“You barely read us anything,” Lord Woodhall remarked, surprised that Lord Hanbrooke was not reading more.
“Have you any interest?” he asked.
At that, Lord Woodhall paused and then shook his head. “I fear not. But I am certainly very curious about the trollop that Arthur brought around,” he said with a laugh, knowing nothing at all about the book.
“It is so much more than that, I promise you,” Mary said.
“Then I think Crispin ought to keep reading. You are enjoying the book and it is clear that you still wish to hear more,” Lord Woodhall said.
“I agree. Just because Harry and I are not as interested does not mean that the two of you must lose this chance,” Sarah said, urging Mary with her eyes.
Mary could see exactly what Sarah wanted. It was painfully clear; she obviously wished for Mary to push forward and encourage Lord Hanbrooke to bond with her. Indeed, Mary wanted little else.
She was taken aback by this man, more than she had ever expected. Even now, she could not seem to take her eyes off him. He was lovely and she was delighted to hear the book read by his deep, gentle voice.
There really was something musical to his tone as he continued, reading about Tabitha running from the room and plotting her revenge. Although the story was tense and challenging, his soothing tone made it more bearable. It engendered more empathy than when Mary had simply been reading it alone to herself.
There was a strange sort of intimacy she felt building between herself and Lord Hanbrooke. As they sat there, their hands so close to touching, she wondered if this could be a beginning for them. So long as her aunt did not catch them, what more could happen?
Was it possible that he would come to care for her as she was growing to care for him? Or would everything fall apart as soon as Lady Rachel discovered that they had begun to bond?
More than anything, Mary wondered if she would have the chance to listen to his voice in the future. If Miss Anne was going to help her decide whether or not this was the right man for her, she needed to make the effort to do so quickly.
There were plenty of other gentlemen around at the picnic, but not one of them intrigued Mary so much as Lord Hanbrooke.
There was no one else present whom she found as handsome, no one she found as interesting. And there was no one else there who would become emotional at the thought of a book character grieving.
And despite his sensitivity, Lord Hanbrooke was also devastatingly masculine. He was strong and she sensed he was a fierce and loyal protector. He was someone she could trust to look after her if she needed help.
Mary smiled, noticing how lovely he was when he read. But when she glanced at Sarah, she realised something was definitely amiss.
Mary turned to look in the direction Sarah was staring with worry. Just beyond the garden gate, Mary saw her stepmother glaring at her. She was walking over with determination in her footsteps and fire in her eyes. Mary knew that she was in trouble, but it was too late to stop it.
She had been caught.