The Wicked Sister Page 3

  Eleanor shrugged. “Of course—some of the time. I suppose I never really felt I belonged.”

  Her words struck a chord in Maria. That other ways of life were possible. That while Maria loved her family, she was frequently out of step with their expectations.

  Perhaps Eleanor glimpsed something of this in her face, for she said, “We all feel these little tugs of What if…? And if you remember, Serena was sent home from London in disgrace and her choice of Tamar as her husband was not, at first, universally welcomed. Life is full of surprises. We don’t have to turn the world upside down to find them.”

  Maria smiled a little crookedly. “You are very wise, Eleanor. And I won’t endanger myself or my sisters. Or elope with anyone!”

  By this time, Alice and Helen had joined them, and Miss Harker was eager for them to show their mother how they had improved on the pianoforte. Maria and Eleanor vacated the stool for Alice, who dashed off her piece with ease and an almost distracted air that suggested she was thinking of something else. But her hands appeared to know their work, for she played with more sensitivity than Maria. In fact, to Maria’s ear at least, she had come on by leaps and bounds.

  “You already play that piece better than I ever could,” Maria told her warmly.

  “I expect you found it dull,” Alice said, “which it is.”

  “Alice is composing her own music,” Helen said proudly.

  Mama raised her eyebrows. “Whatever for?” she demanded.

  “Fun,” Alice said as the gentlemen strolled into the drawing room. For some reason, Maria was glad to see Mr. Hanson was still with them. She wanted him to be content here.

  “It does not interfere with her other studies,” Miss Harker said hastily, with an anxious glance from Mama to Gervaise. “And indeed, I believe Lady Alice is musically gifted. Lady Helen is also growing quite proficient, as you will hear, although it is her skill with watercolors that impresses me most.”

  Alice gave her place up to Helen, whose performance, while not excruciating, put her somewhere near Maria’s level at the same age.

  “Sorry,” Helen said brightly when she had finished and stood up.

  “It must be your turn, Maria,” Gervaise suggested.

  Maria groaned. “Surely I don’t need to subject you to that? I would rather hear Eleanor play the guitar.”

  “The evening is young,” Gervaise observed.

  “No missish airs, Maria,” Mama snapped. “I expect you to have improved since last time.”

  “I haven’t,” Maria said flatly. These were the times she hated, being asked to show off an accomplishment she quite clearly did not possess. It shouldn’t have mattered here. This was just her family.

  And Mr. Hanson.

  Oh well, he already knew what a fool she was, getting into scrapes and desperately trying to avoid the consequences.

  Resignedly, she sat down and played a short waltz that Miss Grey had taught her two years ago, but which had become a popular piece in London this season. It was simple, which was why she got through it with only a couple of not too glaring errors, and since she imagined she was dancing while she played, she felt she managed the piece without sounding too wooden.

  “Adequate,” her mother allowed with a nod of approval.

  “Oh, Mama,” Serena protested. “It was rather better than adequate!”

  “I do not believe in excessive praise,” Mama pronounced.

  Especially not for a daughter who has displeased you in other ways, Maria thought ruefully.

  “Play it again, Maria,” Frances commanded. “And we shall all dance.”

  Maria laughed, already halfway across the room and aiming to get as far away from the pianoforte as possible. “You have done nothing to deserve such a punishment.”

  “There will be quite enough dancing at the ball,” Mama observed.

  With all the fuss, Maria had almost forgotten the approaching spring ball. It was an annual event at the castle, to which the whole county was invited—or at least those of the county with any pretensions to gentility. In addition, they generally had many fashionable people staying from much further away.

  Maria had discovered that London society considered it a great honor to receive a card for the Braithwaite spring ball. It was why she had been summoned north in the middle of her first season and the reason her mother had traveled ahead to prepare, leaving Maria in London, first in Serena’s care and then in Lady Wickenden’s.

  “When do we expect our first guests?” Maria asked, trying to summon enthusiasm. In truth, the spring ball made her feel queasy because of what had happened at last year’s when she was not even meant to be there.

  “Tomorrow and the day after,” Eleanor replied.

  How much could change in a year, Maria reflected. Last year, in the throes of disastrous, first love—if one could even call it that—she had been too young to attend and yet had been deliriously excited. This year, after a month of balls and parties in London, she already felt jaded and almost uninterested in the event.

  On impulse, she looked around to ask Mr. Hanson if he would be present, but he was nowhere to be seen. She wondered sardonically if her playing had driven him away.

  Chapter Three

  “Why is Mama still cross with you?” Helen asked.

  The younger girls had waited until Miss Harker was asleep and then crept along to Maria’s chamber, where they all sat on the window seat in their dressing gowns.

  “Oh, you know. The foolishness with Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “But you told them you did not go outside to meet him,” Helen said. “Don’t they believe you?”

  “I’m not sure I do,” Alice said. “I’ve never known you to cope with a headache in such a way. Why did you really go outside?”

  “Someone threw stones at my window,” Maria confessed. “I thought it was you two up to mischief. Which reminds me, you had better be good and stay indoors from now on or we shall all be in trouble.”

  “You mean we can’t even spy on the ball?” Helen asked in disgust.

  “Only from the gallery,” Maria said. “Remember last year? Those nasty men?”

  “Including your lieutenant,” Alice pointed out.

  Maria’s stomach twisted with shame at the memory. She shuddered. “Don’t remind me. Come on, it’s time we all went to bed. The house will be in uproar from early tomorrow when the first guests arrive.”

  “Who’s that?” Alice demanded.

  Maria glanced out the window and saw a slender male figure striding along the path toward the west side door. He carried a lantern, so it was easy to make out the features of Gervaise’s secretary.

  “Mr. Hanson,” she said.

  “I wonder where he has been alone at this time of night?” Helen asked.

  “Perhaps he had a headache,” Alice said innocently.

  Maria threw a cushion at her.

  “Gervaise must be very important now to have a secretary,” Helen observed. “What is he like, Maria?”

  “Mr. Hanson?” She considered. “Clever. Kind. Unafraid. Quiet. But he has a sense of humor.”

  “Maybe we should visit him tomorrow,” Helen suggested. Her stomach rumbled as she stood up, and she clasped it with both arms. “Goodness, I’m hungry! Do you suppose Cook still has some of that cherry tart?”

  “It was delicious,” Maria said wistfully.

  Alice strode to the door. “Come, then—to the kitchen!”

  This was not the first time they had crept down to the kitchen in their nightgowns when the house was supposedly asleep. Once, Miss Grey, the best of their governesses, had discovered them there with Serena and Tamar. In fact, it was the first time they had met Tamar.

  “There’s a light,” Alice murmured, hanging back just inside the baize door, at the top of the kitchen stairs.

  “Well, we can get around Cook,” Maria said, pushing onward. “She can’t bear to think of anyone going hungry.” Holding her candle in front of her, she led the way downstairs,
past the dark, empty servants’ hall and into the kitchen.

  The light came from a lantern standing on the table. Beside it, sat a man with his cravat loosened, a large chunk of bread and cheese in one hand, while the other held open a pamphlet on the table. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the pamphlet.

  His eyes locked with Maria’s. “Three graces?” he wondered, putting down his bread and rising to his feet. “Or three monkeys?”

  “Monkeys!” Helen repeated, inclined to outrage.

  “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil,” Maria said distractedly, and to Mr. Hanson, “You don’t need to go. We’re only looking for cherry tart.”

  “I’ll find it!” Helen offered. “And if I can’t, I’ll bring something just as good!” She hurried over to the larder, and Alice sat down opposite the bewildered but faintly amused Hanson.

  “What are you reading?” Alice asked him.

  He closed the pamphlet dismissively. “Dull, political stuff.”

  Alice’s eyes gleamed. “Are you hiding it because it’s seditious?”

  If he was surprised, he gave no sign of it. “No, because it contains clues to my secret treasure.”

  “Among the dull political stuff?” Alice taunted.

  His eyebrow lifted. “Where better to hide them?”

  Maria laughed and sat beside Alice. “Where indeed?”

  “Actually, you’re too late for treasure,” Helen said, plonking half a large tart, a knife, four plates, and four spoons on the table in front of Maria. “It’s already been found, and I refuse to believe there are two sets of treasure in the environs of the castle.”

  Alice frowned at her. “Yes, but we’re not meant to tell people that story.”

  Helen shrugged and sat down at the end of the table. “Mr. Hanson doesn’t count as people. Besides, Serena says he was there when the treasure was found. If he’s Gervaise’s secretary, he must be discreet.”

  “Still, you shouldn’t tell me your family secrets,” Hanson said gravely.

  “In case you code them into dull political pamphlets?” Maria inquired, slicing the pie.

  His spectacles gleamed. “Exactly.”

  “You’re funny,” Helen approved. “I forgive you for calling us monkeys.”

  “I like monkeys,” Alice protested.

  Maria pushed a plate toward him.

  He glanced at her. “You are including me in your midnight feast?”

  “Oh no, we’re just joining you in yours. And we brought the pudding.”

  He picked up the spoon but didn’t yet touch the tart with it. “Aren’t you afraid of being in trouble again? Despite the safety in numbers.”

  “Oh, no. Even Mama would see the difference! Although Cook might scold us for wolfing her tart.”

  A faint smile on his lips, he inclined his head and broke into the tart with his spoon.

  The girls ate and chattered away. Rather to Maria’s surprise, Mr. Hanson joined in with their banter, often with a serious expression belied only by the faint upward twitch of his lips or a twinkle behind his spectacles. It was unexpectedly fun, but Maria, conscious of the hour and their improper dress, cut the amusement short.

  In the hope that Cook would not notice, Helen and Alice collected the plates and cups and took them to the tap to wash, arguing over who should wash and who should dry.

  Maria looked at Hanson. “You have sisters of your own, don’t you?” she guessed.

  “Four,” he admitted. “And three brothers. How is your hand?”

  Her hands were clasped on the table in front of her, but immediately, she tried to jerk them into her lap, out of sight. He was quicker, reaching out and seizing her wrist. As he turned it palm upward, she clenched her fist, staring at him in outrage.

  She didn’t know why, but something in his serious eyes made her slowly relax her fingers. The wound made by her nails had started to heal again, but it was surrounded by tiny, similar scars, almost hidden by the creases in her palm. The words of excuse, about being careless with a hairpin or a hat pin, died on her lips, and she simply gazed at him with defiance.

  “You should cut your nails shorter,” he said, releasing her.

  She blinked. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t such stark, practical advice.

  “What upsets you so much?” he asked softly.

  Her breath caught. She dragged her hands into her lap and stood up. “Nothing. It’s all foolishness and clumsiness. Hurry girls,” she added with a hint of desperation. “There’s no point in being too tidy. You know you’ll confess it all to Cook tomorrow anyway.”

  Of course, it was a game that had been going on for years, and with Gervaise and Frances and Serena before that. But Helen was yawning, and Maria was suddenly desperate to escape Mr. Hanson’s over-perceptive presence. She swept the girls off with her, calling a casual goodnight to the secretary as she went.

  *

  The following morning, since most guests were not expected until the afternoon, Maria was happy to go into Blackhaven with her sisters to make a few last-minute purchases for Eleanor. The countess had neglected her personal needs in the flurry of pre-ball activity and hosting more distant family before that.

  “We would probably do her more of a favor by taking Mama out of her hair,” Frances said wryly as they entered the carriage.

  “Oh, no, Eleanor has found several ways of dealing with Mama,” Maria said. “I watched her last year, and Mama actually defers to her as she—”

  “Isn’t that Mr. Hanson?” Serena interrupted as the carriage made its stately way down the drive.

  Maria jerked her head toward the window to see the secretary striding down the drive beside them. He tipped his hat to the carriage in general, and her heart gave a funny little flutter—discomfort, no doubt, because of what he had seen.

  Frances knocked on the carriage ceiling with her umbrella, and the coachman reined in the horses.

  “Mr. Hanson,” she called out the window. “Are you going to Blackhaven?”

  “I am.”

  “We have room for one more. Slide over, Maria.”

  The arrival of Mr. Hanson beside her seemed to shrink the carriage. Despite his slight build, he was much larger than Maria remembered, and for some reason this confused her. After the initial polite greeting, she let her sisters converse with him during the short journey—mostly teasing questions about the horrors of working for their brother. Marie, smiling faintly, gazed out of the window at the farmland and the rough hills beyond, and then at the sea crashing over the rocky coast. She was glad to be home.

  “Where do you wish to be set down, Mr. Hanson?” Frances asked as they entered Blackhaven.

  “I’m going to the printer’s shop, but anywhere in town is helpful,” he replied.

  “High Street?”

  “Perfect.”

  When the carriage pulled up at the top of High Street, Mr. Hanson alighted first and turned to hand down the ladies. While Frances and Serena sorted out their mixed-up gloves and reticules, Maria accepted Mr. Hanson’s hand and stepped down. She thought she had the degree of her smile just right—friendly, yet proving she was quite unconcerned by what he had seen of her hand and whatever clearly false assumptions he had made.

  She needn’t have worried. He seemed quite distant, his expression distracted, his position on the flags clearly designed to prevent her being jostled by the three young officers swaggering past the carriage.

  Something jolted, like a rock landing on her stomach. For she recognized the first of these soldiers. Lieutenant Gideon Heath.

  Almost at the same moment, Gideon glanced over, and the smile on his face froze. For an instant, their eyes met, and the full awfulness of last spring swept over her like a tide. Desperately, she wrenched her gaze free. She was aware of him bowing and managed a civil nod in return.

  But she was ridiculously grateful for the firm clasp on her hand and for the male body subtly shifting between her and the soldiers as Hanson handed down her sisters.

>   Frances had seen him, too. “Come, let us try the draper’s shop first,” she said, taking Maria’s arm and moving in the opposite direction to the soldiers. “Shall we pick you up again, Mr. Hanson?”

  “Only if you see me on the way. I expect I shall be finished long before you. Do you require my escort?”

  He did not look at Maria but at Frances, whose eyes widened with a flash of surprised understanding.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said warmly, “but we are grateful for the offer.”

  Dear God, did he see everything? He could not have known what had transpired between her and Gideon, and yet he had sensed something, her sudden vulnerability, even with her sisters so close.

  “Then, until later,” he said, tipping his hat and striding off after the soldiers.

  “I thought the 44th had gone to America,” Maria managed as they walked in the other direction.

  “They were recalled before they set sail. Because of Bonaparte’s escape,” Serena replied. “I believe they will join Wellington in Brussels instead. I hear Major Doverton is already there—having rejoined the army on his way home from his wedding trip!”

  “He doesn’t matter to you anymore, does he?” Frances murmured.

  Maria shuddered, knowing exactly whom she meant. “Absolutely not. I just didn’t expect to see him still in Blackhaven, reminding me what a shameful fool—”

  She broke off, plastering a smile to her face as they entered the draper’s shop behind Serena.

  *

  Having acquired all the items Eleanor had requested, and enjoyed a few reunions with old acquaintances on the way, they returned to Braithwaite Castle in the carriage. Maria didn’t know if she hoped or feared to see Mr. Hanson en route, but the matter did not arise.

  At the castle, the organized chaos of the spring ball season had clearly begun, with the first arrivals from London being greeted in the hall by Gervaise and Eleanor. Meanwhile, over to one side, a smaller man who might have been a valet belonging to one of the guests, argued furiously with Paton, the butler. Maria paid no attention since the arrivals were, in fact, Lord Underwood with his sister and brother-in-law.