Kathryn Caskie (6 page)

“Do you see? It is as I told you, Mr. St. Albans.” Lady Letitia gestured about the expansive room. “Everyone of consequence has come to Bath to see the comet.
Everyone
.”

Mr. St. Albans’s bored gaze followed the elderly woman’s gesturing gloved hand until it happened to pass before Hannah’s face. And there his gaze remained.

Hannah looked away, eventually glancing upward, where she noted that the high upper-story windows lining the outer walls were propped open wide for air, though they offered little relief, if any at all, to those below.

“I daresay, Mr. St. Albans.” Lady Viola tapped her unfurled cutwork fan on the gentleman’s shoulder to snare his attention. “With so many scientific sorts in attendance here this eve, you are sure to encounter someone of your acquaintance.If . . . you are able to remember them.”

“Ah, dear lady, even if I do not glimpse a single familiar face, this night would be quite pleasurable. For tonight the three lovely ladies before me are the company I
desire
.”

As he intoned the final word in his statement, his gaze dropped almost imperceptibly to Hannah’s bosom.

Hannah narrowed her eyes at him, but her silent admonishment did not put a stop to his improper study of her.

No, instead Mr. St. Albans’s mouth twitched upward, and his gaze grew ever more focused on her.

Such gall this man had!

Surely the Featherton sisters must recognize a rake when he stood directly before them.

Hannah tilted her head twice in Mr. St. Albans’s general direction, for it was not proper to point, and waited silently for one of the ladies to flay him for his roguish behavior.

Instead, Lady Viola and Lady Letitia began to discuss the music with Mr. St. Albans, as if nothing were amiss.

Were the elderly ladies losing their hearing as well as their eyesight? No, both women had seen her gesture to the man. On that point she was perfectly clear.

He had charmed them both. There was no other explanation.

And so, when Hannah was sure Mr. St. Albans was completely occupied by the Feathertons, and his heated gaze was no longer upon her, she took a furtive step backward. Then another, hoping that she might lose herself in the crowd and escape unnoticed into the Octagon or card room.

“Hannah?” She felt a firm grasp on her wrist. Her gaze released the path of her escape and turned to Lady Letitia.

“Dear gel, I think it a marvelous idea. What say you?” Lady Letitia stared hard into Hannah’s eyes.

“I am dreadfully sorry, but with the music and the conversations nearby . . . I could not hear—”

Lady Viola caught Mr. St. Albans’s arm and directed his attention to the orchestra in the balcony above.

Lady Letitia huffed out her breath and leaned close to Hannah’s ear and whispered to her, “I understood your message, dove.”

Hannah widened her eyes. “I am sorry. I don’t understand. Which message was that?”

Lady Letitia chuckled softly. “I caught your glance, then you nodded at Mr. St. Albans.” She smiled broadly, puffing her full chest out like a pigeon. “’Tis all arranged. Mr. St. Albans has requested the pleasure of a dance with you; didn’t you hear him?”

“I do apologize. Actually, I did not.” Hannah glanced nervously as Lady Viola and Mr. St. Albans turned back around to face her and Lady Letitia once more.

“Aren’t you glad then that sister and I both heard him for you? So off you go.”

The plumper of the two snowy-haired sisters shoved Hannah forward, sending her stumbling into Mr. St. Albans’s eager embrace.

When she regained her footing, Hannah knew there was no possible way to excuse herself from a dance now.

None at all.

So, she reluctantly took Mr. St. Albans’s proffered arm and allowed him to lead her through the milling, perspiring guests to the center of the dance floor.

On their way, Hannah met the gaze of Miss Howard, the fine-featured, blonde beauty who lingered at the perimeter of the dance floor with her stout-looking mother. “Oh, Mr. St. Albans, before we dance, I would like to greet a new friend. Will you allow me?”

Mr. St. Albans tipped his head, with no little amount of exasperation exhibited on his face, and followed her to the edge of the floor. His eyes brightened when he saw to whom Hannah was about to introduce him.

As Hannah formally introduced the pair, she could not help but see the attraction between the two . . . the very sort the Featherton sisters had mentioned.

“If you will permit, Miss Howard, I would greatly enjoy a dance—er . . . after Miss Chillton, my dear friend, and I have concluded our turn about the floor.”

Miss Howard glanced at her mother, who nodded her assent. “I should like that very much, Mr. St. Albans.” She blushed, most becomingly, and at the very same moment, Mr. St. Albans seemed to grow four inches taller.

Perfect.

Well then, the old women could hardly blame her for initiating the match, now could they? Mr. St. Albans and Miss Howard were clearly meant to be together. Just look at them!

If she could just maintain his interest in Miss Howard and discourage any interest in herself, all would be right with her world once more.

With a very pleased curve to his lips, Mr. St. Albans led Hannah to the center of the floor.

“Miss Howard is quite lovely, is she not?” Hannah prodded.

“Indeed she is. Almost as lovely as you, Miss Chillton.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. St. Albans.”
Hmm
.

As they took their positions, Hannah glanced up at the first-floor gallery and waited for the musicians to begin the country dance that had been called—anything to avoid Mr. St. Albans’s gaze.

“You needn’t feel uneasy about the dance, Miss Chillton,” Mr. St. Albans told her in his usual overconfident manner. “If you are uncertain of a step, I will gladly lead you.”

“I beg your pardon, sir.”
The lout.

“I offered to instruct you, if you are unsure of the dance steps.”

A glare tightened the skin around Hannah’s eyes. He had just initiated a frontal attack on her social training. And he just expected her to accept such rudeness?

“How dare you, Mr. St. Albans.” Hannah angrily snapped her head around, ready to thrust forth her own stinging verbal blade, when she noted the clear amusement on his face.

He lifted his eyebrows and took in a deep breath as he dropped his gaze momentarily to the floor. When he looked up at her again, he no longer seemed so merry.

“I do apologize, Miss Chillton. You seemed so solemn this eve, that I had hoped to coax a smile from you with my absurd offer.”

Hannah peered deep into his twinkling green eyes. Was he toying with her, or was he being genuine? She never quite knew how to read Mr. St. Albans.

“Oh, come now. You must know I jested. The Featherton ladies advised me to practice my dancing skills before escorting you to the floor. They told me that your grace in dance is unmatched in Bath.”

“Did they?” Hannah cast her gaze to the two elderly ladies who were watching them intently through matched mother-of-pearl lorgnettes. “Well, Mr. St. Albans, I fear the Feathertons were having a chuckle at your expense.”

The orchestra commenced with their music, startling Hannah’s attention back to Mr. St. Albans.

“Allow me to decide that for myself, will you, Miss Chillton?” he told her. “But as I said, do feel free to follow my lead. I am known in The Lizard as the Prancer, you know.” The edges of his mouth twitched, and she knew he suppressed a grin.

Hannah raised a single eyebrow. “Somehow, I do not doubt that, sir.” Her own lips curved upward.

Mr. St. Albans caught up her gloved hands and twirled Hannah in a tight circle, urging forth from her an unbidden laugh.

As the dance progressed, and the moments as his captive partner passed without her becoming nauseous even once, Hannah began to wonder if her negative assessment of Mr. St. Albans’s character was altogether correct.

She was fairly certain it was, but then, he was rather diverting tonight, and that in itself was a desirable quality in any gentleman. Even if it was the only one he possessed.

Hannah had at last begun to allow herself to relax and enjoy the dance when she noticed the Feathertons, watching from the perimeter of the dance floor, exchange one of those knowing glances of theirs.

Oh, good heavens.
Was this all part of their matchmaking scheme?

Well, on her oath, it wasn’t going to work. And Hannah would prove it this very night.

She was in control of her evening. Not they.

It was simple enough. She would just pay no heed to Mr. St. Albans for the rest of the eve . . . beginning right after this set.

Or, perhaps after nine, when everyone would move to the Tea Room for refreshments. Or maybe it would be most effective to ignore him during their drive home. Miss Howard was next on his
prancing
list anyway.

Yes, she’d practically ignore the man. That’s exactly what she would do.

When
was the only question that remained.

At half past nine that evening, Hannah and the Featherton sisters were sitting around a small table in the Tea Room’s upper colonnade, sipping weak tea with arrack and lemon.

Lady Letitia, whose robust appetite seemed unaffected by the sweltering heat of the room, happily supped on the sweetmeats, cold ham, and plump biscuits provided for the subscribers.

“I had hoped that we’d have the advantage of air up here, but it seems I was quite wrong.” Hannah rose and walked to the gilded-iron railing, and peered down at the tremendous crowd below. I wonder where Mr. St. Albans has gone?” Those words, spoken softly and without thought, were meant only for herself, but Lady Viola’s hearing was too keen to allow her comment to pass.

“Miss him already, do you, dear?” Lady Viola’s birdish laugh twittered atop the heavy air.

“Mayhap you are a mite concerned about his new lady friend,” Lady Letitia added.

Hannah cringed at that comment. “Hardly. Besides which, Miss Howard is just below with her mother. I . . . just think it somewhat inconsiderate for our escort to see to our tea service, then abandon us without so much as a word of pardon.”

Lady Letitia grunted at that. “Dear child, Mr. St. Albans is the perfect gentleman. And if you feel you must be apprised of his whereabouts, he has returned to the ballroom to speak with the conductor.”

Hannah whirled around and faced the two old women. “The conductor? Good heavens, whatever for?”

After wetting her mouth with a sip of tea, Lady Letitia continued. “I believe he intended to enjoy a second set with you, Hannah, and wished to request a waltz as the opening dance.”

“A second dance, with the Prancer?” Hannah was incredulous. “I daresay his intention is quite bold, given that I have not even been asked if I wished to dance again.”

Lady Viola flipped open her lavender-and-blond lace fan and waved it before her powdered face, which was already liberally dotted with beads of perspiration. “Well, sweeting, the fault of that would be mine. I assured him you would delight in another set.”

Hannah stared incredulously at her.

The old woman’s fan paused midway in the stifling air. “I-I was not incorrect in my assumption, was I, Hannah? I caught your earlier message . . . and you did so seem to be enjoying yourself when you were dancing with him earlier.”

Hannah exhaled her surrender. “No, Lady Viola. You are not incorrect. I was feeling rather fatigued earlier, but, after taking tea, I believe my vigor is returning.” At least that much was true. “I shall dance once more with Mr. St. Albans if it pleases the both of you. But only if it does. Otherwise, I shall be ever so happy to remain by your sides.”

“Oh, it does,” the Featherton sisters chattered together as one.

“Brilliant.” Hannah turned to the railing once more and let out a long sigh. “I can hardly wait for the music to begin again,” she muttered, with hardly a tincture of sarcasm flavoring her words.

The musicians struck the first note of the Viennese Waltz thirty minutes later, just after Hannah and the Featherton sisters had returned to the ballroom from taking refreshments.

Hannah surveyed the crowded room but did not see Mr. St. Albans, who should have been easily discernible because of his commanding height.

Her lips curved upward, for she had almost decided that he had left the ballroom owing to the heat. After all, she was damp with perspiration in her silk gown. Mr. St. Albans had to be cooked through in his waistcoat, coat, and that suffocating neckcloth. Yes, she had decided that was exactly the situation. Or so she believed . . . that is, until she felt a large hand cup her elbow from behind.

At that very instant, Mr. St. Albans’s mouth was poised just above her ear. “Shall we, Miss Chillton?”

The hum of his low voice tickled her ear, and she instinctively raised her shoulder. She turned around to reply, only to find her chest pressed against Mr. St. Albans’s waistcoat. And there wasn’t so much as a bead of sweat on his brow. Not a one!

From such a close vantage point, Mr. St. Albans’s shoulders seemed much broader, his chest . . . somehow firmer. Indeed, his entire body seemed far more sculpted and muscular. Odd that she had not noticed when they danced earlier that eve.

She turned her face upward and raised her eyes to his.

His breath seemed to hitch the moment their gazes met, and suddenly Hannah could not seem to catch her breath.

Mr. St. Albans raised a hand, gesturing to the center of the dance floor, and again said, “Shall we, Miss Chillton?”

But words seemed quite out of Hannah’s mental grasp at that moment, and so she merely nodded.

Mr. St. Albans folded Hannah’s hand over his and drew her body close in preparation to pass through the burgeoning crowd.

How queer this all is.

Hannah peered up at Mr. St. Albans as he protectively led her toward the dance floor. There was no question as to the gentleman’s identity, and yet, something was different.

Something about his tender touch made her tremble within. But not with fear or dread.

With heart-thumping excitement.