A Secret Affair

not bring my own carriage. I came here with Stephen and Cassandra. I must beg the loan of a horse—Jet, if I may, to get me back to London. I’ll get my own carriage there and proceed on my way.”

“To Gloucestershire?” she said. “Already? Now?”

Foolishly, all she could think of was that he did not want the promised orgy of lovemaking after all.

“There was another letter waiting in my room,” he said. “They are going to hang him.”

“Wh-a-a-t?” She gaped at him.

“For theft. As an example to other would-be thieves,” he said. “I have to go.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked him.

“Save him,” he said. “Talk sanity into someone. Good God, Hannah, I do not know what I am going to do. I have to go. May I take Jet?”

His eyes were black and wild as he raked the fingers of one hand through his hair.

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

“You most certainly will not,” he said. “A horse?”

“The carriage,” she said, and she opened the door again and swept out of the room ahead of him. “I’ll give the orders. Take my carriage and go directly to Ainsley Park. It will save you at least half a day.”

She went out to the stable and carriage house herself, as if her physical presence could hasten him on his way. Horses and carriage were readied with great speed, though it seemed agonizingly slow to Hannah, and to Constantine, who paced, like a caged animal.

She took his hands in hers again when she saw that the carriage was almost ready, and the coachman was hurrying up, dressed in his livery.

But she could not think of anything to say. What did one say under such circumstances?

Have a safe journey?

I hope you get there in time?

But in time for what?

I hope you can talk them out of hanging poor Jess.

You probably will not be able to.

She drew his hands to her face and held them to her cheeks. She turned her head and kissed his palms one at a time. Her throat was sore, but she would not shed tears.

She looked up at him. He stared blankly back. She was not even sure he saw her.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes focused on her.

“Hannah,” he said.

Her name again. It was almost like a declaration of love. Not that she was consciously thinking of such trivialities.

He turned and climbed into the carriage and shut the door behind him, and within moments the carriage was on its way.

Hannah raised a hand, but he did not look out.

***

HIS PRESENCE at Ainsley would achieve nothing, Hannah thought with a great sinking of the heart as she watched her carriage disappear at some speed down the straight driveway.

That poor man was going to hang for theft. And Constantine would never forgive himself for taking him in to live at Ainsley and then somehow failing to keep him safe from harm. This was something from which he would never ever recover even though, of course, it was all none of his fault.

There must be a way of saving Jess Barnes. He had taken fourteen chickens from the coop of a neighbor and then returned them and apologized. Constantine’s manager had paid the value of the chickens even though they had been returned. And for all that a man was to lose his life—as an example to others.

The judicial system was sometimes capable of asinine and terrifying madness.

An old adage leapt to her mind: “One might as well hang for a sheep as a lamb.” But one could hang for either. Or for a few chickens.

Someone must be able to help. Someone with influence. Constantine, despite his lineage, was a mere commoner. There must be …

She looked toward the house and then hurried toward it, holding her skirt up out of the way, half running. And it would have been quicker, she thought as she ran up the steps beneath the pillared portico and through the front doors, to have gone around to the side and into the drawing room through the French windows.

Good heavens, it must be very late indeed. Everyone would wonder where she was, where the tea tray was. Everyone was tired.

Everyone was still in the drawing room, she saw when she hurried into it after a footman had darted ahead of her to open the doors. They all turned to look inquiringly at her. Belatedly she realized that she must look flushed and disheveled—again. A few of those who were seated got to their feet. Barbara came hurrying toward her.

“Hannah?” she said. “Is something wrong? We heard a carriage.”

She took Hannah’s hands, and Hannah squeezed them tightly. Her eyes found the Earl of Merton.

“Lord Merton,” she said. “A private word with you, please. Oh, please. And please hurry.”

It was fortunate that there was a chair directly behind her. She collapsed onto it, her hands sliding from Barbara’s as she did so. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her teeth were chattering. Her thoughts were racing about inside her head. She was, she realized in some dismay, going all to pieces.

And then the Earl of Merton was on one knee before her, and her hands were in his very steady ones.

“Your Grace,” he said, “tell me what it is. Is it Con? Has he met with some accident?”

“He has g-g-gone,” she said. She closed her eyes briefly, imposing some control over herself. “I am so sorry you have not all had tea yet. Will you order the tray, Babs, please? But may I talk to you outside, Lord Merton?” She tightened her hands about the earl’s.

No one moved.

“Hannah,” Barbara said, “tell us what has happened. We are all concerned. Did you quarrel with Mr. Huxtable? But no, it is more than that.”

The earl’s hands were still warm and steady. Hannah looked into his blue eyes.

“How may I be of service to you?” he asked her.

He did not know. None of them did. Oh, foolish Constantine, to have been so secretive all these years.

It was not her secret to divulge.

But the time for secrets had passed.

“He has gone to Ainsley Park,” she said, “his home in Gloucestershire. And home to a large number of unwed mothers and handicapped persons and reformed criminals and others rejected by society. One of the handicapped—I think he must be a little like Constantine’s brother—let the fox in with the chickens and tried to compensate for the loss so that Constantine would not be disappointed in him, by taking chickens from a neighbor to replace them. He returned the chickens and apologized, and the manager of the project paid for the chickens in addition, but even so poor Jess has been sentenced to hang.”

She gasped for breath. She was not sure she had paused for one during her explanation.

There were other gasps in the room. A few of the ladies clapped hands to their mouths and closed their eyes. Hannah was not aware of much, though, beyond the intent eyes of the Earl of Merton.

“So that is what Constantine has been doing in Gloucestershire,” Lady Sheringford half whispered.

Hannah leaned a little closer to the earl.

“He took my carriage,” she said. “He thinks he can save that poor man, but he probably will not be able to. Will you let me take your carriage? And will you escort me to London?”

“I’ll go myself to Ainsley Park if I can discover where in Gloucestershire it is,” he said. “I’ll do all in my power—”