Page 24 of The Lady’s No Angel

“The envelope bears his seal,” Howard said gently, handing it to her.

“Oh.” Swallowing, Clara reached for it, aware her hand was not entirely steady. “Thank you.”

Nodding and, she suspected, hiding an amused smile, Howard bowed and withdrew.

Benny sat at her feet, eyeing the plate with the biscuits. He gave an impatient huff and shook his head, getting up and turning in a circle before sitting down again. Clara sighed and broke off a piece of biscuit, feeding it to him before turning her attention back to the letter. The paper was thick and expensive, and—looking furtively around as if spies lurked in the brightly lit room—she lifted it to her nose. It smelled of paper, obviously, but Clara believed she detected a subtle scent too. Cedar, perhaps?

Benny grumbled, lifting his paw and sending her an appealing look, head cocked to one side.

“You are indiscreet,” she scolded him, but broke off another piece of biscuit. “Too many sweets aren’t good for you. You’ll get fat,” she added ruefully, making a mental note to take the long route home.

Her attention returned to the letter, and she carefully wiped her fingers on the pristine white napkin folded on the tea tray before she picked it up once more and broke the seal.

Hawkney House,

Mayfair.

6 Inst April 1816

Miss Halfpenny,

I pray you will forgive me for troubling you with this note.

My grandmother desires that I convey to you her particular wishes respecting the use of the music-room during our absence.

She bids me say that she is pleased you should continue to have the use and benefit of the instrument. However, she wishes to be assured that no candles are to be placed upon the pianoforte itself and no tea-tray, dish, or glass is to be set upon the instrument. That when you are done, the cover is to be replaced and the key to be returned to Howard.

I am sensible that these injunctions must appear excessively detailed, and moreover that a sensible young woman of your intelligence needs no schooling in how to proceed. However, the Dowager Duchess will have her way, and I pray you will accept these words in the spirit in which they are offered, and do not make yourself uncomfortable upon receipt of this note.

Should any difficulty arise, you have only to send word to Howard, who will deal with the matter at once.

I hope that you have taken full advantage of the opportunity to improve your skills and are enjoying the music selection available to you. If there is anything you find missing, please inform me and I shall have the sheets of music sent to you.

I hope Benny is also enjoying the change of scenery. Do please assure him that he is quite at liberty to bark if his mistress does not find this disagreeable, and to avail himself of the grounds to exercise in whenever he—or his mistress—wishes to do so.

I remain, Miss Halfpenny,

your obedient servant,

Hawkney.

Clara stared at the words while her heart performed a complicated series of flutters and thuds in her chest. Even after having read the thing through a dozen times, she could not quite make head nor tail of it. Obviously, she knew what it said, but that the duke had troubled himself to write to her personally, instead of instructing a servant to pass the instructions onto Howard, was bewildering.

His grandmother, she realised, telling herself not to be such a ninny. He clearly stated that he had written on the dowager’s insistence. She was a woman who did not take no for an answer and had the peculiar fits and starts of any elderly person. Likely the duke would not have had a moment’s peace if he had not done precisely as she had asked him to do. There. That made perfect sense.

Yet, the last part, where he offered to buy her any music she desired, and gave Benny leave to bark and for them to walk in the grounds. She laughed, a soft, startled sound, and so unusual that Benny lifted his head to gaze enquiringly at her.

“His grace gives you leave to bark, love,” she told him gravely.

Benny considered this and gave a little yip.

Clara smiled, folded the letter carefully, and held it close to her heart. Fool. He did not care a button for her, not really. But he was kind. A thoughtful man who did as his grandmother bade him and offered a shy little spinster a momentary respite from a life that was dull and confining. Who would have believed that a man of such status and wealth would give her a second thought?

It was remarkable, and really, such kindness deserved acknowledgement.

Though she knew it was crossing a line, an impropriety so great it made her flush to her toes to consider it—she must certainly reply.

The Grand Hotel – Building site, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 8th April 1816