The butler didn’t cough this time, but he did react… or at least his eyes did. Their cool, icy blueness seemed to warm ever so slightly.
Was Foxglen perhaps liked by his staff? As Hannah marched past the manservant to follow the duke, the fellow’s thin lips curled at the ends in a small, but definite, smile.
Foxglen led her quickly through a spacious drawing room filled with so many wonders that she could scarcely take them in. A huge mirror hung over a wooden mantel that had been carved into two columns matching those on the outside of the house. The walls were covered in paper filled with birds of paradise displaying their colorful feathers. Even the ceiling contained a feast for the eyes with the plaster intricately molded into peacock feathers.
The dining room was more austere in comparison but no less impressive. Huge windows allowed sunlight to flood into the bright space painted in a pale sage green with white trim. The ceiling above the mahogany table also had plasterwork but only around a fashionable crystal chandelier. The glittering centerpiece threw shards of rainbows around the clean, airy room. Hannah had never seen the like, and she wantedto keep staring at the beautiful shapes, which looked like huge droplets of water frozen in time.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t come to ogle but to investigate. And that meant concentrating on the people, not the furnishings. Dragging her eyes from the magnificent glasswork, she focused on Foxglen’s relatives. None of the four looked anything like him. Their hair ranged from silvery blond to honey-toned, and although they possessed blue eyes, theirs were lighter shades than Foxglen’s azure irises.
His aunts were dainty, diminutive women who seemed to have more in common with porcelain dolls than with living humans. His uncles were of middling height. Although they were not as slight as their sisters, they certainly did not possess anywhere near the impressive array of muscles that Foxglen had. All four were extremely pale—almost to the point that their skin appeared translucent—and Hannah wondered how often they ventured outside. They were all attractive but in a gilded, superficial way.
“What brings you here, nephew?” one of his uncle’s asked, his voice fluctuating between casualness and annoyance. It was clear even to an outsider like Hannah that the fellow was trying very hard to appear congenial but couldn’t completely mask his rather intense irritation.
“Goodness, who is that sorry creature behind you? Why is she not properly fitted in a maid’s uniform?” His aunt did nothing to hide her own distaste as her upturned nose crinkled.
Foxglen’s other two relatives kept eating, clearly content to let their siblings address the disturbance. His other aunt did not even glance up from the scandal sheet that she was reading. It was certainly not the warm greeting that Hannah would have received at her own paternal uncle’s table—although shesupposed she would have received a much chillier reception if she’d ever attempted to visit her maternal aunt.
Had Foxglen faced this dismissiveness since childhood? Is that why he acted so distant?
A pang of sympathy struck Hannah’s heart, but she promptly ignored it. Those weren’t the questions that she’d come here to answer, and she had enough to ferret out already.
“Uncle Francis. Aunt Eliza. Uncle Hugh. Aunt Joan.” The duke regally inclined his head to each relative as he spoke. “This is Miss Hannah Wick. She will be staying with us as a guest.”
“A—a—aguest!” gasped Lady Joan, who’d been the one to inquire about Hannah’s presence.
Lord Hugh, who had been in mid-bite, seemed frozen with his forkful of kippers jammed halfway into his mouth. “A what?”
“Oh my!” The startled cry came from Lady Eliza as her thin hand fluttered toward her neck.
“Surely you do not mean—” Lord Francis grumbled.
“I am his mistress!” Hannah cried happily as if this were a perfectly normal announcement to make in the dining room of an old noble family.
Lord Hugh’s fork clattered to his plate as pieces of fish flew onto the table. Beside him, his sister Eliza gave a start, her sky blue eyes wide with shock. Her gossip rag flew into the air, and sheets floated down onto the expensive rug. Lord Francis attempted to look composed, but his lips kept twitching into a decided scowl. Lady Joan’s eyebrows drew down, and her mouth popped open. However, before she spoke what would likely be damning words, she glanced over at Foxglen and promptly snapped her jaw shut. Resentment shimmered in her pale-blue eyes, but she did not speak.
Interesting. It was clear that Foxglen’s relatives spared him no affection, but they were also loath to gainsay him. Given that their father had allegedly cut off their allowance and made their future inheritance contingent on Foxglen not finding his mother and sister, then perhaps they were at the mercy of the new duke’s good graces.
“I am sorry to leave you alone so soon after your arrival, but I am afraid that there is business that I must attend to,” Foxglen told Hannah in that stiff, perfunctory manner of his. She pretended to pout, but they’d actually planned this. The surprise, after all, would loosen their lips, especially if he wasn’t around. Foxglen had worried about abandoning her, but Hannah had plenty of experience dealing with unruly customers. She could handle four nobs at a breakfast table.
Foxglen pivoted to leave, and Hannah grabbed his sleeve. If they were to convince people that she made the duke daft enough to install her in his London mansion, he needed to show her some form of physical affection.
“A kiss before you go!” Hannah said, with enough sugary enthusiasm to make her sick to her stomach. Puckering her mouth, she prepared just to buss the air near his cheek. It seemed, however, that Foxglen was bolder and more dedicated to their act than she’d anticipated.
His warm lips brushed against hers. She didn’t even have time to close her eyes before he pulled back. Yet despite the quickness, that simple, soft kiss disrupted her body in a way that no other embrace had. Her skin tingled, and a pleasant heat billowed inside her. She wasn’t some virginal miss who’d only experienced a quick, clandestine peck on the cheek. But Foxglen—Foxglen made her feel as if all her firsts were still before her.
His face had reddened into a shade deeper than the New World tomatoes that her Aunt Mary grew on her Caribbean island. He stepped back awkwardly, and he inclined his head toward her with a rapidity at odds with his normal measured motions.
“I will be sure to make time for you this afternoon, darling.” Even his words sounded rushed as he turned and disappeared from the room.
“Now that is a juicy tidbit of gossip,” Lady Eliza said as soon as Foxglen’s footsteps faded. “Much better than anything in my favorite scandal sheets.”
“I do believe this occasion calls for our special coffee,” Lord Hugh said. “Right, brother?”
“Indeed. Indeed.” Lord Francis’s blue eyes were as round as two lakes.
Special coffee?Hannah would need to try some of that. Perhaps it was something that they should try serving at the Black Sheep. Not that any brew had much of a chance of competing with the delicious concoctions that Sophia dreamed up.
“I half expect Father to rise up from his grave to discipline that scamp. To think that he’s turned out just like our brother,” Lady Joan huffed out. “He’s taken up with a woman just like his mother.”
