by Lori Foster
“Lord God in Heaven, Miss Hannah! What were you thinking to bring that horse in here?”
Hannah wasn’t sure if her dirty sodden skirts or the monstrous beast by her side caused Patsy’s anxious glance toward the door. Either could have produced the same response.
“Ashton is not a horse, Patsy. He’s a dog.” Hannah tried to pull the animal away from a fashionably cluttered tabletop, but not before his tail swiped an elaborately framed photograph of her stepmother off the table and onto the floor.
Patsy’s face blanched to the color of dormer dough. “The black dog from hell? Don’t let him look at me!” She held her hands in front of her face.
“He’s not a hellhound, Patsy. Ashton is just rather big”—she glanced down at the dog whose backside was level with her hips—“black and, at the moment, damp. I can imagine the sight of him would scare Dicken. But he’s not evil, just friendly.”
Patsy lowered her hands just enough to peek over them. “What did you call him?”
“Ashton. Lord Hairy Ashton to be exact.” Hannah managed a weak smile. “He’s rather fond of your dormers, and the basket they came in.” She handed the empty basket to Patsy, noting her raised brow at the gnawed handle. “I’ve given him a bath, or I should say—”
A crash and a splintering of porcelain interrupted. In directing Ashton away from one potential calamity, she had managed to back him into another. One of her stepmother’s decorative plates lay in pieces on the floor.
“He’s given me one,” she finished sheepishly.
“You can’t keep him here, miss.” Patsy stooped to retrieve the broken pieces, placing them in the returned basket. The dog seized the opportunity to thank the woman for his earlier meal with a moist lick, and in the process, knocked her off-balance and into another table. A vase of flowers joined the carnage on the floor.
“I know that, Patsy, and I tried—”
“What’s going on in here?” Her stepmother’s face drained of color as her gaze took stock of the room’s disorder. She gasped. “Merciful heavens, what is that thing and why is it in my house?”
“He followed me home from my call on the Mullins family.” It wasn’t exactly the truth for indeed she never made such a call. God might consider feeding a starving dog an act of charity, but she doubted her stepmother would feel the same. In an effort to appease the rising storm in her stepmother’s face, Hannah repeated, “I’ve given him a bath.”
It didn’t help. Even Ashton hid behind Hannah’s skirts, knocking a figurine to the floor in the process. Patsy averted her gaze, focusing instead on picking up evidence of Ashton’s clumsiness. Her stepmother shook her head with a viciousness that threatened to dislodge her pinned-in curls. “That beast cannot stay in this house. Put him in the stables until your father returns. He can decide what to do with him.”
“I tried to leave him in the stables,” Hannah pleaded. “But he wouldn’t stay. He followed me to the house.”
“Tie him up.”
“I tried that as well,” she said. Her father wasn’t expected home from the mill negotiation for another three days. The look on her stepmother’s face did not bode well for Lord Hairy Ashton. “His consistent barking whenever I tried to leave scared the horses. Thatcher thought it best if I not keep the animal there.”
“There’s no answer for it then.” Her stepmother fisted her hands on her hips. “You’ll have to stay in the stables with the dog.”
Hannah gasped. “The stables?”
“Either that or take him back to the woods where you found him and leave him to fend for himself.” An accusatory finger pointed at Hannah’s skirt, smeared with dirt that had slipped past her apron, a consequence of Hairy’s wagging tail. “Look at you. Heaven knows I’ve tried to turn you into the kind of lady your father could be proud of, but you fight me at every turn.” Her eyes narrowed and her face screwed tight. “Perhaps a few days living in the stables will teach you the consequences of conducting yourself like a commoner.”
Hurt and shame battled within Hannah, but she ignored the pain for a moment. “But the dance . . . I’ll need to prepare and—”
“Dance? Do you think you’re still going to the dance?” She laughed, a cruel vindictive sound devoid of mirth. “Everyone of society will be in attendance. Do you think I relish being disgraced by a fat graceless stepdaughter and the unsightly mongrel that won’t leave her side? Do you?”
She glared at Hannah, as if she truly expected an answer. Then she shook her head. “I will tell everyone who inquires that you are ill while you mind that beast and await your father’s return. Until that time, or until you get rid of that thing”—she shook a hand at the dog cowering behind Hannah’s back—“you are not allowed to step foot in this house. Do you understand me?” She waited for Hannah’s obligatory nod before she turned on her heel and left without a backward glance.
Tears stung Hannah’s eyes but she refused to let them fall. So many poison-tipped arrows had plunged into her heart she couldn’t move. Ashton nudged her hand with his head, but even that did not relieve the pain. Her stepmother had said she was fat and graceless, but that did not sting nearly as much as her stepmother had probably hoped. Hannah knew she was never destined to be a thin portrait of elegance. Lady Nicholas Chambers had told her she had womanly curves and a unique grace and Hannah believed that to be true.
No, the deadly dart had been the suggestion that her father was not proud of her, even though she had tried to be a lady worthy of his affections. She had thought her father could see through her periodic clumsiness, to the innate goodness within, but her stepmother had said no. Her stepmother had suggested she was a common laughingstock, a disgrace.
Her throat constricted so tightly that even breathing was difficult. Her disheveled appearance was not her fault. It could be easily remedied. A wet nose pushed at the back of her fingers, offering solace. She glanced down at Ashton whose ears had set back as if he were the one scolded. He gazed up at her with such mournful brown eyes, a flood of compassion filled her heart.
“What’ll you do, miss?” Patsy asked from her position on the floor. “You’ll be taking him back to the woods, then?”
The question startled her as she’d forgotten that Patsy had been crouching behind a chair and thus she’d been privy to the whole humiliating conversation.
“I can’t do that, Patsy. Look at him. He was so hungry when I found him, I can’t take him back.” The dog’s tongue slipped around her fingers as if to thank her. “He rescued my hat from the pond. He’s a talented dog.” Ashton’s tail began to softly sway. “Now that he’s clean, you can see that he’s extremely handsome for a hellhound.”
“Then you best get him out to the stables before that tail of his destroys more of Mrs. Waverly’s things.” Patsy’s lips curved softly upwards. “I’ll send food out for the both of you.”
Hannah tickled the hair on the top of Ashton’s head then turned to leave the room.
“Miss Hannah?”
Hannah glanced back at Patsy who rose from her position on the floor. “Yes?”
“I think your sainted mum . . . I think she would approve of you taking care of that beast, even if it meant missing a dance. The birds”—she glanced skyward as if she could see them through the ceiling—“they would fly from the Heavens just to sit on her finger. She had a gift with animals, your mum did.” Patsy’s lips turned in a sad smile. “I think you have it as well.”
“Thank you, Patsy,” Hannah replied. Tears of a different nature threatened to spill. She remembered her mother’s smile and comforting arms that would wrap around her whenever Hannah was moved to tears. The Waverly’s pretty little governess would never offer such comfort, that’s why Hannah always ran to her mother. Dear Heaven, she sorely missed her mother.
Her father, worn out by the combined demands of a growing business and a grieving child must have missed her as well. Why else would he have married the socially conscious governess and made her Hannah’s stepmother? Of
course, there had been ru mors at first that Hannah was to have a sister or brother, but nothing ever came to fruition. Only resentment seemed to take root and grow in her stepmother’s belly.
Now that she had attended the special classes offered at Pettibone School for Young Ladies, she understood a bit more about her father’s needs and actions. But that didn’t lessen the tension that built in the household whenever he left on his London trips.
Knowing that her mother would have approved of Lord Hairy Ashton cheered her a bit. Perhaps it wasn’t Hannah’s lamentable appearance that upset her stepmother so. Perhaps it was the knowledge that in spite of all her stepmother’s hostilities, a bit of her mother quietly resided within Hannah. It was a surprising and comforting realization that she needed to dwell upon . . . alone . . . in the stables. She smiled again at Patsy and stood a little straighter. “That means more to me than you know. Thank you.”
After the first night nestled on a prickly mattress of hay with Lord Hairy Ashton, Hannah’s back ached but her ankle proved less troublesome. Thanks to Patsy and the other household servants, she and Lord Ashton were both well-fed and clean. Thatcher arranged for a clean stall and a rickety table with a lamp so she could read and write in her journal at night. Patsy sent out clean clothes and toiletries. She envied the grooms Thatcher made sleep outside in the clean air. As much as her nose adjusted to the unique scents of the stable, she would have liked to have done the same. However, a lady could not sleep in the open, she reminded herself, just as a lady should not have to sleep in the stable.
Lord Hairy Ashton stayed closer than her own shadow but his company was welcome. She certainly didn’t miss the sneering visage of her stepmother, but by afternoon, she did feel sad about missing the dance. She could live without all the fuss and frivolity that surrounded such an event. She found no pleasure in squeezing into a corset and a dress designed to show skin that even the sun had not touched. She’d never mastered the complicated steps of the country dances and wouldn’t miss the anxiety that accompanied an invitation to dance, and the anxiety that followed no invitation at all. But it had been several months since she had last seen many of her friends, and she had looked forward to this small reunion.
That is until Thatcher sought her out. He snatched the cap off his head.
“Miss Hannah, Patsy told us what happened with your dog and all, and it just don’t seem right. I’ll be needing to drive your stepmum to the old Beale place tonight, but if you’re amenable, I’ll return and take you next.”
“That’s very considerate, Thatcher. I’d love to go, but I can’t arrive looking like this and my stepmother left strict orders—”
“I have an old hip bath in the back and if you don’t mind that I’ve used it a time or two myself, I can have Silas fill it with hot water for you.”
“That’s kind, but—”
“Patsy moved your fancy dress to the root cellar without your stepmum’s knowledge. She asked that I give this to you.” He pushed a picnic basket into her hands. Hannah peeked inside to see it stuffed with petticoats, stockings, and gloves.
“Patsy said she has a niece who’s wanting to be a lady’s maid someday. If the girl can try her hand with your . . .” He pointed in the direction of her head. “She’d be most appreciative.”
Hannah flushed, moved by the efforts of the servants. “Of course she can, but this is really too much. What about Lord Hairy—”
“Once the horses are gone, the dog can bark his head with no nevermind. We can tie him out here so he’ll stay out of mischief. Even old Dicken said he’d come by and keep the black beast company.”
“Dicken?”
“He says it’s clear that the beast was not casting the evil eye on him. He’s as hale and hearty as a pig groomed to market. So he thought he might like to sit down and have a talk with the devil himself.”
Hannah laughed at the thought of Dicken and Lord Hairy Ashton conferring. “But why are you all doing this? You know my stepmother will not be pleased to see me at the dance.”
“It ain’t right the way she treats you. Ain’t right at all. She wouldn’t do it if your father were here but he’ll be home soon enough. Besides, she won’t know that we helped you.”
Hannah smiled. “Won’t she suspect I had some assistance if she sees me at the dance?”
Thatcher sniffed. “What if she does? She can’t run the place by herself and no one in the region will work for her. It’s your father we’re beholden to.” He smiled, a gleam of mischief twinkling in his eye. “Your father and mother, may she rest in peace.”
The possibility took root in Hannah’s mind. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen my friends. If I managed to avoid my stepmother, there’d be no possibility of repercussions on your account.”
Thatcher shifted his weight and frowned, almost as if he was disappointed about avoiding repercussions. She smiled. He was a tough old bird and had been in charge of the stables long before the current Mrs. Waverly.
That gesture alone finalized her decision. This was the servants’ act of defiance. To refuse their help would seem an insult. She could easily avoid the dance floor. She was seldom asked to dance in the past, and with the numbers attending this, the social event of the season, she could easily get lost in the crowd.
“In that case, I’m honored to use your assistance to attend the dance this evening.”
Her stepmother was too busy with her own preparations to inquire as to Hannah’s activities. Hannah imagined her stepmother’s shock if she had known that as her own maid was artfully styling her hair in her bedroom, out in the stable, another one was decorating Hannah’s brown tresses with two rescued and cleaned ostrich plumes.
Patsy had chosen a lovely peach crepe de chine princess gown to smuggle into the root cellar. Hannah recognized it immediately as one of her mother’s gowns refashioned to fit more modern times. The excess material that would have laid atop a hoop, had been turned into flounces that would trail behind her with the support of a horsehair bustle. It wasn’t the latest Paris creation, nor would the fashion impress the stodgy matrons of the highest strata of society, but wearing the gown made her feel as if her mother surrounded her once again. That gave her the confidence to follow through on this crazy scheme. She’d just have to remember to shake off any bits of hay and straw that might cling to her flounces before she entered the dance.
Guilt nibbled at her when she spied Lord Hairy Ashton with a rope loosely tied around his neck. As she stepped into the empty carriage, Ashton strained against the rope secured to a fence post, all the while barking for her attention. She waved to him from the carriage seat. He wouldn’t be able to follow her this time, but she’d be gone for only a few hours and would return to the stable once the dance had concluded.
She arrived at the Beale residence later than the norm causing the doorman to frown even as he granted admittance. The first floor was so full of people she was surprised she had sufficient air to breathe. The voices, the music, the rhythmic pounding of dancing feet on the parquet floor in the ballroom bounced and swirled around her in a cacophony. Now if only she had someone to stand beside her as she entered the crowded ballroom so she wouldn’t feel awkward and alone.
She hesitated about entering the throng when her stepmother’s voice at the top of the grand stairway spurred her to action. From the sound of the conversation, Hannah hadn’t been discovered yet, but that would change if she didn’t quickly move. She slipped into the ballroom and navigated her way toward the back wall where open terrace doors could provide a quick exit if needed.
Patsy and Thatcher were confident that their actions would not result in any discipline, but Hannah was less certain. She would take extraordinary measures to avoid being seen by her stepmother. She snapped open her fan and used that as a partial shield to escape discovery.
A cluster of women and girls huddled near the orchestra. Undoubtedly, the viscount stood at the center of all that attention. Although surprised he wasn’t leading
one of the guests on the dance floor, she was grateful for the distraction the gathering caused. Surely, her stepmother would gravitate toward the sainted viscount and miss Hannah’s attendance all together. Still, she’d have to eventually make her presence known to him to thank him for the invitation. It was only proper.
As she slipped near the back wall her school chums spotted her. Charlotte and Alice found her first, but others joined as their animated conversation increased. Hannah was careful to keep her back to the center of the room and her profile hopefully hidden by her artfully employed fan.
“Are you trying to avoid someone? The viscount, perhaps?”
Alice observed in a low tone only Hannah could hear. “He’s not a bad sort, you know. Nice looking but a little too quiet, if you ask me.”
“I’m trying to avoid my stepmother,” Hannah confided. “She thought my appearance here would embarrass her and thus decreed I couldn’t attend.”
Hannah made a quick survey of the room, noting that her stepmother was involved in a conversation on the fringe of the viscount crowd. She shifted a bit so that a giant potted fern would provide partial shielding, then glanced at Alice’s frown. Of course, Alice had always been envious of anyone with a mother or stepmother. She didn’t understand that sometimes having no mother was preferable to having a spiteful, irritating stepmother.
“I couldn’t very well stay away and miss conversing with my Pettibone sisters,” Hannah said. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”
Alice hugged her before stepping back to further shield Hannah from prying eyes. They both joined in the conversation regarding speculation on who would soon be engaged and who would not. Hannah was so engrossed in catching up that she failed to notice the streak of black that raced through the open terrace doors dragging a length of rope in his wake.