Page 29 of The Earl’s Hoyden

Thus far, no note had arrived, and she tried hard not to be disappointed. After all, he had requested her instruction to attract a wife. One who was decidedly not her. He owed her no correspondence.

“Oh, Hannah.” Lady Westwich clasped her hands over her heart. “You are such a divine artist!”

Her mother rushed over to examine the almost completed painting. It was nothing special, merely a way of passing the time with a few strokes here and there with the paintbrush. Hannah’s talent was, at best, average by her objective consideration. Indeed, it was nothing like Jillian’s skill, who could create a piece twice as good in half the time.

“When this is complete, I should like it to be framed for my room,” Lady Westwich declared.

“You already have several on display,” Hannah replied. “Most of them are far better than this.”

Her mother tsked. “Every one you do is a stunning piece of art. Don’t you ever tell yourself anything different.” She embraced Hannah between brush strokes. “Truly, you are so talented.”

At that moment, Lord Westwich entered the drawing room with a newspaper folded in his hands.

“Henry,” her mother called, waving him over. “Do come look at this beautiful painting our Hannah has created.”

His face immediately lit up, and he approached the window. “Hannah, you’ve outdone yourself on this one.” He settled a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners with affection and love.

It made her wish she could be the person her parents thought she was.

“Your mother will likely want that one for her bedchamber.” He removed his hand from Hannah’s shoulder and smiled at his wife, leaving Hannah grateful for the redirection of his attention from her.

“That’s precisely what I told her,” Lady Westwich said proudly. “And since you are here, I believe we were going to discuss the invitations for our dinner party next week.”

Her father’s dark brows lifted. “Oh. Yes. The dinner party invitations, of course.” He nodded so enthusiastically that Hannah immediately suspected the gears of a plot were turning.

Lord Westwich was always a willing player in her mother’s schemes. Only, he was a terrible actor.

“Who are you planning to invite?” Hannah asked innocently, even as dread curdled in her stomach.

“Oh, the usual,” her mother began. “Most likely Lord and Lady Whimbly as well as Lord and Lady Hasselton.”

Which left an open spot for a single gentleman to be included. How very transparent. Hannah squelched an enormous sigh.

“Ah, but we cannot have our seats so uneven, my love,” Lord Westwich said in an unnatural tone, as though reading from a card.

“Is it uneven?” The baroness gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

Hers was a far stronger performance than that of Lord Westwich. Hannah would give her mother that.

“How careless of me,” Lady Westwich continued. “Perhaps…perhaps our Hannah might have a suggestion?”

“Yes, Hannah,” her father said woodenly. “Can you think of someone who might help us even out the guests?”

Hannah curled the damp tip of her brush around a rose petal, bleeding carnation pink onto the paper. “Hmmm…I can’t possibly imagine who we could invite. Perhaps Lord Ecklesby?”

The irascible old baron had never wed, instead devoting his life to hatred and invectives. If nothing else, he would be entertaining. And even his unpleasant personality would be preferable to having—

“Lord Brightstone,” her mother exclaimed as though she had not even heard Hannah’s reply. “What a wonderful suggestion.”

“I didn’t say Lord Brightstone,” Hannah protested.

Her father looked at her, partly with curiosity, partly with horror at being in a position where Hannah had not answered as he had been instructed she would. He swallowed. “Eh…yes, I think Lord Brightstone will be the perfect addition.” His expression softened, and his voice returned to normal. “If that’s what you truly want, Hannah.”

Lady Westwich folded her arms over her chest and shot a glare at her husband.

Hannah sighed in resignation. In truth, it would be better to have Lord Brightstone in attendance so she could tutor him more in casual dinner conversation. Because really, that would be the only reason for him to attend.

Not that he genuinely needed assistance in how to speak with women when he’d been so very charming with her at Almack’s. Her pulse kicked up at the recollection of his strong hands about her waist, his face so close that she could discern small flecks of green near his irises and a light scar near his hairline over his left brow.