Page 48 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

That rare flash of vulnerability had prompted Charles to do something rash. Something stupid. Good God. He’d effectively told her that he was at her service! That all she had to do was snap her elegantly gloved fingers and he would come running.

And that’s exactly what he was doing.

“Should I have worn my brown carriage dress instead of my green one?” Hannah asked him when they departed Heywood House four days later. “Or would it have been best to wear my new bronze cloak?” She sat across from him in the carriage, both anxious and excited by turns. “Mama said they were equally suitable, but still…I fear I’ll make a poor impression.”

“Impossible,” Charles said.

His sister didn’t seem to hear him. “And what about the dogs? Evangeline won’t know what to do with me gone from my room for two whole nights. She trusts me so. And Tippo is bound to miss me dreadfully.”

“It isn’t too late to send our regrets,” he told her as their carriage rolled down the drive. Outside, the ground was blanketed in a pristine layer of new-fallen snow. “If you’d prefer to stay home—”

“It isn’t that.” She folded her hands tight in her lap. “Though I do hope Mama will be feeling better soon. Indeed, she seems to be better. Only this morning, Papa remarked that—”

Charles let his sister run on until she’d exhausted herself, no more enlightened at the end of her speech than he’d been at the beginning. “What is it, then, that’s making you so fretful?” he asked when she’d finished. “Is it the prospective company?”

“Yes. What if the same thing should happen at Beasley Park that happened at the vicar’s musical evening?”

“What happened?”

“I’ve already told you. It was in my last letter.” She frowned. “Didn’t you receive it?”

“The one with your latest suggestions for my giving up meat? Yes, very amusing.”

“It was no jest, Charles. And neither is this. I was meant to sing an Irish air at the vicarage and I went completely blank. I couldn’t remember my own name, let alone the words to the song. And that was only among the villagers. What if the same thing should happen at Beasley Park? Lady Kate is so vivacious and Mr. Beresford so witty and worldly. How can I hope to keep up my part in the conversation?”

“You kept it up well enough when they came to call on us.”

“Lady Kate did most of the talking then,” Hannah confessed. “And when I walked with Mr. Beresford, he spent the whole of the time telling a story about a race he’d run in his new curricle. I wasn’t obliged to say more than three words put together. What if…” Her words trailed away as she turned to look out the window. Snowflakes clung to the glass, obscuring her view.

“You’ll have me to talk to,” Charles said. “And Lady Kate has promised to introduce you to her pets.”

“What about her older brothers?” Hannah turned back to him. “She has three altogether.”

“They’ll behave themselves.”

“How can you know? They might tease me or—”

“They’ll behave themselves,” Charles repeated firmly. His tone brooked no argument.

Kate may be flirtatious and overbold, but if one of her brothers acted so with Hannah, Charles would soon set him straight. He had no hesitancy when it came to protecting his sister.

Two and a half hours later, the Heywood carriage rolled up the drive to the honey-colored limestone manor house at Beasley Park. It was a graceful structure, with a classical grandeur to its portico and Ionic columns that seemed well-suited to the lush, sloping parkland that surrounded it.

On applying at the front door, they were greeted by an aged butler who welcomed them into the house’s expansive marble-tiled hall.

“Lord and Lady Allendale are in the drawing room,” he said. “If you will accompany me?”

Charles and Hannah followed the man up a grand, curving staircase to the drawing room. Twice the size of the drawing room at Heywood House, it was elegantly furnished, boasting richly carpeted floors and silk-papered walls covered in oil paintings of horses and hounds.

The Beresford family were within, gathered in lively harmony, all of them talking, laughing, and making merry. Two glossy-coated and excessively well-fed black spaniels snored on the carpet near the fire. A pair of plump tabby cats dozed on a nearby chair, as much a part of the familial group as the dogs were.

On entering, Charles at once found Kate. She was seated at a small inlaid table by the window, engaged in a spirited game of cards with her brother Jack. A second golden-haired gentleman, distinguished by a pair of silver-framed spectacles, stood behind Jack, peering over his shoulder and offering advice.

“Stubble it, Ivo!” Jack said, scowling back at the man. “I don’t need your help!”

“He needs all the help he can get,” Kate replied as she turned over another card.

The two men groaned.