Page 35 of Anastasia and the Duke
Hawkfield, who had been watching her, remained silent, too polite to press her on what she had seen.
"My mother had red hair, like mine," Hannah said, rather stupidly, her voice thick, "And my father smelled of tobacco."
"You see," the duke grinned, "You are not of 'no-one', Miss Blackmore."
"I am not," Hannah repeated, feeling ashamed for so wilfully forgetting the mother who had borne her and the father who had held her small hand in his. Her insides were all a-muddle, as a wave of loneliness so great washed over her, that it threatened to sweep her away entirely.
But something held her fast to land, the duke. His hand gripped hers firmly, as though he understood entirely what she was feeling--and she supposed he did.
Hannah's eyes met his and a frisson of understanding passed between them. She was about to open her mouth, to offer him thanks for his kindness--a kindness she did not deserve--but the return of the duchess and Lady Lansdowne prevented her.
"I hope we're not interrupting?" the duchess asked, coyly.
"Not at all, ladies," Hawkfield replied, smoothly, "Miss Blackmore and I were simply comparing notes on your most scandalous secrets."
"Oh, don't be wicked, Ollie," the duchess sighed, though she did offer Hannah a wink, to let her know she was not at all perturbed.
The call went up for the second half, and Hannah settled back into her seat, too drained from all that had happened to appreciate Hawkfield's presence beside her.
She was not no-one, she thought with relief. Even if she was notsomeone--even if she was not Anastasia de Bonneval--she still had once had two parents who loved her enough to make her laugh.
This thought replayed over and over in Hannah's mind, as the play reached its violent conclusion, and it stayed with her as Hawkfield escorted her, and the two ladies, down the stairs to their carriages.
The duke took Hannah's hand to assist her up the carriage step, and his warm touch dragged Hannah back from her dazed state.
"Thank you," she said, simply, holding his gaze for far longer than was necessary, so that he might understand just how grateful she was.
And, perhaps, he might recall that genuine gratitude when Hannah revealed herself to have been unworthy of such kindliness and think that a part of her had been somewhat good.
Chapter Ten
On a good day, attending to Parliamentary duties in Westminster was, at best, tolerable. Today, with his mind filled by thoughts of Miss Blackmore, it was excruciatingly difficult for Oliver to keep his attention focused on matters of business.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," Oliver grumbled to Kit, whom he was seated beside, "I find I can't pay any attention to the speakers today."
"Just today?" the marquess chortled, "I've spent nearly a decade struggling to keep my eyes open whilst listening to every windbag with an opinion spout off."
Oliver rolled his eyes at his friend, who offered him a mischievous wink in return, and promptly returned to his state of half-napping.
As another member of the House stood to offer their thruppence on the bill concerning the funding of the militia, which was currently being debated, Oliver allowed his mind to drift back to the previous night.
Miss Blackmore was a difficult woman to read; at times, Oliver was convinced that she was hiding something, while at other times, she was open as a book.
The niggling thought that she was hiding some dark secret had disappeared when she had turned her eyes to him, after her attempt to recall her parents. In those dazzling green orbs, Oliver had seen the same grief that he carried within his soul reflected back at him. He had dallied with enough women in his lifetime to know that such an understanding of feeling between two people was not common. Not at all.
And when he had helped her into the carriage and she had looked at him wide-eyed, almost tender, Oliver had been struck by his own memory of his mother looking at his father that same way.
Had he not sworn to himself that if he ever found such a woman who looked at him like that, he would marry her?
It was a tad anticlimactic to have one's first romantic epiphany whilst seated in the House of Commons. As Oliver realised that he wished to marry Miss Blackmore, he was filled with a sense of jubilation, which was not matched by his fellow Lords.
Beside him, Kit gave a slight snore, whilst the other men present on the benches harrumphed, squirmed, and passed wind--it was no rose garden.
Still, the dull surroundings could not keep Oliver's spirits down. When the Speaker of the House brought business to an end, Oliver jumped from his seat, eager to actsomehowon his desire.
"Are we done?" Kit blinked his bleary eyes open, and looked around in confusion, "Did the ayes have it?"
"The vote was adjourned until tomorrow," Oliver replied, dryly.
