Chapter 13
JAMES HAD NEVER liked the idea of his mother picking a wife for him, but he always thought that, when it came down to it, he would do his best to please her.
He hadn’t really expected to find someone of his own choosing, no matter how much he hoped for it.
Inevitably, he would have done anything she asked of him.
But then he had met Hannah, and now all he could see was a bleak future without her in it.
“James!” Mother scolded, whacking his arm with the back of her hand. “Miss Tate asked you a question.”
Miss Tate was watching him shrewdly, and he could only imagine what she thought of him. How could he possibly make a good husband and run a profitable estate when he was so easily distracted and lost in thought?
“Forgive me,” he said, and the words tasted sour. Those words had been Hannah’s for the last several days. “What was it you asked?”
Dropping her eyes to the ground, Miss Tate said, “I was only wondering how Miss Faircott is faring. She was so pale when you left the game.”
“She’s…” James wasn’t certain how to respond. Hannah had recovered quickly, and she had assuredly been full of vigor when he’d kissed her.
Kissed her.
James had kissed Hannah, and now he was facing a different woman and acting as if a marriage with her wouldn’t betray everything his heart wanted. It would be unfair to Miss Tate, who deserved to be a man’s priority, and Hannah had been hurt when James had walked away from her. James had hurt her.
Everything about this was wrong.
“I can’t,” James said, glancing from Miss Tate to his mother. He took a step back as panic engulfed him. “I’m sorry. I… This isn’t…” He caught sight of Everett crossing the lawn toward the house, and he realized Hannah was either alone in the copse of trees, or she had returned to the fête.
To her mother?
“James?” Mother gripped his arm. “Whatever is the matter?”
“I’m sorry,” he said to Miss Tate instead of answering Mother’s question. “I wish I could be your security, but my heart belongs elsewhere.”
“What?” Mother gasped.
James scanned the guests, but Hannah evaded him. Had she left the party?
Mother tightened her hold. “James, explain yourself. I promised Miss Tate’s mother that I would—”
“Please,” Miss Tate interrupted, and James’s heart dropped into his stomach as he looked at her again. He expected desperation or fear, but what he found was a smile. “I could never wish for anyone to be forced into something, particularly when they love someone else.”
“Love!” Mother looked like she might faint.
Taking her by the shoulders, James helped her to a nearby chair. “I will explain,” he promised her just as his gaze landed on the one person he was most desperate to see. Hannah was on the far side of the lawn, but she was here. Standing next to a perfectly pleased Davies. “Later.”
He turned to Miss Tate, ready to apologize again and promise to help her find a match not defined by obligation, but she shook her head and smiled softly, waving for him to carry on.
He would have to trust that she was being genuine.
Without a backward glance, James set off across the lawn, not caring whose attention he caught along the way.
His focus remained fixed on Hannah. On the way she wrung her hands and forced smiles as she listened to Mrs. Davies.
She no more wanted her match with Davies than James had wanted his match with Miss Tate—James was sure of it.
He was a quarter of the way to her when Hannah looked up and saw him. Her eyes widened, and she glanced at the woman beside her. Her mother, likely. Mrs. Davies was still talking, but Hannah’s attention fixed on James without wavering.
He picked up his pace.
Without a word, Hannah started to walk toward him, quickly speeding up as her mother shouted after her.
The closer they got to each other, the more clearly he could see the hope behind the pain in her eyes, and James wanted to do everything in his power to erase that pain and leave only hope and happiness.
They collided near the center of the fête, in full view of everyone. James didn’t care. He wrapped her up in his hold as she threw her arms around his neck, and he thought he could stay in this moment for the rest of eternity as long as she didn’t let go.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I don’t know how it happened.”
“Should I be flattered or insulted?” Hannah was trembling in his arms.
Chuckling, James held her tighter. “Given my history with you, I expect I owe you an apology for that. My feelings, surprising as they are, are in earnest, dear Hannah. My only question is, are they returned?”
“Yes,” she said into his neck. “Which is a good thing, considering you and I are likely stuck with each other now.”
Reluctantly, James slowly released her and took a small step back, though he grabbed her hand to ensure they wouldn’t be separated again. “I never meant to do anything that might take the choice away from us,” he said with a grimace.
But Hannah was smiling, even as her mother reached them almost at the same time as James’s. Both women spoke at once.
“Hannah!”
“James!”
“What on earth were you thinking?”
“I cannot believe my eyes!”
“Who is this man?”
“Have you set out to ruin this poor young woman?”
“Mother!” James placed his hand on Mother’s shoulder without letting go of Hannah’s hand. “I beg you to be calm about this.”
“Calm.” She sniffed, but her expression had more curiosity than anger as she studied Hannah. “You expect me to be calm when some stranger throws herself at you, and you not only allow it but embrace her in return?”
“I beg your pardon!” Mrs. Faircott said, lifting her chin haughtily. “How dare you speak about my daughter like that?”
“Mother,” Hannah hissed. She had gone scarlet and looked ready to run as the crowd gathered around them.
James tightened his grip on her fingers. “Mother, Miss Faircott is not a stranger. We met several nights ago; Lady Shefford introduced us herself.”
“Mother,” Hannah said again, more gently now, “this is Sir James Hartwell. As he said, we were introduced at the harvest ball and have encountered each other many times since.”
Mrs. Faircott looked down her nose at James, and for a moment he felt entirely lacking as she scowled at him. “I do hope you intend to do the honorable thing, Sir James.” Her eyes widened, as if she had just realized something, and she turned to Hannah. “Sir? He is titled?”
“I am,” James said and did his best not to smirk. Never had he appreciated his title quite this much. “I like to think I am all things respectable and would never dishonor your daughter. Not for all the world,” he added and smiled at Hannah beside him.
“Oh heavens,” Mother breathed, fanning herself. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
“If you think it means I intend to marry Miss Faircott, then yes.” James pursed his lips as illogical doubt settled over him like a heavy, suffocating blanket, making it difficult for him to breathe. “That is, if she will have me.”
Hannah bit her lip, vividly reminding him how it had felt to capture her mouth with his own. “I would like nothing more than to be your wife,” she said as a beautifully warm smile lit up her features.
If not for their audience, James would have kissed her again right then and there. “Yes?” he breathed, not fully convinced he had understood her answer.
She laughed and brushed her fingers along his jaw. “Yes, James.”
“Well!” Mother was at a loss for words as she looked between the two of them with her mouth gaping open. When she turned to Mrs. Faircott, the corners of her mouth lifted. “I suppose I cannot be angry about this outcome.”
Chuckling, James shook his head. “No, you cannot.”
“A title,” Mrs. Faircott said again, like she could hardly believe it. “And this is what you want, Hannah?”
“It is,” Hannah said cheerfully.
“Oh, but Miss Tate!” Mother covered her mouth with her hand and started searching the lawn.
As James caught sight of Miss Tate, he couldn’t help but laugh.
She and Mr. Davies were off on their own, deep in conversation and both of them nothing but smiles.
Could they be so fortunate to have found their own matches in the midst of the chaos?
From the little James knew of them, they might actually suit each other quite well.
Mrs. Faircott introduced herself to Mother, who graciously invited the Faircotts to dine with them the next day, and James found himself just as prone to smiling as Davies.
He turned to face Hannah, taking hold of her other hand so he held them both as he lifted them to his chest, over his heart. “Does this mean you have forgiven me?” he asked with a grin.
Hannah giggled and shook her head. “This means you owe me a dance at every ball for the rest of our lives, James Hartwell. Can you endure it?”
“For you?” He kissed each of her knuckles in turn. “Happily. I am glad to have met you at that ball, Hannah Faircott. Hiding from our mothers was the best thing we ever did.”
And then, even with dozens of eyes on them, James leaned down and touched his lips to hers as a promise of a wonderful future to come.