Free The Seventh Miss Hatfield by Anna Caltabiano Page A

liking.’
    Henley nodded, his eyes never leaving mine, and I found myself agreeing before too long. Our plans were set, and Henley and I would leave immediately after breakfast.
    On my way out of the house, I found myself drawn towards the parlour. My feet stopped in front of the painting and I had no choice but to look into the woman’s eyes. How could I have forgotten about it so quickly? The portrait was the reason I was here. All I had to do was take it and leave. I couldn’t get tangled up in this world. All I had to do was grab the painting and leave.
    ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ I spun around as I heard a soft laugh from behind me. ‘It’s just me,’ Henley said, holding his hands up. ‘No need to be scared.’
    I didn’t bother telling him that it wasn’t him that scared me. It was the thought that someone had guessed my intention to steal the painting.
    ‘But enough admiring that dusty old thing. We’ve got a life to live, places to go, and the servants have to take that thing down anyway.’
    ‘They have to take it down? Why?’
    ‘My father wants to have it moved to our house in the country. God only knows where he’ll put it. It’s already stuffed with cobwebbed paintings and various antiques he can’t bear to part with once he buys them.’
    ‘So it’s coming with us?’
    ‘Well, not at the same time, naturally. It should arrive before us with our other things.’
    I exhaled, thankful I didn’t have to come up with an excuse to stay behind, but concerned that I was being railroaded into travelling with these people.
    ‘We’ve got to get going,’ he said. ‘The carriage is already out front waiting.’
    I huffed, trying to show him I wasn’t happy with this, but he just laughed and led me outside. ‘I don’t know why you’re agreeing to this,’ I said, scrunching up my dress while climbing into the back of the carriage. I didn’t know how ladies of this time put up with their skirts. I wondered why they didn’t have more cars either – Henley’s father said he owned one – but of course I kept my questions to myself.
    ‘What if I said that I’d like to see you in something pretty?’ His eyes twinkled as he settled into a seat directly in front of mine.
    ‘Then I’d ask you why you don’t think my current dress is pretty enough.’
    He laughed. ‘But you can’t go on wearing the same dress for months, or however long it is you intend to stay with us.’
    ‘What makes you think I’m planning to stay a while?’
    ‘A stranger comes into your home one night and impersonates your cousin. Why would you think she’ll leave anytime soon?’ He had a point, based on what he knew of me, but I didn’t want to think about spending months with these people.
    ‘Well, I wish as much as you do that I could go home.’
    ‘I don’t wish you to go away,’ he said slowly. ‘I just want to know more about you.’ He tapped the outside of the carriage twice and it started moving.
    ‘And that’s the one thing I can’t tell you anything about. I can only tell you who I’m not.’
    ‘Then why this house? Why us?’
    ‘Would you be disappointed to know that it has nothing to do with you or your father? It has nothing to do with your family or your house.’ That wasn’t true, of course, but I didn’t want him to work out the real reason for my arrival.
    ‘Then what made you come here?’ he asked, sounding as if he really wanted to know; as if he cared.
    ‘I can’t tell you,’ I said. ‘It’s too close to the truth.’
    ‘The truth?’ he asked, as if he already knew the answer.
    ‘Yes, my truth.’
    ‘Then I’m free to analyse who you’re not,’ he decided.
    I nodded, fearing what he might say and, simultaneously, what he might not.
    ‘You aren’t from around here.’
    ‘Why do you suppose that?’ I asked him.
    ‘You looked afraid when the carriage started moving and then quickly concealed your fright, as if you were trying to hide it from me.’ He was