Page 23 of The Lady’s No Angel

“Certainly it is, and you do it so well,” he replied, grinning.

He watched as she walked off again, muttering something under her breath. He didn’t catch the words which still sounded a little cross, too involved in watching the delicious sway of her hindquarters, sadly camouflaged under what he considered an excessive quantity of fabric. Still, what he could see was magnificent. Hart shook his head and sighed sadly. Must try harder.

They left the church, walking up towards the open green and wooded land that marked the boundary to Darenth Knoll, the home of the reclusive Earl of Darenth.

“What’s that?” Miss Baxter asked, noticing the two small stone and flint lodges either side of the road that marked the entrance to the vast parklands. The ornate iron gates were firmly closed, and from what Hart knew of the owner, were likely to remain that way.

“Darenth Knoll. One of the largest properties in the whole of England. The house alone covers over four acres of land.”

“Good heavens,” she said, gazing at him in wonder. “I cannot imagine the scale of such a place. It must be like living in a museum, or a small city.”

She shivered and pulled a face. Her reaction gave Hart an oddly hollow sensation in his gut he could not quite place, but it made him uneasy.

“Come along. We’d best get back to the inn. Mrs Pettigrew will wonder where we’ve got to.”

She sent him an odd look, as if she sensed his disquiet, but could understand it no more than he could. “You do remember she’s not really Mrs Pettigrew?” she remarked as he led her back towards the town.

“I remember. Just as I remember, you are not Miss Baxter,” he replied, though she had not told him any such thing. He felt sure it was true, though.

Her lips compressed into a thin line, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Sorry, sorry. None of my business,” he replied briskly, and said nothing more on the subject.

They got back to the inn, and Hart looked to see if the two men were there still. They were not. Relieved, he escorted Miss Baxter to the front door, turning as the back of his neck prickled. Looking around, he saw the two men farther down the street, slouched nonchalantly against a wall. As he looked at them, they stood and walked away.

Chapter 8

Meanwhile…

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 8th April 1816

Clara stopped her playing abruptly as the door to the music room opened. Benny, knowing the arrival of the butler meant tea and biscuits, trotted towards the fellow.

“Thank you, Howard. You do spoil us, though,” Clara said, getting to her feet.

“Not at all, Miss Halfpenny. It is a pleasure to see the piano getting used, and to hear it too,” the fellow said as he set the tray down.

Clara winced at his words. “Oh, dear. You can hear me play?”

Howard looked up, correctly interpreting her discomfort. “Only when I’m passing by the door. You can’t hear it from anywhere else but directly outside in the corridor, unless the door is open. But I thought you played very well. I do enjoy folk tunes. Lady Della has a rare talent and can play most anything, but the folk tunes remind me of being a boy again, and of the people I’ve loved and lost. They’re charming.”

“Oh.” Clara blushed, touched by the man’s kind words. “Well, I shall endeavour to play more of those then, in case you happen to be passing.”

The fellow smiled at her warmly. “Shall I pour?”

Clara had settled herself in the chair by the fire, where Howard placed the tea tray on a small table beside her. “Oh, no. Thank you, I can do it. I’m sure you have many more important things to attend to.”

“Very good, miss. Oh, and this came for you.”

Clara paused with her hand over the beautiful china teapot and looked up in surprise as Howard held out a letter to her. “For me?” she repeated in confusion.

Howard turned the letter over and read, “Miss C. Halfpenny.”

“Good heavens,” she exclaimed in consternation, wondering who on earth would write to her here. Who else knew she came here? “Howard, I can only apologise, I cannot think who would have the temerity to do such a thing when—”

“His grace, Miss Halfpenny.”

Clara blinked. “H-His grace?”