Page 11 of Anastasia and the Duke
She offered Nan a reassuring smile, before she turned on the heel of her boot, fear giving her steps a flustered speed.
Once outside, Hannah set forth for Grosvenor Square, the beat of her racing heart matching perfectly with the sound of her boots, hurrying along the footpath.
Sid had said five bells, and by the time Hannah reached Grosvenor Square, it was almost a quarter to. She circled the square, trying to discern which house was number thirty-three, and when she spotted it, she paused for a moment to compose herself.
Everything will be fine, she chanted in her head, as she tried to will her heart to slow down. It would not do to turn up all flustered and unkempt, after all Nan's hard work.
She had just taken a steadying breath, when a figure emerged from one of the other grand houses, undoing all her good work.
It was him.
The Duke of Hawkfield, resplendent in a dark coat worn over buff breeches, his elegant beaver hat adding extra inches to his already considerable height. He paused, to cast a gaze around the square, and Hannah--fearing that he might spot her--immediately bowed her head and hurried away.
If he was to recognise her, then her plan would be finished before it had even begun. Though, the idea that a man of such importance would even deign to recall an impertinent thief was ridiculous in the first place. He had far grander things to think about, Hannah assured herself, as she scuttled along towards number thirty-three.
Despite her assurances, Hannah shivered as she imagined the duke's eyes following her. It was only when she saw his carriage and four trundle away from the square, that she realised her fears had been completely unfounded.
Relieved--yet, stupidly, also disappointed--Hannah made her way to Lady Lansdowne's residence, where she climbed the steps and rapped once upon the door. A servant, whom Hannah presumed to be a footman, opened it a crack and cast a disparaging eye out at her.
"Miss Blackmore," Hannah stated, trying not to cringe as she was assessed top to toe, "I am here to interview for the position of companion to Lady Lansdowne."
The door was opened fully and Hannah was ushered inside by the footman, who brusquely informed her that it was not her ladyship who would be conducting the interview, but her maid, Gibbons.
Sid's plan was already beginning to unravel, Hannah thought, though she tried not to let her upset show. She followed the footman down a maze of corridors, to a small parlour room which faced out onto the back garden.
There sat a maid of middling-years, with ruddy cheeks and an impatient air about her.
"Miss Blackmore?" she barked, as Hannah entered the room.
"Yes," Hannah nodded, thrusting her letter of recommendation out, so Gibbons might view it.
"I'm afraid you're wasting your time," Gibbons sighed, almost apologetic, as she waved for Hannah to sit, "Her ladyship's son arranged the interview with an agency, without first referring to her ladyship. The countess is not keen on the idea of a companion--not keen at all."
As earlier, Hannah was hit with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment tinged with relief. It was not to be; if Lady Lansdowne had no desire for a companion, then Hannah could hardly force herself upon the woman.
"You've been a companion before?" Gibbons queried, as she read through the letter, "Very good. I'm sure something else will come up for you; you're a pretty girl and you seem quiet enough. I am sorry for wasting your time."
Gibbons handed Hannah back the letter and it took her a moment to realise that this meant that the "interview" was now at an end.
"Thank you," Hannah stuttered, taking the letter and rising to stand, "It was very nice to meet you."
"And you," Gibbons' reply was airy, "Just take the same route back to the front door and one of the footmen will let you out. Goodbye, Miss Blackmore."
Hannah nodded, unconcerned by the abrupt dismissal. She was not superstitious, nor did she believe in fate, but surely if God had divined that Sidney's plan was not to work, then it meant that Hannah would have to find a different path to a new life.
A more honest path, perhaps.
She smiled to herself, as she scuttled down the hallway toward the front door; how difficult might an honest occupation be?
Such was the lightness in her step, that when a large, white, fluffy being, came hurtling towards her, it sent her flying through the air as though she were weightless.
Hannah landed with a thud upon the marble tiles, her bottom aching and her mob cap and bonnet askew.
"Bonbon," a voice chided, "Fais attention!"
Hannah looked up to find an older woman standing above her, elegantly dressed, with her grey hair swept up into a charmingchignon.
The woman paused as she caught sight of Hannah sprawled upon the floor. She froze, as though she had seen a ghost, and Hannah nervously began to scramble to her feet, her hands attempting to fix her mob cap back into place.
