Secrets of Scarlett Hall Box Set: A Clean & Sweet Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Jennifer Monroe

  Now, Hannah sat in a large comfortable chair, a book in her lap, beside a roaring fire in a tiny room that had a small collection of reading material. Laurence and Isabel had remained in the dining room to share in drinks—where John had gone Hannah did not know, nor did she care—and Hannah was happy to have the small sanctuary located between the desk where they checked in and the dining hall.

  The fire crackled and cast its light on the only other occupant in the room, a much older woman, perhaps in her seventies, who wore a black dress. Her hands and neck were adorned with jewels, and she stared at the fire as if it held some sort of secret.

  Hannah smiled, and the woman turned to look at her. “Off to London, are you?” the woman asked in a voice that was close to shouting.

  “I am indeed,” Hannah replied.

  The old woman sighed. “I remember my first season. Well, not necessarily a season but more a local party hosted by some baron or another. That is where I met my Harold fifty years ago.” She leaned forward. “And we have been married ever since.”

  “That is lovely,” Hannah replied. “To be in love for that long is an amazing feat.”

  The old woman snorted, and Hannah wondered if she had offended her in some way. “It was love at first sight, if you can believe such a thing exists. Then it became a chore. At least I have my jewels.” She fingered one of the many necklaces she wore and sighed. Then, with a grunt, she pulled herself from the chair. “Be sure you get plenty of jewelry. It is the least a woman should receive for a life of servitude.”

  Hannah could not help but stare at the woman in shock as she left the room. So, her fears concerning marriage were justified. There was no hope for those who gave into what their heart might feel. At least she would never become one of those women!

  Once again at peace with her life’s choices, she returned to her book, but it was not long before her mind wandered back to John. He was so dashing and his smile was so warm. She giggled at a thought that perhaps his smile held some magical element, for it seemed to brighten a room and warm her heart.

  She sat up in shock. What was she doing thinking of the man in such a manner? She had a task before her, a novel that was in need of completion, and she had no business wasting her time on some man who would more than likely leave her in an emotional heap. However, despite her desire to push him from her thoughts, she could not glean one word from her book, and with a sigh of frustration, she closed the book with a snap.

  “I see that I may not be welcome to join you.”

  Hannah turned to find John standing beside her, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his towering figure intriguing but not as intimidating as she would have expected. What if this man, like the hero in the book she had been attempting to read, were to grab her and kiss her by the firelight? Would his lips be cold and hard or warm and soft?

  Her cheeks burned, and she scolded herself for such thoughts. She was an intelligent woman, not some daft ninny!

  “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”

  He turned to leave, and she could not stop herself from saying, “Wait! My apologies. It is not you with whom I am frustrated but rather this book.”

  He arched an eyebrow, and she fought to breathe.

  “Please, join me.” There, that was not so bad, was it? She almost laughed. The result of her invitation remained to be seen.

  “I would like that,” John said. He flashed her a smile so beautiful Hannah felt herself melting into the chair as he took the seat in the blue high back chair across from her. “Do you read often?”

  “Yes, I do,” Hannah replied. It suddenly occurred to her that a gentleman such as this man would not see a lady reading as a positive attribute, and for the first time, she was uncertain how she felt about that.

  However, John did not seem to have that opinion, for he replied, “That is good. Too many are consumed with subjects that are, shall we say, trivial in nature? They do not take the time to read.”

  His response shocked, and pleased, her, and when he winked, she felt that same heat she had earlier. “Y-you?” she stammered. “You enjoy reading, as well?”

  “But of course,” he replied as if it was the most logical thing a man could do. “A true gentleman must have a library in order to read, and he also must be willing to allow those around him to share in its splendor.”

  A dizziness grasped Hannah. He was dashing and he enjoyed reading?

  “That is enough about me,” he said, crossing a foot over the opposite knee. “For I am all too boring.”

  “Not at all!” Hannah said, much louder than she had anticipated. She swallowed and made another attempt, this time with better moderation of her voice. “You are not boring at all. In fact, I find you intriguing.” Her throat went dry as he lifted his glass and took a drink from it. How a man could make a simple motion so interesting was beyond her.

  “Intriguing?” he said with a laugh. “I suppose I am at that. So, tell me, when you are not reading, what do you enjoy doing for entertainment?”

  Hannah glanced toward the door and then back at him. Would the man laugh if she told him the truth? She did not know him, but for some reason, she felt her secrets safe with him. “Butterflies,” she replied. “I find myself watching them in the garden and then sketching them and reading about them later.”

  His jaw dropped, and Hannah braced herself for his taunt. Well, you did it to yourself, you know.

  “That is amazing,” he said, yet again surprising Hannah. “May I share something with you? You must promise you will never tease me or tell another soul.”

  “Never,” she whispered as she leaned forward in her chair. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” Her heart fluttered as she said the words, and she realized they were the truth.

  “I have no skills in drawing, but I am fascinated with winged creatures as you are. However, my interest lies with the birds. The freedom they possess and the manner in which they rise above us all, to journey through the skies to undiscovered faraway lands…” He sighed. “It is as the poet MacArthur once said. ‘To be as the bird is to be free.’”

  “So beautiful,” Hannah said, although she had never heard of the poet. “You also read poetry?”

  “When I am not writing it.”

  Hannah had to take a drink of her wine in order to cool herself. She had to learn more about this man, thus the wine could lend aid in that arena, as well.

  However, as she set her glass back on the nearby table, a woman of great beauty entered the room. Her hair was a darker blond than Hannah’s and her blue dress emphasized a nearly perfect figure. The woman was indeed lovely, far more so than Hannah could ever hope to be.

  “My Lady,” John said, rushing from the chair and smiling a broad smile that showed dimples Hannah had not seen before. “This is the finest chair in this establishment. Please, take it.” He moved aside and offered her his hand to allow her to sit.

  “Thank you…”

  “Lord John Stanford,” he finished for her as his eyes looked her up and down with appreciation.

  “It is a pleasure,” the woman said. “I am Miss Catherine Oakley.” She batted her eyelashes at him, and Hannah could do nothing but stare as John brought a chair and set it between her and Miss Oakley.

  Was the woman so blind that she could not see that she and John were sharing a special moment? Then, as the woman answered yet another question John had asked, the realization of what had occurred came over her. The woman had seen John’s smile and wanted it for herself. Caring nothing for Hannah’s feelings, she arrived to steal him away from her.

  She wanted to laugh. What a foolish thought. Who was John to her anyway? They were merely traveling companions and nothing more. Furthermore, John would never be fool enough to be led away by any woman, let alone this Miss Oakley. He was clearly more sophisticated than to allow such a thing to happen.

  “Alas, another season,” John said with a laugh. “Perhaps it will be my last; although, I
suspect this may be the best season yet.”

  “Why, that is my hope, as well,” Miss Oakley replied with that titter men seemed to find delightful. “Though I grow bored of the endless parties, at times. It is my dream that one day life shall be much simpler.” The woman sighed and looked past John to Hannah. “Do you not agree?”

  “It is her first season,” John replied for her. “It would be unwise to make a judgment before experiencing it, would you not say?”

  Miss Oakley giggled. “Oh, then you are but a babe just out of swaddling? I shall speak no more of the season, then.” She leaned in closer to John, and John turned so his back was to Hannah. “I must know someone you know. In what businesses are you involved?”

  John laughed. “Too many of which to speak,” he replied. “Although, I can assure you there is nothing on which I do not have my hands.”

  Hannah’s jaw dropped. Was he being crass? From the tiny giggle Miss Oakley gave, she assumed he was.

  “This is good to know,” the woman said as she rose from her chair. “I should find my father before he drinks every bottle of spirits in the inn.”

  “He sounds like a man I would like to meet one day.”

  “I will arrange that,” Miss Oakley replied. “In fact, I shall leave my father’s address with the innkeeper. Do send a card when you arrive in London. I believe my father would be most eager to do business with a man such as yourself.”

  Hannah could not help but glare at the woman. How dare she disguise pleasure as business!

  John went to speak, no doubt to tell the woman that he would not be able to meet because he would be much too busy, but Isabel entered the room before he could say anything more.

  “Hannah,” Isabel said in a chastising tone, “it is late. We should be off to bed.”

  With burning cheeks, Hannah clasped her book to her breast and stood. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said to Miss Oakley, although the lie burned on her tongue. What she wanted was to throw her book at the woman!

  “Good night,” John said, and Hannah let out a sigh. She had nothing about which to be concerned; John was much too intelligent for this woman, and he would not be led astray.

  Once in her room, she found herself staring at the ceiling, her mind once again thinking of John. As many peculiar thoughts had raced through her brain that day, two in particular pushed their way above the others.

  Why was she concerned with whom John spoke? And why had that concern made her want to hurt Miss Oakley, a person with whom she had just been acquainted?

  ***

  As Hannah left with her sister, John let out a sigh of relief. Not because the woman had left but rather for the string of tales he had told through the day in order to appease her. He had no interest in birds or reading, nor had he ever read a line of poetry outside of what had been required at university, and even then he found it dull. However, he saw the effect his words had on Hannah by her smile. She had seemed fascinated with his every word, and his progress with her was bound to please Laurence.

  Yet, a peculiar feeling had come over him as she left the room, for a part of him had not wanted her to go.

  “I should retire, as well,” Miss Oakley said, interrupting his thoughts. “Father wishes to leave at sunrise, and the hour is late.”

  The woman was pretty, like most other women with whom he had made an acquaintance, but that made her much too typical for his tastes. However, he could not resist making a woman, any woman, smile. He was not the rogue many believed him to be, but neither was he a prude, and he justified his actions by remembering the smile he gave them.

  “Such a travesty to miss another moment of your company,” he said with a bow and a secretive smile that had never let him down when it came to women. He was not disappointed when she honored him with a deep blush. It was not the same pinkness of the cheeks he received from Hannah, but rather a more knowledgeable reddening that said she was accustomed to such attention. However, he enjoyed the game as much as most men enjoyed playing piquet. “Perhaps fate will allow us to speak again one day.”

  “That would be lovely,” Miss Oakley replied, that blush deepening. “My father has many businesses, and I am certain when I tell him what a gentleman you are, he will be pleased to invite you to dinner and share in some of his fine brandy as you engage in business dealings together.”

  John smiled, but his mind raced. The fact of the matter was he was in need of some new business connections, and if this woman could initiate such a connection, it might be exactly what he needed. If it meant pretending to find her interesting in the process, then so be it. “That would be wonderful. I am eager to meet him.”

  “Then I will await your card,” she said before turning and leaving as gracefully as she had entered.

  John returned to his chair. On most occasions such as these, those occasions where he piqued the interest of some woman such as Miss Oakley, he felt a sense of pride in his accomplishments. These encounters typically were followed up with him sending a card, calling over, and engaging in conversation. It was a ritual much like a hunter stalking his prey. There was a thrill in the game.

  In the end, when he had completed his task, he found such women boring. Oftentimes they would speak of embroidery or other mundane tasks that held no appeal to him. That was when he would break their hearts. He never set out to hurt anyone, but as he continued to play his game, he no longer saw the woman but rather a conquest of sorts.

  The problem now was that, a month earlier, he had sworn off the game.

  He trembled at the memory and grabbed his glass to take a swift drink. Not only had he met his match, but it had not ended as he would have liked. For that reason, he had left his home in Cornwall and sought refuge with his cousin.

  The room was now empty, as was the seat beside him. The woman who had occupied it earlier intrigued him. He did not feel a bit guilty for lying concerning his love for nature and books, but he had done it for a noble cause. Regardless, something about the woman caused him to pause. By all appearances, she was a bluestocking through and through, but she lacked the plainness of many of the women he knew who preferred books to men.

  When he had first laid eyes on her that morning, he had to exaggerate his bravado lest he be consumed by her beauty. When she spoke, it was with authority no matter how quiet her voice was.

  And then there was the mention of the cobbler, Hans, and his son.

  John was no fool. He had heard quite clearly that she had called him handsome, but he enjoyed teasing her in the carriage by inquiring more about this supposed cobbler. The more she tried to explain, the more improbable was her story, but as she spoke, he found himself drawn in by her voice.

  “It is the drink,” he mumbled into his glass. “You can have any woman you choose, and it will not be a bluestocking, I promise you that.” He finished off the rest of his drink and then gazed into the fire. Although he was intrigued with Hannah, they had nothing in common.

  That was not true; they both were equally handsome.

  He chuckled. No, he would have to find a different woman by the end of the season, one he could finally marry and put the troubles he left behind in Cornwall away for good.

  “You have not retired to bed?” Laurence asked as he stepped into the room.

  John smiled at his cousin, who took the seat Hannah had vacated earlier. How strange that this recluse—made so of his own doing because of his embarrassment over his leg—was going to London. John wanted to know what Isabel had done to make such great changes in this man.

  “No, I have been thinking on a few things,” John replied to the question Laurence had asked.

  His cousin chuckled. “Fires tend to do that with men.”

  A server entered the room with a tray that held two mugs. He placed them on the table, bowed, and then left the room. John looked down at the ale and smiled.

  “Indeed, fires can bring about many thoughts,” he replied as he picked up one of the mugs. “Thanks for this.” He lift
ed the mug as if to toast.

  Laurence lifted his in reply. “It has been some time since I have enjoyed a good mug of ale.”

  John chuckled. “Indeed. Concerning that, and I do not mean to be rude…”

  “We are family. Speak freely.”

  “You were never one to leave your home, and now you are on your way to London for the season? What has changed that made you decide to do such a thing?”

  Laurence pursed his lips in thought. “There are many factors, but in truth, I must admit it was all due to Isabel.”

  “She is making you attend?” John asked in surprise. Was the man so in love that he would allow his wife to dictate his comings and goings? If this was the case, the dukedom was in dire trouble.

  “No,” Laurence said with a laugh. “Isabel, she has the strength many women, and perhaps even men, lack. It was in that strength that I confronted my past.”

  “That is good news,” John said, thinking about his own past. “I am pleased for you. I have not seen you this cheerful since…”

  “Yes, since before my parents’ untimely death. I am at peace now, as much as they are.”

  John considered the man’s words. To be at peace was something for which he longed, but he doubted the existence of another woman such as Isabel for himself.

  “How was your conversation with Hannah?” Laurence had a twinkle in his eyes John was unsure if he cared for or not.

  “Intriguing.” He glanced to either side to assure himself no one could overhear. “The woman loves to read. I must admit that, although I care nothing for such activities, she did make it sound interesting.”

  “She is a good woman, but I fear she has become so engrossed in her books, she has forgotten the outside world. I did the same, but for different reasons, and I believe this season will force her out into the world.”

  “I will do what I can to help,” John said. “Judging by our conversation tonight, she is excited about the season. I have no doubt that she will find the perfect suitor before she is to return home.”