Page 30 of Anastasia and the Duke
Oliver, stunned and confused by the earl's reaction, waited a few minutes before following Morris' path back into the house.
How strange it was that the sight of Miss Blackmore had upset him so. Perhaps, having buried his hope that his niece might be alive, seeing the similarity between Miss Blackmore and his sister had torn open an old wound.
Once inside, Oliver made for the drawing room, where he found Lady Lansdowne and Miss Blackmore still chatting to a group of several ladies. With all the subtly of a brick, Oliver lingered by the bookcase, until the countess and her companion broke away.
"Ladies," he said smoothly, as they crossed his path, "How nice to see you both."
"Hawkfield, what a surprise," Lady Lansdowne was dry, "Are you enjoying the festivities?"
"Yes," Oliver lied, for he had not really partaken in them, "Though I would enjoy them much more if Miss Blackmore might agree to stand up with me for a dance."
Miss Blackmore, who had thus far been avoiding his gaze, turned her green eyes towards him coolly.
"I am afraid that my card is full, your Grace," she answered, her tone bland and polite.
"It's true," Lady Lansdowne continued, sensing Oliver's disbelief, "There are not many sets, and dear Hannah's card was full mere minutes after her arrival."
Of course it was; not only was Miss Blackmore stunningly beautiful, but she was also society's current darling. Oliver should have waited by the front-door and snapped her up the moment she arrived.
"A pity," Oliver answered, the word feeling rather inadequate compared to the crushing disappointment which filled him, "If you cannot promise me a dance, Miss Blackmore, perhaps you might promise me your company at a later date. A play, perhaps? I have a box at The Theatre Royal for the season, but regrettably I am yet to make use of it."
"I.." Miss Blackmore began, but perhaps sensing a refusal, Lady Lansdowne interrupted.
"Wonderful, Hawkfield," the countess beamed, "Send word of where and when. Now, if you will excuse us, Miss Blackmore is promised for the next set."
The two women disappeared, arm in arm, for the ballroom. Oliver debated following them, but the thought of watching Miss Blackmore in the arms of another for the whole evening was not a pleasant one.
With little else to keep him engaged, Oliver decided to set off for home, where he might ponder Morris' strange reaction to Miss Blackmore further.
Chapter Nine
Hannah wriggled and squirmed as Gibbons buttoned her into her new evening gown, a simple dress of emerald-green satin, which tied with a ribbon just under her bosom.
"It's a bit plain," Gibbons commented, once Hannah--and her multiple layers of stockings, stays, and petticoats--were buttoned in.
"I like it," Hannah replied, as she eyed herself in the mirror. The dress was plain, true, but it fitted to perfection, and she preferred simple to over-embellished. Van-Dyke points and endless flounces were all well and good if one was simply required to stand still, but they made it impossible to walk without tearing a hem or ripping off a train.
"Really?" Gibbons raised a brow, "You were squirming like a worm when I was trying to do it up."
"Oh," Hannah gave a hollow laugh, as Gibbons began to dress her hair, "That wasn’t because of the dress, it's because I really would rather not go out this evening."
Gibbons, who had been twisting Hannah's thick hair into an intricate up-style, caught her eye in the mirror.
"You don't wish to attend the theatre with a duke?" the lady's maid gawped, "Well, I've heard everything now, I'm ready to meet my maker."
"It's not that strange," Hannah grumbled in return, "Hawkfield is...well he's..."
Hannah trailed off as Gibbons waited for her to expand on just what it was about the duke that she found so distasteful.
"He's a snob," Hannah finished, lamely, "He's terribly high-handed, and he's arrogant."
"He's a duke, child," Gibbons chuckled, as she returned to the task of taming Hannah's tresses, "Of course he's a snob. And I don't blame him his arrogance; there's not many men about who can carry off a pair of breeches as he does."
"Gibbons!" Hannah flushed, for she was now grappling with a vision of Hawkfield's muscular thighs encased in buckskin breeches. He did wear them well, she had to concede.
"A blush always reveals the truth," Gibbons chuckled, as she spotted Hannah's pink cheeks, "You can't pretend you haven't noticed how handsome he is."
"Of course I've noticed how handsome he is," Hannah retorted, childishly, "I'm not blind, but just because he's handsome, and a duke, does not mean I am clamouring to spend an evening with him."
