Chapter One
Lancashire, England 1815
Hannah Walpole had never in her life faced such an unique and exasperating challenge. And that was saying something since she had been in some harrowing situations in her twenty years of life.
If there was one thing she had learned since coming to England two years ago, it was that a lady must maintain decorum at all times. Even when her garter twisted so badly it pinched the sensitive skin at the back of her thigh. Hannah initially thought the pinched garter would resolve itself and continued on her way toward the grand drawing room where everyone was gathering to start off the weeklong party. Unfortunately, with each added stride, the discomfort increased.
By the time she decided to do something, she had reached the main level of the country house. Guests milled about in every direction as they greeted each other and began the endless socializing that would be expected during the visit. The idea of traversing back through so many curious gazes while pretending not to feel the agonizing pinch of her garter made the trek back to her guest bedroom seem like a journey of a thousand miles.
She would never make it.
Following one of her father’s oft-repeated rules— If your chosen path becomes impassable, simply change direction —Hannah looked about for other options.
That was when she recalled the location of a water closet along one of the hallways extending from the back of the grand hall. Sidling around the growing crowd, Hannah made her way one painful step after another toward the dimly lit corridor. The tour of the house she had been given earlier in the day had been extensive and she was fairly certain she remembered the way to the water closet.
She was wrong.
In a house like this, cobbled together over generations of additions and remodels, she soon got turned around by the myriad junctions and secondary hallways that branched off in every direction. Finally acknowledging her predicament, and frankly, because the pain of her garter would not allow another step, Hannah stopped and assessed her situation.
Hannah Walpole, daughter of two of the most experienced and extensive explorers of the African continent, had gotten herself lost in a house.
Certainly, it was a palatial estate made up of various wings and towers and other added structures that spread out over several acres.
But still…it was a house.
She stood in the middle of a short hallway, really just a passage that connected two other longer hallways, both of which Hannah had already been down with absolutely no evidence of a water closet. She was not opposed to finding an alternative room to use, but that meant she now had to retrace her path. And at the moment, she did not think she could move another step.
To test it, she gently shifted her weight. There was an immediate tightening of the garter and a quick gasp of pain.
“Bloody ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, then quickly glanced around.
Thank goodness, there was no one about to hear her crude curse or witness her humiliating degradation. As the thought finished in her mind, Hannah realized an added benefit of that fact. She stilled to listen for any nearby movement.
She was quite alone.
After only the briefest hesitation, she grasped her skirts and flipped them up to her hip as she reached down the back of her leg for the offending clasp. The farther she reached, the more strain was put on her leg and the tighter the damned thing pinched.
She muttered another furious curse and straightened with a grunt of pain.
“May I be of some assistance?” Though the words offered aid, the deep masculine tone suggested amusement.
Hannah dropped her skirts over her legs and whipped her head toward the voice. The swift movement caused another sting of pain and another sharp inhalation. The lighting was dim in the short passageway, but it was enough for Hannah to determine she now stood in the awkward presence of an extremely attractive gentleman.
She
Lancashire, England 1815
Hannah Walpole had never in her life faced such an unique and exasperating challenge. And that was saying something since she had been in some harrowing situations in her twenty years of life.
If there was one thing she had learned since coming to England two years ago, it was that a lady must maintain decorum at all times. Even when her garter twisted so badly it pinched the sensitive skin at the back of her thigh. Hannah initially thought the pinched garter would resolve itself and continued on her way toward the grand drawing room where everyone was gathering to start off the weeklong party. Unfortunately, with each added stride, the discomfort increased.
By the time she decided to do something, she had reached the main level of the country house. Guests milled about in every direction as they greeted each other and began the endless socializing that would be expected during the visit. The idea of traversing back through so many curious gazes while pretending not to feel the agonizing pinch of her garter made the trek back to her guest bedroom seem like a journey of a thousand miles.
She would never make it.
Following one of her father’s oft-repeated rules— If your chosen path becomes impassable, simply change direction —Hannah looked about for other options.
That was when she recalled the location of a water closet along one of the hallways extending from the back of the grand hall. Sidling around the growing crowd, Hannah made her way one painful step after another toward the dimly lit corridor. The tour of the house she had been given earlier in the day had been extensive and she was fairly certain she remembered the way to the water closet.
She was wrong.
In a house like this, cobbled together over generations of additions and remodels, she soon got turned around by the myriad junctions and secondary hallways that branched off in every direction. Finally acknowledging her predicament, and frankly, because the pain of her garter would not allow another step, Hannah stopped and assessed her situation.
Hannah Walpole, daughter of two of the most experienced and extensive explorers of the African continent, had gotten herself lost in a house.
Certainly, it was a palatial estate made up of various wings and towers and other added structures that spread out over several acres.
But still…it was a house.
She stood in the middle of a short hallway, really just a passage that connected two other longer hallways, both of which Hannah had already been down with absolutely no evidence of a water closet. She was not opposed to finding an alternative room to use, but that meant she now had to retrace her path. And at the moment, she did not think she could move another step.
To test it, she gently shifted her weight. There was an immediate tightening of the garter and a quick gasp of pain.
“Bloody ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, then quickly glanced around.
Thank goodness, there was no one about to hear her crude curse or witness her humiliating degradation. As the thought finished in her mind, Hannah realized an added benefit of that fact. She stilled to listen for any nearby movement.
She was quite alone.
After only the briefest hesitation, she grasped her skirts and flipped them up to her hip as she reached down the back of her leg for the offending clasp. The farther she reached, the more strain was put on her leg and the tighter the damned thing pinched.
She muttered another furious curse and straightened with a grunt of pain.
“May I be of some assistance?” Though the words offered aid, the deep masculine tone suggested amusement.
Hannah dropped her skirts over her legs and whipped her head toward the voice. The swift movement caused another sting of pain and another sharp inhalation. The lighting was dim in the short passageway, but it was enough for Hannah to determine she now stood in the awkward presence of an extremely attractive gentleman.
She
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