Page 5 of Anastasia and the Duke
"It's risky," Sid began to explain, causing Hannah to sigh impatiently--all his schemes thus far had been risky, it was a bit late for feigned concern.
"Proper risky; it involves you getting very close to the lady you'd be stealing from," Sidney continued, staring at her intently.
From her seat, Nan gave a moan, and began to mumble under her breath, "No, no, no."
Sid hushed her with an impatient wave of his hand but kept his watery-blue eyes fixed on Hannah.
"If it's successful, you'll have to leave," he finished, smiling patronisingly as Hannah began to protest, "And not somewhere else in England--somewhere farther afield. New York, perhaps."
America? Hannah's original plan, such as it was, had involved leaving London, for Bristol, or even Liverpool, two cities that had seemed distant to her mind. America was a world away.
"If I'm to start anew in America, I'll need a lot of coin," Hannah challenged, the shake in her voice giving away the sudden rush of nerves she felt.
Sid took her words as a sign of agreement and offered her a sickly smile.
"My dear," he replied, his voice now syrupy-sweet, "If you manage to pull this off, you'll have more riches than you can even imagine; enough to keep you and Nan in comfort for a lifetime. Does that sound agreeable to you?"
Hannah nodded, somewhat dazed. A new life, safety and comfort, it was all she had ever wanted--and if she had to steal to make it happen, then so be it. The world was a cruel, hard place, and to survive it, one had to be equally hard and cruel.
"Alright," Hannah lifted her chin defiantly, "Tell me what it is you need me to do."
Chapter Two
Oliver Edward St Martin de Vere, Sixth Duke of Hawkfield, had spent many years cultivating his reputation. Thanks to a lifetime of dark scowls and a high-handed manner, the ton viewed him as aloof, forbidding, and wholly unapproachable--which was just how he liked it.
Unfortunately, there was one woman who refused to buy-in to his ambitions of being viewed as a curmudgeon--his grandmother.
"There you are, Ollie," Charlotte, Dowager Duchess of Hawkfield trilled, as Oliver picked his way across the cluttered floor of Gunter's.
Dozens of tables, covered in pink tablecloths and an abundance of lace doilies, hampered Oliver's progress across the room, but eventually he reached his grandmother's side.
"Grandmama," he said stiffly, before offering a greeting to the other occupants of the table, "Ladies. I trust you are all behaving?"
"Oh, hush, dear," his grandmother admonished, with a wave of her gloved hand, "We always behave ourselves in public."
"In private it's another matter," Lady Uptondown interjected in a husky voice, levelling her almond-shaped eyes knowingly at Oliver.
Despite having reached the grand age of two-and-thirty, and despite the fact that he was considered something of a rake, Oliver found himself blushing at her flirtations.
"You've gone all red," his grandmother noted with a smile, which, of course, caused Oliver to flush even further.
"It's rather stuffy in here," Oliver said by way of explanation, as he slipped into the vacant seat at the table. His excuses caused some mirth amongst the gathered ladies, who appeared delighted by his discomfort.
"Oh, dear," Charlotte offered him an apologetic smile, "I fear you are being heckled by a group of grandmothers, Oliver. Ladies, behave! We don't want poor Ollie to feel emasculated."
"Yes, nothing restores a chap's masculinity quite like having his grandmother defend him from her rambunctious friends," Oliver whispered to Charlotte, who hid her responding smile behind a lace-gloved hand.
Mercifully, for Oliver's ego, the ladies turned their attention away from him, and back towards each other.
The foursome, who had been fast friends for decades, consisted of his grandmother, Lady Uptondown, Lady Lansdowne, and Lady Guernsey. They affectionately referred to themselves as The Four Beauties, but Oliver had heard a few other choice names for the quartet, including The Four Horsemen, which is what they were usually called by the young gentlemen who were foolish enough to join them at the card table.
Several young-bloods at White's, in fact, were so indebted to Lady Uptondown that there was currently a wager in the club's famed betting book on when she would call them out.
During the season, the four friends met monthly, and Charlotte occasionally called on Oliver to collect her from their gatherings, more to show-off than out of an actual need for an escort.
Not that Oliver minded; he rather enjoyed the four ladies' company--when they were behaving themselves, that is.
"La!" Lady Uptondown sighed, as the sound of a clock chiming the hour sounded out, "I must be off; if Linette is left to her own devices, she'll leave dressing for Almack's until the last moment--or not at all."
