Page 5 of A Lady of Conscience

“Just so long as you take care not to get into too much trouble.”

“When have I ever got into trouble?” Hannah wondered.

“Never on your own behalf. But on an animal’s account? Frequently.”

“You would have done the same in the circumstances. And have done the same,” she added, “many, many times.”

“I’m not a young lady embarking on her first season.”

Hannah gave her brother a reproving look. “Surely one can take part in the season without ignoring the dictates of one’s conscience?”

“I’m not asking you to ignore your conscience,” Charles said, “only to think twice before imperiling your reputation. Bath may be more forgiving than London, but you’ll still be under scrutiny. Fashionable cities thrive on scurrilous gossip. It passes for entertainment. I’d rather you not find yourself the subject of it.”

Her brother’s words did nothing to ease Hannah’s anxiety. She didn’t like to imagine people gossiping about her. “I won’t do anything to imperil my reputation,” she assured him.

Not on purpose.

* * *

James Aldrick Nicholas Beresford, Viscount St. Clare, handed his sister, Kate, down from the black lacquered carriage. He didn’t agree with calling in Camden Place so early. Lieutenant Charles Heywood and his sister had only arrived in Bath half an hour ago. They’d scarcely had time to refresh themselves, let alone settle in.

It was Kate who had insisted on paying the untimely visit. She’d had a servant looking out for her betrothed’s carriage since the early afternoon. The instant Kate had learned of his arrival, she’d insisted on setting off.

“We needn’t stand on ceremony,” she said to James. “We’re practically family, after all.”

James shot his sister a cooly repressive glance. Kate was the youngest child of the family, as well as being the only girl. She’d been shamefully spoiled as a consequence. Brash, bold, and unapologetically headstrong, it wouldn’t occur to her not to give in to her wildest impulses.

It was a typically Beresford trait, this urge to charge ahead, come what may. Their family was known for being overpassionate. For fighting duels, engaging in fisticuffs, and generally throwing caution to the wind. It was something in their blood—a combustible combination of Beresford daring and (on his mother’s side) Honeywell recklessness.

James had spent most of his life battling against it. It hadn’t been easy. Indeed, it took a certain strength of will to rein in his passions. To think pragmatically, logically, rather than letting his heart run away with his head. The alternative hadn’t been an option. There was already enough scandal attached to the family. He had no intention of creating more of it. Quite the opposite. As the heir to the earldom, James planned to rehabilitate the Beresford name.

“Not quite family, yet,” he pointed out to his sister.

Kate shook out her striped silk skirts. Striding ahead of him, she rapped twice on the white-painted door. “Nonsense,” she said. “Charles and I will be married before the summer is out. We’ve no cause for this tedious decorum.”

James’s face remained impassive as a liveried footman admitted them into the marble-tiled hall. Servants scurried past, hauling trunks up the stairs and carrying boxes down to the kitchens, under the direction of a stout, white-aproned housekeeper.

Among all the chaos, Charles Heywood strode forward to meet them. He was a tall, dark-haired fellow with a military bearing. Seeing Kate, his stern face was transformed by a smile. “This is excellent timing.” He bowed to them before taking Kate’s hands. “You must have had the watch out for us.”

“I confess I did.” Kate glanced behind Charles as he kissed her cheek in greeting. “Where is your sister?”

“Hannah is in her room, changing. She’ll be down in a moment.”

James cast an opaque look toward the curving staircase. He had last seen Hannah Heywood over a month ago when he and his family had traveled to Heywood House to celebrate Charles and Kate’s engagement. Then, James had been in her company only briefly.

All too briefly.

The fact that Miss Heywood had been at her childhood home, comfortably surrounded by her family and her pets, had done little to alleviate her shyness where James was concerned. She’d rarely looked him in the eye, seeming more content to avoid him than to converse with him.

Such maidenish reticence in another girl would have been off-putting. In Miss Heywood, it had only served to intrigue him. Perhaps it was because her shyness wasn’t the whole of her. Underneath her blushes, she was a young lady of peculiar conviction. She loved animals, and was prepared to fight for them, even if she couldn’t yet summon the courage to speak up for herself.

James admired the impulse in her. The fact was, he was coming to admire her full stop. It was a devilish realization. They’d exchanged only a handful of words since first meeting at Christmas. Most of his opinions about her had been gleaned from observation. She was graceful. Thoughtful.

Beautiful.

And entirely ill-suited for the role of his future countess.

“Come and sit down in the drawing room,” Charles said. He turned to the housekeeper. “Two more for tea, Mrs. Pritchett.”