Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

T he ballroom in Lord and Lady Teesdales' house near Lansdown Road was but a fraction of the size of the Carletons' ballroom. It was no less elegant. Hannah arrived on her brother's arm, clad in a gown of pale blue Marceline silk. Her parents had not come this evening. It wasn't considered fashionable for them to attend every event with her. Instead, it had fallen to Charles to escort her to the many dances, dinners, and concerts that comprised her season.

Charles professed not to mind it. However, anyone could see that he had been distracted of late with all the preparations for his marriage to Kate. While his betrothed was away in London purchasing her wedding clothes, he'd been obliged to remain in the West Country, not just for Hannah's sake but to settle affairs relating to Satterthwaite Court, the estate Hannah's parents had purchased for him in Devonshire.

Hannah's mother had grown up at Satterthwaite Court and had many fond memories of her childhood there. When the property had recently come up for sale, Hannah's father had bought it with the intention of keeping it in the family. Charles and Kate were to live there now, a comfortable distance from both Heywood House and the Beresfords' Beasley Park.

"I'll have to travel there tomorrow," Charles said as they strolled along the crowded edge of the ballroom. "The estate agent wants to go over some of the repairs he's made to the upper rooms."

"Will you be obliged to stay overnight?" Hannah asked.

"I doubt it. Though I'm not likely to return in time to escort you to the concert at the Assembly Rooms."

"I don't mind missing it."

"You needn't," her brother said. "You can attend with Lady Carleton in my absence. She'll be happy to include you in her party."

Hannah's brow puckered. "Surely I have imposed on her ladyship enough this season."

"She doesn't view it as an imposition."

"Still… I would rather spend the evening catching up on my correspondence than being an awkward addition to someone else's party."

Charles gave her a look of concern. "You're not finding the season any more enjoyable?"

"There are parts of it I enjoy. The music. Sometimes the dancing."

"Sometimes?" he questioned.

"With the right partner," Hannah qualified.

A dance was in progress as they spoke. A lively reel, that had the couples skipping and spinning. Hannah's gaze lit on a familiar gentleman standing among the guests who had gathered to watch the dancers. "Oh look!" she said. "There's Jack!"

Catching sight of them in turn, Jack Beresford made his way through the crush. He smiled as he approached. "Heywood." He bowed to Charles before turning to Hannah. "Hannah. Don't you look fetching."

Hannah offered her hand to him in greeting. He took it, bowing over it with roguish gallantry.

"I daresay all your dances have been claimed in advance this evening," he said. "But if you have any to spare…" Retaining her hand, he helped himself to the dance card dangling from a cord at her wrist. He flipped through the pages with upraised brows. "What's this? Why so many empty spaces?"

"We've only just arrived," Hannah said.

"So have I." He relinquished her hand. "I've not seen him, by the way."

Hannah managed to contain her blushes. "I can't imagine who you mean."

Jack's eyes danced with humor. "Can you not?"

Charles gave Jack a repressive frown. He shook his head in silent warning. He knew how sensitive Hannah could be to teasing.

Jack's grin was unvanquished. "Shall we dance the next set?" he asked her.

"I'd like that," she said.

The instant the reel ended, Jack escorted her onto the floor. They lined up across from each other as the orchestra struck up the music for a sedate country dance.

"My esteemed elder brother is likely still toiling over his cravat," Jack said as they came together for the first turn. "He spends an egregious amount of time at his toilette. All that starch and finely pressed linen. While I, by contrast, have been blessed with effortless good looks."

Hannah bent her head at his unapologetic quizzing, both amused and embarrassed. "Is he not coming?" she asked, a little uncertain.

Jack's teasing smile softened as he turned her in a wide circle, their hands clasped and their arms extended. "He is," he said. "Indeed, he may well be here already. We don't travel together, you know."

They separated for a time. Hannah turned again on her own, stepping forward and back with the other dancers, before once again joining hands with Jack.

"Why did you come to Bath?" she asked him. "You weren't expected."

"I needed to talk to your brother," Jack said.

"What about?"

"Army business." He turned her in another wide circle. "Or rather, Navy business."

"You're not thinking of?—"

"I am." He cocked a brow at her. "Do you disapprove?"

"No, but …it is dangerous."

"I'm not afraid of a little danger."

" Very dangerous."

"A lot of danger, then." Jack promenaded down the line with her. "I've too much energy for Somerset. Too much, even, for London. What I need is a bit of adventure."

She flashed him a narrow look. "You sound like Charles did before he left home."

"Let me hazard a guess. You didn't like him joining up either."

"No, I didn't," she said frankly. "I know how it feels to be left behind. When a gentleman goes away to war, it is dreadfully hard on his family."

"My family will soon grow accustomed to the idea," Jack said before they separated once more.

When they next came together, Hannah asked him, "What is it to be, then? The Army or the Navy?"

"I've not decided yet," he said. An expression of seriousness crossed his face. "I confess, the Naval stories that Charles has shared give me pause. For all its inconveniences, Her Majesty's Army is at least on dry land."

"You should speak with my father. He was in the cavalry for many years. Perhaps he could advise you?"

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Jack asked. He turned her again before they parted.

At the close of the set, he escorted her from the floor and back to her brother. Hannah's pulse quickened to find James standing with him, looking immaculate as ever. His cool gray gaze fell on her. The faintest shadow of a smile edged his mouth.

Her heart leapt in response to it. At the same time, she felt an overpowering trembling in her stomach, recalling the way he'd kissed her on the stairs of the Norman tower. The warmth of his lips. The unevenness of his breath. The way he'd held her so tightly, without art or finesse. The memory alone was enough to inspire a blush. This time she failed to suppress it.

"Miss Heywood." James bowed to her.

"Lord St. Clare." She curtsied to him in return.

Observing their formality, Jack grinned with gleeful amusement. "You're late," he said to his older brother. "You've missed the first set with her."

James's gaze remained on Hannah's face. "Perhaps she would be generous enough to grant me the next one?"

"I would be honored, my lord," Hannah replied.

"Heywood?" James briefly looked to Charles for permission.

"By all means," Charles said. "If my sister has no objection."

The orchestra was already beginning the first notes of a waltz as Hannah set her hand on James's sleeve and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. The trembling in her stomach increased, half anxiety and half anticipation. She had dreamed of waltzing with him again.

"How well you timed your arrival," she remarked as she stepped into his arms. "Just as you did at the Carletons' ball."

"It wasn't by design," he said. "I'd have been here earlier, but one of my horses came up lame. I went down to the Bull and Crown to have a look at him."

Her brow contracted with immediate concern. "Is he all right?"

"He strained his hock. It's nothing a few days' rest and a solicitously applied poultice won't cure."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "Glad you tended to him first."

"I was confident you would understand." James expertly led her into the first turn.

Hannah's breath caught, just as it had the last time they'd waltzed.

But no, she realized. It wasn't at all the same.

Then, she had been in awe of him. He had seemed almost godlike, too handsome and elegant to be partnered with a mere mortal like herself. On this occasion, however, Hannah knew them to be equals.

Her mouth curved in a dreamy smile as he waltzed her around the floor. The candlelight blurred about them, the flames shimmering in the ladies' colorful skirts and glinting in their jewels. It was magical. Romantic. Everything Hannah could have wished it to be.

"I must caution you," James said. "A compliment is forthcoming."

She was surprised into a laugh.

He stared down at her steadily. His gray eyes were warm. "Last time, you requested adequate warning."

Her cheeks heated under the weight of his gaze. "Very well. If you insist."

"You look beautiful this evening," he said.

Her smile of amusement faded. For all his absurdity, he was heart-meltingly serious.

He led her into another turn. Her silk skirts swirled about his legs. He was holding her so very close. "I don't often see you in blue," he said. "You're more often in some shade of pink or rose."

Hannah clutched his shoulder as he turned her again, temporarily rendered speechless. She was as amazed that he'd noticed her color preferences as she had been when he'd remembered the names of her dogs. "Do you not like shades of pink?" she asked when she at last found her voice.

"On the contrary," he said. "They suit you. Just as this shade does. I can't think of any color that wouldn't, lovely as you are."

Her eyes dropped to his chest as a wave of shyness engulfed her. "You are very generous with your compliments this evening."

"If it wouldn't make you uncomfortable, I would compliment you more lavishly still."

"It would make me uncomfortable," she said hastily, raising an anxious gaze back to his.

His hand curved around her waist, firm and strong, effortlessly guiding her through the crowd of dancers. "Then I'll keep my thoughts to myself," he said. "For now."

By the time the waltz came to a close, Hannah' nerve endings were quivering like a cat's whiskers, attuned to his every look and every touch.

Perhaps it had been dangerous to allow him to court her?

She might have known he would be magnificent at it. From his attentiveness and protectiveness, to the way he danced—the way he kissed. The way he had stepped in to rescue the donkey, for heaven's sake.

She was losing her heart to him.

Indeed, she very much feared she was falling in love with him.

And it was a fear, for despite her changing feelings for him, the obstacles that separated them were un changed.

"Shall we step outside for some air?" he asked her.

They were near the line of French doors that led onto the Teesdales' stone terrace.

Hannah cast a quick look about the ballroom for her brother. She couldn't find him. Still, she didn't think Charles would object. "Yes," she said. "Let's."

* * *

The Teesdales' terrace was made of the same honey-colored stone as most everything else in Bath. Illuminated by scattered torches, it spanned the back side of the house, facing south, several floors above an ornamental garden.

James escorted Hannah out. It was a cool evening, with the faint smell of spring roses drifting on the night air. Hannah dropped his arm as they walked together toward the terrace rail. She rested her hands upon the top of it, peering down into the garden below.

James stood back, watching her.

He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told her how beautiful she looked this evening. Or when he'd said that she could do any color justice. He traced her profile with his gaze, seeing her more fully than he had on that fateful day when he'd proposed to her. There was no fault in her, not in her appearance, nor in her character, only softness and grace imbued to the very heart of her.

One could easily mistake that softness for weakness, particularly when coupled with her shyness and blushes. He had done so. He'd thought she required guidance, polishing, perfecting.

But she hadn't.

She didn't.

James could see that now. Just as he'd seen evidence of her strength, her confidence, her conscience. Qualities that were as striking as her beauty.

And yet, she wasn't some ideal to worship on a pedestal. She was a warm, and surprisingly passionate woman. One who had returned his kiss so sweetly that his heart still ached like the devil to recall it.

"It's such a perfectly manicured little garden," she remarked.

James came to stand beside her. "You don't like it?"

"I confess, I don't. The gardens at Heywood House are larger, and wilder. Like a fairytale garden one must cut through to save an enchanted princess."

His mouth quirked. "A vivid description."

There was an endless pause. "What are the gardens like at Worth House?" she asked.

James's gaze became intent. He studied her profile, attempting to discern the meaning behind her question. Was she generally curious about the Beresfords' family seat? Or was she specifically interested in it because she thought she might one day live there with him?

His pulse surged at the possibility.

He warned himself to tread carefully.

"Not as wild as the ones at Heywood House," he said. "But quite large and well established. We have a walled garden as well. It's shut up behind a wooden door twice as tall as a regular one. Only someone with a key can enter."

She continued looking down into the torchlit darkness, a shadow of a frown marring her brow.

He drew closer to her. "Worth House is at its best in the spring, when all the flowers are in bloom. There aren't many estates in Hertfordshire that can compete with its splendor."

"Will you retire there when you…"

"When I marry?"

She nodded.

No," he said. "Not while my father is living."

"Your father will live a good long while, I hope."

"I pray he will." Though James spent a great deal of time thinking about the future, it was never pleasant to contemplate the melancholy event that would ultimately lead to him ascending to the title. "The earldom has other properties I might choose in the event of my marriage. If none of them suit, my parents have offered Beasley Park for my use. It is an easy distance from your family's estate."

Rather than being reassured by the information, she seemed to be troubled by it. "But you won't only reside in the country, will you? You said yourself that some of your life must be spent in town."

"So it must," James said.

Part of returning legitimacy to the Beresford name was developing a presence in London. It was incumbent on him to keep a hand in politics, and to nurture powerful connections. One day, he would be required to take his father's seat in the Lords. James would need to grow accustomed to remaining in town when Parliament was in session.

"How much of your life?" Hannah asked.

"Several months out of the year," he said.

"How many?"

James hesitated to answer. He knew very well what effect his reply would have. There was a good chance it would end their courtship before it had begun.

Even so, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her.

"Six, possibly," he said.