Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"I t was admittedly not the great success I'd hoped it would be," Hannah said as she walked Evangeline and Tippo along the green across from Camden Place. "But taken altogether, I cannot be disappointed."

Mattie Winthrop strolled at Hannah's side, a patterned shawl twined about her arms. "It's over now, at any rate," she replied sensibly. "The other events you attend won't be half so unnerving."

"I pray they won't," Hannah said.

Last night's ball had been enough of a trial on its own. She'd hated being so much on display, and had quailed at meeting new people. It was a grim foreshadowing of her season to come—endless months of balls and assemblies and unrelenting awkwardness.

Of course, it hadn't been all bad.

She'd taken great pleasure in the music, and she had largely enjoyed the dancing. But the purpose of it hadn't come close to being fulfilled. None of the gentlemen she'd partnered with had resembled the kind, warm-hearted future-husband she'd envisioned for herself. Among them, only Lord St. Clare had sparked a flicker of romance in her soul.

But not Lord St. Clare anymore. He was James.

James .

After waltzing with her, he had escorted Hannah to the candlelit dining room for supper. There, they'd shared a meal together. It hadn't been an intimate one. Their families had joined them at the table—her parents, Lord and Lady Allendale, Charles and Kate, and Ivo and Miss Burton-Smythe too. The mood had been merry, the conversation animated, and the privacy nonexistent.

James had left immediately afterward.

At the time, Hannah had owned to a feeling of disappointment. She had thought his presence might mean something. That he would remain until the ball ended, asking her to dance another set with him, or perhaps taking her for a walk in the garden.

But he hadn't done any of those things.

Hannah had finished out the ball just as she'd begun it, dancing and socializing with a succession of polite strangers. She'd stayed until the end, returning to Camden Place with Charles in the early hours of the morning, exhausted in body and spirit. On waking at midday, she had still felt the lingering effects of her disappointment, but she hadn't indulged them. She had her dogs to tend to.

They walked ahead of her at the end of their leads, Tippo prancing on his four legs, and Evangeline hopping on her three.

"Have you any engagements today?" Mattie asked.

"None. Though I must return home before receiving hours. There may well be callers."

"There often are the day after a ball, especially if one has proved popular."

"I don't know about popular," Hannah said, "but I did meet several new people."

"Did any of them seem likely to support the cause?"

Hannah frowned. "There was no opportunity to inquire. Not while dancing." A gust of wind over the green whipped at the rose satin ribbons of her bonnet. She brushed them back from her face. "But if anyone should call today, I will make sure to ask them."

Mattie drew her shawl more firmly about her shoulders. "It would be wise to do so. You wouldn't wish to wed a gentleman who isn't in accord with your philosophies."

Hannah doubted there were any marriage proposals in her immediate future. Not after what could only be described as a lackluster debut.

It was some relief that she hadn't done anything to distinguish herself in a negative light. But neither had she emerged as the belle of the ball. She'd been too quiet and timid to dazzle anyone. And she certainly hadn't been dazzled in return. Not unless one counted James's brief appearance.

She only hoped that future events during her season would draw a wider array of gentlemen. Perhaps then she might stand a chance of meeting a man whose thoughts and opinions aligned with her own.

"Speaking of my philosophies…" She guided the dogs back toward Camden Place. "I was considering writing an essay on the importance of feeding one's cats."

Mattie flashed her an interested glance. "As opposed to…?"

"Wrongly presuming they'll hunt for their supper. Many cats won't—or can't. If more people understood their obligation of care, we may have fewer hungry cats roaming the street."

"Some of those cats are the products of abandonment," Mattie said. "It is the common way when people travel to another of their houses for the season. Many are accustomed to leaving their cats behind, untended. They imagine the cats will look after themselves until they return."

"Unforgivably foolish," Hannah murmured.

"Ignorance is to blame," Mattie said. "The trick is to educate without scolding."

"My essay wouldn't scold. I would simply explain the realities, and offer suggestions on how compassionate people might mitigate them."

"You would be writing for publication?"

"For your next issue of the Animal Advocate , if it isn't too late."

Mattie smiled. The front door of the Heywoods' house in Camden Place was just ahead. "I'm honored that you wish to contribute another piece."

"Then you'll accept it?"

"Send it to me when you've written it," Mattie said. "We can discuss it then."

Heartened, Hannah bid goodbye to her friend, before returning to the house. She let the dogs off their leads in the hall.

Mrs. Pritchett hurried to meet her. "You have a caller, Miss Heywood," she said in a low voice as she took Hannah's bonnet, gloves, and pelisse.

Hannah glanced at the case clock in the corner. Receiving hours hadn't commenced yet. "So early?"

Her mother had gone shopping with Lady Kate and Lady Allendale this morning. Hannah didn't expect her back before one.

"Who is it, Mrs. Pritchett?" she asked.

"It's Lord St. Clare," the housekeeper answered.

Hannah started. "And he's come to see… me? "

"He has, miss. He's just speaking with your father now, if you'd like to take a moment to refresh yourself?"

Hannah smoothed an anxious hand over her windblown hair. "I suppose I'd better." Evangeline and Tippo milled about her skirts, their nails clacking on the marble floor. "Would you please take the dogs down to the kitchens? They'll be wanting their luncheon."

"Very good, miss." Mrs. Pritchett herded the dogs through the door that led to the servants' stairs.

Hannah raced up to her room where she quickly put herself in order, washing her face and hands, and then—with Ernsby's assistance—repairing her hair and changing into a fresh gown. When she'd finished, she went straight to the drawing room only to find it empty. Perhaps Lord St. Clare was speaking with Papa in his library? She was just debating the propriety of joining them there when James entered the room.

Her already quivering pulse leapt with apprehension. She stood from her place on the sofa.

James bowed before coming to join her. He was dressed in an impeccably cut dark coat, shawl-collared vest, and light-colored trousers. His jaw appeared freshly shaven and his fair hair was combed into meticulous order. It shone with a subtle application of pomade, making the darker threads of blond gleam like burnished gold in the sunlight that filtered through the drawing room windows.

Had Hannah been looking for a flaw in his person, she couldn't have found it. Every inch of him was in perfect order.

She glanced past him. "Is my father not with you?"

"He sent me ahead." James motioned to the sofa. There was a vague agitation about his manner. "Will you sit down?"

"Yes, of course." Hannah resumed her seat, folding her hands in her lap. She waited for him to sit, but he did not.

He paced to the fireplace, standing there a moment in silence before turning and, resolutely, walking back to the sofa. He sat down beside her.

Close beside her.

Hannah felt his knee brush hers through the layers of her petticoats and horsehair crinoline. Her breath stopped, only to come out all at once in a tumbling rush of speech. "My mother isn't here. She is out with your mother, I believe, and your sister. They've gone shopping."

"So I understand."

"I might have gone with them, but I had arranged to take a walk with my friend, Miss Winthrop. She lives very near here." Hannah paused only long enough to draw breath to continue. "She's the publisher of the Animal Advocate , the new animal journal I mentioned to you at Beasley Park. The one that printed my article on the benefits of horses."

"Yes, I recall." His gaze was intent on her face. "Miss Heywood." His voice deepened. "Hannah."

"Yes?" Her own voice came out unusually thin and high pitched.

"It has been sometime since I've begun to think of you in terms that are?—"

"Oh, you needn't?—"

"May I speak?" he asked her. "Your father has given his permission."

Hannah's hands clenched tighter in her lap. Her palms dampened and her pulse pounded in her ears. She understood all at once that her mother and brother had been right. James must have a tendre for her. He must have come to Bath for her, and to the ball last night for her, and now he was here today, after first speaking to her father. But not just speaking to him. Gaining his permission .

It could all only mean one thing.

She wasn't at all prepared for it. "Yes, but truly, you?—"

"I own that I have struggled with my feelings," he said. "You are not, it is to be admitted, the sort of young lady I had anticipated attaching myself to. However, since almost the first moment of our acquaintance, I have found myself unable to fix my attentions on anyone else. I admire you greatly, despite my justifiable misgivings, and believe that, with effort and mutual endeavor, we would ultimately do well together. I beg you would accept my proposal of marriage."

Hannah stared at him blankly. She had no experience of marriage proposals, but surely they were meant to be more romantic than that?

He'd said nothing of love. Nothing even of affection. He'd admitted to struggling over his feelings rather than welcoming them. To having ‘justifiable misgivings.' It was an insult, though not, she suspected, an intentional one. The sting was no less sharp. She felt it in her soul.

A bleak future materialized before her, as vivid as a waking dream. She could, at once, see it all quite clearly. Were she to accept him, he would always find her wanting. He would see only her flaws, her failures. He would never appreciate her strengths. It would not be long before he regretted having ever proposed to her. By then it would be too late. They would be stuck with each other, both of them miserable.

It wasn't what she wanted. No matter that she'd been nurturing something like a school-girlish affection for him. That the mere sight of him provoked butterflies in her stomach. It wasn't enough. She wanted more. Indeed, she deserved more.

Gathering her courage, she made her answer. It didn't come easily. Though she knew the polite order of words, she was not practiced at refusing. "I thank you for your attentions," she said with what she hoped was a creditable degree of calm. "I'm very sensible of the honor you do me. But no. Thank you. I do not wish to marry you."

James's handsome face betrayed an almost imperceptible flinch. "You're refusing me?"

Hannah's stomach quivered. Good gracious, she was, wasn't she? "I believe I must."

"Why must you?"

"I don't belong in your world, sir."

"I should think that I am the best judge of that."

"And you have indeed judged it so. You admit yourself that you've struggled. That you've had misgivings."

"Not about your character, or about the basic suitability—the admiration that I—" He broke off, seeming to collect himself. A muscle pulsed in his cheek. "My doubts have been confined to your ability to move in fashionable society. Part of my life must naturally be in town. Your shyness won't serve you there. You will have to develop confidence to succeed in London."

"I don't wish to move in London society."

"I shall guide you," he assured her. "I'm confident you'll rise to the challenge."

"Guide me," she repeated.

"It worked well for us when we danced together."

Hannah shook her head. She recognized his intentions were well meant. Even so, he didn't understand. "Marriage isn't a waltz," she said. "It's a partnership. I don't desire to be led. And I don't desire to change into something I'm not. When I marry, it will be to a gentleman who values me as I am."

His jaw tightened. "I see I'm to be punished for my honesty."

"No. Indeed, I hope we shall remain friends. We are soon to be?—"

"Brother and sister, yes. So you've said." He stood abruptly. His face was hard, his expression wiped clean of emotion. "If that is your final word, then I must respect it." He gave her a stiff bow. "Miss Heywood." He turned to leave.

Hannah rose swiftly before he could quit the room. " James ."

He stopped by the drawing room door, his back to her. His broad shoulders were taut beneath the line of his coat.

She took a hasty step toward him only to come to halt. "I do like you very much," she said softly. "I-I wish my answer could have been otherwise."

He remained where he stood a moment longer before striding out of the room.