A Flirtatious Rendezvous: The Gentlemen Next Door #4 - Historical Regency Romance Novellas (2 page)

“I haven’t broken a vase in years!”

He smoothed back the wayward brown tendrils at her forehead. “It will be a privilege to stay with Lady Landale.”

“It is more a privilege to remain your daughter,” Hanna insisted.

Her father snorted but smiled as he patted her head. “I’ll miss your silliness, Hanna. I’ll miss how infectious it is.”

“Then remember to be silly without me.” Hanna plucked imaginary fibers off the shoulders of his coat so her hands would have something to do instead of grabbing his arm so he wouldn’t leave her.

Her father kissed the top of her head. She waited for him to say that she should visit as soon as possible, but instead he said, “Please write—your penmanship could use the practice. And my heart could use the comfort.” And then he was in the carriage pulling away—destined for the country.

She walked out onto the road, waiting until the horses rounded the bend and he disappeared from sight. A heavy sadness settled in her bones and she worried it would overtake her, much as it had when she’d lost her mother, so she turned and looked up at the foreboding doors of the Landale home. She thought of Hayden Banks inside. As it had after the death of her mother, the thought of him lifted her spirits, filled her with anticipation instead of dread, and gave her something to look forward to.

One more memory on which she could build a lifetime of daydreams.

She took the steps slowly, then faster, until she practically ran into the front door.

She knocked.

* * *

Hayden knew his mother wanted him to ask her what she was thinking. He wished she would just tell him. Instead, she entered his study as he was bent over his Twin Prime proof, all dramatic sighs and resting her chin thoughtfully against her fist as she stared out the window.

He had no intention of giving in to her fanciful games. There was no harm in indulging one’s mother. He loved her, after all. But he’d seen what had befallen his two older brothers.

The demise of their free will had begun with indulging the countess’s preferences for the interior design of their bedrooms, for what was the harm in that? Then her holiday requests. And her invitation lists for dinners and parties. And so on and so on until they had indulged their matchmaking mother straight into marriages with women they didn’t want to be married to. Now they complained every time they were home or at their clubs about how they were trapped in situations for which there was no recourse.

Unlike his brothers, he was too smart for that.

His was one of the foremost mathematical minds in England, specializing in number theory and game analysis that had made him invaluable to the Crown. He would not be outsmarted by his mother, who had far too much time on her hands with his father’s recent diplomatic tour of the Continent.

He knew precisely what the countess would say if he asked her what she was thinking. She would say, “Isn’t it sad how the Morton girl has no parents to look after her? We should be nice to her.”

And what she would mean was, “Propose, you idiot.”

Only he was not an idiot. Thank goodness. So he continued to ignore his mother as she continued to sigh. After a few moments, he heard the butler let someone in the front door.

His mother, whose ruse for attention had failed, finally glanced at him in annoyance and said, “Please be sure you’re available for dinner to greet our guest.”

* * *

“You’re looking very well,” the countess said to Hanna as she spooned vegetable soup to her lips. “Isn’t she, Hayden?”

“She seems free of illness,” Hayden agreed, to his mother’s disapproving glare.

“And you seem to be free of compliments,” Hanna said.

“So we’re both skilled at observation today.” Hayden fought a smile as his mother’s glower took on the ferocity of the sun. One of his father’s great pleasures when he was in town was teasing his mother, and he and his brothers understood the impulse well.

His mother was correct, however. Hanna did look well. Sometime in the seven years since her ill-conceived confession of love, she had grown, if not beautiful, then pleasantly attractive. Her pale green eyes were often remarked upon, as was her brown hair, although the latter was because her time in the sun had given it unfashionable streaks of gold. Why anyone would care about gold streaks he didn’t know—her hair seemed fine to him.

But what people remarked on the most was how she was obviously and shamefully in love with him. Fortunately, not to the point where it would be a matter of honor that they marry. But enough that old matrons acknowledged it with a fond chuckle.

Hayden had no empirical evidence of her love. She had never repeated her confession of seven years ago, and indeed, their interactions had become rather similar to verbal jousts. But he knew she still fancied herself in love with him.

The proof was shining through her.

Even as she sparred with him, like she always did, and even as she disagreed with him, like she always did, she always gazed at him with a satisfied, secretive smile on her lips and those light green eyes filled with admiration. As she did now from across the dining table.

If they were ever in a room with other men, she seemed only able to respond to him, to compliment him.

As if she believed they were perfectly suited.

Worse yet, his mother seemed to have caught the bug. She was all but applauding her own ingenuity as she glanced between them, stars in her eyes. He’d predicted this—if not with Hanna, then another candidate—when his father had left, but he’d knowingly stayed behind.

Nothing was more dangerous than a mother at leisure with an eligible bachelor for a son.

Then again, he supposed there were things worth enduring to ensure one’s mother was not lonely.

“We’ll have to begin right away,” the countess was saying.

“Pardon?” he asked. He wasn’t usually given to a wandering mind. He hoped Hanna’s silliness wasn’t contagious. No, of course it wasn’t. He knew that.

“You must not trouble yourselves—” Hanna began.

“Oh, but we must,” his mother insisted, looking back to him. “Hanna’s launch into society is of utmost importance.”

He didn’t miss Hanna’s swallowed sigh—so the girl wasn’t eager to be fed to the lions? Of course not. A launch in society was a search for a husband, and he knew Hanna had her sights set directly on him.

“I think it a wonderful idea.” He was grateful for it. It had been why he hadn’t protested the idea of Hanna living with them. A launch would give his mother something to do, even if her nefarious motivation was seeing them married, and would place Hanna on the marriage mart to someone else so she could divest herself of her feelings for him.

There also was the fact that she’d missed her debut because of her mother’s death, and he wasn’t insensitive to her situation. His mother launching her into society was a multi-pronged solution to several problems. “I’m sure the launch will keep you both very busy.”

“You as well,” his mother said.

Hayden set down his knife and fork. “How so?”

“Hayden,” his mother scolded. “There’s an incredible amount of work to be done in a short period of time. The Season is upon us, so I can’t delay her introduction. Don’t think your participation won’t be necessary.”

“What do I know about launching someone into society?”

“I thought you knew about everything,” Hanna said.

He couldn’t tell if this was one of her lovesick declarations or if she was egging him on. He also couldn’t tell why his pride had him saying, “I’m sure a society launch isn’t that difficult.”

“Is that so?” his mother said. “It sounds like something we should prove empirically.”

“An empirical proof of the relative difficulty of a society launch?” His interest was piqued. “How do you propose that?”

“We’ll arrange two events,” the countess said. “I’ll prepare one event with one set of eligible bachelors, you the other. And we’ll see which is more successful.”

“Assuming we indulge this, how do we measure success?”

“The only way,” she said. “By the number of marriage proposals resulting from each.”

Hanna dropped her fork, which clattered against her plate, sending bits of roasted potato across the table. He watched her eyes grow wide and her lip tremble as she made excuses to the staff who were rushing to clean up her mess. “Lady Landale, I could never thank you enough for your hospitality, but there’s no need…this rush…if it is because I am a burden—”

“You’re not a burden,” Hayden said before his mother could respond, although she did seem content to watch him serenely and sweetly from across the table. “You may not be aware, but my mother has a habit of wagering, although she never wins.”

“Then I must be due for a victory,” his mother said.

The countess’s gaze remained fixed upon his. After a moment, he couldn’t help a glance across the table. This was probably the quietest he’d seen Hanna. She likely did not know how to intervene. Most people didn’t whenever he and his mother locked horns.

His mother was presenting a puzzle.

He knew she ultimately wanted him married to Hanna. So why would she encourage a race for proposals?

After several seconds of consideration, he rejected the question. It did not matter.

Launching Hanna would not only keep her busy, the race for marriage proposals would ensure she was safely off the mart and out of his mother’s speculations for him. Even the countess wouldn’t deny a suitable match for their guest if one presented itself.

“What of the order?" he asked. “Whoever launches first may be at an advantage…or disadvantage.”

“Disadvantage,” his mother said. “Proposals are more likely to follow the second event because attendees will also have the benefit of hearing about her through the rumor mill after the first. However, I will forfeit the advantage, as I’ve put on numerous fetes and you have no experience.”

“Your generosity isn’t necessary. I’m sure I’ll fare well without it.”

“This isn’t just about you.” She speared a piece of asparagus. “I would hate for you to garner no proposals at your event because of your failure, and then what of poor Hanna? Would you see her so humbled?”

He felt a pinch in his chest at Hanna’s distressed expression. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with ire. “Even if I failed miserably at event planning, she would garner proposals on her looks and manner alone.”

“Is that so?” his mother said slyly.

Hayden realized too late his mistake at being goaded—not until he saw Hanna’s lovesick grin and starry eyes.

A trap well laid by his mother. He would remember not to underestimate her in future.

* * *

Lady Hanna Morton was exhausted by the time she collapsed on her soft goosedown-filled bed, her hair splayed over the pillow. Her body imagined it had run to and from Bath, leaving her with aching feet, a sore back, and a slight headache.

Hayden had retired to the study directly after dinner, and she had seen the lamps burning under the door even as she prepared for bed hours later. Lady Landale seemed positively gleeful as she made for bed—as if an easy rest were guaranteed.

She and her son had simply laid out Hanna’s life for the next two weeks. Each would have six days to prepare her for a ball on the seventh. They had wagered, and the prize was to see Hanna engaged.

Her father would have been amused by the proceedings. Hanna was not often stunned silent, but the wager had rendered her mute. She was known for saying exactly what she was feeling, but she’d been feeling so many conflicting emotions that she didn’t know which words to use first.

At the tip of her tongue, always, was a declaration of love for Hayden. But this would have been closely followed by a declaration of mortification to be the object of such attention.

Ah, but she smiled as she imaged her father’s reaction to the conversation. “Are you taking odds?” he would have asked, and reached for his money clip.

Her father would be midway to Leicester by now and bedded down at an inn, somehow convincing the keeper to sneak him a bowl of sweet cream before bedtime. Else she could recount the night’s activities to him in person instead of in the letter she had started and stopped and started and stopped again.

Because how could she convey it?

The utter irony of it all.

Hayden, the love of her life, intended to see her wed to someone else. He had bet his pride on it. And her beloved did not know how to fail.

Which meant that, despite her best intentions, she knew with certainty that she would soon be engaged. To someone who was not Hayden.

Chapter Two

“Come, come now,” Lady Landale said, whisking her onto the raised platform that had been placed in the center of the morning room. “Stop fidgeting.”

Hanna forced herself to remain still as the dressmaker drew a measuring tape around her waist and then held it from hip to toe. Every so often she heard a grunt of frustration from Hayden’s study and wondered what he could be doing.

“I think the dusty rose,” Lady Rivington said with an incline of her pale blond head in an accent that betrayed her as American despite her impending title of Duchess once her father-in-law passed. “Anything to show the first blush of youth is still upon her.”

“Agreed, agreed,” Lady Landale murmured, inching closer to her cohort. “A touch of pink will de-emphasize impending spinsterhood.”

“Spinsterhood?” Hanna sputtered and propped her hands on her hips. Even though she’d resigned herself to the inevitable fate, she didn’t like hearing it from another’s lips.

“No fidgeting, dear,” Lady Landale said.

“Impending spinsterhood is nothing to be ashamed of,” Lady Rivington said. “It simply means delaying the inevitable chains of womanhood.”

“Hush, you’ll scare her,” Lady Landale said.

Hanna studied Lady Rivington’s face. Lady Landale’s cousin by marriage was young—much, much younger than herself even—and she looked deceptively younger still because of her pale skin, nearly white hair, and soft, gray eyes born of a fairytale. She must have been monstrously younger than her husband, the heir to the Duke of Abernathy, one of the oldest lineages in the country. Their marriage had been scandalous—Lady Rivington had been barely twelve at the time of their engagement, and American to boot. Yet she stood here as self-possessed as any matron twice her age, with a reputation for elegance and sophistication.