A Wallflower Christmas (Wallflowers #5)(15)

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THAT MR. BOWMAN WAS SO HANDSOME,” Natalie said after supper. The hour was late, and the long journey from London, followed by a lengthy repast, had left both girls exhausted. They had retired to their room while the company downstairs lingered over tea and port.

Although the menu had been exquisite, featuring dishes such as roasted capon stuffed with truffles, and herb-crusted standing ribs of beef, supper had been an uncomfortable affair for Hannah. She was well aware of her own disheveled appearance, having found barely enough time to wash and change into a fresh gown before she’d had to dash to the dining hall. To her dismay, Lord Westcliff had persisted in asking her questions about Samuel Clark’s work, which had drawn more unwanted attention to her. And all the while Rafe Bowman had kept glancing at her with a kind of audacious, unsettling interest that she could only interpret as mockery.

Forcing her thoughts back to the present, Hannah watched as Natalie sat before the vanity and pulled the combs and pins from her hair. “I suppose Mr. Bowman could be considered attractive,” Hannah said reluctantly. “If one likes that sort of man.”

“You mean the tall, dark-haired, dazzling sort?”

“He’s not dazzling,” Hannah protested.

Natalie laughed. “Mr. Bowman is one of the most splendidly formed men I have ever encountered. What flaw could you possibly find in his appearance?”

“His posture,” Hannah muttered.

“What about it?”

“He slouches.”

“He’s an American. They all slouch. The weight of their wallets drags them over.”

Hannah couldn’t prevent a laugh. “Natalie, are you more attracted by the man himself or the size of his wallet?”

“He has many personal attractions, to be sure. A full head of hair…those lovely dark eyes…not to mention the impressive physique.” Natalie picked up a brush and drew it slowly through her hair. “But I wouldn’t want him if he was poor.”

“Is there any man you would want if he was poor?” Hannah asked.

“Well, if I had to be poor, I’d rather be married to a peer. That’s far better than being a nobody.”

“I doubt Mr. Bowman will ever be poor,” Hannah said. “He seems to have acquitted himself quite well in his financial dealings. He is a successful man, though I fear not an honorable one.”

“Oh, he’s a rascal, to be sure,” Natalie agreed with a light laugh.

Tensing, Hannah met her cousin’s gaze in the mirror. “Why do you say that? Has he said or done anything inappropriate?”

“No, and I don’t expect him to, with the betrothal still on the table. But he has a sort of perpetual irreverence…one wonders if he could ever be sincere about anything at all.”

“Perhaps it’s a fa?ade,” Hannah suggested without conviction. “Perhaps he’s a different man inside.”

“Most people don’t have fa?ades,” Natalie said dryly. “Oh, everyone thinks they do, but when you dig past the fa?ade, there’s only more fa?ade.”

“Some people are genuine.”

“And those people are the dullest ones of all.”

“I’m genuine,” Hannah protested.

“Yes. You’ll have to work on that, dear. When you’re genuine, there’s no mystery. And above all men like mystery in a woman.”

Hannah smiled and shook her head. “Duly noted. I’m off to bed now.” After changing into a white ruffled nightgown, she went into the little antechamber and crawled into the clean soft bed. After a moment, she heard Natalie murmur, “Good night, dear,” and the lamp was extinguished.

Tucking one arm beneath her pillow, Hannah lay on her side and pondered Natalie’s words.

There was no doubt that Natalie was rightHannah had nothing close to an air of mystery.

She also had no noble blood, no dowry, no great beauty, no skill or abilities that might distinguish her. And aside from the Blandfords, she had no notable connections. But she had a warm heart and a good mind, and decent looks. And she had dreams, attainable ones, of having a home and family of her own someday.

It had not escaped Hannah that in Natalie’s privileged world, people expected to find happiness and love outside of marriage. But her fondest wish for Natalie was that she would end up with a husband with whom she could share some likeness of mind and heart.

And at this point, it was still highly questionable as to whether Rafe Bowman even had a heart.

CHAPTER 6

While Westcliff shared cigars with Lord Blandford, Rafe went with his father to have a private conversation. They proceeded to the library, a large and handsome room that was two stories high, with mahogany bookshelves housing over ten thousand volumes. A sideboard had been built into a niche to make it flush with the bookshelves.

Rafe was thankful to see that a collection of bottles and decanters had been arranged on the sideboard’s marble top. Feeling the need for something stronger than port, he found the whisky decanter. “A double?” he suggested to his father, who nodded and grunted in assent.

Rafe had always hated talking with his father. Thomas Bowman was the kind of man who determined other people’s minds for them, believing that he knew them better than they knew themselves. Since early childhood Rafe had endured being told what his thoughts and motivations were, and then being punished for them. It hardly seemed to matter whether he had done something good or bad. It had only mattered what light his father had decided to cast his actions in.