Page 18 of A Lady of Conscience

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—”