Page 5 of The Earl’s Hoyden

Hannah sighed. “No one will have me.”

“Because you do not present yourself.” Her father waved for her mother to sit beside him, and she did as he bade, a force united.

Hannah clenched her back teeth and steeled herself for the onslaught.

“You befriend men, but not in a manner which encourages their romantic interest,” her mother said gently.

Ah, and the pontification of her failings with Lord Ranford. It was a low blow to open with.

They must be desperate.

“If you’re referring to Lord Ranford,” Hannah said curtly. “He was disinclined to see me as anything more than a friend.” She dropped her attention to her hands in her lap to prevent her parents from seeing how much the truth of her words still pulled at her.

Yes, she’d vowed never to wed years ago, but Lord Ranford had created an eagerness to see him whenever they parted. She had dared to hope…

No. She had been foolish even to bother.

And she wouldn’t do so now. Not again.

It was far better to think of a spinster’s estate in the country with her friends than winding another inevitable path toward a wounded heart.

“A friendship can always blossom into something more,” the baroness said with a note of saccharine optimism.

“Your mother would be an exceptional grandmother.” Her father smiled at her mother, besotted in a way that always made Hannah turn away with a wrinkled nose.

Her mother didn’t notice Hannah’s disgust, too distracted by her father’s adoration. “And your father would be an exceptional grandfather.”

This was truly intolerable. It was one thing to suffer through her failings in securing a husband. It was entirely another to be forced to witness her parents’ open affection for one another.

Hannah’s gaze slid toward the window.

Was the weather fine for riding?

As she’d hoped, it was still a beautiful day with the sun gleaming high in a clear blue sky.

“We want marriage for you,” her mother went on. “And grandchildren for us.”

Movement in the tree near the window caught Hannah’s attention. A fluff of gray wriggled on a branch.

“London is not to your preference, we know,” her mother continued. “But if you fall in love with a man—”

“One with a good name,” her father interjected.

Hannah craned her neck. Was it a kitten?

“Yes, of course,” her mother agreed. “A man of wealth with a good name. Then you can retire to the country as often as he allows.”

It wasn’t a kitten exactly, but a very small cat. The poor creature opened its pink mouth in a silent mewl, its claws scrambling on the bark of a limb far too slender.

Hannah sat upright.

“Are you listening, child?” Lady Westwich asked.

“There’s a cat outside,” Hannah said plaintively. “I think it needs help.”

“Hannah.” Her father’s voice was stern with disapproval.

The animal’s tail spun and flexed forward in its attempt to gain purchase. Needle-like nails raked against the branch, and it cried out once more. It was going to fall.