Page 54 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 35

Tia lingered on the half landing, with only the once-fearsome suit of armor to keep her company. Hal had been gone a long time, and she didn’t know if she should go in to him, or whether it would be better to wait.

Eventually, she could bear the uncertainty no longer, so she hurried up the stairs and along to the door connecting his half of the house with the rest. Once through and into the corridor, she made her way to his suite of rooms, then hesitated.

The sound of voices reached her from behind his dressing room door. Shifting closer to listen, she could make out the clipped tones of his valet, Symons. What were they talking about? Hal had seemed too angry to want to indulge in conversation with anyone. What was going on?

She’d raised her hand to knock, when the door swung open, making her jump. Hal stood there, doing up the buttons on the front of a bright yellow waistcoat embroidered with daisies. Her jaw dropped.

He’d also donned a pair of breeches in cream silk, and now wore a jacket of pale blue, with a striped yellow lining. This colorful ensemble was topped by a cream silk cravat. Her eyes widened. Gazing past his shoulder, she caught the eye of his valet, Symons—and thought she saw him winking.

As Hal stood there in all his magnificence, gazing down at her with his bright blue eyes, she was reminded forcibly of statues of the sun god Apollo. Hal was like the god in mortal form . . . had Apollo ever dressed in modern-day clothing.

She cast around her addled brain for something to say but found nothing. Certainly, nothing that could be voiced in a servant’s hearing.

Hal stepped forward, shot her a look that set fires blazing up and down her body, and strode off toward the cloister stairs. She hurried after him in total confusion, but his rapid stride soon left her behind. Why gaze at her as if he was mentally stripping her naked, then march off without a word?

She pursued him to the foot of the stairs leading into the cloisters, then hung back in the shadow of an archway as he approached the nearest group of adults. Was he going to throw them out? Had the moment she’d been dreading arrived?

Heart in mouth, she saw him greet them with a brief bow. The response was immediate—the ladies became flustered, and the gentlemen were clearly taken aback. It was barely a moment, however, before everyone seemed to be trying to talk to the master of Foxleaze at the same time.

He began a perambulation of the garden party, and Tia followed in his wake, like a faithful dog who’d been chastised and was unsure of its welcome.

The effect of Hal’s presence among his guests made her think of a bear sticking its paw into a beehive. Everywhere there was an excited buzz and hum, affecting even the children. They all watched, awestruck, as the splendid owner of the abbey strode amongst them in all his finery, honoring them with the light of his smile and his compelling personality.

When Polly saw her papa and ran to fling her arms about him, Tia’s eyes grew moist. But she had no time to reflect on this development, because a small child tugged on her skirt, wanting to know when Blind Man’s Bluff would be starting because it was his favorite game. Much as she would have loved to trail after Hal, she had duties to perform.

Throughout the remainder of the hot August afternoon, she was kept busy supplying the children with games, cakes, and lemon cordial. Some of their parents approached and complimented her on her skills with their offspring, thanking her for hosting such a pleasurable event.

It delighted her to hear such praise, but beneath her cheerful aspect, her heart was raw. Every time she spotted Hal, he was surrounded by a throng of chattering, enthusiastic people. When he could escape such attentions, he was most likely dashing to the assistance of some young female, helping to open an awkward parasol, positioning a chair, or tuning up an instrument.

Every female in the place was as affected by his good looks and virile allure as she was. At least it seemed like it, from the way they simpered, dropped their reticules and handkerchiefs for him to pick up, and fluttered their eyelashes at him when he complied.

More than once, Tia seriously contemplated running off to her room to have a damned good cry. Henry Pelham, eighth Baron Ansford had, it seemed, finally been restored to Society.

But was he now lost to her?