Page 10 of A Christmas Love Redeemed
‘And this Poole? Is it far?’
‘Four miles to the west.’
He nodded. An easy walk, but for a man barely out of his sick bed…?
Her hair had fallen forward, hiding her face, and he leaned forward, pushing the wayward chestnut locks back behind her ear. To his surprise she did not pull back. She looked up at him, her grey eyes large in her pointed face, her lips parted.
Tiens, she was lovely.
He took her hand, and, raising it, he pressed each finger to his lips. Her eyes never left his face.
She mouthed his name and twisted, pillowing her head in her arms on his knee.
Please say nothing, he silently begged her. Let us just have this moment for ourselves.
He let his fingers stray over her hair, gently twisting the soft chestnut curls.
Chapter Five
LONDON, 21 DECEMBER 1816
Hannah kept a discreet distance as Sophie and Lord Easterbrook strolled through Kensington Gardens. Easterbrook had met them at their carriage with a small bunch of snowdrops, which he proffered to Sophie with a flourish. Sophie had blushed prettily as she accepted the nosegay and as they strolled, she occasionally pressed the flowers to her face. Hannah allowed herself a smile at the extravagant play acting.
The girl’s simpering giggles grated on her nerves, but she was pleased to see his lordship put on a brave appearance of being captivated by Sophie’s charms. These were, no doubt, considerably improved by her substantial dowry, particularly as Hannah’s research had revealed Lord Easterbrook had considerable gambling debts. A match made in heaven. She had done her job and, if everything went according to plan, she had no doubt that the engagement would be announced by the end of the season.
A small group of ladies and gentlemen approached from the opposite direction. The ladies, dressed in the height of fashion, carried extravagant muffs in one hand as they walked with their arms looped into those of the gentlemen in their tall hats and impeccable coats.
As the group neared, Hannah’s heart lurched as she recognised Fabien Brassard as one of the elegantly dressed gentlemen. She had not seen him since the Lydburys’ ball, and she had prayed that he had returned to France but no, here he was with none other than Lady Darlington hanging off his arm with a quite improper familiarity. The lady was notorious for her scandalous affairs, news of which apparently failed to reach the ears of her elderly and besotted husband on his country estate.
Lady Darlington laughed, clasping her escort’s arm so close her head almost rested on his shoulder. The other gentleman, Sir Ninian Davis, a rakehell by reputation, hailed Easterbrook and it seemed a close encounter could not be avoided.
‘Easterbrook, old chap!’ Davis said and turned to Sophie, ‘And you must be the enchanting Miss Westhall, all of society is talking about.’
Sophie giggled and simpered, holding out her hand to Davis. No one even looked at Hannah. As he had at the ball, Fabien’s gaze passed over her apparently without recognition. A hard knot of disappointment lodged in Hannah’s throat as Sophie was formally presented to the party. Fabien bowed gracefully and passed a comment about the fine winter’s day. A short discussion on the weather followed, and the two parties made their bows and obeisances and separated.
As they passed, Hannah heard Lady Darlington say, ‘Who was that dowdy piece with Miss Westhall?’
‘Oh, her?’ Lady Witnall, Sir Ninian’s companion, glanced back. ‘That’s the woman the girl’s grandfather has employed as chaperone for the season. Can’t tell you her name. It’s of no consequence.’
Her words flew through the cold air, striking Hannah between the shoulder blades with the force of an arrow. Any further conversation was lost as Fabien’s party rounded a bend. Easterbrook and Sophie stepped into a convenient, pretty little gazebo. Hannah sank on to a bench nearby, her heart bound in a tight coil of misery and humiliation.
‘Her name,’ Fabien said, keeping his anger in check with difficulty, ‘is Lady Maxwell and I beg to differ, chere madame. Everyone is of consequence, however great or small.’
‘My dear Fabien, you do surprise me,’ Lady Darlington said. ‘How do you come to be acquainted with such a nobody?’
Fabien’s heart clenched, and he resisted the urge to throw off the woman’s arm. Her cloying touch revolted him, but, he reminded himself, he had made this particular bed and, until recently, had lain in it, enjoying the delights Elizabeth Darlington offered. Now, like a surfeit of chocolate, she had palled and left him feeling faintly nauseated.
He forced a smile. ‘I make it my business to know everybody. Tell me, Elizabeth, is the charming Miss Westhall invited to attend your Christmas Eve ball?’
Elizabeth Darlington shrugged. ‘If she is not on the invitation list, shall I make sure she receives an invitation?’
‘And Lady Maxwell,’ Fabien said.
‘But as her chaperone, she will of course be in attendance.’
‘Please, for me, Elizabeth. A separate invitation.’
The woman’s knowing eyes danced over his face. ‘I sense there is a story here, Fabien. I will send the invitations, but only on condition: you tell me why this woman is so important to you.’
