Page 19 of Anastasia and the Duke
Hannah peered down at the page and skimmed through the gossip column, which detailed the comings and goings of the ton. Towards the end, there was a brief note on the dinner that the Duchess of Hawkfield had held--attended by no less than three of the season's most eligible ladies and the perennially eligible duke himself--which had set tongues wagging.
It was not the three ladies whose pedigree and circumstance are well known that attracted the eye of the duke, Hannah read,but an unknown miss, a guest of Lady Lansdowne. I am told that Hawkfield could not tear his eyes away from her for all six courses, much to the annoyance of the other ladies present. Who is Miss Blackmore, this paper wonders, and what is so special about her that she has captured the attention of the ton's most elusive man?
"Lud," Hannah whispered, turning her eyes to Lady Lansdowne in dismay.
The countess did not echo her feelings of disquiet, in fact, she looked fit to burst with excitement. She was nearly bouncing up and down on the chaise, such was her glee.
"We shall have to get you some new dresses," she decided aloud, "I know you say you don't want them, but I insist. As my guest, your appearance reflects on me; so, if you won't accept my offer on your account, you can accept it on mine."
"I--eh," Hannah stuttered, but the countess was on a roll.
"Almack's is out of the question, as you haven't been presented at court," she continued, "But given the excitement surrounding you, we can expect invitations to the most exclusive events. As for the gentleman himself; a third son is out of the question, I shan't allow you to settle for less than a viscount, my dear. Perhaps Hawkfield himself might offer for you, if he senses that you are about to be snapped up."
"Snapped up where?" Hannah interrupted, as her belly swirled with anxiety, "I am afraid, my lady, that I am rather lost."
"No," the countess corrected, reaching out to stroke Hannah's hair, "You are found. Even if you are not Anastasia, you still came into my life for a reason--to find you a home and family of your own."
Hannah, who had prepared for many eventualities when she had agreed to Sidney's plan, but not spontaneous kindness, found that her eyes were burning with what felt like tears. Which was ridiculous, for she never cried.
"That's very kind of you, my lady," she began, her voice thick with emotion, "But I'm afraid that I cannot..."
"You can, and you shall," Lady Lansdowne interrupted, her tone firm, "I am going to give you a season, child, and find you a husband. And I will not take no for an answer."
The countess clearly felt the matter was settled, for she rose to her feet to seek out Gibbons, who would be in charge of assembling Hannah's wardrobe. She swept from the room in a fervour of excitement and as the door closed behind her, another feeling struck Hannah.
Fear.
The plan, which had been going so well, seemed now to be spiralling out of her control. Worse still, Lady Lansdowne seemed determined to push her into the path of the very man she wished to avoid; Hawkfield.
Chapter Six
Although he did not wish to lend credence to gossip, Oliver did not have the willpower to refuse the invitation to Lady Uptondown's ball. The ball which Miss Blackmore, as his grandmother had so pointedly informed him, would also be attending.
Though they had met but the once, Oliver found himself thinking of the young woman often. As well as disturbing his day-time thoughts, she also visited his dreams, alongside Lady Jersey's thief. The visions of the two women tormented Oliver, and he woke filled with longing each morning.
It was ridiculous, he thought--not for the first time--that a man of his status should find himself besotted with not one, but two women of far inferior birth. The sooner he acquired a new mistress, the better.
Though he knew that a new mistress might solve his problem, his enthusiasm for finding another member of the demimonde to warm his bedsheets was lacking. No other woman, no matter how tempting, could hope to hold his interest quite as much as Miss Blackmore.
The gossip sheets, which had written of his infatuation with the chit were, for once, correct.
Thus, on the evening of Lady Uptondown's ball, Oliver found himself prowling the ballroom of the house in Mayfair, like some sort of caged animal, as he awaited Miss Blackmore's arrival. He could feel the eyes of the assembled guests upon him, but he did not care; such was the tension that filled his body, that nobody could draw his attention away from his mission.
"I say, Hawkfield," a voice boomed in his ear, "It's a ball, not a hanging, you are permitted to smile."
Lord Kitteridge, dressed as Oliver was in a dark coat over buff breeches, grinned at Oliver when he turned, and thrust a glass of ratafia at him.
"I've added a nip of spice," the marquess said with a wink, patting his breast pocket with his free hand, to indicate where he had hidden a hip-flask.
"That's quite the kick," Oliver replied having taken a sip, glad he had not spluttered for Kit appeared to have added a whole bottle to his glass.
"I have attended several balls since our last meeting," Kit replied, as serious as a scholar, "And I have deduced that a chap's enjoyment of such events is directly proportional to the amount of alcohol he has consumed."
"I'd well believe it," Oliver replied, as he cast a dark scowl around the room.
The room was filled mostly with debutantes, who floated about like clouds in their white dresses, attended to by their fussing mamas. Oliver, who had not ventured out in acceptable society for quite some time, frowned, as he wondered why there were so many of them present.
"The mamas of the ton suspected you would be here, given that the mysterious Miss Blackmore will also be present, and came out in force to try tempt you away," Kit, who must have read his mind, commented, as he too surveyed the room.
