Chapter 5
“W ould you like anything else, madam?”
Hannah offered Bailey a wan smile. “Thank you, Bailey, but I am finished. I shall go through.”
Henry, one of the footmen, was quick to pull out her chair and Hannah left the cavernous dining room. It was a room designed for hosting guests, with a table large enough for dozens, yet with only her seated at it, it simply highlighted its emptiness.
She could have taken her meals in her room, but blind optimism kept her requesting to be served her evening meal in the dining room. Simon may have said he would dine at his club, but surely, he had not meant every single evening.
Tonight—a full week since she had arrived and with no sign of Simon at the house—she finally accepted he had.
Which only made her gloomier as she went upstairs to the drawing room. Whomever had done the plasterwork in this room had taken great care with all the grapes and leaves that decorated the pediments and the swirls of ivy leaves in the medallion that held the chandelier. Then there was the frieze below the crown moulding with its tiny men, women, ships and winged beasts. It had taken her a long study of the designs before she recognized the story of Jason and the Argonauts playing out around the room.
It was a beautiful room, although with only her here tonight, the chandelier was unlit, only a few lamps cutting through the darkness. The shadows, along with the dark drapes drawn over the windows in the empty room, only made her feel more isolated.
She could retire to her bedchamber, but it was still early evening. Yet what else was she to do?
There had been no invitations for her. She knew no one in London to call on and no one had called on her. She was not ready yet to venture out to the shops, unsure of where she should even go.
She knew life in Town differed greatly from country life. The eyes of the ton were everywhere. If she was seen anywhere that was considered unfashionable or, worse, inappropriate, it could cause irreparable damage to her reputation.
It was much too easy to step out of line, and she would never even know she had done it. She did not like it. She knew the village at home and how it all operated. Here she knew nothing, and she was alone.
She had not seen Simon at all since the night they had first arrived. He had never returned to the house in the daytime. At night, she had tried to stay awake to listen for him to come to his rooms, but she had either slept through it or he had not come home at all.
Does he have a paramour somewhere? Is that where he spends his nights?
Perhaps he was out there right now in apartments he kept for his paramour. They were curled up in bed together, Simon cursing that he had to give up his new house to his wife.
The woman would comfort him, holding him to her exceptionally large bosom as she crooned that she would never use him in such a hurtful way as his spiteful harpy of a wife had. He would tell her that she was his only happiness now that his life had been ruined and they would let his wife rot alone in the house while they made love.
There was no reason for her to remain here in the drawing room, speculating on things she should not be speculating on. It did not matter where Simon was tonight or any other night.
Yes, it was lonely here, but Caroline would arrive soon and then she would have her friend to guide her on how to enjoy a life in Town. Her new life could begin then.
In the meantime, she would simply need to amuse herself. If only there was a pianoforte here in the house.
She would be content enough if she could fill the empty house with music. She had always found comfort in the familiarity of music. Whether it be striking the keys of the pianoforte or plucking the strings of a harp or guitar, the notes produced would always be the same, provided the instrument was properly tuned. Tonight she missed the music room at Cosburn Park very much.
Simon had told her she could run the house however she wanted. Perhaps she would purchase a pianoforte for the drawing room. An expensive one. So expensive that Simon’s secretary would inform him that she was overspending and then he would finally come home.
And then do what? Berate her for being frivolous and demonstrating why being forced to marry her was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
No, squandering money was not the answer to any of her problems. And it certainly would not make her evenings here any better.
She needed to focus on the new life she wanted to start. Best she go to the library in search of literature that would expand her mind in preparation for her new life.
The library reminded her of a smaller version of the library at Cosburn Park. Bookcases filled with leather-bound books lined one wall, a fireplace taking up another with wing chairs before it. She had examined the titles on the shelves during one of her first days here and knew where to find the books about London.
She could learn more about the city that was now her home and impress Caroline with all her knowledge. She would take the books upstairs to her rooms, curl up on the comfortable divan with a cup of chocolate and learn all about her new home.
She almost dropped her books when she left the library to find Simon in the entrance hall, his back to her as he approached the staircase.
“Good evening,” she called out to him. He froze before the stairs, turning around slowly to face her.
“Good evening,” he replied, although with the tension in his words and shoulders, she was certain it was from manners rather than a genuine greeting.
Indeed, he immediately turned around and mounted the stairs.
“That is all you want to say to me?”
He paused on a step but did not turn around to look at her. “I requested a bath be prepared for me. I do not want it to get cold.”
With that, he disappeared upstairs, leaving her behind without so much as a glance back.
How could he be so indifferent? It was cruelty, that is what it was!
Thankfully, the staff had not been present, sparing her further humiliation at being so hastily dismissed. Although, with Simon’s continued absence, the staff must know something was amiss in their marriage. It was likely why they had not bothered to announce his arrival to her.
Was this to be the life she would live? Left alone to simply go mad?
Storming back into the library, she hurled the books in her arms, causing them to scatter around the room, one flying so far that it hit the wall with a resounding crack. She started to pace the room, working herself up into a lather.
He was being cruel. She might have made a mistake, but isolating her like this, ignoring her beyond the most basic of manners, was too much.
This cannot continue for a moment longer or I will go mad!
She stormed out of the library and straight up to the second floor, crossing to the right and walking to the door she had not dared enter before: Simon’s bedchamber.
Knowing she would be refused entry if she announced herself, she did not bother to knock. Two lamps feebly fought the shadows in Simon’s dark bedchamber, but they were enough to show the enormous bed with its elaborately carved headboard and damask canopy was unoccupied.
Light spilled from the dressing room door along with the splash of water and she stalked through it to find a copper tub sat near the fireplace, filled with hot water and a confused Simon.
“What are you doing here, Hannah?”
“I cannot stand for you to keep despising me, Simon. Tell me what I can do to earn your forgiveness and I will do it.”
“I do not have time for this. You need to leave,” he said.
“No, I want this resolved between us. I cannot spend one more night in this house like this.” She closed the dressing room door, turning the key in the lock before removing it, clenching it to her breast as she turned back to face him. “I will not let you leave until you have forgiven me.”
His eyes narrowed at her. “I will just come take the key from you, Hannah.”
She gave him a defiant look before stuffing the key down the front of her dress, tucking it between her breasts. A hiding place better than any vault.
His eyes flashed with a heat that made her belly swirl as a thrill jolted through her. The shock to her body was powerful enough that she was able to finally take in her surroundings and realize where she was and what she had done.
She had stormed in on Simon in the bath.
The bath in which he was completely nude .
Though the copper tub was deep, she could see bare chest and arms, covered in thick dark hair that shimmered with diamond-like water drops. Those droplets glided along invisible paths down his chest to join the bath water, which was too murky with soap suds to see what it hid.
Oh, she should not be looking there!
She quickly looked back at his face, only to discover his gaze fixed on her breasts. Another shock surged through her body, her face heating as her nipples inexplicably tightened in response.
“Do not think putting the key there will stop me,” he said. “You forget I am your husband. There is nothing stopping me from stripping you down to get that key if I want.”
That made her swallow hard, but she was not about to back down. “You would not do that.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t?”
He stood up with no regard for his state of dress, water sluicing down his abdomen to his—she gasped as she turned away, not ready to take all of that in.
From the corner of her eye, she saw him grab a towel, but he was slow to dry himself off, obviously wanting to make her uncomfortable enough to flee the room. Unfortunately for him, she stood her ground, waiting him out with her eyes firmly on the ceiling.
He wrapped the towel around his hips and surprised her by closing the distance between them. He forced her to take a step back lest his damp chest be pressed against her own. Unfortunately for her, she had not stepped far into the room and the door soon met her back, leaving her no further retreat.
“Give me the key, Hannah,” he ordered.
She might be up against the wall, but she would not falter.
“Not until you tell me what I can do to make it right between us.”
“If you give me the key, I will forgive you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then I will take it.”
She truly did not believe he would do it, so when he hooked a finger in the neckline of her dress, she gasped. It was a simple dinner dress without too many frills, but it favoured the off-the-shoulder fashion. When Simon tugged at the fabric, he revealed the curve of her breasts, and she felt her cheeks grow hot as she flushed.
His knuckle brushed against the curve of a breast, and a shiver passed through her.
“Simon, please…”
Her words drew a confused frown from him, although he was not the only one confused. How had the air in the room gone from roiling fiery anger to this simmering languid warmth that muddled her mind?
She did not even know what she was pleading for…that he stop touching her or that he do it more?
His finger stroked her again, whisper soft against such sensitive skin. She bit back another gasp as her nipples puckered with excitement.
She wondered if he knew how her body reacted, as his gaze was intent on where he touched her. His breathing was fast and harsh, pumping his naked chest that was so very close to her now. Close enough that she might easily reach out to feel the texture of the dark hair that covered all that wet skin.
Before she could indulge further in her wild thoughts, he leaned in closer, his breath teasing at her skin. “Please what, Hannah?”
What was it she wanted? What had she come here for? Yes, now she remembered.
“Please forgive me. I did not think we would actually get married. This is just as much a punishment for me as you.”
His eyebrows shot down. “Yes. A punishment. That is what this is.” He stepped away from her, his finger slipping out of her gown. “Fine, Hannah. I forgive you. Now go.”
He turned away from her, his shoulders hunching in as he reached for his banyan and pulled it on.
“You are lying,” she called out confidently. “I do not want false forgiveness. I want us to be what we once were. We have known one another forever. I cannot bear you being angry with me.”
He shook his head. “I am no longer angry with you. I am angry with myself. I should have pushed you away when you kissed me.”
That was true. He had not pushed her away, had he? She had even planned for him to push her away, gripping his face when she kissed him. If he pulled away too fast, it would ruin the plan. But that had not been a worry, as after the initial shock, Simon had held onto her, leaning into the kiss, stroking her lips and tongue with his own.
“You did not push me away. You kissed me back,” she said, stepping closer to him. “Why did you kiss me back?”
He faced her and gave her an incredulous look. “I would think that would be obvious. Few men could resist responding when a beautiful woman kisses them.”
Now that was not what she expected to hear. “You think I am beautiful?”
“You know you are, Hannah.”
Yes, many had told her she was beautiful, but Simon never had.
“You always teased me when we were young, saying I had crooked teeth and my nose was too big.”
His mouth curved into a soft smile, and he stepped closer to her. “Boys like to tease beautiful girls.”
His charming smile was the perfect distraction. She never even saw it coming.
He shoved a hand down the front of her dress, barely registering the contact before he pulled it out, clutching the key triumphantly.
He stepped around her to unlock the door and then held it open. “You may walk out of here or I will carry you out.”
“But Simon—”
“One or the other, Hannah!” His voice dripped with hostility that brooked no argument.
She walked out of the dressing room, the door slamming behind her and the resounding click of the lock turning was statement enough. He did not forgive her and he never would.
She had been foolish to think there would be any chance of forgiveness from him. Her husband hated her and there was nothing she could ever do to change that.
***
After a restless night’s sleep, Hannah rose early to meet Mrs. Chapman to discuss the week’s menu and the state of the linen closet. Although the meeting felt relatively useless, as Hannah would be the only one at the table and the only one in need of linens, it was what was expected of her as mistress of the house.
Despite the light workload, midday found her utterly spent. She could return to her rooms to rest, but she expected that she would simply toss and turn as she had during the night. With no actions to take to earn Simon’s forgiveness, the realization that the guilt would forever eat away at her had settled in, making sleep impossible.
And so she wandered aimlessly through the house, moving from room to room with no true purpose, eventually finding herself in the library once again.
The staff had already returned the books that had suffered from her temper to their place on the shelf. How embarrassing that she had such a fit that she threw books across the room. Even more embarrassing that the staff had to tidy it up.
Another of her selfish actions to feel guilty about. The staff should not have to clean up after her tantrum.
She hoped the books survived her fit. The one that hit the wall might have split its spine. It had even left a mark on the wainscotting. How awful that she had done such damage.
She rubbed at the mark, hoping there might be one thing she could make right today, and the wood shifted beneath her fingers. Oh no, had she damaged the woodwork?
She pulled at it, the section of wood popping out to reveal a small compartment filled with a bundle of folded papers.
How peculiar.
She pulled out the papers, crinkling her nose at the dust covering them, but she shook it off to study the papers. They were dozens of letters bound together by a pink satin ribbon. She pulled a letter from the stack to examine the wax seal. It was old and brittle, cracking off the paper the moment she touched it. There were no post markings, and the only form of address on the outside was a single letter: P .
It did not feel appropriate to read another’s correspondence, yet she was painfully curious about why the letters had been hidden away in the walls. Should she ask Bailey or Mrs. Chapman if they belonged to former owners? It seemed unlikely that the former owners would have confided in the staff about hidden letters.
After all, if one hid their correspondence, it was because one did not want it read by anyone. And if one did not want it read by anyone, it was because the words they contained were illicit.
What if these letters discussed illegal actions taken by a former owner? What if they were communications between spies working against the Crown?
Why, she could be holding proof of a plot that could threaten the very fabric of the country! She would only be doing her duty by reading them to ensure they did not speak of treason.
A flimsy reason perhaps, but a painful curiosity wanted her to discover what was in the letters. She would only read enough to ensure the country was not in peril and to identify the recipient, but not a word more, of course!
With that settled, she unfolded a letter and sat down to read.
Dear P,
Every moment of every day since our first meeting, my head has been filled with nothing but poetry about your beauty and elegance and grace. Yet now I put ink to the page and the words flee my mind. I am left with nothing to truly capture my feelings for you.
I expected my first letter to you to be a treatise on how you have enchanted me, body and soul, yet I can only confess my nervousness at the thought of you reading my words. I am nearly as nervous as I was when I first laid eyes on you. When my aunt wanted to introduce us, I anticipated it to be a fleeting moment, easily forgotten as most introductions made between gentlemen and ladies in a drawing room. Yet that moment remains forever seared in my memory.
You were a contradiction to your delicate and petite stature when you addressed your chaperone like a General on the battlefield. I vowed then and there that I would follow you anywhere.
From that moment, I have not had a waking thought that did not involve you, nor a dream where you were not present.
And now I must commit my words to the page so that I might find myself able to speak in your presence. If I purge them here, then perhaps I will no longer be the tongue-tied gentleman who haunts the corner of the room.
Your beauty puts Aphrodite to shame, your voice more enchanting than a Siren. To be in your presence is to be graced by Heaven.
I only hope that one day I shall untie my tongue and speak these words to you.
Until Then,
Your Faithful Officer
While the writer’s words were certainly not poetry, Hannah could feel his passion as if it leapt off the page. This Officer was quite smitten with Miss P.
Had he eventually found the courage to speak to her? He appeared to have courage enough to write more letters. Many more letters, in fact.
And would it be so wrong to read another?
While the letters did not contain any treason, they also did not contain any names. There was no way to discern from the first letter who the writer or recipient could be. How would she return the letters to their owner if she did not know who they belonged to?
She felt even less guilt as she opened another letter.
Dear P,
When I returned home tonight, I only allowed for the removal of my hat before I was compelled to sit at my desk so that I might capture the words I am so desperate to speak to you.
It was a surprise to see you in Mrs. M’s drawing room and even more a shock to be seated next to you at her table. I count myself lucky that my brother was on your other side, for I listened with one ear on my own dinner companion and the other on his words with you.
It allowed for me to discover that you believe Bach the superior composer above all. How fortunate that I possess a similar opinion. I had intended to speak of my love for his French Overture, yet when we turned to one another, I was once again absent any thought.
Yet you spoke with such ease, remarking on my brother’s boasting of our prowess riding on Rotten Row that day. Your smile was the balm to ease my nerves, and I could finally speak.
I hope you did not think me too prideful when I emphasised that I was the victor in our clandestine race through the Park. After all, a beautiful lady such as yourself demands a man be a braggart in order to impress.
I believe every man at the table, including my brother, was intent on impressing you. I consider myself the most ardent among them. I would do anything to find myself chosen by you.
Devotedly,
Your Faithful Officer
Hannah was proud of the Officer for finally finding his words in the presence of Miss P. She found a charm about this man, although he was not the most elegant of writers and likely not any more elegant in person. She supposed she had always had a soft spot for the more socially inept.
Did he give these letters to Miss P? Did Miss P reply to him? Could some of these letters be from her?
Oh, she was desperate to know!
And how fortunate for her she was no closer to discovering the Officer or Miss P’s true names.
She would need to read more if she was to solve this mystery.
And what a mystery to have after her idle wanderings this morning. It was not only the mystery of their identities. There must have been a reason these love letters had been hidden away like that. A clandestine affair? Star-crossed lovers? A broken heart?
So many possibilities and she wanted to discover the truth. And perhaps the idea of being the one to discover the owner’s identity and return the lost letters to them appealed to her as a way to alleviate her guilt.
She might not be able to make things right with Simon, but she could make it right with Miss P by returning her letters to her.
Besides, what else did she have to occupy her time?
She was alone here at the house with nothing to do. Companions were in short supply for her here. At least she might pretend she had them in Miss P and her Faithful Officer.
***