Page 34 of A Lady of Conscience

“In any event,” Hannah continued, “I’ve given him leave to court me. He has even promised to take me with him tomorrow when he returns the donkey to Fallkirk’s Farm.”

Her father’s brows snapped together. “Now wait a moment. If he means to⁠—”

“We will go in his curricle,” Hannah said. “Riding in an open carriage with a gentleman is perfectly unexceptionable, is it not? Even for a young lady making her debut?”

“Well, yes,” Mama said. “But surely⁠—”

“It’s decided then.” Hannah moved toward the door of the anteroom before her parents could offer another objection. “Forgive me, I must write to Miss Winthrop without delay. She’ll want to know all the news about the donkey.”

* * *

James hadn’t anticipated getting a second chance with Hannah Heywood. After setting her down in Camden Place, he headed for his family’s house near the Circus, half convinced that his encounter with her had been the product of his imagination.

And it wasn’t only the donkey, the costermonger, and the madcap mongrel dogs that had given the chance meeting an air of unreality. It was the way she’d felt sitting beside him in the curricle, so soft and shapely, with her full skirts billowing against his leg. The way she’d smelled—of clean herbal soap tinged with a hint of delicate rose perfume.

James had taken great pains not to say anything or do anything that might frighten her away. He had held back from expressing how sorry he was to have offended her. From begging her for a second chance.

But she’d given him that chance anyway—kindly, sweetly.

He was determined not to squander it.

On arriving at his family’s townhouse, he handed his team off to a waiting groom. His carriage had arrived ahead of him, containing his luggage and his valet, Smith. The latter was setting himself to unpacking the former when James entered his sunlit bedchamber on the third floor.

Smith paused in the act of placing a stack of carefully pressed shirts onto a shelf in the wardrobe to sketch a perfunctory bow. He was a thin, dark-haired fellow of early middle age. Born on the family estate in Hertfordshire, he had ascended to his present position when James came of age. Smith took his role seriously. To him, a scuff on James’s boots or a wrinkle in his linens was a capital offense.

“My lord,” he said gravely. “You appear to have accumulated an inordinate amount of animal hair on your person.”

James glanced down. “So I have.” He stripped off his close-fitting blue coat and tossed it onto the bed.

Smith picked it up, examining the dog hair and dirty paw prints with a pained expression. For an instant, it appeared he might weep. “Your beautiful new coat.”

“I’m aware it’s my new coat.” It was one of several James had bought during his stay in London, made by the foremost tailor in Bond Street.

“The fabric defies laundering,” Smith said. “I can but make an attempt⁠—”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to salvage it.” James crossed the room. “Is everything else in order?”

Smith collected himself. “The housekeeper and cook are still in residence, my lord. I have informed them you will be staying on.”

“Excellent.” James stopped in front of the dressing table mirror. He untied his cravat. “And the other servants? I won’t require many, but there must at least be a maid and footman. I expect I’ll have callers to entertain during my stay.”

“The housekeeper has sent word to the servants who departed after your parents left. She’s asked them to return post haste.” Smith cleared his throat. “She, ah, did inquire as to whether she ought to employ a valet for Master Jack.”

“Jack?” James gave Smith a sharp look in the mirror.

“He arrived in the early hours of the morning, my lord, with no servants accompanying him. The housekeeper is unsure of the duration of his stay.”

James muttered an oath. He was about to embark on a campaign for Hannah’s heart. The last thing he needed was the burden of his troublesome younger brother. “Is he here now?”

“In the kitchen, my lord.”

James stalked to the door. Exiting his room, he bounded down the marble stairs to the first floor. The kitchen was in the basement, at the bottom of a narrow flight of stone steps. He found his brother there, seated at the long plank table, finishing off a helping of bacon, sausage, and eggs.

Like all the Beresford men, Jack was possessed of a lean, handsome figure, fair hair, and cool gray eyes. Unlike his elders, however, Jack still retained the carefree ranginess of youth. Never mind that he was now one and twenty. He was still the youngest boy. In his way, he was as spoiled as Kate was, accustomed to doing what he wished at any given moment, with no appreciation for the responsibilities weighing down on anyone else.

He looked up from his plate with a contrite smile as James entered the kitchen. “Didn’t expect you to be here, big brother.”

“Nor I you.” James drew out a chair. “What do you mean by it?”