Chapter 3 #2
“What is it, lad?”
Hawkney looked around and finally spied Miss Halfpenny a little farther along the road, and another woman he believed was a Miss Foxworthy. The latter had her arm about Miss Halfpenny’s waist and was supporting her.
“Ow! Oh, drat it.”
“Clara!”
Hawkney dismounted at once and hurried to them, his arrival met by wide eyes. Too late he realised his exclamation was rather too intimate for a woman who was hardly in his social sphere, let alone an intimate friend of the family.
“Miss Halfpenny,” he amended, praying her friend had not remarked his slip. He found for the moment that he hardly cared, for Miss Halfpenny’s eyes were red from weeping, her nose a matching shade. “What has happened? Are you hurt?”
“Oh, nothing at all, just my own clumsiness, I fear,” she replied hastily, gazing at him like he’d just appeared in a puff of smoke. “I twisted my ankle a little, that’s all.”
She attempted to take a step forward and sucked in a breath, her face turning such a dramatic shade of white that her nose shone like a beacon.
“More than a little,” he said curtly. “If you would allow me.”
Clara looked at him, nonplussed, but her companion understood at once and stepped aside.
Hawkney bent and swept her into his arms. She made a little squeaking sound but no other protestation, so he walked back to Sultan.
To his surprise, she was more solidly built than he might have guessed, though her waist felt so tiny he wondered if he might span it between his fingers.
“Hawkney!” she whispered furiously in his ear, and though it was hardly an intimate term, being his title, the sound made him feel a little peculiar. “This… you can’t—”
“What, ought I to leave you lying at the side of the road? Do use your head, Miss Halfpenny. I’m a gentleman. I come to the aid of ladies in distress.”
“Even if they wish you wouldn’t?” she said crossly.
He stilled, troubled now, gazing down at her. “You truly wish me to leave you here?”
Her green eyes softened and she gave a little huff.
“No. Who am I to stand in the way of your heroic tendencies, and… and I am horribly ungrateful. Thank you for your kindness.”
Hawkney’s lips quirked into a smile. “I think I prefer it when you are scolding me.”
“That can be arranged.”
He chuckled and paused beside Sultan, at whom she was gazing with disapprobation.
“Come, come, Miss Halfpenny, you know Sultan is every bit the gentleman I am. Surely, you are not afraid?” he asked.
She put up her chin, as he’d known she would. “Certainly not. It’s only… I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
“Ah. Well, no time like the present. Just grab hold of his mane until I get up behind you.”
He helped her to settle in place and then turned to Miss Foxworthy. “I shall take the young lady to my grandmother and have a physician check that she has done no serious harm.”
“Oh, but—” Miss Halfpenny began, only to fall silent as both he and Miss Foxworthy glared at her.
“His grace is quite right, and I thank you kindly. Clara, I shall visit your aunt and take her tea at four, so don’t worry yourself over that.”
“Oh! Oh, no, indeed, Eustacia, you simply—”
“If you think one crotchety old lady can scare me, you really don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Eustacia said grandly before turning to Hawkney. “Look after her,” she instructed, and then made her way back up the hill.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Halfpenny fretted.
“You heard her. Your horrid aunt is no match for that young woman if I know anything.”
She sent him a dark look but said nothing so he swung up behind her.
Hawkney was aware of how her body stiffened at his proximity and did his best to keep his distance, no easy feat on horseback. As Sultan took a step down the steep hill, however, she shrieked and Hawkney was obliged to lash his arm around her middle, pulling her against him.
“I have you. You’re safe.”
Her breathing was fast, sawing in and out, but she nodded. Hawkney guided the big stallion slowly down the hill and, little by little, she relaxed against him.
They rode in silence until the lane evened out, and he took the path across country. It was longer but avoided her being exposed to the curious gazes of the town.
“Something happened. It wasn’t just your ankle.”
It wasn’t a question, and she turned to look up at him.
“How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “You are not one to weep over physical pains, I suspect, not unless they are very bad indeed. Something else upset you. Was it Miss Foxworthy?” Hawkney wondered if the beautiful young woman had been cruel to her, and something cold and hard tightened in his chest.
To his surprise, she smiled. “Yes, but not in the way you might suppose.”
He waited, allowing her to decide whether to explain herself.
“Miss Foxworthy is an artist, a genius I should say, actually. She has been painting my portrait for many months now and… and I saw it for the first time today. It—it was rather overwhelming.”
Hawkney frowned. “Overwhelming?”
She nodded, but he saw the wonder in her eyes and knew she meant precisely that. “I never expected anyone to see me. Indeed, until the moment I looked upon that portrait, I don’t believe I had ever seen myself, not clearly.”
Hawkney opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it closed again. The words which had surged into his mind were so ridiculous he could not fathom where they had come from.
“You like it, then?” he asked cautiously.
She laughed and shook her head. “I love it and I hate it and I do not know how I feel about it. She wishes to exhibit it, which indeed she must do, but… oh, but it makes me feel so… so… very exposed.”
Hawkney nodded his understanding, though in truth he did not understand at all. He knew one thing, however. He was going to see that portrait.
Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex,6thSeptember 1816
“Did you have a pleasant walk, my lady?” Howard regarded Cilly with concern.
Cilly contemplated the question. Several fashionable couples had congratulated them on the way home with undisguised smirks and barely suppressed amusement, but Cilly had been pleased that she and Damian had presented a united front.
The staring and whispering had been dreadfully humiliating, and the run-in with the Countess of Dunmere had opened her eyes to just what people were saying about her but had ultimately been rather satisfying.
The walk on the beach had been… illuminating.
“I did, thank you, Howard,” she replied with a smile, flicking a glance at Damian, who quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Your grandmother is with the dowager duchess in the drawing room. They expressed a wish to see you and Lord Rivington as soon as you returned,” Howard said, taking Damian’s hat and gloves from him. “They have since received a visitor, however, just so you are aware.”
“Who?” Cilly asked, smoothing her hair and tucking a loose strand behind her ear.
“Miss Halfpenny. His grace found her in difficulty whilst out riding. The young lady has turned her ankle. I have called for the doctor.”
“Poor Miss Halfpenny,” Cilly replied sympathetically. “Ought we to go through? I do not wish to trouble her if she is in discomfort.”
“I believe the dowagers are still expecting you,” Howard replied ruefully.
“Ah.” Cilly smiled and nodded. “Very well.”
She turned to Damian, who gave a resigned shrug. “Why not? I have passed almost five minutes without having my character shredded. I believe I am beginning to miss the sensation.”
Cilly laughed softly and took his arm. “I shall protect you,” she said with mock gravity, but was at once arrested by the look he gave her. “I-I was only teasing. I know you need no protecting, really.”
He snorted, and Cilly wondered if she had misconstrued the source of his surprise. Had no one ever stood up to protect him, even in jest?
She pondered this, slanting another curious glance at her new fiancé as they made their way to the dowager’s private parlour. It was a lovely, sunny room, decorated in shades of green and gold.
“Ah, Cecilia, my dear. We have a guest, a wounded soldier,” Gee-Gee announced upon seeing them.
“So I hear. Miss Halfpenny, I am so sorry to hear of your accident.”
The young woman, who appeared rather mortified at being the subject of such attention, smiled faintly.
Her cheeks were pink, and she looked very much as if she would have run away if only she could.
“You are too kind. Everyone has been, and it was all my own fault for not looking where I was going.”
“Nonsense,” Gee-Gee barked, making Miss Halfpenny jump a little. “That path is a treacherous one. I used to climb it when I was a younger woman, but I’d not attempt it now. You were visiting Miss Foxworthy, I suppose?”
Clara nodded.
“Miss Halfpenny has had her portrait painted.”
Cilly turned, rather surprised at the male voice, and realised Hawkney was in the room too. He carried a small crystal glass to Miss Halfpenny and handed it to her. She took it, sniffing dubiously.
“That is excellent brandy, Miss Halfpenny. Don’t drink it all at once,” he added dryly, his lips quirking.
Miss Halfpenny shot him a dark look which made Cilly reevaluate what she knew of the young woman. Anyone who could glare at the duke in such a way was not short of backbone.
Her grandmother spoke then, taking the young woman’s attention. “My granddaughter has just become engaged, Miss Halfpenny, to Lord Rivington.”
Damian stepped forward, smiling. “We have not yet been introduced, your grace.”
“Ah, Rivington, might I make known to you Miss Clara Halfpenny? Clara, my dear, this is Viscount Rivington.”
Damian bowed courteously and Miss Halfpenny blushed but gamely raised her brandy glass to him. “A pleasure, my lord. Please forgive me for not returning your courtesy.”
“Oh, I prefer a salute with a fine glass of brandy over a curtsey any day,” Damian said with a wicked smile.
Miss Halfpenny gave a startled laugh and Damian grinned wider.