Kathryn Caskie (4 page)

“I had
nothing
to do with this.” Hannah hurried toward the injured man, who was lying supine in the very center of the road. “And as for running down my brother in London, well, everyone is quite aware, that was an accident . . . of sorts.”

Lady Viola glanced at her sister for a brief, yet meaningful moment. “’Twas just an observation, dear. Nothing more.”

As their coachman argued with his counterpart, the driver of the broken carriage, Hannah and the two Featherton ladies circled around the body of the man, who for some odd reason had not had the sense to get out of the way of an oncoming town carriage.

Hannah knelt over him and laid her hand to his heart. “Sir, can you hear me?”

His eyes opened slightly.

“There, do you see?” she smugly told the Feathertons. “What did I tell you? He’s not dead after all.”

“Am I not?” the gentleman asked.

Hannah snorted. “What a perfectly ridiculous question, sir. You are speaking with me, are you not? Do I resemble a winged angel?”

He blinked at her then and peered deeply into her eyes. “Actually, yes, miss, you do somewhat.”

“Lord above, to make such a comment you must have hit your head when you fell. We must move you from the road and see you to a physician without delay.” With great care, she caught up his hand. “Are you able to stand? Pray, let me help you try.”

The gentleman squeezed her hand and lifted his head but moved no farther. “Can’t.” He winced. “I fear I’ve broken something. A rib or two. Perhaps my leg as well.”

Lady Viola glanced up at the blackening clouds, then spoke to the gentleman sternly. “Sir, I do apologize for this wretched accident, but if we do not soon find a way to see you inside our carriage—for clearly the post chaise is entirely disabled—I fear the coming storm will make the road into Bath impassable. So please, do your best to put your pain aside for the moment and stand if you can.”

Lady Letitia clapped her hands loudly, effectively silencing the two arguing coachmen, then signaled for their assistance. “A bit of help, please. We cannot lift this gentleman alone.”

Not more than five minutes later, the dusty gentleman was ensconced in the Featherton town carriage, and they were all once more headed for Bath.

Hannah could not seem to remove her gaze from the handsome young passenger they’d added to their fold. But she could not seem to ascertain why.

Despite the wash of dirt on his face, and that his features were somewhat contorted by pain each time the carriage wheels dipped into a divot in the road, it was clear he was unusually handsome. But it was something more.

There was something oddly familiar about this man.

And then it struck her.

“Lud, you are the gentleman from Cornwall. Mr. St. Albans?”

The gentleman seemed more than a little surprised at her utterance of his name. “Indeed, I am, miss. I do apologize for not introducing myself sooner. I was—”

“Where is my bonnet?” Hannah broke in excitedly. “You have brought it from London, have you not? Is it in your portmanteau? I do hope it isn’t crushed.”

“Your . . .
hat
?” The gentleman looked thoroughly confused, but then Hannah supposed that was only natural given the fact he had only just been trotted upon by a team of horses.

“Hannah!” Lady Letitia actually sounded angry, though her expression revealed that she was just as dumbstruck that their carriage had run down the very same gentleman they’d met only a few weeks earlier upon a cliff in Cornwall. “Mr. St. Albans is injured. Do allow him to rest during the remainder of our journey. There will be time enough later to speak of your bonnet.”

Mr. St. Albans drew his eyebrows close. Confusion was clear in his eyes. “I do not understand; how did you know my name? I did not hear my driver offer it, and I am quite certain I did not.”

Hannah gave the poor man a pitying look, then glanced at Lady Viola, who seemed likewise empathetic with the gentleman’s predicament.

“How horrible it must be for you, Mr. St. Albans, to have lost your memory in the accident.”

“Lost my . . . what?”

“Why, your memory.” Lud, Hannah only hoped his affliction was temporary . . . so he could inform her about her hat soon. It had been her favorite, and she did so miss it.

Lady Viola reached a comforting hand across the carriage and patted Mr. St. Albans’s forearm. “Dear sir. Do you not recall meeting us at Kennymare Cove? You sought to retrieve Miss Chillton’s bonnet from the cliff face.”

Hannah broke in. “But you wouldn’t allow your telescope to be used to retrieve it, and, as I predicted, the wind swept my bonnet into the sea as a result. You . . . sort of . . . promised to buy another for me.”

Mr. St. Albans shook his head slowly, but then his eyes changed, and she knew something she said had resonated with him.

He lifted his chin and turned his head to face Hannah, and he seemed to study her for some moments. And for only half an instant a wicked grin appeared on his lips.

“Perhaps you are remembering our meeting now?” Lady Letitia bobbed her double chin excitedly as if to coax Mr. St. Albans to do the same.

But then, the flicker of recognition that had lit his green eyes only a moment before dimmed. “Sadly, my lady, I cannot recall that day at all. I . . . I thought there was something—that perhaps I was remembering Miss Chillton.”

The two Featherton sisters leaned forward on the leather bench and waited expectantly for his next words.

“But then I realized, dear ladies, that the memory I was unearthing was far more recent.” He turned his face back to Hannah.

For a moment, Hannah thought she felt his thigh press against her own. Yes, she was sure of it. Her gaze locked with Mr. St. Albans’s and hardened.

Mr. St. Albans drew in a breath and gave a long sigh. “It was not our meeting in Cornwall I recalled, but rather the vision of this angel leaning over me in the road.”

Hannah felt a flush of warmth race into her cheeks. Heavens, had she not been aware that Mr. St. Albans had only just been injured, she would have marked him a studied and practiced charmer of the first rank. In fact, she still might. She was not some naive miss fresh from school. No, indeed. She’d read
A Lady’s Guide to Rakes,
a cautionary guidebook to all manners of rogues and scoundrels, and now knew a true rake when she glimpsed one.

And he was one . . . at least she was fairly certain of it.

“You were headed for Bath, sir,” Lady Letitia began, but Hannah knew from the puckering of her withered lips that the old woman had a tastier question waiting on her tongue. “Do you remember for what purpose? I . . . I only ask because there are a goodly number of celebrations and a quartet of celestial balls planned for the next two months.”

“Celestial balls?” A flash of recognition sparked in Mr. St. Albans’s eyes.

“Why, yes. It is really quite exciting.” Lady Viola’s face grew animated with excitement. “Miss Caroline Herschel, the famed astronomer, of our acquaintance actually, has returned to Bath despite her advanced age, for the study of a new comet.”

“Yes, yes!” Lady Letitia could not seem to contain her own excitement. “If her calculations are correct, and surely they are, the comet will pass low over the city and light up the heavens. Astronomers and scholars from all over the world are already beginning to arrive to witness the marvel . . . as well as to partake in the merriment, of course.”

Mr. St. Albans rounded his eyes and leaned toward the Feathertons. “I believe . . . I am an astronomer. Mayhap that is why I have come.” He turned his gaze toward Hannah. “But then, after our meeting in Cornwall, mayhap I have come to court Miss Chillton . . . or to find a bride. I-I honestly have no notion, but I am sure I will remember . . . soon enough.”

Lady Viola suddenly clasped her sister’s hand and drew her close to whisper in her ear. Then, a moment later, they both beamed at Mr. St. Albans.

Hannah’s stomach clenched. Oh, dear, they had that special glint in their eyes. The matchmakers had a plan, and this time it involved Mr. St. Albans and herself, she was almost sure of it.

Why, he had no less than set the challenge of a match before them with his ridiculous mention of courting her . . . or finding a bride.

As if she would be at all interested in a rake . . . assuming he was one.

It was Lady Letitia who would ultimately set the scheme in motion with her next words. “Mr. St. Albans, my sister and I feel terrible about the harm that has befallen you owing to our coachman’s inattention. Have you lodgings in Bath?”

Hannah had the distinct notion that the two Featherton ladies were actually holding their breath as they awaited his answer. Seeing this had the unnerving effect of making Hannah do the same.

“I do—” he began, but then his eyes took on a sharp focus. “That is to say, I do
not
remember. Quite a problem, isn’t it, not knowing.”

“Dear sir, it is not a problem in the least. Do not let the thought concern you any further.” Lady Viola’s eyes were twinkling. “Please, stay with us in Royal Crescent, until your health . . . and memory have been restored.”

It was then that Hannah realized both of the Featherton ladies were staring directly at her, waiting, she assumed, for her to assist them in convincing Mr. St. Albans to agree to their plan.

Something in her mind cried out for her to persuade the ladies that their proposition was anything but proper, for he was an unmarried . . . possible rake, and she was a virginal miss. She wanted to tell them that she doubted the man’s memory was half as impaired as he pretended.

But what else could she do but as they wished? They took her in when her brother left for India and had promised him that they would find her a proper husband.

She owed them much. And so, Hannah lifted the corners of her mouth and smiled pleasantly.

“Say you will, Mr. St. Albans. Say you will stay until you are well.” She swallowed hard, dreading his answer, for she knew that an affirmation of any sort would set the Feathertons’ matchmaking machinations into motion. And given their obstinate yet optimistic natures, the ladies would never give up until she and Mr. St. Albans stood before a vicar.

They were stubborn that way.

The roguish grin she’d glimpsed only moments before returned to Mr. St. Albans’s mouth. “For you, my dear Miss Chillton, my angel of mercy,” he nearly crooned, “anything.”

“B-brilliant.” Hannah felt as though she was going to be sick. Still, she smiled at the gentleman, then at her duennas, then turned to look out the window at the driving rain.

She hoped the downpour would stop by day’s end and not impair the morrow.

After all, first thing in the morn, she planned to make her way to Trim Street and engage a modiste to stitch the wedding gown she would undoubtedly be needing quite soon . . . if the matchmaking Featherton sisters had their way.

Hannah groaned inwardly.

Chapter Three

Queen Square, Bath

G
riffin St. Albans sat before a writing desk in his bedchamber on the uppermost floor of the town house he and his brother had let for the duration of their bride-hunt in Bath.

He stared out the small casement window, watching their longtime housekeeper, Mrs. Hopshire, caning her way up the steep incline of Gay Street to post the letter Griffin had so dreaded to write to the Earl of Devonsfield.

Halfheartedly, he glanced down the road toward the square, with meager hopes of catching sight of Garnet, but he held little expectation for that at this point.

His brother should have arrived at least a week earlier, days before Griffin was delivered by the post chaise from London. But there was no evidence that he’d ever set a boot in the spa city. There had not been a letter, or even a message, and this deeply concerned him.

For days he’d tried to convince himself that his brother, who’d always been given to impetuous behavior, had simply targeted a young lady of quality before he arrived in Bath and was too focused on wooing her to send word of his plans.

But too many days had passed for that possibility.

Yes, Griffin knew he had put off the inevitable long enough. He’d written a letter to inform the Earl of Devonsfield that his brother was missing, and now it was time to inform the Bath constables as well.

Griffin had just risen from his chair to do that very thing when his chamber door burst open.

Relief flooded over him when he saw who was standing in the doorway. “
Garnet,
where in hell have you been? I was about to inform the constables that you were missing!”

“Really, brother, with all your worrying you sound like Mrs. Hopshire. Where is she, by the by? Didn’t see her below stairs.”

Griffin ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “I sent her to catch the post—” He nearly finished his sentence with the words
with a letter to the earl,
but caught himself in time.

It was too late to do anything about the letter anyway. No doubt Mrs. Hopshire had caught the post, and the letter was already on its way to Devonsfield by now.

Bloody hell.

No use worrying Garnet about it. Griffin would just post another letter in the morning, this time assuring the earl that Garnet was safe in Bath, and all was well with the bride-hunting competition after all.

He studied Garnet for a moment. He didn’t seem quite himself. No, something had happened to his brother. Something, for reasons Griffin knew not, Garnet was not eager to confess.

Garnet moved toward the narrow bed to take his ease, but as he did so, Griffin noted a slight limp to his gait.

“You’re
injured
.” Griffin stood and crossed the room to stand before his brother.

“’Tis but a cracked rib or two, and a bruised leg. I’ve had a physician see to my injuries, so stop fretting, Griff.”

“You could have been dead for all I knew.”

“Well, I’m not.” Finally seeming to realize the extent of Griffin’s distress, Garnet exhaled and began to share his story. “Very well. I fell victim to a carriage accident during my journey to Bath—a most
fortuitous
accident, as it turns out.”