Secrets and Sensibilities: A Regency Romance Mystery (The Lady Emily Capers Book 1) (7 page)

David found it difficult to focus for much of the afternoon.
He’d stolen a kiss, but it had been his own heart that had threatened to be
lost. How could he feel so tender, so hopeful about a woman he’d known less
than two days? Perhaps all that time in the darkness of the secret passages had
addled his wits.

He was careful to send Hannah back to her own room while he
retired to his so that they would appear from opposite wings for the nuncheon
he typically ate in the early afternoon. He hadn’t expected to find his other
guests waiting for him, gazes accusatory.

“We thought you were going to join us on our ride, my lord,”
Priscilla said as he took his seat at the table.

Her aunt narrowed her eyes as if she had not realized he had
been neglecting his duty, and despite his best efforts, his gaze was drawn to
Hannah near the end of the table. Her smile looked particularly wobbly, and her
cheeks were beginning to darken. He could only hope Lady Brentfield had not
noticed.

“Why don’t you join me for a tour of the back gardens this
afternoon?” he offered, piling the cheese and meat onto a hunk of bread and
ignoring the pointed way Lady Brentfield brandished her fork.

“Another tour?” Daphne grumbled.

Priscilla jerked as if something had struck her under the
table, and she glared at her aunt across from her.

“Priscilla, you mustn’t deprive yourself of this treat,”
Lady Brentfield said, while Priscilla wiggled in her seat. “You’ve always
adored walking about the estate. Perhaps you’ve finally found someone else who
loves it as well.”

“Do you walk much when you’re at school, Miss Tate?” David
politely inquired.

“Whenever possible,” Priscilla dutifully assured him. Hannah
was frowning from her place at the foot of the long table as if she had proof
otherwise, but Priscilla was batting her lashes to effect. “It is so lovely to
feel the cool breezes across one’s skin.”

She’d no doubt meant the comment to be titillating, but he
had no interest in her stratagems. Once more, he looked to Hannah. “And do you
take walks too, Miss Alexander?”

“When I have pleasant company,” she said with a smile. “Miss
Pritchett, the literature teacher, often goes out with me. Otherwise, my duties
prevent much exercise.”

“Always dutiful, that’s our Miss Alexander,” Lady Brentfield
said, voice as hard as her look. “You needn’t feel bound here, my dear. Walk as
much as you like, all the way to the edge of the estate.”

“I don’t think she need go that far,” David said with a
smile. “She could start by joining us this afternoon. I promise you I’m better
at pointing out plants than portraits.”

Hannah shared his smile.

He thought steam might pour from Lady Brentfield’s ears by
the way she stabbed her fork into her beef. As soon as lunch was over, she
seized Hannah’s arm and dragged her off, claiming to be rethinking the need to
be painted.

David resigned himself to a dull afternoon leading the young
ladies through the greenery.

Dinner wasn’t much better. Every time he tried to draw
Hannah into the conversation, Lady Brentfield deflected him with some comment
about her niece. Priscilla must have realized her aunt’s gambit wasn’t work,
for by the time the fruit trifle was served, the girl’s eyes were stormy, and
David wondered whether he’d see a temper tantrum before the night was out.

But Lady Brentfield wasn’t through. When David retired with
the ladies to the blue room after dinner, she stationed her niece at the piano
and set her to playing an American tune that he could not fail to appreciate.
The girl was talented. He found himself taking a seat as close to the
instrument as possible just to watch the passion of her playing. As if she knew
she had him, she moved on to a more difficult piece, her golden hair glinting
in the candlelight as her fingers flew over the keys. Her playing was flawless,
and his applause was genuine and enthusiastic when she finished.

“You play beautifully, Miss Tate,” he commented. “That’s a
gift few can claim.”

Priscilla’s blush had nothing to do with the rouge he’d
noticed on her cheeks. “Thank you, my lord. Would you like to hear something
else?”

“Oh, must it always be ballads?” Daphne complained. “Can’t
we have something more interesting?”

“A battle hymn,” Lady Emily suggested, “or better, a dirge.”

“Oh, not a dirge,” Ariadne protested. “Something brighter.
Have you nothing by a recent composer?”

“A waltz, perhaps?” Miss Alexander put in.

Now, there was an idea. He nodded, rising. “A waltz would be
perfect. Do you know one, Miss Tate?”

“I know several,” Priscilla bragged. She launched into a
particularly stirring one. Ariadne tapped her foot to the beat. Even Lady Emily
nodded along. Daphne leapt to her feet.

“Oh, if only we could dance!”

With a grin, David bowed to her. “Miss Courdebas, I would be
delighted if you’d join me.”

She ogled him. “Really!” she squeaked.

“Curtsey, you idiot,” her sister urged sotto voice.

Daphne dropped a deep, wobbly curtsey. “I would be honored,
my lord.”

He took her in his arms and began to swirl her around the
room. The room was huge; there was plenty of space between the piano at one end
and the nearest grouping of chairs in which to take a turn. The girl giggled as
he turned her, eyes sparkling. He could see Hannah watching them, her look
fond. Then he heard a slight pause in the music. Glancing toward the piano, he
saw that Lady Brentfield had taken her niece’s place at the keys and Priscilla
had risen to stand beside her friends.

Daphne stumbled. David caught her easily, but after a few
more steps, she broke away from him, blushing. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’m still
learning.”

He bowed again. “I’m sure you’re a delightful pupil, Miss
Courdebas.”

Priscilla stepped eagerly forward as if intent to be his
next partner, but David had played the dutiful host long enough. He turned to
Hannah. “Miss Alexander, as you’re a teacher, perhaps you’d be willing to
demonstrate to your students how it’s done.”

He thought she might refuse him, but she rose gracefully,
black skirts nearly purple in the candlelight, and dropped a deep curtsey.
“With pleasure, my lord.”

He knew his smile was tender as he pulled her into his arms.

His eyes never left her face as he swept her about the room,
seeing his happiness mirrored in her depths. They moved perfectly together,
bodies in tune to each other and the music. He thought he could keep dancing
this way forever.

The piano let out a squeak, and David drew to a halt, Hannah
safe within the confines of his embrace. 

“This instrument is out of tune,” Lady Brentfield announced,
rising. “Either that, or I simply don’t have my niece’s ability with it. Who’s
for a hand of whist?”

He had no choice but to relinquish his hold on Hannah. Before
he could think, Lady Brentfield set up the tables with Priscilla as his partner
and her ladyship with Lady Emily. Asheram had joined them at some point during
the waltz, and he organized the Courdebas sisters and Miss Alexander into
another group. He didn’t have another chance to speak with Hannah before it was
time to retire. He thought she looked as regretful as he felt as she escorted
her charges from the room.

He retired for the night, but sleep held no interest. Why
not go searching instead? He left a light burning in his room and slipped into
the passage with a candle. Just as he was closing the panel behind him, he
heard a nose. He froze, peering through the crack.

Priscilla Tate tiptoed into his room, gowned in a frilly
nightrail trimmed in satin ribbons, hair tossled and cheeks pink as if she knew
how bold she was being.

“My lord?” she murmured, glancing around. “I’m having
trouble sleeping. Can you help me?”

Not if he wanted to avoid leg shackles.

She scowled and turned for the door. “He isn’t here.”

Head cocked as if she expected to be caught any moment, Lady
Brentfield moved into the room. She at least was fully dressed. David could see
her head turning to note the book open on the table near the bed, the bed
turned down and slightly rumpled.

She let out a noise that sounded a bit like a cat hissing.
“How did he escape?”

Priscilla tossed her head. “Why are you so determined that I
capture him? I promise you, Aunt, wait until my Season, and I’ll catch you a
duke!”

“A bird in the hand,” Lady Brentfield muttered, glancing
about the room again as if she could spy David’s feet sticking out from under
the curtained window. “Besides, most of the dukes I know do not have funds to
rival the Brentfield legacy. This earl has no refinement. It should be a matter
of a moment to get him to ignore the trust and sell this beastly art. Come
along, now. It seems I will have to resort to more drastic measures to gain my
ends.”

David shook his head as they exited his bedchamber and shut
the door behind them. Brazen indeed. He didn’t want to know what she considered
more drastic, but he had every expectation of thwarting her yet again.

But if she was determined that he sell the art, it didn’t
seem likely she was the one hiding it. Who then? And why?

He could hardly wait to find out.

Hannah began arguing with herself from the moment she woke
at a very early hour the next morning, and she was still arguing as she
approached the breakfast room in the west wing.

She knew she was not the most practical of females. It had
not been practical to reject Reverend Timken’s kind offer of marriage to take a
job teaching school when she had never been particularly fond of children. It
had not been practical to agree to postpone a most promising commission to play
chaperone, but it had seemed the only solution at the time. It was terribly,
horribly impractical to be falling in love with David Tenant, yet she seemed to
be doing just that.

When she had gone to bed that night, she had scolded herself
for her attitude. She had known him less than two days, for all that it felt
like a lifetime. Even when he had said in the passage yesterday that he liked
her and wanted to become better acquainted, she had not let herself hope beyond
a friendship. He was an earl; she was a nobody. He certainly couldn’t marry
her, and she did not think he would insult her with an offer of a carte
blanche.

Not that she would have agreed to be his mistress even if he
had asked. Her mother was the daughter of an Anglican minister; Hannah had been
raised to a strict set of principles. She sometimes thought her grandfather’s
reference, rather than her talent with canvas, had been the deciding factor in
her being accepted to teach at the Barnsley School.

“All our teachers are of stiff moral fiber,” Miss Martingale
had informed her on her first day at her post. Since then, listening to the
sometimes spiteful gossip and bickering of her colleagues, Hannah had wondered
whether that fiber was actually straw. Still, she tried to live her life according
to the guidelines her mother and grandfather had laid out for her. Becoming
David Tenant’s mistress was not compatible.

But it would have been so delightful. She allowed herself a
shiver as pleasure as she remembered his kiss in the passage. He seemed to have
been as affected by it too, yet he had not pressed his advantage. In every way,
she found him charming. His clever teasing made her smile. He was open and
honest, a refreshing change from Miss Martingale and most of the other
teachers, for whom life seemed a series of posturing and petty grievances. It
seemed to her already that she knew what he would say before he said it. She
had never felt so comfortable with another human being.

Dancing in his arms last night had felt so right. She had
wanted to pull him closer, to feel her heart beat in time with his. She had
wanted to bask in the warmth of his smile forever. She shook her head to clear
the feelings that crowded her. She could not be in love! It was ridiculous. She
was destined to be a painter. It was not as impressive as a countess, to be
sure, but she might achieve some stature of her own. She would enjoy David’s
company, help him find his art treasures, and be on her way.

She turned the corner of the west wing, and he fell into
step beside her as if he belonged there. After her recent thoughts, she dared
not look at him. Surely her face was flaming. Just knowing that he had to have
been waiting for her made her heart beat faster. Silently he handed her a
single red tulip. She lowered her head in the pretense of examining it,
anything to avoid his eyes.

“Asheram tells me her ladyship and the girls have been
invited to tea at Prestwick Park. Plead a headache and stay back with me. We
can go exploring.”

Although it sounded suspiciously like a command, the tone
was beseeching. Her heart longed to obey, but she knew she couldn’t. “I really
must start putting my duty first, my lord. Besides, I wouldn’t feel right
misleading Lady Brentfield.”

She glanced up to find that he was regarding her steadily.
It would have been a contrite look if she hadn’t seen amusement lurking in the
depths. “I’m leading you astray, aren’t I, Miss Alexander? You could neglect
your duty all day for all I care. It’s for a good cause. You agreed the art
treasures should be shared. To share them, we have to put them back in their
rightful places.”

“But with your guests gone for the day, you can surely take
Mr. Asheram with you,” she pointed out. “You don’t really need me.”

His grimace looked more like a pout. “But it will be more
fun with you along. I told you, I’d like to get to know you better.”

“In a dark, dusty passage?” she accused. “My lord, you do
protest too much.”

He hung his head sheepishly, and had they been outdoors, she
would not have been surprised to see him digging a hole in the dirt with his
toe. “But I really do enjoy your company, Miss Alexander. I guess when I’m
interested, I continue to move forward until I succeed or hit a brick wall.
Have I hit a wall?”

Was he truly interested in her? Was he actually attempting
to court her? Suddenly all her ruminations seemed to be unimportant. David,
Earl of Brentfield, wanted to get to know Hannah Alexander better. He might
actually be falling in love as well.

She stopped in shock, and he stopped beside her. Looking up
into those vivid blue eyes, the half-smile on his tender mouth, the determined
set of his chin, Hannah swallowed. “No, my lord,” she whispered. “You have not
hit a wall.”

His smile softened. “I’ll see about a special luncheon. Go
in without me. I’ll join you in a moment.” He took the tulip from her
unresisting fingers and brushed the soft petals across her lips. The touch
reminded her of his silken kiss in the passage. As if in promise, he pressed
the flower to his own lips in salute. Then he strolled way. Warm from head to
toe, Hannah floated into the breakfast room.

The relatively small room, by Brentfield standards, had a
wall of windows facing the morning sun. The bright glow exactly suited her
mood. Lady Emily actually smiled as Hannah took her place next to the girl at
the oval table that graced the room. Ariadne and Daphne called greetings from
across the table as well. The only one who looked at all unhappy was Priscilla.

The beauty slouched in one of the scroll-backed cherry wood
dining chairs, perfect lips compressed in a decided pout. The apple muffin that
lay before her on the gilt-edged china had not been touched. Hannah could
easily attribute the girl’s sullen glances in her direction to Priscilla’s
usual preoccupation with herself. Clearly the girl was not getting the
attention she thought she deserved, which was all of it. Although Hannah felt a
twinge of guilt, she knew it was time the girl learned to share.

It was Lady Brentfield’s manner, however, that most
surprised her. The countess sat complacently behind her cup of chocolate,
paying little attention to the conversation that ebbed and flowed around her.
But she lifted her eyes and smiled when Hannah seated herself, asking after her
health. Hannah had expected anything from a ringing denouncement to complete
snubbing by the woman. After all, she had been monopolizing their host’s
attention, something the countess could like even less than her niece did.

Yet Lady Brentfield was charm itself. She even encouraged
Hannah to partake of the succulent strawberry tarts that lay on the sideboard
along with the other delicacies prepared for their morning meal. Hannah shook
her head.

“Tea and toast are all I find necessary in the morning,” she
assured the countess. A footman obligingly brought her a cup and plate.

“Are you sure, Miss Alexander?” Ariadne piped up, blue eyes
gazing fondly at the tempting pile of pastries. “They look wonderful to me.”

Lady Brentfield reached out to pat the girl’s hand. “I’m
certain they do, dear, but you must consider your figure. Miss Alexander is of
an age where a few more pounds do not matter. You, on the other hand, still
expect to attract a mate.”

Ariadne colored, clearly crestfallen, and Hannah busied
herself with spooning honey into her tea. She hoped no one noticed how her hand
shook. Another morning, the stinging comment would have nearly reduced her to
tears. At the moment all she could think about was how unkind the remark was to
Ariadne.

“Besides,” Lady Brentfield added as if she had not noticed
the havoc she had wrought, “those are his lordship’s favorites. I’m sure you
wouldn’t want to deprive him of his pleasure.”

“I wish someone would,” Priscilla muttered.

Despite herself, Hannah frowned. Both Lady Brentfield and
Priscilla were out of countenance, for all that her ladyship kept smiling. She
only hoped she was not the prime cause of the anger.

David chose that moment to saunter through the doorway, his
smile of welcome somehow blotting out all the unpleasantness of the last few
minutes. Hannah smiled in return as he helped himself to an orange off the
sideboard. She noticed Ariadne watching him as well as he considered the tarts.
The girl sighed as he turned without taking one, and Hannah had no doubt that
if Lady Brentfield left before Ariadne did, the girl would stuff herself.

“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, seating himself at
the foot of the table and setting about peeling the orange. Hannah watched his
long-fingered hands tear into the meat with as much fascination as Ariadne had
watched the tarts. “What are you doing today?”

Three pairs of eyes looked expectantly at Lady Brentfield.
Priscilla yawned. Hannah stiffened, knowing that she would soon have to fulfill
her promise to David. Lady Brentfield’s manner notwithstanding, Hannah wasn’t
sure she had it in her to lie.

“We’ve been invited to visit Prestwick Park,” Lady
Brentfield announced. “The Earl of Prestwick is most particular as to who
visits. We are quite fortunate.”

The three girls managed polite smiles, but Hannah could tell
they did not appreciate the honor.

“Besides,” Lady Brentfield smiled, raising her cup of
chocolate, “Lord Prestwick is very handsome, extremely rich, and quite
unattached.”

Instantly, Hannah’s charges were preening, all except
Priscilla, who rolled her eyes. Hannah wondered what there could be about the
purportedly handsome earl that would make him uninteresting to the normally
predatory Priscilla.

“I haven’t met the fellow yet,” David mused, pulling off a
wedge of orange. His tone was interested, and Hannah thought perhaps he had
changed his mind about staying behind. Disappointment coursed through her, and
she told herself she should be grateful that she would not have to lie.

Lady Brentfield apparently heard the interest as well, for
she hurriedly responded. “As I said, my lord, Lord Prestwick is most
particular. I think it best that only the girls and I attend.” She turned to
smile over-brightly at Hannah. “Which means we won’t be needing your services
either, Miss Alexander. Feel free to paint or do whatever you like.”

The last few words had a decided edge on them again, and
Hannah caught herself blushing even though she really wasn’t sure why.

She spent the rest of the morning helping the girls prepare
for their upcoming visit. It was rather amazing to her that it took over three
hours to dress and coif four young ladies. The choice of gowns alone took over
two hours, with much trooping from room to room to match ribbons to gowns and
gowns to pelisses and spencers and spencers to shoes. She was quite glad to stand
in the rotunda and wave them all goodbye.

David, who had joined her for the farewells, turned eagerly
to her as the footmen shut the doors. Mr. Asheram offered Hannah a smile.

“I understand his lordship has a job for you,” he said, and
she realized he said it as much for the footmen’s benefit as to make
conversation. “I’m sure you’ll do quite well.”

“I’ll try,” Hannah assured him.

He nodded. “I’ve always found serving Lord Brentfield a
privilege.”

David clapped him on the shoulder. “Listen to him. You’d
think he’d been serving me for years. And he wouldn’t be ‘serving’ now if I had
my way about it.”

“Someone has to see to administering the estate,” the older
man reminded him.

“And glad I am that that person is you,” David quipped.
“What is it today, Ash, taxes or tithes?”

“I am still attempting to inventory the house based on the
previous earl’s will,” his friend replied. “So, in my own way, I’m also helping
in your work. I’ll go over my findings with you later as you requested.” He
nodded to David and bowed to Hannah, then disappeared for the back portions of
the house. Hannah let David lead her forward.

They spent the next hour wandering about the passageways.
Unfortunately, they found not a single piece.

Hannah frowned as they came out in the west wing. “Are you
sure there are still more missing? Perhaps you’ve found them all.”

David shook his head. “I don’t see how. There are still
several paintings and a number of smaller pieces unaccounted for, according to
the inventory. How about if we stop for a time and try again later? I asked
Mrs. Abbot to make us a picnic lunch. Will you join me?”

Hannah nodded, suddenly shy. “But won’t your servants talk?
I thought you wanted to avoid Lady Brentfield’s censure.”

He looked thoughtful. “I suppose someone might notice at
that, although I get the impression most of the servants like Asheram and me
better than they like her ladyship. Why don’t you pretend to be drawing in the
sunlight in the garden? I’ll meet you, and we’ll make our escape.”

She grinned at him. “Sometimes, my lord, you are entirely
too inventive. I’ll get my cloak and bonnet.”

His plan worked, and soon they were strolling down a country
lane toward the fields beyond the house. The day was bright, the fields showing
signs of spring. Green tufts of wheat turned formally barren ground to an
expanse of ocean that rippled in the breeze. Clumps of crocus dotted the edges
of the lane they followed, and jonquils waved above the new grass. David walked
beside her, knapsack slung on his back. When he reached for her hand, she gave
it gladly.