A Flirtatious Rendezvous: The Gentlemen Next Door #4 - Historical Regency Romance Novellas by Cecilia Gray Page B
Authors: Cecilia Gray
Tags: General Fiction
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country house was new, furnished solely by her father.
It didn’t have tapestries—the fine woven works of art had been a hobby of her mother’s. There wasn’t the smell of gardenias, her mother’s perfume, anywhere except for the dab on her own wrists.
She hadn't even been able to give Lady Rivington a tour when they first arrived and her new friend was now walking to town and probably knew more about her father's neighborhood than she did.
As she filled the teapot and steeped the leaves, she rested her elbow on the kitchen counter with a sigh.
Her father had made a life without her mother—and without her.
Part of her had accepted Viscount Montcreif’s offer to travel to the countryside, well, firstly because Lady Landale and Lady Rivington had insisted it would be a good idea but secondly in thinking she could persuade her father to let her stay. It would be easier to forget Hayden if she wasn’t reminded of him every day. But there was no place for her here, which only made her miss him more.
At least with him, she’d felt at home.
She strained out the tea leaves as she poured, and placed the two cups on a silver tray. After forcing a smile to her face, she lifted the tray and made her way to her father’s sitting room.
“If you like to hunt for sport, I can recommend a manor a half day’s ride away,” Viscount Montcreif was saying. “Ah, thank you, Miss Morton. The tea smells lovely.”
She thanked him for his compliment as she set down the tray and placed one cup in front of her father, the other in front of his guest.
“The hounds are more likely to sniff rabbits than game, but it’s the nearest respectable grounds,” he continued, taking a neat sip. “Do you hunt?”
“I never had occasion to in London,” her father said. “But I’ve always wanted to try. Hanna’s mother loathed the country so we never visited, but I am finding it most diverting.”
Hanna stood awkwardly as they resumed their conversation. Funny, when her father and Hayden conversed, she never felt any awkwardness. Never stopped herself from charging into the conversation where she wasn’t wanted. Now that she considered it, they never shut her out, either.
And yet here, even with his politeness, she felt dismissed, even if that was not Viscount Montcreif’s intention. She returned to the kitchen and leaned against the sink, at a loss for what to do next.
She was just considering taking her shawl to wander out to the garden when she heard a commotion—the door slamming open, and loud voices.
She ran toward the front room.
“Where is she?”
Hanna considered the possibility of her own mental breakdown as she rounded the corner into the sitting room and caught sight of Hayden standing in the open doorway. The wind had ruffled his hair, and dirt was caked on his boots as if he’d slogged through the country roads from London without stopping for either rest or wash.
“Mr. Banks, please come in,” her father was saying as he gestured inside. “Is everything all right with Lady Landale?”
He was silent but for heaving breaths until his gaze, direct and searing, found her. It flickered once to Viscount Montcreif then back to her. “May I please speak with Miss Morton alone?”
* * *
Hanna finally did grab her shawl, as Hayden insisted they be the ones to converse outside. He had, after all, rudely interrupted Viscount Montcreif and her father. But of course as they made their way up the path, surrounded on both sides by knee-high grass swaying in the wind, she could feel the eyes of both her father and Montcreif on her back as they stared from the window.
“Is your mother all right?” What other reason could there be for his visit?
“Yes, she is well. And right, as always,” he said. “And your father?”
“Very well,” she said with a rueful smile. “He seems to have acclimated quite well, and I’m ashamed to admit I wish he had more need of me. As it is, Viscount Montcreif is proving
It didn’t have tapestries—the fine woven works of art had been a hobby of her mother’s. There wasn’t the smell of gardenias, her mother’s perfume, anywhere except for the dab on her own wrists.
She hadn't even been able to give Lady Rivington a tour when they first arrived and her new friend was now walking to town and probably knew more about her father's neighborhood than she did.
As she filled the teapot and steeped the leaves, she rested her elbow on the kitchen counter with a sigh.
Her father had made a life without her mother—and without her.
Part of her had accepted Viscount Montcreif’s offer to travel to the countryside, well, firstly because Lady Landale and Lady Rivington had insisted it would be a good idea but secondly in thinking she could persuade her father to let her stay. It would be easier to forget Hayden if she wasn’t reminded of him every day. But there was no place for her here, which only made her miss him more.
At least with him, she’d felt at home.
She strained out the tea leaves as she poured, and placed the two cups on a silver tray. After forcing a smile to her face, she lifted the tray and made her way to her father’s sitting room.
“If you like to hunt for sport, I can recommend a manor a half day’s ride away,” Viscount Montcreif was saying. “Ah, thank you, Miss Morton. The tea smells lovely.”
She thanked him for his compliment as she set down the tray and placed one cup in front of her father, the other in front of his guest.
“The hounds are more likely to sniff rabbits than game, but it’s the nearest respectable grounds,” he continued, taking a neat sip. “Do you hunt?”
“I never had occasion to in London,” her father said. “But I’ve always wanted to try. Hanna’s mother loathed the country so we never visited, but I am finding it most diverting.”
Hanna stood awkwardly as they resumed their conversation. Funny, when her father and Hayden conversed, she never felt any awkwardness. Never stopped herself from charging into the conversation where she wasn’t wanted. Now that she considered it, they never shut her out, either.
And yet here, even with his politeness, she felt dismissed, even if that was not Viscount Montcreif’s intention. She returned to the kitchen and leaned against the sink, at a loss for what to do next.
She was just considering taking her shawl to wander out to the garden when she heard a commotion—the door slamming open, and loud voices.
She ran toward the front room.
“Where is she?”
Hanna considered the possibility of her own mental breakdown as she rounded the corner into the sitting room and caught sight of Hayden standing in the open doorway. The wind had ruffled his hair, and dirt was caked on his boots as if he’d slogged through the country roads from London without stopping for either rest or wash.
“Mr. Banks, please come in,” her father was saying as he gestured inside. “Is everything all right with Lady Landale?”
He was silent but for heaving breaths until his gaze, direct and searing, found her. It flickered once to Viscount Montcreif then back to her. “May I please speak with Miss Morton alone?”
* * *
Hanna finally did grab her shawl, as Hayden insisted they be the ones to converse outside. He had, after all, rudely interrupted Viscount Montcreif and her father. But of course as they made their way up the path, surrounded on both sides by knee-high grass swaying in the wind, she could feel the eyes of both her father and Montcreif on her back as they stared from the window.
“Is your mother all right?” What other reason could there be for his visit?
“Yes, she is well. And right, as always,” he said. “And your father?”
“Very well,” she said with a rueful smile. “He seems to have acclimated quite well, and I’m ashamed to admit I wish he had more need of me. As it is, Viscount Montcreif is proving
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