by Ava Stone
“Has she?” Kelfield drawled then his eyes landed on Chet behind her. “Astwick, what are you doing here?”
“Laying old wounds to rest. Or at least attempting to. Escort the lady in to dinner, will you? And give my regards to Lord and Lady Staveley. I-um-have a previous engagement I must have forgotten.”
***
“I shouldn’t speak to you at all.” Hannah sent Caroline a sidelong glance as the Campbell, Carteret, and Staveley children bolted towards the Serpentine.
“Stay out of the water!” Caroline called after the departing brood. Then she turned her attention back to Hannah with a look of chagrin. “I hope you’re not truly angry with me. I did warn you I could be meddlesome.”
To say the very least. Still, there was no real harm done and Caroline had been a friend to her ever since they’d met. “It’s no matter. I was bound ta bump inta him at some point. I just would have preferred a little warnin’, however.”
“I am sorry about that. I was afraid James would have cancelled if he’d known.”
A laugh escaped Hannah’s throat. Caroline apparently knew her brother well. “Aye, he would have. Jamie has been rantin’ ever since we returned home last night. He was still in rare form this mornin’.”
“He’ll be fine.” Caroline linked her arm with Hannah’s. “We should head after them.” She gestured towards the riverbank with her head. “My Adam has a propensity for acquiring unacceptable pets when no one is watching.”
“Lady Staveley!” called a matronly voice from behind them.
Caroline stiffened at Hannah’s side. “I am in for it now,” she whispered. Then she glanced over her shoulder and flashed a wide smile at an elderly woman. “Lady Astwick! What a surprise to see you in the park this morning.”
Lady Astwick? Was this another of Caroline’s schemes? Hannah’s blood ran cold and she nudged her new friend. “Did you do this?” she hissed.
But Caroline shook her head. “Not even I am that foolhardy,” she replied between clenched teeth.
“I understand you had quite the dinner at your home last night, Lady Staveley.”
Caroline started towards the landau from which Lady Astwick held court. “I do have a wonderful cook, my lady.”
“Not what I meant, and you know it.” The older woman gestured towards Hannah with one of her bejeweled hands. “Is that her?”
Hannah straightened her spine and stood her tallest. “Am I who?”
Lady Astwick retrieved a monocle dangling around her neck and placed it up to one eye. “The woman who ruined my son’s life. “ She looked Hannah up and down. “Aye, you’re her. Just as Harold described you.”
Harold Peyton’s description? That could hardly be flattering. But before Hannah could speak, Caroline stepped closer to the landau. “My dear Lady Astwick, allow me to introduce a friend of mine. Lady Hannah Campbell, recently returned from the continent.”
“I know who she is, Caroline Staveley. Were you not listening to me? Or are you trying to manipulate me into being docile?”
“I would never attempt to manipulate you, Lady Astwick,” Caroline returned conversationally. “Just introducing you to my friend. How are you doing this fine day?”
“Humph.” The old woman pounded her cane on the floor of her conveyance. “I am not one of those simple-minded men you can manage.”
“Of course not,” Caroline agreed. Then she gestured Hannah forward. “This is the Marchioness of Astwick, Hannah.”
“And you,” Lady Astwick continued, “are responsible for breaking my Chester’s heart.”
Hannah gulped and shook her head. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken, my lady.”
“I am never mistaken,” the old woman barked. “You’re the reason the Astwick title is in jeopardy.”
“I don’t think that’s quite fair,” Caroline chimed in. “Lady Hannah is—”
“Mama!” Ewan yelled, followed by several pairs of tiny feet running up the path.
Hannah glanced back over her shoulder to find Ewan, Alasdair, and Caroline’s daughters darting towards them. “No runnin’,” she called to them.
“But Adam found a snake,” Ewan protested. “Can we keep him?”
Hannah blanched at the thought. “I doona think Uncle James would approve.” Nor would she, but it was much easier to lay the decision at James’ feet, especially as he wasn’t present.
“Dear God!” Lady Astwick exclaimed, then cursed most vilely for a refined lady.
“Adam does adore snakes,” Caroline explained on a sigh. “I think he mostly adores them simply to annoy his sisters, however.”
But the string of expletives continued from Lady Astwick’s landau. Even after Hannah had spent a dozen years surrounded by soldiers, Lady Astwicks’s cursing was more than a little shocking.
“My lady!” Hannah complained, but stopped when she realized all the color had drained from the marchioness’ face. The woman truly appeared distraught. “Lady Astwick, are you all right?” She took a step towards the landau.
The older lady gestured towards Alasdair as though she’d seen a ghost. “You are contemptible, Lady Hannah.”
“Contemptible?” Hannah echoed, stopping in her tracks.
Lady Astwick sat up straighter as though it might help her regain her composure. “I grew up beside Peyton boys. I married a Peyton man. And I bore him three Peyton sons.”
Hannah’s breath rushed out of her as she realized what the marchioness was actually saying in her rant. But Lady Astwick couldn’t possibly know. No one did.
“I know a Peyton when I see one,” the marchioness continued in a horrified whisper. “How dare you?”
Hannah thought she might faint, but Caroline caught her elbow as though to steady her. “What is she talking about?”
But Hannah couldn’t speak. Her mouth moved but no words came out. All she could do was shake her head.
Lady Astwick pounded her cane on the floor of her landau once more. “Take me to Astwick House this instant.”
“No!” Hannah choked out, finally finding her voice. “Please wait.”
The marchioness glared at her with eyes more icy than a Highland winter. “Quick as you can, Turner.”
“Of course, my lady,” the driver replied before loosening his grip on the reins. Then they were off, barreling towards the Park Lane entrance as though the devil himself was chasing after them.
“Mama.” Ewan tugged on Hannah’s dress. “Ye look ill.”
She was ill. She was most definitely ill. Hannah squeezed Caroline’s hand. “Ye have ta stop her.”
“Stop her?” Caroline looked from the rapidly departing landau back to Hannah. “I hardly think I could catch her. What was all of that about, Hannah?”
“He’ll hate me.”
“Who will hate you? Chet?”
Chet. Alasdair. James. Malcolm. Everyone.
Caroline gestured her oldest daughter forward. “Rachel, gather everyone up, will you? Then all of you head back to Carteret House.”
“Where are you going?” the girl asked.
“We’ll be along shorty. Lady Hannah looks faint.”
“Mama?” Ewan tugged even harder on Hannah’s skirt.
Hannah smoothed a hand along her youngest son’s cheek. “I’ll be fine, Ewan. Just a little lightheaded. Hold Alasdair’s hand and listen ta Miss Rachel.”
As soon as the gaggle of children departed for the park entrance, Caroline led Hannah to a bench. “Sit,” she ordered quietly. “And tell me what is going on.”
But Hannah couldn’t utter the words. Not aloud. Not to anyone. Malcolm had known, of course. She’d told him the truth before they’d married. And James, well, James had known as well. But she couldn’t tell anyone else. The truth was just too awful. Still, she did sit as she truly was lightheaded and feared she might collapse in the middle of the park.
“Hannah,” Caroline urged. “I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s the matter.”
Havers! Lady Astwick was
on her way to tell Chet right now. And then what?
“All it took was her lookin’ at him and she kent,” Hannah whispered in horror. From the beginning she’d seen Alasdair’s resemblance to Chet, but she’d never thought someone else would recognize the truth so easily or so quickly. Blast it all. She should have insisted that she and the boys go to stay in the country, despite James’ protestations.
“Knew what?” Caroline pressed.
Hannah met her friend’s eyes. “I’ve never confessed this ta anyone save Malcolm.”
“Confessed?” Caroline echoed.
“Ye’ll think me a wanton.” She dropped her eyes back to her lap. “But I suppose I was then.” Still she couldn’t say the words aloud. She just couldn’t.
“Alasdair is Chet’s son,” Caroline muttered so softly, Hannah barely heard her.
A sob escaped her throat. Was it so easy for everyone to figure out? If so, how would Alasdair live down the stigma?
“They do resemble each other, now that I think about it.” Caroline squeezed Hannah’s hand. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
Hannah shook her head. “I dinna ken, no’ until after we were already in Scotland.” She swiped a tear from her face. “Malcolm loved Alasdair as though he was his own. He loved me despite everythin’.”
“Well, of course he loved you,” Caroline soothed. Then she heaved a sigh. “You have to tell him, you know? Chet. Either you do so, or Lady Astwick will.”
A chill crawled down Hannah’s spine. “She’s already on her way there. I couldna possibly catch her.”
Caroline snorted. “She’s on her way to Astwick House. Chet will be in his club at the moment. So we should head to St. James instead.”
“We?” Hannah sent a sidelong glance at her friend. “You doona have ta involve yerself in this sordid tale.”
Caroline shrugged. “You look more than a little pale, Hannah. I think someone should go with you. Besides, you’ll need help getting Chet’s attention if he’s as cloistered in Whites as I suspect he is.”
***
Chet read the same paragraph over and over in The Times. Something about Robert Southeby or Southey or something. Some poet or some such. Honestly he had no idea what he was reading as his mind kept replaying the events from the previous evening. How was he to concentrate on anything of importance, or anything of the mundane for that matter?
The tip of a cane caught the top of his paper and slowly lowered the edge just enough for Chet to meet the Duke of Kelfield’s arrogant eyes. “I thought that was you,” the duke drawled.
Chet clapped the paper to his lap and frowned at Kelfield, depraved blackguard that he was. “Something you wanted?” he asked, not even bothering to hide his irritation.
Kelfield folded his arms across his chest. “Not me,” he corrected, “but our mutual friend, Caroline Staveley, is threatening to cause quite the scene if you don’t meet her outside at once.”
Caroline? For God’s sake! Couldn’t a man get a little reprieve from meddling women? Especially in a gentleman’s club? “I beg your pardon?”
“You can beg all you’d like.” Kelfield smirked. “But that’s not going to help the matter. She’s already threatened the footman at the door with bodily harm for refusing to locate you. Fellow doesn’t know to take her seriously, but you and I do. For the poor footman’s sake, go see what she’s after, will you?”
Chet snorted. “She’s the last person I’d like to see today.”
Kelfield chuckled. “Smarter than I took you for, then.” He gestured towards the entrance to the club with his head. “You don’t want her to make a nuisance of herself any more than I do, but I don’t play the role of hero terribly well. Go save the lady from herself.”
“Her damned brothers ought to be here to do that,” Chet grumbled.
“But, alas, neither of them is in London at the moment.”
“Neither of them ever is.” Chet rose from his spot in an overstuffed leather chair, looked towards the large front window, and spotted not only Caroline, but Hannah too. “Dear God,” he said as he hastened towards the entrance.
A harried footman nodded in greeting as Chet neared him. “Lord Astwick, some ladies wanted a word—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Chet promised. Then he stepped out into the sunlight to find the two ladies staring at him. Well, Caroline was staring at him. Hannah stared at the ground like a chastened child. “What are you doing?” he demanded of the pair.
Caroline stepped aside and gestured to Hannah with an outstretched hand. “Hannah needed to speak with you, and how lucky for her that I knew just where to find you.”
Chet scowled at his friend. “Staveley should keep you on a leash. You’ve got half the club in an uproar.”
Usually Caroline would grin at such a comment, but today she appeared much too serious, much too somber. “We wouldn’t have come unless it was important.”
Chet descended the stone steps to stand before Hannah, who was still staring at her feet. What the devil was that about? “Has something happened?”
She couldn’t even meet his eyes, which made Chet’s heart slam into his throat.
Caroline coughed delicately to draw his attention back to her. “We brought Staveley’s coach with us. It’s right there at the corner. Why don’t they two of you go for a ride so you can discuss things in private?”
And leave Caroline alone to wander the St. James, threaten more footmen, and land herself in a mess of trouble? “I don’t think we should abandon you, my dear. Who knows what might happen.”
Her cheeky grin did appear then. “Don’t worry about me. Kelfield said he would see me home.”
Kelfield? Chet had the sudden feeling that he’d just been played a fool by the duke, but as Hannah was right before him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Even after their unfortunate discussion the night before, he still couldn’t believe she was back in England, that she was close enough for him to smell and touch if he was bold enough.
But the last thing he should do was be alone with Hannah MacFadyn…er…Campbell, in a carriage. But then he always seemed to do what he shouldn’t whenever she was near. And she did want to discuss something with him, apparently. Chet glanced up at White’s threshold to find the Duke of Kelfield watching the proceedings with more than a little interest. But what else should he expect from one of Carteret’s oldest friends? Whatever Hannah had to say to him would be better said without extra sets of ears about.
He offered his arm to Hannah like he’d done when they were much younger. “My lady, Staveley’s carriage awaits.”
Hannah’s clear blue eyes lifted briefly to meet his gaze, then she accepted his arm and allowed Chet to lead her to Caroline’s borrowed coach. Chet gestured for the driver to stay in his box and opened the crested door himself.
“Carteret House, please,” he said as he helped Hannah into the carriage. “But take the long way.” Then he stepped inside the conveyance as well. Though he wanted nothing more than to sit beside her and pray her knee might occasionally brush his, Chet took a spot on the bench opposite her, like the gentleman he was supposed to be.
She wasn’t the same lass he’d known all those years ago and she wasn’t the formidable lady he’d encountered the previous evening, either. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Hannah was terrified of something. Though why would she come to him if she was frightened? There was nothing between them any more. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong, lass?”
He slid to the edge of the bench to see her better and somehow managed to keep from reaching out to her just as the coach lurched forward.
Hannah clasped her hands together tightly and slowly raised her gaze to his. She looked positively green. “I…”
Then nothing more came out of her mouth. All of Chet’s anger from the previous evening dissipated, he was so worried about her. He did reach out and take her clasped hands in his—to steady her, he told himself, though he knew that was a lie. But he couldn’t
help it. He’d loved her so long. No matter how badly her abandonment had hurt him, he hated to see her like this, and he’d dreamt of touching her for more years than he cared to count. “Hannah love, what is it?”
***
How could she just blurt out the truth to him? She’d guarded her secret for so long she didn’t know how to make the words leave her tongue. And he looked so earnest, so concerned about her. He looked like the Chet she’d loved all those years ago, not the villain she’d come to think of him as. “That letter devastated me,” she said instead. That was much easier to talk about. And it truly was the best place to start.
A muscle twitched in his jaw and he squeezed her hands in his. “I never wrote any such letter, lass.”
But he had to have done so. She’d seen it with her own eyes. “Then who did? It was yer hand. I read every painful word more than once.”
Chet shook his head. “I don’t know. I…” His face turned slightly red as though his temper was about to erupt. “You said Harold took this letter to Carteret?”
The way he said the words made Hannah’s stomach roil. She nodded her head.
“God damn it, if he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him,” Chet growled more menacingly than she’d ever heard him speak to anyone.
Harold Peyton? Was that the answer? Hannah simply gaped at Chet. She’d known his brother hadn’t approved of her, but she’d never thought he would do something so awful, something that would change the course of her life, Chet’s and…Alasdair’s. “But it was yer hand, Chet. I ken it was. I wouldna have left otherwise, no matter what James said.”
He nodded curtly. “Oh, I’m sure it looked a great deal like my handwriting.”
“Ye doona believe me?”
He laughed sadly and shook his head. “No, I believe you. I’m just having a difficult time accepting that my brother would do that to me, to us.” His green eyes bored into hers and Hannah felt lost in his depths. “I remember one time Harold wrote a note in Vernon’s hand. It was just a lark, a love letter to the local vicar’s daughter. Though, ‘love letter’ is a euphemism. I’ll spare you the details of the note, but suffice it to say, the words were vulgar enough that the girl gave the letter to her father, who paid a visit to our father, and poor Vernon couldn’t sit for a week.”