The Seduction of an Earl (17 page)

While she walked, she spent the time thinking of Sarah’s words and wondering at the odd impression she had of the mistress – or
not
mistress.

Hannah wondered if there was more to why Sarah didn’t live at Gisborn Hall. As the mother of the earl’s son, she and the boy should have been granted rooms, at least in the guest wing. Sarah had mentioned wanting to run her own household, but at what cost? She apparently had no servants, which meant she was spending a good deal of her days doing housework, laundry and cooking. The woman seemed level-headed, seemed to run an efficient household, what little of it there was, and seemed to love her son over all else. So why wouldn’t she consider Hannah’s invitation? Sarah hadn’t said Henry forbid it. In fact, she thought from some of the comments Henry had made that perhaps the mother of his child was a bit stubborn when it came to her independence, as if agreeing to live in Gisborn Hall would somehow rob her of that independence. And thinking about the way Henry spoke of Sarah and their son, it wouldn’t make sense that he would begrudge them the comfort of the larger house and the staff of servants (although Hannah was beginning to think a few more might be in order if they ever hosted guests).

Sarah Inglenook did not wish to be Henry’s lover. Or mistress. Nor did she love him – at least, not in the way Hannah would expect the mother of his child to feel toward a man who so obviously loved her.

Hannah thought of Mrs. Batey. The housekeeper had been at Gisborn Hall since before Henry took up residence there. Everyone knew servants were the best source of gossip and the history of a household. She’d simply ask her. Mrs. Batey was sure to know why Sarah turned down her invitation.

The sound of running feet and Harold’s gentle ‘woof’ brought her out of her reverie. She turned to see a boy running in their direction, a huge grin on his face. Hannah stopped and called Harold to her side, not wanting the boy to be frightened of the large dog.

“Hullo!” the boy called out. He was nicely dressed considering his apparent age, with a scarlet coat, white linen shirt, cuffed breeches, clean stockings, and serviceable shoes. A hat was perched on his head, although it was too short to be considered a top hat. “Your dog is
huge
, miss,” he said as he came to stand before her. Then he bowed, as if he suddenly realized he was supposed to do it before he made a comment about the dog. Harold took the opportunity to wag his tail in greeting before obediently sitting next to Hannah.

Hannah curtsied, realizing from the boy’s dark hair, deep blue eyes, and stern facial features that he had to be Henry’s son. The resemblance was uncanny, as if she was seeing a younger version of her husband. “I am Hannah Forster, Lady Gisborn,” she said as she held out her right hand, intending to the shake the lad’s hand.

The deep blue eyes widened as the boy regarded her. He stepped forward suddenly, took her gloved hand, and quickly kissed the back of it, letting go his hold as if her hand was on fire. “Nathan Forster, milady,” he managed to get out, his eyes still wide. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Allowing a wide smile, Hannah nodded. “And yours.” She indicated Harold with a wave of her hand. “And this is Harold MacDuff. He’s an Alpenmastiff,” she said proudly. As he’d been trained to do, Harold dutifully held up a paw. Nathan glanced from the dog up to Hannah, as if he wasn’t sure what to do. “You can shake his paw if you’d like,” she said with a hint of encouragement.
Goodness, did the boy wonder if he was supposed to kiss the back of Harold’s paw?

A grin appearing on Nathan’s face, he knelt down and shook Harold’s paw. “Good boy!” he said before rising to his feet. Seeing the bit of dirt from the road on his knee, he leaned over and brushed it off with a few swipes. “He looks like Maggie, only a whole lot ... huger,” he commented. His eyebrow cocked, not unlike his father’s did when he was considering a problem, and amended his comment. “Larger. He is
larger
than Maggie,” he said with firm nod.

Hannah wondered about Maggie, remembering the cook’s mention of a Maggie, but at the moment, she was more interested in the boy. “Have you just come from your tutor’s house?” she asked, turning to walk south. The dower house wasn’t much farther up the road; the walk with Nathan would allow her to get to know him a bit.

The boy sauntered along side, giving her a suspicious look. “How did you know?” he asked.

Shrugging, Hannah thought to say something flippant, but thought better of it. “I had tea with your mother earlier this afternoon,” she explained. “I asked to meet you, but she said you were at your tutor’s house. I hope you don’t have to walk too far for your lessons.”

Nathan continued to glance up at her, his facial expression giving away the turmoil that was going on in his brain. “Not too far,” he replied in an off-hand manner. “Are you ...
married
to my father?” he finally managed to ask. His brow furrowed into a familiar shape. Henry’s looked just like it when he puzzled over some problem.

“I am,” Hannah replied with a nod, giving the lad a sideways glance, wondering if he would be pleased or ... not. Her comment was met with silence from the boy. He continued to trudge along at her side, his gaze directed straight ahead. Hannah couldn’t help but notice his manner becoming more sullen, more sad, as if her simple acknowledgment had taken away any joy the boy had felt at having met her and Harold. “I do hope we can be friends,” she offered in her lightest tone. “I would hate for you to think of me as a mean ol’ stepmother.”

The lad seemed to stumble at this last statement. “Stepmother?” he repeated. “You’re my ... stepmother?” His voice was barely a whisper, but Hannah could tell from the question in his voice that he wasn’t taking the news well.

Trying for lightness, she nodded. “Your father is quite proud of you. He told me all about you the very first time he took me for a ride in Hyde Park.” She didn’t add that it was the
only
time he’d taken her for a ride in the park.

“He did?” Nathan repeated, his face still looking as if he’d lost his best friend. “Isn’t Hyde Park in London?” he wondered. “Are you from London?”

Nodding, Hannah said, “Yes, it is, and yes, I am. Your father and I met and married when he came to London to acquire Ellsworth Park.” She hoped it didn’t sound as if they’d only known each other a few days before they married.

The boy glanced up at her, still a bit suspicious. “Did he ...
acquire
Ellsworth Park?” he asked, trying to be sure he used the same word as Hannah even though he didn’t seem to know quite what it meant.

“He did. He’ll be adding it to his farmland just as soon as the irrigation ditches are ready.” She paused in mid-step, realizing they had come up to the walkway leading to the front door of the dower house. “I must be making my way back to Gisborn Hall, Master Forster. It’s been a pleasure,” she said. She leaned down and took his hand in hers, giving it a firm shake.

A bit startled, Nathan nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “I mean, my lady,” he corrected himself. “Bye, Harold.” And then he was suddenly running along the flagstones to his house, not looking back, even as he disappeared through the front door.

Hannah watched as her husband’s son made his way to the dower house, wondering at the boy’s strange reaction to her. Was he frightened of her? Was he worried for himself? Using the term ‘stepmother’ had certainly been the wrong word to use when describing herself. Perhaps Henry could help smooth things over with the lad. “Come, Harold. We’re going to the kitchen,” Hannah said with a sigh as she walked the lane to the estate grounds.

Hearing the word ‘kitchen’ made Harold’s ears perk up, and Hannah thought he’d picked up his laggard pace just a bit.
He’s old
, she remembered, frowning as she watched him take the lead and head through the gate and up the cobbled path toward the house. Instead of heading to the front doors, Hannah instead walked around Gisborn Hall to the servants’ entrance off the kitchen. Harold was waiting at the door, his tail wagging frantically.

Knocking a few times before she opened the door to peek in, Hannah allowed Harold to precede her and said, “Stay, Harold,” before the beast had a chance to enter the main kitchen. After his initial meeting with the cook, Hannah didn’t want Harold impaled by a meat cleaver.

“Hullo,” she called out, ducking her head around the doorway from the hall into the kitchen.

“Lady Gisborn?” Mrs. Batey stood from the large trestle in the middle of the room, a quill in one hand as she gave a quick curtsy and regarded the countess with barely hidden surprise.

“Hello, Mrs. Batey,” she said with a nod. She glanced about until she caught sight of the cook’s large arms lifting a stock pot onto the stove top. “Hello, Mrs. Chambers.”

The cook actually did a curtsy before saying, “Lady Gisborn.” She went back to her stock pot, dumping a bowl of cut vegetables into what was apparently to be that evening’s soup.

“I wondered if I might ask you something, Mrs. Batey,” Hannah hedged. She turned to the cook. “Would it be alright for Harold to join us?” she wondered. “Perhaps you have some food scraps you need to get rid of. He’ll eat anything,” she added hopefully.

The cook exchanged a startled glance with the housekeeper, her reddened cheeks suddenly aflame, as if she was embarrassed by the lady of the house being in her kitchen. “I just have some potato peelings at the moment, my lady,” Mrs. Chambers offered, motioning to a prep table.

“That will be splendid. Harold,” Hannah turned toward the door she had just come through. Harold, rather careful about entering a room he had been summarily shooed from only the day before, took two steps in and sat down, his attention on his mistress. “Mrs. Chambers says you may have the potato peelings.” Hannah moved to the prep table, and pulling her glove from one hand, shoved the mess into a tin bowl, and took it over to where Harold sat. His tail wagged twice before he went to work devouring the mess. When Hannah turned around, Mrs. Chambers stood before her with a wet flannel.

“I didn’t mean for her ladyship to do that,” the cook stammered, holding the clean flannel in her direction.

“Oh, I have no problem touching potato peelings, Mrs. Chambers,” Hannah said with a grin. “As the only girl in Devonville House, I spent a good deal of time in the kitchens with the servants,” she said with a wave, hoping the older woman wouldn’t find her as much of a bother as did the crotchety old cook her father had employed since before Hannah was born. She took the flannel from the cook and wiped her hands. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Batey had returned to sitting at the trestle, her quill scratching a list on a long sheet of paper. She looked up when she realized Hannah was regarding her quietly. “You wished to ask me something, my lady?” she wondered, her manner suddenly nervous.

Hannah nodded, noticing the cook had gone back to the stove. “I do not want to interrupt your work ...”

“Nonsense, my lady,” Mrs. Batey replied. “I was just putting together the list for market for Mrs. Chambers. The best vendors will be selling tomorrow morning, you see, so we try to buy everything we need for the week.”

Taking a seat opposite the housekeeper, Hannah smiled. “I’m sure I am supposed to be doing menus,” she offered with an apologetic shrug. “Perhaps I could do them for next week in time for you to do your list?”

The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Of course, my lady.” She could feel the cook’s quick glance of surprise on her back. “His lordship is quite particular about some of his meals,” she said carefully, wondering if she should turn down the countess’s offer.

“Menu planning has been one of only two responsibilities I’ve held at my father’s house since my mother died,” Hannah countered calmly. “And the other one was acting as hostess to our visitors. I shall be sure to inquire as to the earl’s likes and dislikes before I do any meal planning,” she assured the housekeeper.

Mrs. Batey seemed so relieved, Hannah thought she might topple from the trestle seat. “Your help will be appreciated,” the housekeeper said in a low tone, as if she was secretly confiding that Gisborn Hall lacked enough help. “Now, what was it you wished to ask?”

Hannah sighed. “It’s about Miss Inglenook.” A pan clattered over at the stove, the sound barely covering the gasp coming from the cook. Mrs. Batey’s face, although trained to a level of impassiveness that suggested nothing could shock her, took on a look of shock. “Is there any reason that you know of,” Hannah continued, wondering at their reactions, “Why it is she and Nathaniel don’t live here in Gisborn Hall?” Even without looking toward the stove, Hannah knew Mrs. Chambers was regarding her with a look of surprise.

Mrs. Batey straightened and took a breath. “She lives in the dower house,” she answered simply, as if Sarah could only live there.

“Yes. But, it seems to me that she and Nathaniel should live
here
.” The housekeeper averted her eyes a moment, her face suddenly taking on a flush that Hannah realized was embarrassment. “Oh, Mrs. Batey, I am quite aware of Lord Gisborn’s relationship with Sarah,” Hannah assured the woman, causing the housekeeper’s mouth to open a bit, as if she had to breathe through it. “He loves her. He has since ... I believe he said since they were in leading strings.”

The cacophony that erupted from the stove forced Hannah to turn around. She found the cook staring at her in disbelief and several pot lids rolling about her work area.

“You must know, men only ever love their mistresses. Their only reason to marry is so that they have someone to give them children,” Hannah stated, intending for both women to hear her comment. Her mantra, one she’d repeated to all her friends and to her father on more than a few occasions, seemed to drop into a suddenly very quiet and tense room. Even Harold seemed to have stopped panting, although there was a hint of a whine. Hannah wondered if his eyes were rolling. He did that when he thought something was poppycock.

Mrs. Batey was shaking her head, as if she couldn’t ... or wouldn’t ... believe what the mistress of the house had just said. “My lady, I ...”
don’t know what to say
, was the housekeeper’s first thought. Had things gotten so bad in London that gentlemen no longer married for love? She’d been in England long enough to know about some men and their propensity to employ whores and mistresses, but to have a lady of the
ton
, the daughter of a marquess, no less, announce that men only loved their mistresses and married merely to have legitimate children, well, this was quite unexpected. “I am quite sure Lord Gisborn did not merely marry you to have his children,” she tried in a reasonable tone. Lady Gisborn was a beautiful girl. The man probably felt some affection for her. How could he not? She was as pleasant as could be, eternally happy and quite agreeable. There hadn’t been a shrill demand, a thrown objet d’art, nor a raised voice since Lady Gisborn’s arrival. The same couldn’t be said for Sarah Inglenook, however. It was as if Lord Gisborn’s woman had decided to become as unreasonable as possible, almost as if Sarah no longer wanted Gisborn’s protection nor his attentions.

And the poor girl wondered why Sarah Inglenook did not reside in Gisborn Hall?

“Oh, there was a dowry, of course,” Hannah stated with a nod, as if that would be the only other reason Lord Gisborn would marry her. “Quite generous, if I’m to believe my father’s comments on the topic.” This last comment was made with a smirk, forcing the dimple to appear in Hannah’s right cheek.