Wilful Impropriety (22 page)

Robertson entered the room with a package held in front of him. “Miss Miller? This has just arrived for you.”

Hannah forced herself to set her needlework down calmly. “Thank you, Robertson. I will just take it upstairs.”

Her father looked over, frowning. “What is it, my dear?”

“My new hat, Papa.” She wrinkled her nose and smiled as she took the box from their butler. “You know how girls are when they get new clothes. I must go try it with my dress immediately.”

Lady Richardson raised her quizzing glass and turned, chin quivering. “A new bonnet? Oh, I must see. Stay and model it for us.”

Her father spoke before Hannah could demur. “Yes, yes. I want to see it on.” He turned to Lady Richardson “This stopped her in the street this morning. Absolutely stopped her. She is growing up, my little girl.” His mouth compressed for a moment, as if remembering how much she was growing up.

“Oh . . . Well. My hair is not right for this.” She had no idea what would be in the box when she opened it. She hoped that Gideon had sent a letter, but even that might be too easily discerned.

“Nonsense, my dear.” Lady Richardson waved a gloved hand. “Let us see this famous bonnet.”

“Of course.” Hannah set the box on a marble side table and tried to block it with her body without appearing obvious. She undid the strings tying the brown paper around the box and caught her breath. The shopkeeper had written Gideon’s address on the lid. Carefully, she tilted it away from her so that it did not show and set it top-down on the table. She peeked into the box, removing the mass of tissue paper surrounding the hat. At any moment, she expected an envelope to drop to the floor and reveal her subterfuge.

In the box was only a hat. Frowning, Hannah pulled it out and turned it over. Nothing had been tucked into the lining. The only thing below it was the pair of gloves. She could not restrain a sigh.

“I hear a sigh of delight, Miss Miller. Let us see, my dear, let us see.”

Hannah lifted the hat to her head, and tried to compose herself. She turned around, still tying the bonnet strings under her chin. “Well?”

“Oh! So becoming. Come here, Pug, see what a nice bonnet this is. What a nice bonnet.”

Hannah’s father beamed at her. “It is very becoming indeed. You are as pretty as a picture.”

“Thank you, Papa—”

Claws scrabbled on marble behind her. Lady Richardson shrieked. “Pug! No. Bad dog. Very bad dog.”

Hannah spun, the bonnet falling backward off her head. The horrid little dog had gotten onto the table and was worrying the tissue paper. His hind leg kicked the box lid, sending it spinning. Hannah dashed for it. She could not let her father see the address. He would recognize it, even without Gideon’s name. The little dog continued to push and worry at the papers. It tipped the box over, barking now as Lady Richardson hurried toward it.

“Oh, Pug. No. No!”

The dog jumped down with Hannah’s gloves in its mouth. The room dissolved as Lady Richardson and Hannah’s father gave chase to the little beast. Hannah took a moment to toss the box lid into the fire and joined them.

The little dog scampered under the chairs. It ran around tables. It bounded across the sofa. Stopping only occasionally, the pug would shake the gloves viciously. Hannah ran after it but it scurried to take refuge under the cherry coffee table. Her father got down on his hands and knees to chase the beast. Lady Richardson stood in the middle of the room calling her dog, as though it would listen to her.

“Pug. Come here. This instant.” She clapped her hands. “He does like his little games.”

Hannah circled around the table and crouched, her mass of skirts billowing out on either side to make a barrier the dog could not pass. As it tried to dart away from her father, it ran headlong into the wall of silk. Hannah snatched for it, but the little dog backed away and all she caught were the gloves.

Her eyes widened as she felt paper crinkle inside the gloves. Gideon’s letter? Delighted to have a new game, the pug hung on to them ferociously, growling as though it were a much larger dog. Hannah was in no way willing to let the little dog have the gloves or the paper they contained.

“Oh, tug! Pug loves tug.” Lady Richardson shook her finger at the dog. “Gloves are not for playing, young man. You let go of them at once.”

The dog paid no attention to his mistress. It also paid no attention to Sir Phillip approaching from behind. Grabbing the little dog around the waist, Hannah’s father secured it. Startled, the beast yelped, dropping the gloves so suddenly that Hannah fell over backward. Something crunched under her back as she landed.

The little dog began to howl, yelping as though it were being slaughtered. For a moment, she thought she had landed on the dog, but it was safely in her father’s arms.

Lady Richardson cried out and hurried across the room, finally moving with anything resembling urgency to lift her dog from Sir Phillip’s arms. “Oh, poor Pugsy-wugsy. Has you hurted yourself? Poor thing. Poor, poor thing.”

Hannah gritted her teeth as the dog continued to whine. She rolled to her knees, trying to get her hoops and petticoat arranged around her. Sir Phillip appeared by her side to offer his hand. Hannah gratefully placed her hand in his, using the one that held the gloves to manage her skirts as she stood. She caught her heel on a fold of fabric, halting her for a moment while she shifted her weight to free the trapped silk.

“Your hat. I am sorry my dear. It looks as if it has suffered quite a casualty.” Her father undid the ribbons that still held it at her neck and pulled the poor crushed bonnet from where it had lain on her back.

“I shall buy you a new one. Naughty Pug.” Lady Richardson nuzzled the little dog, who responded by licking her nose. “And gloves too, those look quite the worse for wear. What a naughty boy, yes you are. Are you a naughty boy?”

“My lady is very kind.” Biting her lips, Hannah took the crushed bonnet from her father and carried it and the gloves across the room to the hatbox. “I am going upstairs to freshen up a little, Papa.”

“Of course, my dear. I will send Robertson up with your tea.”

With her thanks, Hannah made her escape and barely restrained herself from running up the stairs to her room. In the safety of that chamber, she dropped the mangled hat and its box on her bed. Hands shaking, she went to the window to pull the letter out of the gloves. The moment it was free, she recognized Gideon’s handwriting and a wave of relief and joy washed over her. Until she unfolded it and saw that fully a quarter of it had been obscured by the drool of Pug.

All along the side of the page, the words had blended into a mass of ink, leaving her to puzzle out sentences which missed their beginnings:

. . . you, is a very alarming notion, which I can only ascribe to . . . have missed you more than I can describe. The plan you propose sounds . . . do not think we should attempt it, and yet, it is hard to see our way clear without . . . patient, my love. I shall think of you and we will not be long

She wanted to scream with vexation. Resting her head against the glass, Hannah stared out at the street and watched the pedestrians and carriages pass below. Vendors went down the street carrying blocks of ice. A man with a cow stopped when a housewife stepped out her door to wave him over. He set down his stool and milked the animal. A matron led a string of schoolchildren all in their dark blue uniforms on the other side, heading to the park. She stared, wishing to see Gideon.

Hannah took a slow breath, pressing her ribs against the confines of her corset. The specifics of his letter did not matter, ultimately. She knew what she must do, and she would leave her home at 11:43 on the 5th. It was the only course.

•   •   •

Hannah sat in her bedroom with her bag packed. A single candle burned on her nightstand. She held her watch in her right hand, the chain looped about her neck, and stared at it as the minutes ticked past. In four minutes she would go downstairs.

If she shielded her eyes from the candle, she could just see a slice of sky. If she leaned out the window, she could just see Mercury edging retrograde into Leo. Papa would have a clearer view from his rooftop observatory and with such fine, cloudless weather he would stay out all night. Any other night, she would join him as he studied the heavens for the astrological promises they held, but her own quicksilver youth waited for her on the street below. Tonight she was thankful that her father was on the roof performing some observations, and would not hear her when she left. She listened, nonetheless, to the creaks of the house as it settled for the night. The letter to her father lay on the pillow, waiting to tell him where she had gone.

A carriage rolled past, steel wheels rattling against the pavement. The horse stopped in front of the house. Hannah hurried to the window and looked out, clenching the pocket watch. Had Gideon arrived?

A dark carriage stood in front of her door. She looked at the watch again. Two minutes longer. She could go down now—No. No, she knew that Mercury retrograde inspired rash decisions, so she must guard against that. She could wait two minutes.

The seconds ticked past more slowly than she could imagine.

One minute. Hannah picked up her bag with one hand. She had packed only two dresses, and would send for the rest once they were away. If this worked. Please, God, this must work.

Finally, the minute had ticked into 11:43. Hannah let the watch drop on its chain and eased her bedroom door open. She picked up the candle and slipped into the hall. Setting her bag down, Hannah pulled the door shut behind her, wincing when the latch shot home. It seemed as though a gun had gone off in the quiet of the house.

Carefully, she picked up her bag and snuck down the stairs. She had spent the past week learning where the floor creaked and avoided those spots. Her dress hushed along the carpet. Hannah had worn a wool dress, too heavy for the season, but quieter than silk or cotton.

She reached the bottom floor and tiptoed across the marble entry, trying to keep her heels from making any noise on the floor. At the door, she blew out the candle and set it by the front.

Hannah shot back the lock, wincing as the small sound magnified into an echo up the stairwell. She opened the door and stepped out.

The carriage door opened and Gideon climbed out to meet her. “Dearest . . .”

She ran to him. “I was afraid you would not come.”

“I have . . .” He wiped a tear from her face, and Hannah was surprised to find that she was weeping. “And now you must go back inside.”

“What? No—no, we have to elope, now. Tonight. It will not work any other night.” She tried to push past him to the carriage.

Gideon stopped her, his strong hands on her shoulders. “If I cannot approach your father like an honorable man, what makes you think he will ever accept me?”

“The stars—”

“Are bright points in the sky.” Her father stepped out from a shadow next to the stairs.

Hannah stumbled back, heart pounding. “Papa. Gideon, we must go.”

“No, no, dearest.” Gideon captured her hand. “I will not—not like this.”

“Come inside, both of you.” Sir Phillip turned and opened the door to the house. He held it while Gideon led Hannah, protesting, back inside. Her father lit the candle by the door and gestured to a chair. “May I ask you to wait here while I speak to my daughter?”

“Of course, sir.” Gideon offered him a bow and sank into the chair, setting his hat upon his knee.

Stunned, Hannah followed her father into the drawing room, standing in the middle of the room as he lit the candles on the mantel. She still clutched the carpet bag. All she had to do was turn and run back out of the room to Gideon’s arms. She held still. Tonight was for rash decisions. She must think. She must act rationally. But how had her father come to be outside? In his silence, she heard accusations of foolishness and dishonor. She sank into the chair. He was right. How could she have thought to run away with a man without her father’s blessing? She had placed more faith in the charts than in her father.

Her father settled into a chair by the fire, and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. Hannah saw his hands tremble. She dared a glance at his face. Above his beard, his face was drawn and tight. He flinched at her gaze. “How have I failed you?”

Her heart froze. “Papa?” She had not foreseen this.

“I must have failed you.”

“You will not let me marry Gideon.”

“Have either of you asked? No. I found you alone, with him disrobed. What was I to think?” He scowled and wadded the handkerchief into a ball. The candles stood behind him, casting his face into shadow.

“You might have listened to me when I tried to explain.”

He sighed. “I thought you were being taken advantage of but . . . but then your Mr. Whitaker wrote to me today.”

“He—What?”

“He wrote to tell me that you wanted to elope tonight. With Mercury in retrograde—in Leo, of all places!” He rose and turned away from her as if trying to contain himself. “You know that a night such as this invites rash decisions, and yet you followed one. Why else, if I have not failed to teach you?”

“But, Papa, I planned it weeks ago, before the retrograde motion.” Her voice dwindled as she realized what she was confessing. Hannah wrapped her arms around herself to hold back the sudden nausea in her gut. “That makes it all right, doesn’t it? I—we love each other, and—it was my idea. I promise you.”