Page 32 of Anastasia and the Duke
"He was an avid collector of beautiful things," Lady Lansdowne reminisced, her tone affectionate, "When he returned to France and learned that the King wished for him to part with his collection--for a paltry sum--he bundled it all up and stole away to England rather than submit."
"How interesting," Hannah's words sounded false to her own ears, "What became of the rest of his treasures?"
"He sold most of them in the end, to fund his new life in England," the countess laughed at the irony of it, "And he used some to finance my dowry, so that I could marry back into the aristocracy, where he felt I belonged."
"And the rest?" Hannah held her breath, as she waited for Lady Lansdowne to answer.
"There are but a few treasures left now, locked away in a safe," Lady Lansdowne smiled, "Things that I would like to pass on to my granddaughter. Colin is most put-out that I have not yet passed them on to him, but as he inherited the estates and their fortunes, I am at liberty to wait..."
Hannah waited hopefully for Lady Lansdowne to continue, but she was done reminiscing.
"Ah," she cried, throwing her hands up in the air, "Do not encourage this old-lady to speak about the past,ma chérie, or we might be here all night. Come, our carriage awaits us."
Lady Lansdowne ushered Hannah out of the bedroom and down the stairs, to where Gibbons waited with their respective cloaks. Hannah's was the same emerald green of her dress and trimmed with soft sable, and it felt like being wrapped in a hug.
Her nerves at returning to The Theatre Royal, bubbled up again during the carriage ride from Grosvenor Square to Drury Lane. As the carriage stopped and started and stopped again, held up by the heavy evening traffic, she was struck by an insane urge to escape from it and never look back. The sable cloak and the ruby necklace, if sold, would be enough to fund travel for she and Nan to anywhere, she told herself.
Yet Hannah did not act on her impulse, for something held her back, and as the carriage drew to a halt outside The Theatre Royal, she realised it was too late.
"Thank you, Philip," she whispered, as the young footman helped both she and Lady Lansdowne to disembark.
"My pleasure," he tipped a gloved hand to the tip of his cap, his eyes bashful and full of admiration.
He was not the only man to look at her that way, Hannah noted, as she and Lady Lansdowne made their way into the foyer. Several men cast her similar glances, and another even had the audacity to raise his quizzing glasses in her direction so that he might inspect her more closely.
"You are the most beautiful woman here," Lady Lansdowne commented, to a bemused Hannah.
"Surely not," Hannah laughed, but as they pushed further into the theatre's cavernous lobby, she caught sight of her reflection in a large, gilded mirror.
She looked like a queen; regal in emerald, garnished with rubies, and trimmed with fur. It was astonishing what money could do, Hannah thought with amusement, for she almost did not recognise herself.
Which boded well for her sojourn into the stomping ground of her childhood.
Lady Lansdowne led the way to the sweeping staircase which led to the private boxes. There, dressed in a dark tail jacket over buff breeches, with a startlingly white cravat at his throat, stood the Duke of Hawkfield. He was all elegance, Hannah thought nervously as they approached; even if one did not know he was a duke, one could guess his importance from the expert cut of his coat, and the authoritative way he held himself.
Recalling Gibbons' earlier jest about the duke's fine physique, Hannah could not help but admire his broad shoulders, which tapered down in a "v" shape to his waist. As well as his thighs, which were indeed, muscular and strong within the fine breeches which covered them.
"Miss Blackmore," the duke greeted her, and Hannah's eyes flew up from his thighs to his face.
Don't blush, she told herself, but of course, her cursed cheeks did not obey her command.
"Lady Lansdowne," Hawkfield continued, turning his smile to the countess, "We are just waiting for my grandmother, she's..."
"Late," Lady Lansdowne rolled her eyes, "I would have put money on that."
"I am not late," a haughty voice interjected, followed shortly by the Duchess of Hawkfield, "I am perfectly punctual."
Hannah smiled as the two women, both dressed extravagantly in furs and turbans decorated with ostrich feathers, began to bicker between themselves.
"Lead the way, Ollie," the duchess commanded, before turning her attention back to Lady Lansdowne to continue her protests of innocence.
"They're often like this," the duke whispered, conspiratorially to Hannah, as he began to lead the way up the stairs.
His face was almost boyish when he smiled, Hannah thought, somewhat dazedly, before she sternly reminded herself that she needed to keep Hawkfield at arm's length.
"Indeed, your Grace," she said primly, turning her eyes away from him and concentrating instead on the steps.
Her disinterested response was meant to indicate to the duke that she had no wish to engage with either him, or his boyish charm, but the thick-skulled gentleman did not pick up on her blatant cue.
