Page 10 of A Lady of Conscience

Hannah tensed. “Along with Kate, yes.”

“And how do you feel about that, darling?”

Hannah’s brow furrowed. She was used to sharing her thoughts and feelings with her parents. They had always treated her opinions with respect, never judging or ridiculing her, even when they must override one of her decisions for her own good. But confiding her feelings—such feelings that she had—about the cold, handsome viscount was a different matter. Hannah found herself unusually reticent.

“Should I feel something?” she asked.

“Your brother fears Lord St. Clare has developed a tendre for you.”

Hannah was surprised into a laugh. The idea was too ludicrous to allow for any other reaction. “Indeed, he has not.”

Her mother searched her eyes. “You’re certain of that?”

Hannah’s smile of amusement faded in the face of her mother’s seriousness. She cast her mind back on the few interactions she’d had with Lord St. Clare, combing her memories for any sign of attraction on his part. There was nothing. Not a word. Not a look.

“He is civil,” she allowed. “But I have never detected any particular warmth in his treatment of me.”

“No,” Mama murmured thoughtfully. “He is not, I suspect, a warm man.”

Hannah looked at her mother. She knew her parents were very much in love. They took no pains to hide it. But Hannah’s father wasn’t a demonstrative man, for all that. He was solemn and reserved. Even grumpy, some might say if they didn’t know him.

“Was Papa very warm to you when you first met him?” she asked her mother.

“Not warm, no. He is a serious gentleman, and at the time, prone to brooding. He had not long been back from the war. His thoughts were often turned inward. Still… I had a sense of him.”

“You knew he was in love with you?”

“No, not then. I didn’t know he loved me until after we married. But I knew he was my friend, and that my happiness was ever at the forefront of his mind. From the first, I felt safe with him.”

Hannah compared her mother’s description to her own overpowering feelings of shyness and discomfort whenever she was in Lord St. Clare’s presence. There was no similarity at all. “I hope I shall have the same sense when I meet the gentleman I’m to marry.”

“I pray you shall.” Mama brushed a lock of Hannah’s hair behind her ear. “If you don’t, you must ask your father and me for our advice. We have experience on our side to guide you.”

“You don’t approve of Lord St. Clare?”

Mama was quiet a moment. “I have no reason to disapprove of him. When his family came to stay last month, he was all politeness. But I confess…I would prefer to see your fate joined to a gentleman of warmth and affection. One who values you exactly as you are, and who would not attempt to change you to suit his lofty standards.”

“Lord St. Clare has never indicated a wish to change me. To be sure, he is in most every way a stranger. If not for Charles marrying Kate, I doubt I would have met him at all.”

“But you have met him. And you are very beautiful, my dear,” Mama said gently. “Some men see only that. They value outward appearance above all traits. It compels them to make inadvisable matches.”

Hannah’s brows lifted. A match between her and Viscount St. Clare? The prospect was too outlandish to contemplate. “Lord St. Clare has no interest in me. Not in that way.”

She would know it if he had. She’d have felt it by now. Women could feel such things, couldn’t they?

“And your interest?” her mother prompted.

“I have none. Not for him.” Hannah gave her mother’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re very sweet to worry, Mama, but you have no cause to. Whatever happens this season, I can promise you that Lord St. Clare is the last gentleman on earth I should ever choose to marry.”

Chapter Three

The Carletons’ stately house was located near the Abbey. Hannah had visited with her parents many times during their previous stays in Bath, but never during one of the elderly couple’s famous balls.

She set her hand in her brother’s as he assisted her down from the Heywoods’ gleaming coach and four. It was a temperate evening, with no trace of the persistent rain that had plagued the city last week. The moon shone brilliantly in the star-spangled night sky. Along with the torches and lamplights, it reflected in the polished lacquer of the long line of carriages, illuminating the arriving guests in their elegant black-and-white eveningwear and lavish silk dresses.

Hannah’s own ball gown had been ordered at the modiste during one of the many shopping excursions she’d made with her mother. Composed of white tulle over a white satin slip, it boasted short sleeves, a pointed waist, and full skirts trimmed in pink roses and three flounces of blonde lace. A matching lace bertha, fastened with another full-blown pink rose, lent a degree of modesty to her bare neck and shoulders. The bodice beneath was cut far lower than the evening gowns she’d worn in the country. It made her feel incredibly grown up.

It was meant to do so. Though she was already nineteen years of age, it was tonight that marked her true ascension to womanhood. Along with the ball itself, her gown announced that she was no longer a child. She was a lady ready to make a suitable marriage.