Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) (16 page)

Catching herself using
they
instead of
he
, Hannah raised her hand to her heart.

“Is anything amiss?” her father asked.

“No, of course not,” she said, hoping God would forgive her for the lie.

Removing her bonnet, Hannah made her way through to the kitchen. “Have you had your luncheon yet?” she asked, trying not to let her frustration show at the sight of unwashed dishes and an empty fruit basket.

“Not yet,” Rachel said. “I was going to serve some leftover mutton pie. Lady Wescott’s cook dropped it by a while back. You know the woman, the plump one you’re always talking recipes with after service?”

“Mrs Darrow.” Hannah searched the larder to see what was on offer. The bread was a few days old and looked to have been rather lumpy to begin with, but the mutton pie had seen better days. “This is starting to turn,” she muttered, unable to keep the crossness from her tone when she thought of all the times she’d warned Rachel to be wary of spoiled meat.

“Thank heavens,” her father groaned. “I really couldn’t have borne another meal of it.”

“Rachel, go and collect some salad greens and tomatoes,” Hannah instructed, relieved not to have returned home to find her father and sister suffering from gastric distress. “You have been keeping an eye on the vegetable garden?”

Rachel pulled a face before ducking out of the kitchen. Shaking her head, Hannah continued with her inventory, pleased to find the egg basket half full. At least that chore seemed to have been taken care of.

“If I cut the mould off this cheese, I could make omelettes. Would that suffice?”

“That would be wonderful,” her father said with feeling. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you back home, and not just at the thought of a well-cooked meal. Although it’s been slim pickings while you’ve been away.”

Hannah sighed. “I expected better of the girls.”

While she admired Rachel’s imagination and there was no questioning Naomi’s resolve, there were times Hannah despaired to think what sort of wives the two would make. Admittedly, other girls of their class were required only to
supervise
the running of their homes, not undertake the work themselves.

“I suppose Naomi was kept rather busy handling the interviews for the manor,” she said.

“She’s also been helping me do the rounds of the village. I’ve been to more of my parishioners’ homes in the last few weeks than in all my years as a vicar,” her father admitted, shamefaced. “Your mother carried the bulk of that burden, God rest her soul. When she could no longer manage, you stepped in with so little fuss, I barely gave it a thought.”

 
“Don’t worry, Papa. You’ve always been available to those in serious need, and sermons don’t write themselves.”

“Maybe not, but I’m coming to suspect you are altogether too forgiving, Hannah. The three of us combined have struggled to keep up with the work you accomplish single-handedly.”

“The girls will never make good matches if their hands are chapped from doing housework,” she said, clearing the space she needed to prepare their meal. “Besides, I
like
taking care of you all.”

“I know. I just didn’t realise you were so put upon.”

Hannah frowned. She didn’t like to think of herself that way. While she had missed her chance for a husband and children of her own, it had been worth it to take care of her mother when she was ill and her family once her mother was unable. It was what she would do once her sisters no longer needed her that bothered Hannah the most. As for what her life would look like once her father was gone, she preferred not to think. Caring for her father and sisters gave her a sense of purpose, a life similar to the one she would have had if she’d had a family of her own. Not that some practical assistance wouldn’t be welcome.

Hannah was reluctant to admit it, but there
were
times she felt worn down from both physical labour and worry for the future. The previous few weeks had been the closest to a holiday she’d experienced in years. Her meals had been cooked and served by others, and there had been no chores required of her besides caring for William . . . not exactly a hardship.

Putting the house back in order took longer than Hannah had hoped, due to a steady stream of visitors. She was glad to see her friends from the village, the common folk who professed to have greatly missed her. But it soon became apparent her
genteel
guests were more interested in gleaning news of the returned viscount than welcoming her home. Worryingly, more than a few questioned the propriety of Hannah’s stay at the manor.

“And there was no one besides the elderly caretakers to act as chaperone?” people asked her on several occasions.

“No, but a
spinster
hardly requires the same degree of supervision as a debutante,” she countered, determined to squelch that line of thinking by reminding these selfsame members of society about the label they’d been quick to pin on her in the first place.

Her strategy seemed to work, though their assurances that of course
Hannah would never be engaged in disreputable behaviour, as she was far too
old
and
sensible
for such nonsense, were more difficult to take than usual. Rumours continued to abound, but they involved William alone. With her patience stretched paper thin, Hannah was required to dispel the untruths that the newly returned viscount was missing half his limbs, crazed in the head, and a potential threat to every maiden in the district.

“Utter nonsense,” she said, struggling to maintain a polite demeanour with Mrs Kingswood and her two marriageable-aged daughters. “Lord Blackthorn’s scars are neither gruesome nor extensive, and he most definitely has
both
his ears.”

“It’s not just his fearful appearance that has everyone in a twitter,” Mrs Kingswood persisted, crassly in Hannah’s estimation. “
I
heard from Mrs Walters who heard from Lady Cromley that the viscount has returned to Hartley in search of a
wife
.”

Mrs Kingswood’s daughters cringed, and Hannah only just refrained from rolling her eyes.

“Lord Blackthorn returned to the manor after he was seriously wounded in service to the King. He was in expectation of his death,
not
matrimony.”

“But he didn’t die. What if he should want to marry my Genevieve or Lucille?” Mrs Kingswood flapped her hands. “I hear he’s tremendously wealthy and would be willing to pay an exorbitant bride price. You wouldn’t happen to know the exact amount, by any chance? Not that it has any standing, of course, as I couldn’t bear to lose one of my precious girls in childbirth . . . though my grandson
would
be the next Viscount Blackthorn.”

Holding on to her temper by the barest of threads, Hannah’s tone verged on the uncivil. “As I have already said, the viscount is not currently seeking a wife. But if he should ask for one of your daughters’ hands in marriage, Mr Kingswood is well within his rights to just . . . say . . .
no
.”

Hannah couldn’t imagine William being interested in either of the simpering girls with their bland faces and limited conversation, but she didn’t voice the opinion. It was not in her nature to be cruel and, besides, what did she know? Beggars couldn’t be choosers. She’d have been willing to marry the horrid Mr Trowbridge if he’d been interested in her rather than Rachel. If William decided he wanted a wife, his choices would be limited. Although it appeared if the price was high enough, more than one local family would be willing to sacrifice a daughter.

It was with relief Hannah welcomed her absent middle sister home a few days later, enthused at the prospect of some sensible conversation.

“Is there anything amiss?” Naomi asked after separating herself from Hannah’s longer-than-usual embrace. “Your eyes are puffy.”

“A touch of rose cold, that’s all.” Hannah wasn’t about to admit she had succumbed to a bout of tears during the night . . . or that she was missing William dreadfully. The behaviour was so uncharacteristic of the vicar’s normally imperturbable eldest daughter, Naomi would have insisted she dose herself with one of Grace’s tonics.

It was one thing to administer them, another to endure them personally.

“Was the house in an acceptable state when you returned home?” Naomi asked hopefully. “I left a list of chores for Rachel—”

“A list I fear she must have waylaid.”

“Oh well.” Naomi shrugged. “It’s a good thing you enjoy housework. Personally, I can think of more important things to be doing with my time. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

Hannah gasped, stung by her sister’s words. “Since when have I had any choice in the matter?” Turning on her heel, she strode from the room, fearing if she stayed she would say something regrettable.

“Hannah?” Naomi found her a little while later in the washhouse, dampening down a mountain of linens in preparation for ironing. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I thought you enjoyed taking care of the family.”

“I
do
enjoy it. Well, except for the laundry. And I could happily forgo scrubbing floors.” Hannah sighed before looking up to meet her sister’s worried gaze. “Has it never occurred to you I might have liked a home of my own
with servants to assist me? A husband?
Children?
”

Naomi remained silent for a long moment before responding, her tone subdued. “I forget how much you’ve sacrificed for all of us.”

Hannah lifted a shoulder. “If you’d been in my shoes, you would have done the same thing.”

“With far less grace, I imagine. It’s a good thing Rachel wasn’t the eldest, as she’d have high-tailed off after adventure at the first opportunity, leaving us all in the lurch.”

“Probably.” Hannah smiled. “We shouldn’t be too hard on her. She’s young.”

“The same age you were when Mama first became ill.”

Naomi’s words brought Hannah up short. Maybe her father was right and she had spoiled Rachel. Naomi, too, for that matter. But she couldn’t help wanting her younger sisters to experience all the things she never would. At least Rachel seemed somewhat inclined to oblige her with dreams of a romantic union. Naomi, on the other hand, ran the risk of following in Hannah’s footsteps with her unconventional demeanour. Respectable gentlemen weren’t interested in a dowry-less young lady with an active social conscience, no matter how attractive.

“Am I forgiven?” Naomi fluttered her eyelashes, reminding Hannah that
neither
of her sisters suffered from a deficit of charm.

“If you help me with the ironing,” she said, chuckling at Naomi’s exaggerated groans.

Chapter 15

Extravagant

A week after her departure from Blackthorn Manor, Hannah rose early to work in the garden. Dressed in her oldest, plainest gown, she wasn’t expecting visitors so early in the day and startled at the sound of a man clearing his throat. She looked up and was stunned to find a large group of men standing just outside the vicarage gate, fronted by a neatly dressed gentleman.

“You frightened the daylights out of me,” she said, lurching to her feet.

“My sincerest apologies, my lady.” The gentleman bowed low. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Very well.” Whilst a legitimate member of the gentry, she was not so highly placed as to possess the title of lady and quickly set the man to rights. “But I’m not sure whom you think you are addressing. I am
Miss
Hannah Foster—”