Page 17 of A Lady of Conscience

But not Lord St. Clare anymore. He was James.

James.

After waltzing with her, he had escorted Hannah to the candlelit dining room for supper. There, they’d shared a meal together. It hadn’t been an intimate one. Their families had joined them at the table—her parents, Lord and Lady Allendale, Charles and Kate, and Ivo and Miss Burton-Smythe too. The mood had been merry, the conversation animated, and the privacy nonexistent.

James had left immediately afterward.

At the time, Hannah had owned to a feeling of disappointment. She had thought his presence might mean something. That he would remain until the ball ended, asking her to dance another set with him, or perhaps taking her for a walk in the garden.

But he hadn’t done any of those things.

Hannah had finished out the ball just as she’d begun it, dancing and socializing with a succession of polite strangers. She’d stayed until the end, returning to Camden Place with Charles in the early hours of the morning, exhausted in body and spirit. On waking at midday, she had still felt the lingering effects of her disappointment, but she hadn’t indulged them. She had her dogs to tend to.

They walked ahead of her at the end of their leads, Tippo prancing on his four legs, and Evangeline hopping on her three.

“Have you any engagements today?” Mattie asked.

“None. Though I must return home before receiving hours. There may well be callers.”

“There often are the day after a ball, especially if one has proved popular.”

“I don’t know about popular,” Hannah said, “but I did meet several new people.”

“Did any of them seem likely to support the cause?”

Hannah frowned. “There was no opportunity to inquire. Not while dancing.” A gust of wind over the green whipped at the rose satin ribbons of her bonnet. She brushed them back from her face. “But if anyone should call today, I will make sure to ask them.”

Mattie drew her shawl more firmly about her shoulders. “It would be wise to do so. You wouldn’t wish to wed a gentleman who isn’t in accord with your philosophies.”

Hannah doubted there were any marriage proposals in her immediate future. Not after what could only be described as a lackluster debut.

It was some relief that she hadn’t done anything to distinguish herself in a negative light. But neither had she emerged as the belle of the ball. She’d been too quiet and timid to dazzle anyone. And she certainly hadn’t been dazzled in return. Not unless one counted James’s brief appearance.

She only hoped that future events during her season would draw a wider array of gentlemen. Perhaps then she might stand a chance of meeting a man whose thoughts and opinions aligned with her own.

“Speaking of my philosophies…” She guided the dogs back toward Camden Place. “I was considering writing an essay on the importance of feeding one’s cats.”

Mattie flashed her an interested glance. “As opposed to…?”

“Wrongly presuming they’ll hunt for their supper. Many cats won’t—or can’t. If more people understood their obligation of care, we may have fewer hungry cats roaming the street.”

“Some of those cats are the products of abandonment,” Mattie said. “It is the common way when people travel to another of their houses for the season. Many are accustomed to leaving their cats behind, untended. They imagine the cats will look after themselves until they return.”

“Unforgivably foolish,” Hannah murmured.

“Ignorance is to blame,” Mattie said. “The trick is to educate without scolding.”

“My essay wouldn’t scold. I would simply explain the realities, and offer suggestions on how compassionate people might mitigate them.”

“You would be writing for publication?”

“For your next issue of the Animal Advocate, if it isn’t too late.”

Mattie smiled. The front door of the Heywoods’ house in Camden Place was just ahead. “I’m honored that you wish to contribute another piece.”

“Then you’ll accept it?”

“Send it to me when you’ve written it,” Mattie said. “We can discuss it then.”