Hannah groaned. “We are merely friends, Mother.”
Madame Bannery straightened and turned Hannah to work on a piece of the small cap sleeve, breaking Lady Westwich’s fixed stare.
Thank heavens!
The baroness shifted to be in front of Hannah, locking onto her gaze once more. “But you could be more than friends.”
“He needed advice on Lady Julia’s coming out,” Hannah replied.
“It was kind of you to aid him through his sister’s debut since their mother has been gone for so long, but if you pressed your advantage with him…” Lady Westwich settled a hand on Hannah’s arm.
Kind.
There was that confounded word again.
“Oh, you’re freezing, Hannah,” her mother cried.
The shop assistant ran toward the hearth without hesitation and plunged two more logs into the flames before Hannah could even protest. However, as a blast of heat washed over her bare arms, she was grateful for a reprieve from the chill.
“What I was saying is that your friendship could blossom into something more,” Lady Westwich continued, never one to be swayed from the path of dogged conversation. “Like your father and I did.”
Hannah sighed and was rewarded with a sharp prick from one of the pins at her ribs.
Her mother was forever using her union with Hannah’s father as a lesson in what marriage should be. The discussion was as tedious as it was off-putting with how they longingly looked at one another. The long, drawn-out stares were what young lovers were wont to do. Not self-respecting, cultured adults.
Madame Bannery gently spun Hannah around to address the other dainty sleeve.
“What about Lord Brightstone?” her mother asked.
Hannah was grateful not to be facing Lady Westwich at that moment as Hannah was sure her face flushed as vibrantly red as her hair. What could her mother possibly know about Lord Brightstone? Hannah had never divulged that she had even spoken with him.
“Our neighbor in York?” Hannah hoped she sounded more innocent and aloof to her mother than she did to herself.
The baroness appeared in front of her, lips pursed, stare assessing. She knew something.
But how?
Hannah schooled her features to remain entirely impassive.
“You are finished, Miss Bexley.” Madame Bannery pulled a pin from her mouth and smiled at her—a gesture Hannah returned enthusiastically. Dressing would at least present an opportunity to escape from her mother for a few more moments.
Mary helped Hannah into several layers of clothing, topping it all with a deep lapis-blue velvet day dress.
“How does my mother know about Lord Brightstone?” Hannah whispered to her maid, who widened her eyes and shrugged.
Mary had informants throughout the Westwich staff, expertly extracting whatever information was necessary to pass on to Hannah. If she had heard something about Lord Brightstone, she would have relayed it. Whatever Lady Westwich knew, she was keeping it close to her bosom.
Which sorely vexed Hannah.
What was she in for once they were alone in the carriage? Away from the sharp ears of the modiste and shop girl, who were always keen to discover the newest juicy rumor to feed to their clients.
“Have any of your friends arrived in London yet?” Lady Westwich asked casually.
It was a ruse, a play for conversation to mask her inquiry about Lord Brightstone. The baroness was so transparent that it was practically galling. Her query as to Lord Brightstone had been merely a bid to wield gossip to stake Hannah’s claim on the earl before anyone else could ready their claws that season.
Considering that he was as much of a catch as Hannah, such a move was hardly necessary.
“They never return to London as early as we do,” Hannah replied baldly.
“Which you know,” she added silently.
Her mother tilted her head as though the news was novel and fascinating. “I see. Well, I am sure they will return shortly, and you can be reunited.”
Of everything to do with the season, the only aspect Hannah looked forward to was seeing the women she’d roomed with at the finishing school all those years ago. They’d been fast friends and remained such through their debuts, followed by the next three seasons that left them all blessedly unmatched.
Well, all of them but Jillian, that was. Her father was determined to marry her off. The first contender was a fashionable gentleman whose appearance had been more admirable than his dull wit. Though he’d doted on her when others were about, much to her consternation, his eye wandered to every lovely creature who passed. His eye had not been the only part of his person that wandered, which led to an indiscretion with another man’s wife, which was his untimely demise when he found himself on the wrong end of a duel.
Then there was the Marquess of Mastronry, who had thought himself besotted with Jillian. In the end, her not-so-subtle lack of interest and her curious nature ran him into the arms of an up-and-coming debutante who was rumored to be “‘in a delicate way” a fortnight prior to their hasty nuptials.
Doubtless, the season would bring another ill-fated match for poor Jillian.
Hannah didn’t seem to be in a better position than her friend now if Lady Westwich had anything to do with it. Her mother guided them through the modiste’s shop and toward the door. It was nearly flung off its hinges by a vicious gust of wind that came sweeping down Bond Street as they spilled out onto the walkway.
Lady Westwich sucked in a breath, as though her soul had almost been blown away.
Hannah clapped a hand on her hat, securing it against her head to keep the pins from being ripped from her scalp. Outside, their coach stood at the ready, the footman fighting to hold the door open for them.
Hannah, Mary and her mother clustered together for strength and warmth and rushed toward the carriage, climbing in as fast as was possible in a ladylike manner—if one could even consider anything ladylike while being shoved forcefully to the side by the violent wind.
The tidy blonde curls around her mother’s face had been whipped about into an awkwardly jutting puff that careened to the right. “Well,” she huffed. “I dare say this is the coldest winter we’ve seen in London.” She patted her head, then paused, frowning with bewildered horror as she traced the mass of her hair upward with her gloved fingertips.
A giggle rose in Hannah’s throat, which she only partially succeeded in swallowing down.
“You could at least cough, so your mirth isn’t as obvious, Hannah.” Her mother slid a sardonic gaze from the corner of her eye, which made Hannah laugh out loud.
One of Lady Westwich’s chief attributes was her sunny disposition, and rather than becoming cross with her daughter, she glanced toward the carriage glass, caught sight of her hair and joined in the amusement with her own sparkling laughter.
“Shall we cough now?” Hannah asked as they gasped for breath.
Lady Westwich gently cleared her throat and winked at her. “Mary, if you’d be a dear and repair what you can.” She waved a hand over the strange construction of her hair.
Mary set to work with magic fingers, smoothing the frizz into pretty waves.
“Now that we’ve had our fun…” Lady Westwich put her full focus on Hannah in a way that made her chest constrict. “What is this about Lord Brightstone?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Hannah asked innocently.