Page 47 of A Lady of Conscience

Miss Paley accepted it from him. “Fennick? I believe you know Miss Heywood?”

“Miss Heywood.” Lord Fennick offered a perfunctory bow.

“Sir,” Hannah replied, inclining her head.

“Come,” Miss Paley said to Hannah. “Let us take a turn about the park.” She strode away, leaving Lord Fennick behind them.

Hannah kept pace with Miss Paley, walking with her across the grass and toward the tree-lined dirt path that wended its way around the grounds.

“I’m not familiar with the name Heywood,” Miss Paley said. “You are not, I presume, from London?”

“I am not. My parents reside but fifty miles from here, near the village of Heycombe.”

“Your father is a squire?”

“A retired captain of the army. He is the second son of the Earl of Gordon.”

Miss Paley’s eyes flashed to Hannah with sharpened attention. She looked her up and down. “And you are having your season in Bath? Whatever for?”

“I prefer it,” Hannah answered simply.

“The society is not very refined here.”

“I have not found it lacking.”

“You must take my word for it. I had my first season in London. The quality of parties there is far superior to anything you could find in Bath, or Brighton, or Tunbridge Wells. Had my father not needed to take the waters for his health, I would be in London still. I can’t imagine why anyone would ever wish to have their season anywhere else.” Miss Paley gave a disdainful sniff. “But, I suppose, if you desire to wed a farmer or a man of business, Bath is as good a place as any to find such a person.”

Hannah’s mouth curved in spite of herself. She had met many self-important people during her first weeks in Bath, but surely Miss Paley was the most self-important of them all. “I confess, I had not considered my future husband’s profession.”

“I prefer a husband with no profession,” Miss Paley returned. “That is to say, a gentleman.” She opened her parasol. The miniscule white lace shade was so tiny as to be of no practical use at all. “Lady Carleton informs me that Viscount St. Clare is presently in Bath.”

Hannah glanced at Miss Paley in surprise. “Do you know his lordship?”

“I should say so. I saw him but a few days ago in London. We waltzed together at a ball hosted by the Marquess of Deane. St. Clare is an excellent partner.”

A knot of mingled disbelief and astonishment formed in Hannah’s breast. She had not considered that James might have attended balls while he was in London. And she hadn’t imagined him waltzing with other ladies. Not when he’d professed to be thinking of her.

A fork appeared in the road ahead. The right turning led over the hill. The left, back to the expanse of lawn where the rest of the picnic party remained.

Miss Paley guided Hannah to the left. “The marquess’s daughter, Lady Augusta, is a particular friend of mine. Perhaps you’ve met?”

“We have not,” Hannah said.

“Pity. She is a most superior person. I have heard that she and St. Clare might one day—” Miss Paley broke off, coming to an abrupt halt. She stared out at the lawn. “Upon my soul. There is the very man.”

Hannah stilled. She followed Miss Paley’s gaze. Her heart stopped. It was James, sure enough, looking dashing in fashionable morning dress, the sun gleaming in his golden hair. He came to join them on the path.

Miss Paley’s face spread into a dazzling smile. “Lord St. Clare. We meet again.”

James bowed. “Miss Paley.” His gray eyes met Hannah’s. “Miss Heywood.”

“My lord,” Hannah murmured.

Miss Paley looked between them, her smile gone flat. “You are acquainted?”

“Lord St. Clare’s sister is betrothed to my older brother,” Hannah said.

“Oh?” Miss Paley’s tone took on a note of censure. “You might have mentioned such happy news when we met in London, my lord.”