Chapter 13
H annah sat at her harp, her brow furrowed in concentration as she practised the composition. A sour note sounded, and she let out a frustrated groan.
She should not be so hard on herself. She was years out of practise and she might have been a bit too confident in selecting this piece to play today.
But she could not resist playing all her new sheet music. Simon had taken her to a music library and had told her to purchase whatever she wanted. She had returned with a stack of music that would take her decades to master, particularly with her fumbling fingers.
Well, practise was the only remedy, although she was finding herself only able to carve out an hour or less each day for it despite her eagerness to play.
There had been the social calls to accept and return in kind, then the invitations for evening events for her and Simon, where they would return late and then wile away their early morning hours together in bed.
And sometimes well into the afternoon if they had no plans.
As much as she loved playing her new harp, she loved being in bed with her husband more.
Although today they had eventually risen from luxuriating in bed, as Simon had wanted to attend the club to discuss today’s debate regarding the Stamp Bill, which gave her the opportunity to practise for a few hours.
She may have pushed herself a bit too hard, the tips of her fingers red and raw from the friction. Best she give them a rest, if only to prevent nasty blisters from forming.
While she might not be able to practise, there was another task on her plate that she had been neglecting.
No, not neglecting. It was simply that she had hit a dead end and did not know where to go from there.
The mystery of Miss P and her Faithful Officer.
Despite her best efforts, she was still no closer to discovering either’s identity. Last she called on Lady Mount, she had informed Hannah she was still reading through her journals for any mention of a resident of the house that might sound like Miss P or the Officer and H, his brother-turned-rival. However, single initials were little to go on when it came to identifying a name.
Simon had been the one to suggest she construct a timeline of the letters in the hopes of revealing a hitherto unseen clue as to when they had been written. He was full of good ideas, and she wondered not for the first time if he was not better suited for Parliament than many of the lords who sat there by chance of birth.
She had gone through the letters again, pinpointing the first and last letter where the Officer declared his intentions to confess before his brother proposed, but the letters in the middle were difficult to sort into a timeline.
Many of them were only brief notes that were tossed off in secret when his feelings were like to tear loose from him if he did not commit them to paper. Then there were the long treatises that must have taken hours to compose, remarking on Miss P herself and his love for her, those letters existing outside of time.
There was the mention of a house party after the close of Parliament and commentary on the conclusion of the hunting season that offered a skeleton of a timeline, but it was missing too many pieces to be considered complete.
It was an effort in frustration, especially as rereading the letters only distressed her. Such longing and heartache filled the letters; the Officer baring his soul to Miss P in the only way he could, too scared of rejection to voice his true feelings to her.
It was a tragedy and Hannah hated to read of the Officer’s suffering.
It would be a simple thing to return the letters to their hiding place and forget the whole matter. Whether it had been Miss P or the Officer who had done so, the letters had been well hidden. It was clear that the intent had been that they would never see the light of day again. She would carry no blame if she let them fade into obscurity, a mystery never to be solved.
Yet Hannah could not bring herself to do it. She could not let the Officer and Miss P go until she knew of their fate. Her claim that she wished to return the letters to their owner was merely an excuse to ease her guilt in reading someone else’s correspondence. The truth was that she was desperate to know how it had all turned out.
Did the Officer give Miss P the letters? Had she still married the brother and been as happy as predicted? Had the Officer spent his life heartbroken?
So many questions that made her head spin to think of them, yet gave her the push she needed to take out the letters and read them again in hopes she might see something new this time.
An hour passed, the letters now spread out on the tea table in front of the sofa in a better order as she finished reading an account of ice skating on the frozen Serpentine. She was setting it on the winter side of the timeline, when Bailey entered the room to announce Lady Rothsay and the Misses Livingstons were here to call on her.
The ladies swept into the room with excited greetings and the Bellas launched into an account of the newest morsel of gossip they had learned today. They had been calling on Lady Sefton on South Audley Street when they saw Mr. Fulton leaving Lord Nealon’s house quite dejected. It was suspected Lord Nealon had refused Mr. Fulton’s request to propose to the oldest Nealon daughter.
“I think Lord Nealon is a fool. Mr. Fulton is heir to his uncle’s estate in Suffolk. He is a plum prospect, particularly considering Miss Nealon’s sharp tongue,” Miss Arabella said.
“I have personally witnessed her berating more than a few footmen,” Lady Rothsay said. “She only stopped when I chastised her for it. Whomever Lord Nealon finally chooses for Miss Nealon, I hope he has deep pockets. He will only keep his staff if he pays them generously.”
“And even with his generosity, the staff are likely to pilfer whatever they can, for which I do not blame them in the least. Even the Archbishop himself would not blame them,” Hannah quipped, earning laughs from Lady Rothsay and Miss Arabella, but Miss Isabella’s attention was drawn to the harp in the corner.
“Where did you get such a fine instrument, Mrs. Langley?” she asked with admiration.
“I convinced Mr. Langley we needed a pianoforte for when we host dinner here. He purchased both a fine Broadwood and this beautiful harp as a surprise for me.”
“You can play both?” Miss Isabella asked, and Hannah nodded. “Oh, then you must duet with Ari and I shall sing!”
“Do ensure you vet the lyrics before you let them play,” Lady Rothsay advised Hannah. “They have quite the improper repertoire.”
“It livens up any party,” Miss Isabella assured her.
Hannah laughed. “I will keep that in mind for any party I plan to host.”
“Are these the infamous love letters?” Miss Arabella asked with a nod to the papers spread out on the table.
“I was reviewing them again hoping to discover a clue to when they were written, but I cannot find a one,” Hannah said. “Lady Mount has been searching her journals for anyone who could be Miss P or the Officer, but as you can presume, it is taking time. It would be easier if I could at least give her a specific year to review.”
She frowned at the letters, frustrated once again at the dead end she found herself at. Well, it was time to take a break from them and enjoy her friends paying a call on her.
“We should speak of more exciting things,” she said. “Now tell me, Miss Arabella, has Mr. Daly called on you since we dined with his family after the opera?”
Miss Arabella let out a happy sigh, falling back on the sofa as she clutched her hands to her heart. “He did! And we promenaded in the Park on Wednesday. I believe he will soon declare his intentions.”
“She speaks of nothing but Mr. Daly,” Miss Isabella told them with her own annoyed sigh. “I do not begrudge my sister her happiness, but I wish she would entertain any subject other than Mr. Daly.”
“I entertain many subjects aside from Mr. Daly,” Miss Arabella shot back. “Was I not speaking of prospects for the Derby only just this morning?”
Miss Isabella raised her delicate eyebrows at her sister. “You have never once thought of horse racing until Mr. Daly asked if you would be attending the Derby.”
Lady Rothsay tried to stifle a laugh while Hannah ducked her head to hide a smile. She remembered what it was like to be young and infatuated with a man. When one’s head was consumed with thoughts of what he was doing, when one might next see him and what one might say to him. It was a heady experience that made it difficult to concentrate on anything but him.
“The Derby!” Miss Arabella cried out before turning to Hannah. “Mrs. Langley, do any of the letters mention a significant event such as a race like the Derby? If the letters mention the winner, we can discover the year they were written!”
Hannah’s forehead wrinkled in thought as she considered the letters she had read. There had been mentions of seasonal events such as the ice skating and the hunt, but what of racing? She could not recall any mention of a horse race or any other sporting event with a victor. But had there been any other event mentioned that might—
“Gas lighting!”
The other ladies jumped at Hannah’s exclamation and she dove for the letters, quickly flicking through them in search of the one she remembered.
“Here it is!” she exclaimed, holding up the single page missive. “He writes of attending the first demonstration of gas lighting on Pall Mall and wishing he had invited Miss P to join him. That pinpoints the exact day he wrote the letter.”
“What day was that?” Lady Rothsay wondered.
“I do not know, but someone must. With a specific date, Lady Mount can narrow down her journals.” Hannah turned to smile at Miss Arabella. “Thank you for your help.”
“As I told you,” Miss Arabella told her sister, “I do not think of only Mr. Daly.”
Miss Isabella shook her head at her sister and turned back to Hannah. “Knowing the date they were written still will not tell you when they were hidden. Someone might have kept them for years before hiding them in this house.”
Miss Arabella rolled her eyes. “Well, aren’t you the optimist?”
“What matters is that it is a place to start,” Hannah said. “It will also ease my guilt that Lady Mount has been reading through all her journals. I have been worried about her eyesight. Although when I last called on her, she was enjoying reliving her past exploits. I must say, she ran among the most elite of the ton . She counted Beau Brummell and the Prince Regent among her close friends.”
“We should all be so lucky to have an interesting past to look back on one day,” Lady Rothsay said, then gave the Bellas a cautionary glance. “Don’t interpret that as license for impropriety, girls. I will not have Mrs. Jacobs blame me for any poor behaviour under my chaperoning.”
“Aunt Jane gets up to enough poor behaviour for both of us,” Miss Isabella said. “I do not know why she bothered to come to Town with us as she never acts as chaperone.”
“I suspect she has found herself a paramour here in Town,” Miss Arabella said.
“Ari! Your aunt would die of embarrassment if she knew you said that to Mrs. Langley,” Lady Rothsay chastised.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Miss Arabella replied. “She would smile and say that widows are entitled to do as they please.”
Hannah snorted with laughter while Lady Rothsay merely shook her head. Simon would be quite interested when she passed along that little tidbit of gossip about Mrs. Jacobs and her possible paramour. He had recounted his attendance at a party hosted by Lady Nott, sister to Mrs. Jacobs, mentioning that both the ladies were known to be quite the libertines.
She glanced at the clock, wondering how long her husband would linger at the club. Hopefully not too late. She was eager for him to return home so she could tell him all about today’s discoveries.
Her day did not feel complete until she was able to tell Simon all about it.
***
Simon had always found it interesting that when a sitting of Parliament adjourned, the debates would inevitably carry over to the gentlemen’s clubs of London, albeit with much less structure than would be found in the hallowed halls of Westminster.
And much more personal, as the debates at the club occurred between members of the same party who did not want to show discontent to outsiders when at Westminster. Within the confines of the club, loyalties to party lines were not needed and the truth could be spoken freely.
It had been thrilling to be among them today as salient points, pointless bickering, and nasty barbs were flung back and forth as the men fought to find a compromise among the party so that they might return to the House ready to wage war against the Tories.
There was a pride to be had in what they did. The men had a true sense of purpose as they guided the world. It was quite the noble pursuit.
Simon knew his lofty thoughts had been sparked by the fact that Mr. Spring-Rice had approached him this evening with Lord Melbourne. The Prime Minister had asked to sit with Simon in a private room where he spoke of the election that was sure to come as the aging King was unlikely to be long for this world. Princess Victoria’s ascension was imminent, heralding with it a national transformation. The Chancellor had recommended Simon as a man who could play an important role in that transformation. When the next election was called, Melbourne wanted Simon to run for the party.
It was quite the compliment to be approached by the Prime Minister himself to run. And perhaps it was true that persistence paid off, as Simon was seriously considering the request.
Politics had always interested him and he had only refused the previous offer to run as he wanted to prioritize securing his estate and his future. After his years of careful attention, his estate was providing him with more money than he had ever expected, and his future was well secure. If ever there was a time to turn his attention to another pursuit, it was now.
He thought of what that future would look like for him. Returning home to Hanover Square after a day of stimulating debates in the Commons to meet his darling Hannah, who would greet him for dinner, telling him all about the events that they would attend together that week. They would dress for whatever event that would occupy their evening; her glittering and beautiful, him smiling and content.
It was a perfect fantasy, and one that he found himself living out now as he arrived home, Bailey taking his hat and coat and telling him that Mrs. Langley was in the boudoir. He did not need to be told where she was with the delicate notes of the harp drifting through the house.
Simon happily mounted the stairs and went to the open door of the boudoir. Hannah sat at the harp, her fingers moving along the strings, her eyes closed as she swayed to the rhythm of the music. He watched her finish the song, her eyes only drifting open after the final note reverberated through her.
The corners of her mouth lifted in a soft smile, and she held out a hand to him. He crossed the room, his eyes never leaving hers, and clasped her hand in his, helping her to her feet. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, and then kissed him gently on the lips.
“Welcome home, husband.”
He grinned at her as his arms encircled her waist. “A man could not ask for a better welcome home than that.”
“Do sit down and tell me all about your day.”
This had become their custom before they dressed for dinner. He would sit on the sofa and Hannah would sit in his lap while they shared the events of the day.
“Did you fix the state of the kingdom today?” she asked him as she settled in his lap.
“Not completely fixed, but it is improved,” he replied. “And how was your day?”
“Singularly productive!” she exclaimed. “Lady Rothsay and the Bellas called on me this afternoon. Miss Arabella proposed a method to date the letters—and it succeeded! The Officer wrote of attending the first display of gas lighting on Pall Mall. According to Bailey, that happened in 1807. I have sent a note to Lady Mount to search her journals for that time. Although, as Miss Isabella pointed out, it does not mean the letters were hidden that same year. Lady Mount’s journals may be of no use, so I am making notations of any other people mentioned in hopes we might narrow down the social circle.”
She sucked in a deep breath at the conclusion of her monologue, and he grinned. “My, you are quite excited.”
“I enjoy solving a mystery,” she replied. “And I suppose if I am honest, I want to know how it all turned out. I want to know if Miss P made the right decision.”
He frowned, his arms falling away from her waist. “I thought you believed there was no decision to be made. That Miss P loved the brother and would reject the Officer without question.”
“I did, but I have been considering that perhaps I was mistaken.” She looked to the spread of letters on the table. “It may have seemed to Miss P that she had everything she desired, but what if it was because she did not allow herself to think that there could be another path that could bring her fulfillment? I was like that once.”
“How so?” he asked, the ember of hope inside him growing brighter. Was she finally putting the ghost of John to rest so that she might move on?
“I once believed that my future was to be the Viscountess Carrick, mistress of a grand country estate, and I was happy with that prospect. I thought it was my destiny to be John’s wife and mother to his children, content to live and die in that little corner of Kent. It would be a small life, but a happy one.”
Simon had thought she was destined for it as well. Everyone who knew Hannah and John did. Yet Fate took him from her, which must mean she was destined for another.
“Then John died, and I believed I was meant to spend my life as a grieving almost-widow. But now I wonder if I have not been a na?ve child. I was so certain Fate determined all our actions that I conformed to it rather than making my own choices. Now I wonder if I convinced myself that I wanted a simple life in Kent because I believed that was what Fate had decided for me. You have shown me a whole new world here in London, Simon. I never imagined I could love it as much as I do. You have changed everything I thought I knew about myself. That, in turn, leads me to question whether I’ve ever truly knew my own desires or if I simply acted as others expected.”
His hope flared like a starved fire meeting fierce winds, flames leaping high so they might consume everything in their eagerness.
“That is easy enough to know,” Simon said. “Give no regard to Fate or expectations. Simply consider all your imaginations of your future, from the wildest to the most mundane, then speak the wants that first come to your mind.”
A crease appeared between her brows as she did as he asked.
“To be happy. To have fun. To discover who I really am.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a long moment before resting her head on his shoulder. “Sarah said something to me just before we married. She said that I made myself out to be what John wanted. My likes and dislikes were John’s instead of my own. I think she may be right. I believed a proper wife should reflect her husband’s every opinion and so that was who I made myself into.”
That was a surprise to Simon. It had always been particularly vexing to him that not only was Hannah in love with John, but they were also so well-matched. They agreed on everything, enjoying all the same past times and pursuits, complementing one another perfectly.
Had it all been an act?
Hannah had always stated her dream was a simple country life; however, upon arriving in London, the city had become her preference.
Just as it was his preference. Her husband.
A proper wife should reflect her husband’s every opinion.
What if she was doing it again? Was she playing a part instead of being the real Hannah?
This was not fair to her. She deserved to become her true self, so she might experience true happiness.
And as much as hope flamed inside him that she might one day return his feelings, wanting Hannah to be happy meant more to him.
She needed to discover the real her without anyone else’s influence. Even if it would kill him to do it, he needed to let her figure out herself on her own.
“Then perhaps what you need is to properly understand yourself,” he told her. “To achieve that, one must focus on meeting their own expectations and disregard those of others.”
“Even yours?” she asked with a teasing smile.
“Especially mine,” he said. “We were married by force.”
She lifted her head from his shoulder to frown at him. “I have apologized many times for that. I thought we had put that conflict to rest.”
“We have,” he assured her. “That is not what I meant. Our marriage came about not by choice but by expectation. You cannot let me or our marriage influence you as you begin your discovery of self. It will be the only way to know you have found your true self.”
“Most husbands would require their wife to conform to them rather than encouraging them to ignore him,” she told him as she cupped his cheeks affectionately. “I do wonder how you can be so accommodating to me.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to confess it all.
That he was so accommodating because he had loved her for as long as he could remember and would do anything for her.
That he had been viciously jealous of John for years, cursing his very existence until he had died, guilt consuming Simon for every jealous thought he had.
That he had come to her after John’s death in the hope she might see him as more than a friend.
That he had withdrawn from her to shield himself from the heartbreak of watching her waste her life loving a ghost instead of him.
That his marriage to her had finally granted him a taste of what he wanted and nurtured his eternal hope that she might one day love him like she loved John.
Hannah’s hand slipped into his own, threading her fingers through his as smiled at him. “If only every woman was lucky enough to be married to a man who is as a devoted friend as you are to me.”
Well, how fortunate he was that his confession had caught in his throat. It would have been quite humiliating when she responded to his declaration of love with talk of the high esteem she held his friendship in.
“Indeed,” he replied thinly. “And now it is a perfect time for you to sort out the matter. I have business I must attend to personally and must leave London.”
“To where?” she asked.
“Yorkshire. I am invested in a textile mill there. It is under construction, and I must visit to assess its progress.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“A month at the least, possibly longer.”
“A month?” Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout, and he had to bite back a groan. “But how will I manage without you for an entire month?”
Her tone hinted at a flirtation he yearned to answer. Her delectable bottom lip only heightened his desire. This was exactly why he needed to separate himself from her. If he stayed, he was like to convince her that her life’s ambition was to spend her life naked in his bed.
And that would only be another delusion he comforted himself with rather than facing her true feelings for him.
They were friends. Friends who enjoyed one another’s bodies, but that was it. There would never be any love.
“You will have much to occupy you while I am gone,” he assured her. “The season is in full swing. You have friends here, the mystery of who wrote the letters, and now your journey of discovering the truth about Hannah Talbot.”
“Hannah Langley,” she corrected him with a smile.
“As I said, forget we are married. It will be easier with me gone.”
She blinked up at him, that crease of worry back between her brows, but he lifted her slight weight from his lap, settling her on the sofa.
“If you will excuse me, I must ensure the preparations for my trip are underway.”
With that, he left her to figure out who she was without him.