Page 18 of Wicked By Design

“His grace is quite right, and I thank you kindly. Clara, I shall visit your aunt and take her tea at four, so don’t worry yourself over that.”

“Oh! Oh, no, indeed, Eustacia, you simply—”

“If you think one crotchety old lady can scare me, you really don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Eustacia said grandly before turning to Hawkney. “Look after her,” she instructed, and then made her way back up the hill.

“Oh, dear,” Miss Halfpenny fretted.

“You heard her. Your horrid aunt is no match for that young woman if I know anything.”

She sent him a dark look but said nothing so he swung up behind her.

Hawkney was aware of how her body stiffened at his proximity and did his best to keep his distance, no easy feat on horseback. As Sultan took a step down the steep hill, however, she shrieked and Hawkney was obliged to lash his arm around her middle, pulling her against him.

“I have you. You’re safe.”

Her breathing was fast, sawing in and out, but she nodded. Hawkney guided the big stallion slowly down the hill and, little by little, she relaxed against him.

They rode in silence until the lane evened out, and he took the path across country. It was longer but avoided her being exposed to the curious gazes of the town.

“Something happened. It wasn’t just your ankle.”

It wasn’t a question, and she turned to look up at him.

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “You are not one to weep over physical pains, I suspect, not unless they are very bad indeed. Something else upset you. Was it Miss Foxworthy?” Hawkney wondered if the beautiful young woman had been cruel to her, and something cold and hard tightened in his chest.

To his surprise, she smiled. “Yes, but not in the way you might suppose.”

He waited, allowing her to decide whether to explain herself.

“Miss Foxworthy is an artist, a genius I should say, actually. She has been painting my portrait for many months now and… and I saw it for the first time today. It—it was rather overwhelming.”

Hawkney frowned. “Overwhelming?”

She nodded, but he saw the wonder in her eyes and knew she meant precisely that. “I never expected anyone to see me. Indeed, until the moment I looked upon that portrait, I don’t believe I had ever seen myself, not clearly.”

Hawkney opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it closed again. The words which had surged into his mind were so ridiculous he could not fathom where they had come from.

“You like it, then?” he asked cautiously.

She laughed and shook her head. “I love it and I hate it and I do not know how I feel about it. She wishes to exhibit it, which indeed she must do, but… oh, but it makes me feel so… so… very exposed.”

Hawkney nodded his understanding, though in truth he did not understand at all. He knew one thing, however. He was going to see that portrait.

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex,6thSeptember 1816

“Did you have a pleasant walk, my lady?” Howard regarded Cilly with concern.

Cilly contemplated the question. Several fashionable couples had congratulated them on the way home with undisguised smirks and barely suppressed amusement, but Cilly had been pleased that she and Damian had presented a united front. The staring and whispering had been dreadfully humiliating, and the run-in with the Countess of Dunmere had opened her eyes to just what people were saying about her but had ultimately been rather satisfying.

The walk on the beach had been… illuminating.

“I did, thank you, Howard,” she replied with a smile, flicking a glance at Damian, who quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Your grandmother is with the dowager duchess in the drawing room. They expressed a wish to see you and Lord Rivington as soon as you returned,” Howard said, taking Damian’s hat and gloves from him. “They have since received a visitor, however, just so you are aware.”

“Who?” Cilly asked, smoothing her hair and tucking a loose strand behind her ear.