Secrets and Sensibilities: A Regency Romance Mystery (The Lady Emily Capers Book 1) (12 page)

“What are you doing?” she cried.

He pulled her into his embrace. “What I should have done the
moment I met you.” He lowered his head and kissed her.

She was stiff in his arms, but only for a moment. Then she melted
against him, arms encircling his waist to pull him closer. The cloak parted,
and he felt her curves pressing against his chest. She returned his kiss, her
mouth warm and soft beneath his. He tightened his grip and deepened the kiss,
lingering over her lips, then raining kisses across her cheek and down her
neck. His hands tangled in the silken strands of her hair. She moaned, swaying
on her feet, as if his touch left her weak.

He was suddenly glad for the darkness. His desire must be
written across his face. He would not have wanted her to know how close he was
to carrying her back to her room and making her his own. She had every right to
hear a formal proposal after such a demonstration as it was. He carefully set
her upright, moving his hands to her shoulders. His breath was coming fast, and
he swallowed before speaking.

“Hannah.” His voice cracked, and he shook his head.
“Hannah,” he tried again. “Do you understand? I’m in love with you, and I want
you to marry me.”

“I understand.” Her voice trembled, and she gulped back what
sounded suspiciously like a sob. “I love you too. Only don’t ask me to say yes,
not yet. We must talk, about many things. I don’t know whether I can be a
countess, David. I’m sorry to be so craven.”

He gave a wry laugh. “You don’t need to apologize. I’ve
never thought I made a very good earl, although that hasn’t stopped me from
trying. As I told you, I keep moving until I hit a wall. Don’t give me that
wall, Hannah. Not after what we just shared.”

“I don’t want to. I need to think. Would you, would you
please light the candle so I can go back to my chamber?”

He leaned over to retrieve the tapers. Pulling a flint from
his waistcoat pocket, he struck it against the hardened beam. The candles
sprung to life. She flinched away from the light, but not before he saw tears
on her cheeks.

Guilt smote him. “Hannah, I . . .”

“No,” she silenced him. “Not tonight. Know that I love you
and that I will do what is best, for both of us. Good night, David.”

He watched until the glow of her candle faded in the
distance. Then he made his lonely way back to the east wing.

Shopping in Wenwood
was every bit as dreary as David had predicted. It failed entirely to keep
Hannah’s mind off the events in the passage the night before. In truth, she had
slept little again. He loved her! Each time she thought of it, joy danced
through her. Unfortunately the dancing always ceased when she remembered what a
poor countess she’d make. She loved him in return, and she only wanted him to
be happy. If only she could ensure that marrying her would ensure that
happiness.

She could not
remember much about her parents’ marriage. It seemed to her that her mother had
been happy. Certainly she had seemed unhappy by her husband’s early demise. She
remembered her mother often sitting in the sunlight of the window in the main
room of their Banbury house, staring off across the country lane outside with a
tender smile, as if she were remembering something sweet and long ago. She also
remembered how her mother had encouraged her to accept Reverend Timkin’s offer
of marriage.

“He’ll take good
care of you, Hannah,” her mother had explained. “And he won’t mind that you
paint.”

Hannah had smiled.
Sometimes it seemed to her that her mother saw her painting as some sort of
handicap that must be explained. “He’s older than Father,” Hannah reminded her.
“And he doesn’t love me. Grandfather put him up to this.”

Her mother hadn’t
denied the fact that Hannah’s minister grandfather was trying to look out for
his only granddaughter. “I’m sure Reverend Timkin will be kind and
understanding,” her mother assured her. “You’ll have a roof over your head and
someone to look out for you.”

“Perhaps,” Hannah
had replied, “I prefer to look out after myself.”

Now she wondered
about the statement, said with so much pride and determination. She had made a
way for herself through her teaching and was on the verge of making an even
finer way with her painting. Why did she suddenly long to give it all up for a
man she’d met less than a week ago?

She forced the
issue from her mind to deal with her task for the day. She was supposed to be
the chaperone, and outside of seeing that the girls were in bed at a decent
time each night and up again in the morning, she couldn’t see that she had done
all that much. Anyone would have reached out to Ariadne when the girl had been
struck ill. Hannah resolved to spend more time with her charges until the trip
was over. If her duty helped her retreat from a far more important issue, she
was not about to question the matter.

Although the town
of Wenwood was only a few miles from Barnsley, Hannah had never had occasion to
visit. All the teachers did their rare bits of shopping in Barnsley or made an
annual trip to Wells, and she could see why. The village of Wenwood consisted
of a small country church with an oversized rectory and a cluster of laborers’
cottages surrounding a small green. The largest cottage did have an extra room
in the front with some dry goods, hardware, and fabric, but that was the extent
of it. The only thing that surprised Hannah was that the owner of the cottage,
a Mr. Delacorte, seemed to know her ladyship well. She simply could not see
Lady Brentfield shopping at the place.

“We’ll pay the
vicar a call,” Lady Brentfield announced when the few bolts of fabric, all less
expensive than the bright muslin of the girls’ morning dresses, had exhausted
their dubious interest. The girls grumbled, but Hannah cast them looks of
encouragement, and they followed her ladyship down the dusty lane with ill-disguised
boredom.

The Vicar
Wellfordhouse was in the midst of teaching school and was rather discomposed to
find six lovely women standing in the doorway of what had once been the parlor
of the rectory. Entrusting the care of the dozen or so children to his
kind-faced female assistant, he hurried to greet them. He was a slight man of
medium height and young for a vicar she thought. He had sandy hair and a bottle
nose. His smile was gentle, and Hannah liked him on sight.

“Ladies, how nice
of you to call,” he said, although Hannah was certain it was a great
inconvenience. “Lady Brentfield, isn’t it?”

It did not surprise
Hannah that her ladyship was not a recognized member of the man’s congregation.
It did seem to surprise Lady Brentfield that she was not more memorable. “It
most certainly is,” she declared. “And with me is Lady Emily Southwell, the
youngest daughter of the Duke of Emerson.”

If Lady Emily
noticed that the woman tended to wield her father’s name like a sword, she did
not show it. She nodded with just the right amount of condescension for one of
her station addressing a mere country vicar. Reverend Wellfordhouse bowed over
her hand with such care that she visibly thawed.

“And these are Miss
Courdebas and Miss Ariadne Courdebas, daughters of Viscount Rollings,” Lady
Brentfield continued.

Daphne dipped a
wobbly curtsey; Ariadne propped her up. Reverend Wellfordhouse bowed over their
hands as well, setting them both to blushing. Hannah had to admire the man’s
fortitude.

“And, of course, my
dear niece Priscilla Tate.”

Priscilla batted
her luxurious lashes at the vicar, who blinked in surprise. He hurriedly
covered the movement with a bow.

“We are most
fortunate to have them all visiting us at Brentfield until Easter,” Lady
Brentfield explained as he straightened at last. Hannah realized with a pang of
annoyance that the woman did not intend to introduce her but decided it was one
battle she did not need to fight.

As it turned out,
the vicar fought it for her. “I hope we can look forward to seeing you all at
Easter services,” he said with a nod to the girls. Then he smiled at Hannah.
“And you must be Miss Alexander, the famous portrait painter.”

Now it was Hannah’s
turn to blink in confusion even as the girls beamed with pride he would
recognize her. “Yes, how did you know?” she replied, trying to ignore Lady
Brentfield’s censorious frown.

“You are becoming
quite famous in the area,” he assured her with honest admiration that brought a
blush to her cheeks. “I’ve had the good fortune to see the painting you did of
Lady Prestwick. And of course I had heard about you from Squire Pentercast’s
wife. She is quite looking forward to you painting their family when you return
from your visit to Brentfield.”

“How is dear
Genevieve?” Lady Brentfield interrupted enthusiastically, managing to bring all
attention back to her. This time, Hannah did not mind. She felt a little guilty
that the Squire’s lovely wife should be singing her praises when she had had to
delay the work of painting the Pentercasts.

“Quite fine,”
Reverend Wellfordhouse replied cheerfully. “Young Rutherford is a year and a
half now, and I understand from Mrs. Pentercast’s sister that a little brother
or sister is due in October.”

“Children can be
such a blessing,” Lady Brentfield replied dryly. The girls exchanged looks, and
Hannah tried not to cringe at the sarcasm.

“Indeed,” Reverend
Wellfordhouse agreed. Hannah wondered at his wistful tone, but he continued in
explanation. “I have always thought I would like children of my own. Of course,
first I have to find a Mrs. Wellfordhouse.”

He said it
teasingly, reminding her of David, but the mere mention that he was still a
bachelor propelled Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne into immediate flirtations.
Hannah had never seen so many coy looks, batting lashes, and tossing curls in
her life. Only Lady Emily remained aloof, and Hannah supposed that a country
vicar, no matter how charming, was of little interest to the daughter of a
duke. Within minutes, the poor man was turning red over the effusive attentions,
and Hannah was red from embarrassment watching her charges. Lady Brentfield
apparently had had enough as well, for as the church bell rang two, she
announced that it was time to return home.

The vicar politely
bowed them out, but Hannah thought he looked relieved. She rather hoped they
didn’t stay for Easter services. She couldn’t imagine trying to take communion
with the girls simpering at him.

As the carriage
rolled toward Brentfield, Hannah felt her spirits lift. In a few more minutes,
she’d see David again. Then she remembered how she had put him off last night.
He had made his appreciation of her well known. She would have to make a
decision, and soon. If only she weren’t so comfortable in his company, if only
he weren’t so clever and funny, if only he weren’t so handsome, if only his
kisses didn’t make her yearn for more.

Her dilemma was
still very much on her mind as the carriage came to a stop in front of the
great house. However, the sight that met her eyes drove her current worries
from her mind. Asheram limped out to greet them, clothes powdered in ash and
smelling of acrid smoke.

“I regret to say,
ladies, that there’s been another mishap,” he informed them as they leaned out
the carriage window. “If you’ll stay in the coach, I’ll have you brought around
to the side entrance.”

Hannah grew cold in
fear. “Lord Brentfield?” she begged, reaching out the open window to touch the
man.

“Is fine,” he
assured her kindly. He glanced at Lady Brentfield, who was framed in the other
window, and his mouth hardened. “Just fine.”

“Thank God for
small blessings,” her ladyship said, leaning back inside the coach. Trembling,
Hannah could only follow her lead and settle back as well. The girls raised a
volley of questions, but she could only shake her head. It was all she could do
to remain calm. Asheram had said he was fine, but until she saw him with her
own eyes, she feared to find him injured as well. Several times she directed
the girls’ questions toward Lady Brentfield, only to find the woman staring out
the window of the coach, eyes narrowed in thought. Somehow, Hannah could not
believe that she worried for David too.

To Hannah’s relief,
David was waiting for them when they came through a ballroom on the east side
of the great house. This time she held herself back from running to him. She
couldn’t help noticing, however, that his clothes were as sooty as Asheram’s,
and his right hand was bandaged.

“Well, ladies,” he
greeted them with a bow, “this time you missed the excitement.” He winked at
Hannah, but she could see that his jovial response was strained. She managed a
smile for his sake. “It seems someone left a candle burning without a holder,
and it eventually started a fire.”

Hannah frowned,
wondering about their adventure of the night before. Surely they had both taken
their candles when they had parted.

“Clumsy servants,”
Lady Brentfield declared with a toss of her head that reminded Hannah of
Priscilla. “I would take the cost of repairs out of their wages.”

“We don’t pay that
well,” David informed her with bare civility. “I’m sorry to say that the blue
room and the dining room have been damaged, as has the main entry. The servants
are currently setting up the upstairs sitting room in the west wing for your
use. If you wouldn’t mind having tea in the breakfast room, I’m sure it will be
done by the time you finish.”

As they murmured
their agreement to his proposal, Hannah forced herself to take a deep breath.
David did not appear seriously hurt, and none of the art treasures were in the
rooms he had mentioned. They had indeed been fortunate.

“Lord Brentfield,”
Lady Emily intoned as they started down the corridor for the back stairs.
“Where did the fire start?”

David glanced at
her with a wry smile. “Ever the interest in disaster, Lady Emily?” he teased.
“It started in the blue room, on the wall next to the library. I’ll show it to
you later if you’d like, but somehow I don’t think everyone will be
interested.”

Hannah avoided his
pointed look. In truth, just knowing he had been in danger was enough to set
her trembling. She had no desire to see the location.

Lady Brentfield
excused herself from tea and retired to her room, pleading a headache. Hannah
would have loved to do the same, particularly as David left to oversee the
continued restoration. She felt it her duty to help the girls, however, so she
played hostess and poured tea.

She had feared she
would have to make conversation, but the girls were surprisingly quiet. It was
Priscilla who requested that they also be allowed to retire to their rooms.
Hannah had no choice but to retire as well, being unsure whether she could
provide David with any help in his efforts or whether she would only hinder the
progress.

It was one of her
few moments to herself since she had arrived, and she had no doubt how she
intended to spend it. She had ever thought better when she was drawing. She
hurried to the wardrobe and pulled out her sketch book. Taking out a charcoal
and sharpening it, she set to work.

An hour later, she
was beginning to feel as if she had something. David’s heavy-lidded eyes gazed
back at her, warm and inviting. She had captured his nose, she was sure, but
the mouth wasn’t yet right. It was difficult to capture that half-smile he wore
so often. It made her shiver just thinking about it. No, the drawing wasn’t
perfect, but even if she didn’t get a chance to do more with it, at least when
she left Brentfield she would have something more to rely on than her memory.

Someone knocked at
her door, and the girls filed in before she could call out to stop them. She
snapped the sketch book shut and rose, putting on a smile. Four somber faces
regarded her, and she felt the smile fading.

“What is it?” she
asked, heart starting to beat faster again. “Has something happened?”

They exchanged
serious looks, which only served to frighten her further. Priscilla stepped
forward. “We have something we must discuss with you, Miss Alexander.”

“And you had better
sit down,” Daphne added, not unkindly.