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“Yes, I’m afraid a rather significant impediment has arisen in our plans, but my goodness, is this truly Lord Hawke I see before me? I can scarcely believe my eyes!”
If the comment had come from anyone other than Lady Goodall it might have sounded like a reprimand, but she was all kindness and graciousness, and the smile she offered Lord Hawke was sweetness itself.
“Lady Goodall. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Lord Hawke bowed over Lady Goodall’s hand, then straightened again, a smile on his lips that utterly transformed his face.
Helena stared at him. This wasn’t the surly Lord Hawke that had helped free her from the tree, or the distant Lord Hawke who regarded his sons with a strange sort of detached confusion, as if he’d never laid eyes on them before, nor was it the angry Lord Hawke who’d shouted at her after that fiasco on the staircase.
This was a Lord Hawke she’d only ever had the briefest glimpse of before, the Lord Hawke who lurked beneath the unhappy man she’d encountered on the drive a week ago. Perhaps he didn’t realize it yet, but Hawke’s Run was good for him. He was happy here.
“You remember my niece, of course, my.” Lady Goodall drew Lady Anne forward.
“Of course. I believe she pushed me into the pond once when we were children.” He bowed over Lady Anne’s dainty hand. “How do you do, my lady?”
“As I remember it, I pushed you into the pond because you threw a fish at me, and dirtied my new blue frock.”
He laughed. “Dreadful! I’m surprised you didn’t drown me.”
“Never. It’s lovely to see you, Lord Hawke.” Lady Anne smiled, her cheeks flushing a becoming pink.
“Indeed, my lord, it truly is wonderful to see you in Steeple Barton again. I do hope you intend to stay for a while? Oh, and I must congratulate you on finding such an excellent governess for your sons! We think the world of Miss Templeton, do we not, Anne?”
Lady Anne gave Helena a warm smile. “Indeed, we do, Aunt.”
“Well, we’d best go inside, hadn’t we? We have rather a lot to discuss today.” Lady Goodall took Lord Hawke’s arm, and he escorted her inside.
“My goodness, Lord Hawke is a handsome gentleman, isn’t he?” Lady Anne took Helena’s arm, her pretty face alight with interest. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen him. Does he not come to church on Sundays?”
Lady Anne wasn’t one who listened totongossip, it seemed. “He only just arrived at Hawke’s Run from London last week, my lady.”
“Oh. Well, it’s lovely of him to take an interest in the Ladies’ Benevolent Society’s doings. Not many gentlemen do, I’m afraid.”
“No. I confess I’m quite surprised he came this morning.” It was the very last thing she would have expected of him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d surprised her, was it?
Nearly every lady in Steeple Barton was a member of the Benevolent Society, so the anteroom to one side of the chapel was crowded with nearly two dozen women, all of them chattering at once. Lady Codswaddle was holding forth on some topic or other, as she tended to do, while poor Miss Fanning scurried about, trying to find chairs for everyone.
But when Lord Hawke walked in with Lady Goodall, every head turned in their direction, and little by little the chatter ceased, and the room plunged into silence. Some of the ladies merely stared at him curiously, but some appeared to recognize him, and began whispering to each other.
Lady Goodall didn’t pay any mind to them, but gave Lord Hawke’s arm a little pat, and took her place at the head of the room. “Good afternoon, ladies. Christmas day draws near, and we’ve a good deal to accomplish still if we’re to turn a tidyprofit for the St. Mary’s Poor Fund. Before we begin, however, I must?—”
“What’s to be done about the Christmas pies, my lady?” Lady Codswaddle’s nasal voice rose about the chatter. “Mrs. Holcroft always makes them, but she’s been called away to her daughter in Tidmington, and I don’t see how we’re to have a Christmas fete without Christmas pies.”
“My dear Lady Codswaddle, there’s no need to fret. The Christmas pie crisis will be addressed, I assure you, but we’ve a more pressing problem to deal with first.”
“I can’t think what could be more pressing than Christmas pies.” Lady Codswaddle drew herself up with an important sniff. “Why, it’s not Christmas at all without?—”
“The ballroom at Goodall Abbey has flooded,” Lady Goodall interrupted. “I’m very sorry for it, ladies, but the floors were destroyed, and they’ll all have to be torn out. It’s going to take months, and that means the Christmas fete can’t be held at Goodall Abbey.”
A gasp went up.
“Not be held at Goodall Abbey! But the St. Mary’s Ladies’ Benevolent Society’s Annual Christmas Fete always takes place at Goodall Abbey!” Lady Codswaddle shrieked. “It’stradition.”
“I’m aware of that, but there’s nothing to be done.” Lady Goodall gave a helpless shrug. “We’ll simply have to find another place this year.”
“Thereisn’tany other place! Goodall Abbey is the only residence with a ballroom large enough to accommodate us! Oh dear, oh dear, this is dreadful, indeed!” Lady Codswaddle fumbled in her reticule for a handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. “We’ll have to cancel the fete!”
“Cancel it! We can’t cancel it!” Miss Fanning wailed. “What’s to become of the Poor Fund if we cancel it?”
“Well, the poor will simply have to manage for themselves, won’t they?” Lady Codswaddle snapped. “The fete is only five days away! We’ll never find a place on such short notice.”