Pursuing Miss Hall by Karen Thornell
Chapter Eleven
“Margaret dear, Lord Hatfield has expressed an interest in seeing more of the house. Would you give him a tour?”
Meg looked up from where she had been quietly practicing the pianoforte. She was grateful for an excuse to stop but not exactly grateful for this particular excuse. And yet, she stood and curtsied to the various party members who had gathered in the drawing room that morning. The viscount smiled at her from his spot near Mama, who had made the request. His smile seemed, somehow, almost predatory. Mama’s seemed jubilant.
Meg felt sick.
“Of course, Lord Hatfield. Was there something in particular you wished to see?” She was fairly certain the housekeeper had given all the guests a tour on their first full day, but Meg did not mention this. She likely should have been involved in it anyway. Yet another of her failings during this party to add alongside being too good with numbers, straying too far from the house during the picnic, and losing her train of thought whenever she considered that moment in the garden with Nathan the day before. Which she did more often than she ought to.
The man waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing in particular. I would just very much like to see the house in greater detail.”
Meg attempted to regain the thread of conversation. There went her train of thought again.
“Splendid idea, Hatfield!” Mr. Evans broke in. “I should love to see the house through your eyes as well, Miss Hall.”
Mama pursed her lips, and Lord Hatfield glared at the man. Mr. Evans did not pay them any heed, striding across the room to smile at Meg with those teeth of his.
“Perhaps another ti—” Mama began, but Meg, in an entirely uncharacteristic break of conduct, cut her off.
“Certainly. Would anyone else like to join us?”
Mama’s lips grew more pinched, but she did not say anything. No one in the remaining group—Mr. Parking, Miss Evans and her parents, and Lady Hatfield—expressed an interest. Meg bit the inside of her cheek. Would having both Mr. Evans and Lord Hatfield on the tour prove disastrous, or was Meg right to ensure she was not alone again with the viscount?
“Splendid, splendid. Shall we be off?” Mr. Evans offered Meg his arm, and Lord Hatfield scowled. It was proving difficult to gain a grasp on the viscount’s personality. He was, in varying degrees, thoughtful, flippant, insistent, and now angry. Rather than frustrate him further, Meg pretended not to see Mr. Evans’s arm, and clasped her hands behind her back, walking to the door.
“Yes, please follow me.” With another break in propriety, she stepped out the door and headed for the stairs to the east wing without awaiting their company. The rooms in this wing, with the exception of the study, which she did not intend to show the men, ought to be well-known to the guests. Plus, starting on the next floor would shorten their tour.
“Mary,” Meg whispered to a maid before the gentlemen caught up. “Would you have Sarah find me in the east wing?” The maid nodded and scurried off, and Meg breathed a little easier knowing she would have a chaperone.
“Where are we off to first, Miss Hall?” Mr. Evans beamed when they reached her.
Meg glanced down the hall, hoping Sarah would hurry. “The library first, I think. Hall Manor boasts a beautiful one that was added just this century.”
Mr. Evans nodded, still smiling, and Meg began walking toward her proclaimed destination. A hand grasped her elbow, and she startled, turning to meet Lord Hatfield’s pleasant expression.
Except it didn’t feel very pleasant. He was smiling at her, not with as much gusto as Mr. Evans, but not with the predatory look from before. Yet Meg could only think of her total lack of feeling for the man. She felt nothing when she was with him. Nothing at his touch. No interest in his presence. Of its own accord, her mind conjured up an image of Nathan, her stomach twisting with pleasure at the memory of his warm hand against her cheek, his gray eyes steady on hers.
She batted away the thought. Nathan had only been jesting, as he generally was. Unfortunately, her responding feelings had been no jest. She resisted the urge to groan and instead smiled at the man beside her, allowing him to take her arm. This was what her parents wanted, what her brother needed, and what Meg should be content with.
“Miss Hall, is that a portrait gallery?” Mr. Evans’s voice floated back to them. He was standing outside the large set of doors beside the library entrance, looking curiously at them. “I confess, I am far more fascinated with pictures than with words. Might we walk through and perhaps see the library at a later time?”
Meg’s mind immediately returned to the day Nathan had offered to play lawn bowls with her in the portrait hall. She did not particularly want to show these gentlemen that room, but she couldn’t very well refuse. “Of course. Lead the way, Mr. Evans.”
Sarah appeared behind them, breathing slightly faster than usual. The maid did not say anything, and Meg did not draw attention to her. Lord Hatfield, however, took in her presence, then raised an eyebrow at Meg. Meg only smiled again, her cheeks beginning to feel the strain of her falseness. She inclined her head, indicating they should join Mr. Evans, and thankfully, the viscount responded, leading her in. Meg mouthed thank you to Sarah over her shoulder.
The maid bit her lip, hiding a grin, and dipped a curtsy. They all entered the gallery and spent nearly an hour detailing the history behind each portrait—at least ten minutes of which was spent hearing Mr. Evans’s accolades upon discovering a portrait of Meg done not two years before.