Chapter Five #2
Foxglen’s other two relatives kept eating, clearly content to let their siblings address the disturbance.
His other aunt did not even glance up from the scandal sheet that she was reading.
It was certainly not the warm greeting that Hannah would have received at her own paternal uncle’s table—although she supposed she would have received a much chillier reception if she’d ever attempted to visit her maternal aunt.
Had Foxglen faced this dismissiveness since childhood? Is that why he acted so distant?
A pang of sympathy struck Hannah’s heart, but she promptly ignored it. Those weren’t the questions that she’d come here to answer, and she had enough to ferret out already.
“Uncle Francis. Aunt Eliza. Uncle Hugh. Aunt Joan.” The duke regally inclined his head to each relative as he spoke. “This is Miss Hannah Wick. She will be staying with us as a guest.”
“A—a—a guest!” gasped Lady Joan, who’d been the one to inquire about Hannah’s presence.
Lord Hugh, who had been in mid-bite, seemed frozen with his forkful of kippers jammed halfway into his mouth. “A what?”
“Oh my!” The startled cry came from Lady Eliza as her thin hand fluttered toward her neck.
“Surely you do not mean—” Lord Francis grumbled.
“I am his mistress!” Hannah cried happily as if this were a perfectly normal announcement to make in the dining room of an old noble family.
Lord Hugh’s fork clattered to his plate as pieces of fish flew onto the table.
Beside him, his sister Eliza gave a start, her sky blue eyes wide with shock.
Her gossip rag flew into the air, and sheets floated down onto the expensive rug.
Lord Francis attempted to look composed, but his lips kept twitching into a decided scowl.
Lady Joan’s eyebrows drew down, and her mouth popped open.
However, before she spoke what would likely be damning words, she glanced over at Foxglen and promptly snapped her jaw shut.
Resentment shimmered in her pale-blue eyes, but she did not speak.
Interesting. It was clear that Foxglen’s relatives spared him no affection, but they were also loath to gainsay him.
Given that their father had allegedly cut off their allowance and made their future inheritance contingent on Foxglen not finding his mother and sister, then perhaps they were at the mercy of the new duke’s good graces.
“I am sorry to leave you alone so soon after your arrival, but I am afraid that there is business that I must attend to,” Foxglen told Hannah in that stiff, perfunctory manner of his.
She pretended to pout, but they’d actually planned this.
The surprise, after all, would loosen their lips, especially if he wasn’t around.
Foxglen had worried about abandoning her, but Hannah had plenty of experience dealing with unruly customers.
She could handle four nobs at a breakfast table.
Foxglen pivoted to leave, and Hannah grabbed his sleeve. If they were to convince people that she made the duke daft enough to install her in his London mansion, he needed to show her some form of physical affection.
“A kiss before you go!” Hannah said, with enough sugary enthusiasm to make her sick to her stomach. Puckering her mouth, she prepared just to buss the air near his cheek. It seemed, however, that Foxglen was bolder and more dedicated to their act than she’d anticipated.
His warm lips brushed against hers. She didn’t even have time to close her eyes before he pulled back.
Yet despite the quickness, that simple, soft kiss disrupted her body in a way that no other embrace had.
Her skin tingled, and a pleasant heat billowed inside her.
She wasn’t some virginal miss who’d only experienced a quick, clandestine peck on the cheek.
But Foxglen—Foxglen made her feel as if all her firsts were still before her.
His face had reddened into a shade deeper than the New World tomatoes that her Aunt Mary grew on her Caribbean island. He stepped back awkwardly, and he inclined his head toward her with a rapidity at odds with his normal measured motions.
“I will be sure to make time for you this afternoon, darling.” Even his words sounded rushed as he turned and disappeared from the room.
“Now that is a juicy tidbit of gossip,” Lady Eliza said as soon as Foxglen’s footsteps faded. “Much better than anything in my favorite scandal sheets.”
“I do believe this occasion calls for our special coffee,” Lord Hugh said. “Right, brother?”
“Indeed. Indeed.” Lord Francis’s blue eyes were as round as two lakes.
Special coffee? Hannah would need to try some of that. Perhaps it was something that they should try serving at the Black Sheep. Not that any brew had much of a chance of competing with the delicious concoctions that Sophia dreamed up.
“I half expect Father to rise up from his grave to discipline that scamp. To think that he’s turned out just like our brother,” Lady Joan huffed out. “He’s taken up with a woman just like his mother.”
And this was just the opportunity that Hannah wanted.
“I possess similarities with the duke’s mother?” Hannah asked. “Am I akin to her in looks?”
“Heavens, no,” Lord Hugh scoffed as he took a huge swig of coffee, which looked rather thin to Hannah’s eyes. “That’s like calling a sapling an oak tree.”
Hannah blinked. She was not exactly a small woman by any measure. In fact, she had several inches over both ladies and was probably a stone heavier too.
“Is she a redhead?” Hannah asked.
“No.” Lord Francis paused to tip back his coffee cup and drain it. He placed it back down onto the saucer and poured more before he finally continued speaking. “Her coloring was like John’s. They have the same mousy brown hair. Eyes are the same too.”
John. Lord Francis must be referring to the duke, but Hannah would never describe his hair as mousy. It was too rich a color—like well-steeped coffee mixed with the barest hint of red.
“Because you’re both tavern wenches,” Lady Joan spit out.
“I’m not a tavern wench,” Hannah contradicted.
“You certainly dress like one,” Aunt Eliza pointed out.
“I am a proprietress of a coffeehouse.” Hannah had no intention of hiding her identity.
If it became known that a duke’s mistress—or former mistress—operated the Black Sheep, it would only increase sales.
She wasn’t some noblewoman with a pristine reputation to safeguard.
“Did His Grace’s mother own the tavern?”
“That Irish woman? Own the Horse and Hen?” Lord Hugh’s response was a trifle too loud and perhaps a tad slurred. Hannah was beginning to wonder if that special brew contained some sort of alcohol.
Lord Francis joined his brother’s cackling as he topped off his brother’s cup. The two were definitely in unfashionably high spirits.
“Why? Was the Horse and Hen in a place like Mount Street?” Hannah asked, naming the fashionable boulevard of shops in Mayfair. She highly doubted that Foxglen’s mother had worked at an establishment there, but she wanted to ferret out the vague location of the Horse and Hen.
Lord Francis snorted loudly and for some reason that made him laugh. His brother joined in. Finally, when Lord Francis quieted his guffaws, he said, “Hardly. It was a smelly, dark little hole in Covent Garden.”
“Was? Is it gone now?” Hannah asked, hoping that she didn’t sound too interested.
“How the hell would I know? It was my dead brother who frequented the establishment, not me. Bloody place was filled with damn reformers,” Lord Francis said defensively, his good humor all but vanished.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t say more,” Lady Eliza said in a shaky voice, her white hands flapping like nervous white moths.
“Whyever not?” Lord Hugh demanded. “You’re the one always entrenched in gossip.”
“Father wouldn’t like it.” Lady Eliza glanced around as if she expected the late duke’s ghostly form to emerge from behind the cream silk curtains.
“And do not forget the bequest,” Lady Joan added.
“Father isn’t here anymore, and I am talking about events that happened over twenty years ago. It is hardly noteworthy.” Lord Francis sounded a bit like a petulant and defensive child caught stealing candy.
Lady Joan ignored her brother’s response and turned to Hannah. “Why are you asking so many questions? You have no place in this household.”
“I want to learn everything there is to know about my darling duke.” Hannah managed to sound perfectly lovesick.
“A duke won’t marry a nobody like you—especially one as cold and calculating as John.” Lady Joan leaned over the table, most likely in an attempt to appear fierce.
As Hannah had dealt with actual pirates, she was not precisely impressed by this attempt at intimidation. She had an arsenal of pointed quips that would perfectly skewer Lady Joan, but Hannah didn’t want to appear quick witted.
“Oh, I would never describe the duke as distant—at least with me.” Hannah smiled brightly, feeling like a right flibbertigibbet. “And I would never dare to imagine that he would wed the likes of me. I’d make an absolutely dreadful duchess, don’t you agree?”
Lady Joan blinked, clearly not expecting her target to so readily acquiesce to her station. “Well, I mean, you do admit to it yourself.”
Hannah grinned broadly as if she hadn’t a single thought in her vapid head. Playing into prejudices was deliciously easy and more than a trifle fun. Who would have suspected that she’d actually enjoy investigating the Aucourtes?
“I am very parched from my journey here.” Hannah turned toward the uncles. “Could I try your special brew, my lords? I am always intrigued by different ways to prepare coffee.”
Lord Hugh wasn’t subtle as he pulled the teapot against his chest. “I am afraid I poured the last drop.”
“Oh, what a shame.” Hannah pretended to pout but then instantly brightened. “Well, I’m famished as well. It’s a wonderful spread you have. I’ve never seen the like.”
Which was true. She typically ate a simple breakfast of bread and cheese.
And if she was going to live in a grand home as a fake mistress, she might as well take advantage of the luxuries.
Jumping to her feet, she flounced over to the sideboard and found it heaping with sausages, tongue, omelets, and kippers.
Picking up a bone china plate painted with delicate roses and rimmed in gold, she piled on the food until the pattern was no longer visible.
She plopped back into her seat without ceremony and dug into the victuals as if she were seated at her own table.
Her mother, who had at least tried to instill proper table manners, would be aghast at how she shoveled meat and eggs into her mouth. But Hannah wasn’t here to impress but to disgust.
Her ploy worked. Within minutes, each Aucourte sibling excused themselves. As soon as the last one had left the room, Hannah reached for the pot of coffee. Lord Hugh hadn’t been fibbing. There were only a few drops left.
Curious, Hannah sniffed at the shallow brown liquid now lying on the bottom of her cup.
She smelled the familiar, warm scent of coffee, but there was definitely something else: a pungent alcoholic note mixed with a strong floral bouquet.
Gin? But it had never been a favored drink of the rich, and even the lower classes were eschewing it after the rise in grain prices.
Hannah took an experimental sip. Although she preferred ale, she’d drunk gin once or twice before. Even among the nutty bitterness from the roasted coffee beans, it wasn’t hard to recognize the burst of juniper on her tongue.
Curious, Hannah glanced toward the sideboard again.
Sure enough, there was a decanter situated there.
She got up and poured herself just enough to take a sip or two.
Amber liquid splashed out. Lifting it to her lips, Hannah tasted the sweet liquor.
She’d never tasted brandy this smooth and complex, and she would wager that it came from France.
If the brothers had access to this, why would they swill poor man’s rotgut?
Was it akin to how some nobs toured Bedlam or the Foundling Hospital for a lark? Or had Lord Hugh and Lord Francis acquired the taste for the spirit after their father virtually cut off their allowance? Whatever the reason, Hannah found it deuced peculiar.
She wished, suddenly and very strongly, that Sophia were here with her. Hannah knew she had the habit of obsessing over matters, while her cousin sliced straight through insubstantial fluff to arrive at the solid core of an issue.
With a sigh, Hannah returned to her seat.
Alone now in the massive room, she slowly ate her breakfast as she contemplated what she’d learned.
Once she had her thoughts straight, she’d pay a visit to Foxglen’s study.
As she pictured bursting in upon the staid man, the right side of her mouth cocked up. Flustering Foxglen was going to be fun.