillton, if you would only—”
“Do you not understand, my lord?” Griffin raised both palms in the air. “Had it not been for the damnable earldom, there would have been no secrets, and in all likelihood, Miss Chillton would already be my wife!”
Even in the thin blue light of the moon, Griffin could see the color rise into the earl’s cheeks. “It would seem, then, that I have been left no choice in the matter.”
“It would seem so.” Griffin lifted his fob and turned the round face of his watch to the moonlight to read the time. He straightened his back and tipped his head to the earl. “Now then, if you will excuse me, my lord, I have only three hours to make my way to the Beechen Cliff summit and prepare my telescopes for the comet.”
“I, for one, shall cheer once the bloody comet passes.” The earl snorted, then tipped his head back to peer up at the sky. His wig slid off his bald head and fell onto the flagway. “Too much fuss over a little fizz in the heavens, if you ask me.” The earl hoisted the waistband of his breeches, then bent to retrieve the wig. When he righted himself, he was surprised to find Griffin St. Albans . . . gone.
Hmmph. Perhaps Garnet was the right choice for heir after all. He, though perhaps lacking the correct choice in brides, did at least have proper manners.
Pinkerton stepped out of the shadows just then, startling the earl so that he choked on his own swallowing. “Damn me, Pinkerton. Announce yourself!”
“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Pinkerton tipped his head, sending several spider legs of black hair tumbling about his pale forehead. “I only wished to inform you that the Feathertons have departed through another door moments ago.”
“Really?” The earl cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I would have taken the same route were my charge just humiliated before the
ton
. Dreadful incident to befall such a pretty young gel as Miss Chillton. Just dreadful.”
Pinkerton cocked an eyebrow at that comment. “Yes, my lord. Were the Messrs. St. Albans humiliated in the Tea Room, I do not doubt you would also make a rapid departure.”
The earl nodded in agreement. “Now that Lady Letitia has left the ball, I have no further interest in attending.”
Straightening his wig on his round head, the earl snapped his fingers and summoned a pair of chairmen. “I am in need of a freshly curled wig, however, Pinkerton. Want to look my best at the comet viewing later.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The viewing parties are to commence in the Crescent Field just outside Lady Letitia’s home. No doubt she will attend the festivities, despite her charge’s embarrassment this eve.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Pinkerton opened the door to the sedan chair and waited for the earl to climb inside before securing the latch.
The earl leaned out the open window. “It’s not far back to the house. You can run alongside the chair so we may arrive together.” The earl tugged at his neckcloth and cleared his throat yet again. “I believe I shall be requiring a brandy when we arrive. Feeling a bit parched, you know.”
Pinkerton exhaled and removed his hat and loosened his own neckcloth in preparation for the exertion ahead of him. “Yes, my lord.”