“I know my failures perfectly well.” Hannah smiled weakly. “And anyway, I have no intention of marrying.”
“You have no failures that I’m aware of.” Amy put an arm around Hannah in a light embrace. “This isn’t about our pact, is it?”
“Pact?” Hannah asked innocently, even as her heart thudded a little harder.
Amy waved her hand dismissively. “That silly pact we made when we were at Lady Finch’s. It doesn’t mean none of us can ever really marry. We were practically children when we signed it.”
A hard lump formed in Hannah’s tumultuous stomach. She loved that pact, relished it, dreamed of the day they would finally fulfil those vows and live together in a house in the country with the freedom to do whatever they wanted. Without the judgment of the ton or the “ownership” a husband lorded over them.
Hannah’s friends had never judged her. Yet even with Amy, the sweetest and best of the five of them, Hannah could not confess the true reason why she had signed the vow so long ago. The concern that she would never be wanted by a man, or be good enough to be someone’s wife, had not been unfounded. Her coming out had not changed her fears but confirmed them.
To admit as much out loud, however, was far too pathetic.
Hannah gave a half-hearted laugh. “I almost forgot about the pact.”
Amy smiled, visibly relieved. “I’m glad to hear it. I can’t imagine that all of us wish never to wed.”
Hannah hoped her smile in return appeared at least a little authentic. Was Amy the only one who felt that way about the pact? Had all the years of fantasizing about a summer cottage with her friends—free from the sting of rejection—been nothing more than a petty wish? One that would never come to be?
Suddenly, Hannah’s future was as bleak as her dance prospects for the evening.
Tears pricked her eyes, and she turned from her friend, lest Amy saw the depths of her unhappiness. While Amy’s gentle compassion was usually welcome, she never saw a hurt she didn’t attempt to fix, and Hannah couldn’t stand the possibility of having to explain why she was crying. Especially when it would only serve to make the tears fall faster.
“Would you like to return to the ball now?” Amy asked softly.
“In a moment.” Hannah stared out at the cold garden, still oppressively dark despite the fairy lights. “You go ahead. I’ll join you anon.”
Amy squeezed her in a quick hug once more. “You know I’ll come looking for you if you don’t return inside soon.”
Hannah nodded. She did know.
Then Amy was gone, and the silence of the night swallowed Hannah in its embrace.
The door opened again several minutes later, assaulting the quiet with the grating mix of laughter and revelry.
“You really don’t have to stay out with me when it’s this cold,” she said without turning.
“I don’t mind.” The voice was familiar, but not Amy’s.
Lord Brightstone.
Hannah turned around as he strode toward her with something bundled in his arms.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“I saw you go outside without your cloak,” he replied. “I wanted to bring it to you. And ensure there was nothing wrong.”
There was something wrong. Horribly wrong.
But she could never admit as much when it had everything to do with him.
“I’m glad you obtained your cloak, Miss Bexley,” Lucien said, genuinely relieved. He had tried to retrieve it for her when he’d seen her go out into the freezing night air with only her ballgown to protect her from the elements. However, the servants had been unable to locate her outerwear.
Instead, he had collected his own and ventured onto the terrace to bring it to her.
His presence there was more than keeping her from catching a chill. It was also an excuse to talk to her, to see why she had gone outside in the middle of winter.
“Amy brought me my cloak,” Miss Bexley replied. “Uh, rather, Miss Honeyfield. I appear to have a good many people in my life, ensuring I don’t freeze to death.” She inclined her head with gratitude. “Thank you.”
Lucien slid into his coat. “You seemed quiet at supper,” he said, not leaving.
“Lord Ecklesby isn’t especially a conversationalist with whom I prefer to engage with if I’m being honest,” she replied. “We are often dining companions. I think people assume he will keep me from talking.”
Lucien knew the older earl to be extraordinarily intelligent but was uncertain about his engagements with those around him. “Are they correct?”
She gave a mirthless chuckle. “Yes. I suppose it’s a good strategy.”
“Is that what is amiss with you?” Lucien asked, finally broaching the topic.
The golden lights behind her highlighted her cheekbones and slender, arched brows with elegant shadows as she stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“I believe something has upset you,” he admitted. “I wanted to see what it was. And if I could offer my assistance.” All at once, he felt it might have been improper to come outside with her and that his presence was unwanted. “Is something troubling you?”
She shook her head.
He frowned, confident that was not the truth but not inclined to call her a liar to obtain it. “I’m here if you ever do wish to talk.”
She nodded silently, confirming his suspicions.
“I meant to tell you earlier that I truly appreciated the book.” He stepped closer, longing to have a real conversation once more this evening. Only now he knew she was the only one with whom he enjoyed conversations.
Whatever hope he’d harbored of engaging with other ladies sank lower and lower with each dance. He’d tried his hand at the weather and fashion and endured their gossip. He’d asked after the ladies often. Hannah had been correct that ladies preferred to speak at length on their opinions. While there were no uncomfortable lulls in the discussions while dancing, they were all painfully boring.
On several occasions, he had even attempted to discuss his interest in astronomy, but the response he received was feigned with pasted smiles. Then Lady Alison had insisted on a second dance, which no doubt set the gossips into a tizzy.
“I’m glad you liked your gift.” The tension eased somewhat from her face as the topic moved away from her troubles. “Did you read the first volume yet?”
“I confess, I’m in the middle of another book now but intend to delve into Pride and Prejudice once I finish.”
“What book are you reading?” she asked. Her full focus on him suggested her query wasn’t merely for the sake of filling conversation but out of sincere curiosity.
Except if he confessed the subject matter to her, she would think him stodgy. Hell, he was stodgy—he knew that. And he’d never once cared. At least until now. “Most would consider it a stuffy book,” he hedged.
She laughed, appearing more like herself. “What is it about?”
He shrugged, suddenly feeling somewhat self-conscious. His interaction with Miss Bexley had been so smooth and easy since that day at the broken fence, and he hoped not to be disappointed with her displeasure at his interests now. “The stars.”