Prudence demanded that he should carefully consider Miss Wick’s proposal before making any commitments. But he was tired of waiting. Tired of always analyzing. Tired of forcing himself to become the perfect courtier to achieve his grandfather’s political dreams for the Aucourte family.
He wanted to be bold. Adventurous even. And most of all, he wanted to discover himself.
“I’ll do it. I’ll make you my mistress.”
Chapter Five
Except for a single masquerade at the Duke of Blackglen’s townhouse, Hannah had never darkened the doors of a mansion. And even during that particular visit, she’d gone straight to the ballroom, which had been so stuffed with costumed partygoers that the architectural splendor had been obscured by drunk dairymaids, naughty knights, perspiring pixies, and raucous Robin Hoods.
Now it appeared that Hannah would be living in the impressive building looming in front of her… at least until she managed to discover the dirtiest secrets of the Aucourte family. Like all Mayfair homes, the stately edifice with its row of Corinthian columns had been designed to impress with its attention to symmetry. Each sash window was balanced by another, their brilliant white trim contrasting perfectly with the rose-colored brick.
Nothing much daunted Hannah, but her stomach fluttered as she ascended the impressive steps. Her mother had grown up sweeping boldly through arched doorways like the one before Hannah, but Mama had left that world behind when she’d eloped with a pirate. And Hannah—Hannah was meant for side doors. At least that’s what Society claimed.
Sucking in her breath, Hannah lifted the brass ring attached to the lower jaw of a snarling lion’s head. It was not the mostwelcoming sculptural choice. Clearly, the Dukes of Foxglen wished to intimidate their guests. But Hannah refused to be cowed.
With her confidence renewed, she stuck the metal piece hard against the back plate. It produced a jolly clang, and Hannah’s lips tugged into a smile.
The whitewashed wood slowly opened to reveal a delightfully dour-looking man. He possessed the thin, ghoulish appearance of a butler in an overwrought novel, and Hannah couldn’t have imagined a better greeter for the home of the late Duke of Foxglen.
The man’s pale-blue eyes swept over her mobcap and simple serviceable dress. Foxglen had offered to purchase her a gown—and Calliope or Charlotte would have readily lent her a fashionable one. Hannah, however, thought it would be most effective to show up in her normal attire. She wanted both his relatives and the servants to underestimate her. Best they think her a vapid, ineffectual harlot than a shrewd, calculating one.
“May I ask—” the butler began to intone, his voice a hearty, booming sound that shouldn’t have come from so thin a chest. Before the servant could finish, the current Foxglen strode into view. Despite his commanding, measured walk, he exuded an eager energy that reminded Hannah of an excitable puppy. She hadn’t known that Foxglen could act so well. One would think he was actually rushing to meet a lover instead of a fellow schemer.
“You’re here,” Foxglen said in a pleasant, steady rumble. Like his walk, his tone was carefully controlled, yet Hannah thought she detected an underlying warmth. “Come in, my darling.”
Hannah thought she detected the smallest of coughs from the butler. Interesting. She thought he’d be thoroughly staid.
Hannah flounced inside, and she didn’t have to fake her reaction. The ceiling above her rose to a glorious height, but the most astonishing thing was that she could see the sky—not a painted facsimile but real puffy clouds. She’d heard about buildings having glass in their roofs, but she hadn’t expected a private dwelling to offer such a surprising view. Now it appeared she could be temporarily living in such a palace.
Forcibly, she dragged her eyes back to the floor. But she was only met with more splendor. A veritable flower garden had been meticulously woven into the carpet at Hannah’s feet. Peach hollyhocks brushed against pink roses and purple morning glories. And this masterpiece that she was stepping upon was simply in the foyer, not a drawing room. The Aucourtes certainly had wealth funded in part by enclosing the lands her ancestors had tilled for years.
“You must be tired after your journey from Covent Garden.” The corners of Foxglen’s lips had tilted almost imperceptibly upward in what appeared to be his version of a welcoming smile. “Would you like any refreshments?”
“Oh, most definitely. I am utterly famished.” Hannah didn’t have to feign boisterousness. After all, it was her natural state. “I could eat an entire goo—”
“You may not want to finish that sentence,” Foxglen said with the same even-keel inflection that he’d been using. His sea-colored eyes flicked briefly to a spot of yellow and black fluff that Hannah had overlooked.
“Is that a gosling?” she asked, bending over to inspect the little bird. The small creature immediately darted behind oneof Foxglen’s buckled shoes. Its stubby wings flapped uselessly in the air as it squeak-chirped its distress.
“I am afraid so,” Foxglen sighed. “The creature seems to have attached itself to me. It refuses to leave my side.”
Hannah laughed in delight at the idea of such a tiny bird faithfully shadowing the enormous and rather expressionless duke. “Why, it must think you’re its mother! How utterly charming!”
Foxglen didn’t deny her words as he also leaned down to stroke the fledgling’s downy head. “I was unfortunately holding its egg when it broke through the shell.”
“I didn’t expect you to engage in any animal husbandry.” Hannah turned to Foxglen. His head was closer than she’d realized, and an unstoppable warmth flooded her as she met his gaze. As stiff as the man outwardly acted, his eyes seemed to hold the beckoning waters of the tropics. And just as Hannah had plunged into the aquamarine surf as a child when visiting her aunt, part of her wanted to dive into Foxglen’s depths—a perilous proposition. Although Hannah generally didn’t mind danger, this was one hazard she’d avoid.
“I am not in the habit of breeding fowl. The gosling’s mother belongs to my Aunt Eliza,” Foxglen said as if that explained the unexpected presence of the barnyard bird in one of the stateliest houses in Mayfair.
“Is she preparing absurdly early for Christmas dinner?” Hannah asked, and she thought she heard another muffled sound from the butler, who was otherwise doing a remarkably good job of fading into the mint-green walls.
“The goose was a rather unkind bequest from my late grandfather to my aunt. I would not recommend mentioning the creature when I introduce you to my family. They are currently breakfasting. Would you like to meet them now?”Foxglen straightened with great dignity and gently inclined his head toward a corridor, which Hannah assumed led to the dining room.
Remembering her purpose for being in such a grand house, Hannah immediately snapped upright. She’d arrived purposefully at this unfashionable hour to interrupt their meal.
“I would love to speak with them!” Hannah injected more naïveté into her voice than she’d ever possessed in her entire life.
“Anything for my darling.” Foxglen amazingly made the overly trite words sound serious instead of nauseating.
