The Grace of a Duke (34 page)

Read on for an excerpt from
Linda Rae Sande’s
Book 3 of “The Daughters of the Aristocracy”

The Seduction of an Earl

Coming soon from Outskirts Press

Standing to the side of the front window of the Devonville House parlor, Lady Hannah Slater watched as the unmarked coach pulled up into the semi-circular drive and deposited its rather handsome occupant onto the crushed granite. A coin was tossed to the driver, who nodded and set his crop aside once he’d climbed back onto the box. So ... the coach was no doubt hired and expected to stay put for the duration of the gentleman’s visit.

But who was the fare?

She watched as the tall man approached the front doors, his gaze directed straight ahead. His top hat was well suited to his height, his dark topcoat and buckskin breeches tailored to fit him precisely. There was a shine on his boots that suggested his valet had seen to them that very morning.

Hannah wondered why he didn’t seem to direct his gaze to the rest of the house as most did when they approached the Palladian mansion in Park Lane. Perhaps he had already caught sight of her staring out the window and did not wish to embarrass her by looking in her direction. She stepped back and to the side a bit more, to keep his figure in view until he passed one of the Grecian columns that flanked the entry. Dark hair, long sideburns, a square jaw – he looked familiar, but Hannah could not be certain she’d met him.

Oh, if only Lady Charlotte were still in town.
She would know the man who was now being let into the vestibule by Hatfield. Charlotte knew all the gentlemen of the
ton
and several cits, besides. Having been betrothed nearly her entire life, Charlotte had no need of considering every man she met as a potential suitor. As such, she made friends with men for the sole purpose of having dance partners at balls. For Hannah, though, two Seasons lost to mourning meant she was still becoming acquainted with the available bachelors of the
ton
. Although she’d had six suitors her first year out, none were particularly interesting, and all but one were clearly angling for her dowry more than for her hand in marriage. The other was barely eighteen and apparently wanted to get married so he could escape his domineering mother.

Almost twenty-one, and with one best friend married and, in Charlotte’s case, another almost so, Hannah had decided she would have to be settled before summer or die of boredom. She could only hope this Season would present some better prospects.

Moving to the parlor door but making sure she stayed within its walls, Hannah listened intently. The man had apparently asked to see her father. A sense of disappointment settled over her, and she wondered at her reaction. The Season had only just begun. There had only been two balls and a musicale. Why would she expect a gentleman caller already?

Perhaps it was Elizabeth’s visit, she decided. Lady Bostwick was so
happy
in her marriage to George Bennett-Jones. She’d spent most of her visit espousing the virtues of having an attentive husband – a man she had thought was a cit until Elizabeth’s father, the Marquess of Morganfield, set her straight and informed her he was a
viscount
. That was the day back in October when she became engaged to George. They were married so quickly, the
ton
had gossiped for nearly a week. And Elizabeth was already with child. In another three months, she would give birth!

A stab of jealousy caught Hannah by surprise.
Oh, to be with child!
She thought it rather unfair that one had to have a husband before you could have a baby. At least, in the legitimate sense. She couldn’t imagine being a poor, unmarried woman with a child.

Sighing, Hannah moved back to a chair near the fireplace. Her abandoned needlework lay on the chair cushion, and her dog, Harold MacDuff, lay napping on the floor directly in front of the chair. Rather than insist he lift his huge body and move it so that she could retake her seat, Hannah directed her attention to the piano-forté. Music would do her spirits some good, she decided. Rifling through the sheets of music she’d picked out at Birchall’s the week before, she pulled out a few and began to play.

So engrossed was she in studying the music she played, Hannah was unaware of the visitor who stood on the threshold of the parlor. It wasn’t until she completed a selection by Bach and was moving a new sheet of music into place that she noticed her father’s caller. “Oh!” she managed as a hand went to the top of her bosom.

“Brava, my lady.” Henry Forster bowed deeply, not wanting to take his eyes off the beauty at the piano-forté. He did so to complete the courtesy. Then he had to force himself to breathe. Lady Hannah was far more beautiful up close than she had appeared in the garden the night before. The pink muslin gown she wore complemented her skin as well as her figure, the bodice fitted enough to display the fullness of her breasts. With her slender arms and long fingers uncovered, it was apparent to Henry she had long since left the schoolroom.
Twenty, perhaps
, he thought as he allowed his gaze to rest on her face. Had Devonville mentioned her age? If so, he couldn’t remember. His brain was suddenly a bit addled.

Hannah stood up from the piano bench and curtsied.
Where is Harold?
And why hadn’t he warned her there was a man awaiting her attention? She dared a quick glance at the fireplace and saw that the hairy beast still napped in front of her chair.
Some guard dog you are,
she thought with a bit of annoyance. As if reading her thoughts, Harold opened one eye for a moment before yawning and closing it again. “Thank you, my lord. I’m afraid it’s the first time I’ve played that piece ...”

“And yet you played it perfectly. Bach himself would have to agree, I’m sure,” Henry stated with a nod as he moved toward her. He stopped directly in front of her and reached for her hand. Lifting it, he brushed his lips over the back of the knuckles.
Even her hands are beautiful
, he thought as he held the one a bit longer than propriety would allow. “Henry Forster, Earl of Gisborn,” he said by way of introduction.

Hannah blushed, the pink spreading over her cheeks in an instant. “You are too kind,” she answered, daring to return the man’s gaze.
Gisborn?
That made no sense. The Earl of Gisborn was an old fart of an earl. A wrinkled, disagreeable, mean old man. So old he was ...
dead,
she suddenly realized.

And this man was his heir.

Henry Forster.
She recognized the name, but the man who stood before her was not someone to whom she had been introduced at a ball or musicale. Lady Charlotte had spoken of him. She knew him from her youth. Nearby estates, or some such. “And I am Lady Hannah Slater,” she stated, shaking herself from her brief reverie. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her mind raced. Had he only come to the parlor because of the music? He’d called on her father. Their business must be complete. “Would you care to join me for tea?” she wondered, a bit surprised she would invite him, but if she did not, she was afraid he would take his leave of Devonville House, and she’d never see him again.

Stunned at the invitation – he was alone with her in the parlor, with not a footman nor a maid in sight to act as chaperone – Henry cocked his head to one side. He wasn’t about to question his good luck. “I would be honored,” he replied with a nod.

Hannah dipped her head in return and moved to the bell pull. “I thought perhaps I would have had another morning caller by now, so it shan’t be long.”

Henry remembered what the marquess had said about her earlier caller being her ‘other best friend.’

“Won’t you take a seat?” she offered, waving to the only chair her father would sit in when he was in the parlor.

Hannah made sure to sit in an adjacent chair with a low table in front. She watched as Henry took the proffered chair. He seemed nervous, as if it was the first time he was alone in a room with a lady. “Did you have business with my father?” she asked, not sure how else to start the conversation.

Henry considered the question. “Something like that. I find him quite ... agreeable,” he offered, daring to look at her as he made the assessment.

About to respond, Hannah waved toward the parlor door. A maid rolled the tea cart into the room, her eyes widening a bit at the sight of her mistress with a man and apparently no other servant in the room. She placed the silver tray with the pot and cups on the low table in front of Hannah along with a plate of lemon biscuits. “Did you by chance bring a biscuit for the dog?” Hannah wondered, hoping the mention of the hairy beast would put to rest any qualms the maid might have about leaving Hannah alone with the visitor.

“Aye, milady,” the maid replied, her voice sounding ever so relieved at the mention of the dog. She placed a plate with an odd looking brown shape onto the table next to the biscuits.

“Thank you. That will be all,” Hannah said by way of dismissal. Turning to the earl, she asked, “How do you take your tea, my lord?” as she lifted a cup and saucer.

“Gisborn,” Henry stated emphatically. At Hannah’s widened eyes, he wondered if he had erred in insisting she use his name so soon after their introduction. “No sugar, a bit of cream,” he added. He dared a glance in the dog’s direction. “Will Harold be joining us, milady?”

Hannah was pouring the cream and did not see the glint in Henry’s eye as he asked about the dog. She wondered how he knew her pet’s name.
Did Father talk about Harold with him?
She lifted her gaze to his as she handed him the tea. “I am sure he would love to. That is, if you were not asking in jest.”

Henry smiled. “I was not,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Unless I have taken his chair, in which case I should like the opportunity to move to another before we invite him.”  

Smiling at his joke, Hannah turned her attention on her pet. “Would you like a biscuit, Harold?”

The Alpenmastiff raised his head in surprise.

About the Author

A self-described nerd and lover of science, Linda Rae spent many years as a published technical writer specializing in 3D graphics workstations, software and 3D animation (her movie credits include SHREK and SHREK 2). An interest in genealogy led to years of research on the Regency era and a desire to write fiction based in that time.

Now running the front office of a busy print shop, she’s developed an appreciation for pretty papers and spends time using them in her scrapbooks. She can frequently be found at the local cinema enjoying the latest movie. During the winter, she hosts several junior hockey players, and an indeterminate number of tropical fish live with her year-round. She makes her home in Cody, Wyoming. See her upcoming books on her website: www.lindaraesande.com.