‘Lady Maxwell. You are quite alone. May I offer you a drink?’
She smiled and thanked him as he handed her the glass.
Unbidden, he hitched his coat tails and took a seat beside her.
‘There is no need to keep me company, your Lordship,’ Hannah said.
He coughed. ‘Lady Maxwell, I wish to apologise on behalf of Miss Westhall.’
Hannah shrugged. ‘What for? She is not your responsibility?’
‘Yet,’ he said, and his mouth took on a downward cast. ‘I was privy to her recounting of her treatment of you and, to be honest, I was appalled. To read and destroy someone’s private correspondence and then to dismiss you out of hand…’
If he had had a chin, it would have been quivering with outrage.
Hannah laid her hand over his.
‘Thank you. You are very kind, and Sophie is entirely undeserving of you.’
He looked at the dance floor where Sophie was dancing with her friend Louise’s brother and hefted a sigh.
‘I will have to offer for her in the new year. My parents are expecting an engagement by the end of this season.’
‘She will lead you a merry dance.’
‘I know.’
He looked so miserable she almost patted his knee in sympathy.
‘I have no advice to offer on the subject of unhappy marriages,’ she said, and her breath caught.
Fabien had just arrived with his sister, the Countess of Lydbury, on his arm.
Lady Darlington descended on him, and after a brief exchange, he offered her his arm for the next dance. The whole room seemed to hold its collective breath as they danced. They made a perfect couple.
Lord Easterbrook looked from the couple on the floor to Hannah. He harrumphed and rose to his feet. ‘The next dance is the supper dance,’ he said. ‘Sophie will be expecting… Please excuse me.’
She waved her fan at him. ‘Of course. Thank you for your kindness, my Lord, and believe me when I say I wish you happy.’
He bowed, and she watched him push through the crowd to rejoin Sophie and her friends. Sophie cast Hannah a hateful glance, but Lord Easterbrook took her arm and led her out on to the floor.
Watching Fabien and Elizabeth Darlington together, Hannah’s confidence began to ebb. This had been a terrible mistake. She did not belong in his world. What right did she have to think he still entertained feelings for her, after all these years?
Maybe the letter Sophie had destroyed had spoken of love in a past tense. What if he had been telling her that it was all over and she should stay away? Her breath constricted in her throat, and she rose from her shadowed seat.
Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, she slipped out onto the terrace. The snow-covered garden stretched down to the Thames and the bright lights from the house sparkled in the pristine whiteness and the dark depths of the river. She turned her face to the stars, fighting the wave of loneliness and desolation that swept over her. A choking sob escaped, drawn away on the cold river breeze.
‘It is too cold to be out here.’
She started at the once familiar voice, the breath stopping in her throat. She could not move, didn’t dare look around in case the man who stood behind her was nothing more than her imagination.
‘I like the cold. It reminds me I am alive,’ she said, wondering how one correctly addressed French aristocracy and adding, ‘my lord.’
‘My lord?’ His voice held a murmur of amusement. ‘What happened to “Fabien”?’
‘Fabien was a boy I knew a long time ago,’ she said. ‘I do not believe I would recognise him anymore. I would be surprised if he recognised me.’
The snow on the terrace crunched beneath his feet as he moved towards her. He stood so close she could almost feel his warm breath on her neck. If he touched her, she would melt.
