Second Chances; A Regency Story (For Anna)

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

(((This author wishes to apologize profusely for the first four paragraphs. Dare refused to be labeled a cheater for everything in the wishing well!)))


It was the Year of our Lord Eighteen-Hundred and Twelve when the Duke of Hardt passed away. Society mourned fiercely, but none more than the man he had named as his second. The duel was over the honor of a girl, the Duke's sister, who had been accosted at a dinner party by a guest who never should have been invited. The man died, but not without one final shot from a pistol hidden at his side.

The Duke's second was no fighter but an artist and the Duke's poorest-kept secret. The Haute Ton knew that the two were lovers, that the eccentric young man found his home at the Hardt Manor for more than the exquisite paintings he turned out of the grounds, the forest, and the very girl whose brother had lost his life defending.

It was a scandal when word spread that the dukedom had not passed to a cousin or nephew. A young boy with dark red hair and stunning hazel eyes the two passed off as the Duke's ward was named Marquis of Hardt and was to become the future Duke. And the artist, Alasdair Blackwood by name, was his legal guardian, as well as that of the girl.

For months little was heard from Hardt Manor. It was said that the artist had taken to drinking, and the girl, who was only just blossoming into a lady, had seen no suitors. The household in its entirety wore their mourning for a full year and more.

In the Year of our Lord Eighteen-Hundred and fifteen, Alasdair Blackwood was once again seen gracing the streets of London. The Season was just at its beginning and the fashionable Hardt House there was bustling again. Trunk after trunk had been moved in and the staff had been hard at work beating rugs, dusting, and preparing for the odd family's residence.

Alasdair himself was a strange fellow, tall and lanky, with black hair only just long enough to tie into a queue at the nape of his neck. His suits were always quite fashionable, but marred by a black ribbon tied to his upper arm, further mourning he refused to shed. He walked with a quick step, a remarkable cane at his side for naught but decoration. One might describe him as a dandy but for his size, his manner, and the pleasant way that his breeches clung to his thighs. He was a contradiction in and of itself, and Society's gaze followed after him wherever he went, along with a rapid whisper of interest.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Miss Annabelle Hennessy was back in London after spending several years secluded away in her family's country home. During her coming out and the following three years she had been a welcome addition to every guest list. Having the Viscount Goderich as her maternal Grandfather, her father second in line to an Earldom, and a considerably large dowry, her pool of suitors was always copious. It was a great shock when, after courting both the Duke of Hardt and the Duke of Firebrand, along with having several other worthy gentlemen dance attendance on her, Miss Annabelle departed mid-season without accepting a single offer.

What she would never allow the Ton to guess, was that she had been heartbroken not once, not twice, but three times during her years as a young debutante. She knew her flight and absence from London caused a stir and her return would bring speculation back into every drawing room she entered, but it could not be helped. Her much younger sister should have had her coming-out last year but they had been finishing a year of morning for their beloved mother. Annabelle had been more than willing to put off the inevitable for another year now that she had no choice but to appear as a chaperone among the Ton.

On their second day in London, they were settled into their father's town house and making their rounds on bond street. Nearly finished, the footmen loaded with boxes, Anna and Elizabeth were burdened with a few of their purchases as they waited to cross the street to view the parasols displayed in a shop window. They had just begun across during a break in traffic when a young whelp and his high-strung horses pulled away from the curb without so much as a glance in Annabelle's direction. She let out a screech as the lad took notice and tugged on the reins, causing the skittish pair of grays to flash their hooves dangerously near.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

The shriek of the horses was more than enough to draw Alasdair's attention. He turned, and without a thought stepped into the street, raising his cane arm in reflex so that it held the ladies from further motion, or worse from toppling over their packages.

"Whoah!" he called, his deep voice resonating with authority. The grays pawed the air, and as Alasdair stepped forward again, he caught loose reins and pulled tight. "Whoah!" The horses whinnied and reared, but he pulled again, the wild turning of one large head pulling him nearer. His cane clattered to the cobbled street as he reached with both hands, crying out as a sharp hoof struck him near the center of his chest. He grimaced but pulled again, and as the horses gave in, as they lowered themselves to the ground, the young man who had controlled his cattle so poorly snatched the reins away and turned them into the street.

The crowd scattered, parting to save themselves a fate similar to that of the man now gasping for breath. His leather-clad hand was pressed to the wound, but already blood was seeping through his fine waistcoat. He wavered unsteadily, then sat heavily on the ground. "My hat is ruined," he lamented, eying the crushed top hat. It was the least of his troubles, but one on which he could look back with some humor later. For now, he closed his eyes and fell back, the blow to his heart and loss of blood too great.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle had stood speechless in shock, staring as the beasts attacked her tall rescuer. As soon as the horses were gone and he descended to the ground she dropped her things and rushed to his side. The spreading stain on the front was held back little by his large limp hands. "Dear God."

She hoped he wasn't quite unconscious and tried to rouse him by shaking his shoulder, "Sir! Please!" Other than a slight groan there was no response. She knew she had to stop the flow and fast. Looking around she barked at her sister to hand her a package containing a new wrap. Not caring for propriety, she undid the buttons of his waistcoat and worked his shirt until she could place the fine topaz cloth against the gaping wound and apply pressure.

She knew he needed a physician fast and without knowing the gentleman's name her only choice was to bring him the few blocks to her house. One of her proficient footman had sensed her need and already hailed a hackney. With the help of the other they were able to get him on a seat and settled enough for Annabelle to be able to hold pressure on the wound the short ride to her residence. She left the others at the scene to make their own way home and relied on her staff once arriving home. Her butler and Housekeeper more than proved themselves worthy and before long the mystery savior was settled into one of the biggest beds in the house bandaged up and her father's physician assured her he would survive as long as infection did not arise.

Finding herself alone with the still-unconscious man, Annabelle couldn't help but look over the masculine form laying on the pristine white sheets. She listened to his steady breathing and couldn't resist brushing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. She sat back in her chair that had been moved to sit beside him and did the only thing she could, wait and watch for any sign of stirring.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

It was some time before Alasdair began rising toward fitful consciousness. "Bastard," he murmured, the loving tone it was spoken in at complete odds to the vulgarity of the word. One corner of his lips curved, a hint of a roguish grin which melted into a grimace as he began to move. A groan of pain rolled from his throat, and one hand rose to clutch at his chest, the firmly-wrapped bandage holding against his fingers.

"Gilda?" He blinked his eyes open, mossy green ringed in deeper forest green and framed by thick, dark lashes. His brows drew together at the unfamiliar scene and he tried to recall exactly where he was, most especially since he made no habit of frequenting strange boudoirs.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle sat the embroidery the maid had fetched her onto the basket on the floor. She scooted to the edge of her chair and leaned close to the stirring man. Bastard? Gilda? She could only assume the man was not fully in his right mind yet. She caught her breath as his gorgeous eyes appeared to complement the rest of his features that she had paid so much attention to the last few hours. It took only a moment for her to shake herself free of the spell and back to reality.

"Wonderful Sir, you're awake. Try not to move too much, you've had a nasty wound and the doctor said you mustn't aggravate the stitching." She instinctively placed one of her soft petite hands on his shoulder as if to hold him in place, only to quickly remove it as if the warm flesh to flesh contact had burned her. She folded her hands in her lap and noticing the confused look on his face tried to remember some of her manners. "You're at the Hennessy Residence, I brought you here after that horse nearly killed us."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

"The grays," Alasdair said, his gaze resting on the woman so bold as to bring him into her home, and so daring as to touch him. His shoulder was hot in the place that her delicate hands had alighted, and he rested back into the pillows. When was the last time that he had been touched by a woman?

It was a strange and inappropriate thought, despite his makeshift nursemaid's age. She was no blushing débutante, but a woman at the height of beauty, all graceful lines without the childlike features of her younger counterparts. And again, he was lost to his imaginations. They were, on occasion, more curse than blessing.

"Miss... Hennessy, I presume?" he asked, his eyes deep with apparent concern. "If you will pardon my impertinence, might I ask... have you my cane?" That corner of his lips twitched with repressed humor, even now.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle nodded in reply to both questions before shifting her gaze across the bed to the small pile of belongings. His cane which the footman had collected along with her purchases was the only thing in the pile that had survived. His clothes were no longer fit to be rags and his hat was a horrible disgrace. She grimaced and gestured to his possessions.

"Miss Annabelle Hennessy at your service. Unfortunately everything else was ruined when you jumped in to save me and my sister. I'm terribly sorry Mister ......" She looked back at him, her deep chocolate eyes meeting his green and waited, hoping to finally have a name to put to the face she feared would haunt her in her dreams.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

"Blackwood," Alasdair breathed. He caught himself and cleared his throat, a terrible habit he had never quite rid himself of. "I would be most appreciative if a note were sent to Hardt House in Mayfair. Two youths are in residence who may be concerned for my absence." His own concern overcame the attempt at humor he had shown only moments before. He knew that propriety required him to leave them behind with their governess and tutors, but he could not bear to be without them.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle's eyebrows had wrinkled together at the name, she had heard it before but couldn't place it. Her look of concentration was quickly replaced by shock as he continued. Hardt. Of course she had heard the rumors. Even with her seclusion in the country, her mother had danced attendance on the ton every season and had shared many on dits with her daughter. Naturally Mrs. Hennessy had been especially eager to share any news of past suitors with Annabelle, including the scandals involving His Grace, The Duke of Hardt.

Had she been thinking she wouldn't have sat there staring, but she couldn't help but question if this was indeed the man the rumors had been referring to. She had brushed off all she'd heard as exaggerated lies, but here was a man before her, a very appealing man at that, and he was telling her that he was connected to the Duke of Hardt's wards.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Alasdair knew that look quite well. The shocked stare that often preceded light coughs and the word poof murmured behind his back. Inwardly he sighed. It was to be expected.

"I am sorry to have troubled you, Miss Hennessy," he said, the words heavy with resignation. He repressed the grimace he felt to his core as he moved to sit, taking mental stock of himself and his limbs. His trousers were in place, at the least, and so the greatest impropriety, his bare chest, had come while he was asleep. The lady seemed to have no issue with the sight of his body.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle was drawn back from her thoughts by the sound of his voice and it took but a minute to register what he was implying. A faint red tint spread across her cheeks and she felt so ashamed of herself for her actions. Here was a man that honorably saved her life mere hours ago and he was now apologizing for being a trouble?

"No, please don't say that. It is I that owe you more than I can ever repay. I was merely shocked; it's been years since I've heard of His Grace and simply was caught off guard." She rambled on as she made her way to the bell pull, eager to show a measure of good faith by complying with his simple enough request. "Would you like me to pen a note from you personally to send with a footman?"

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Alasdair's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach the sadness in his eyes. "Thank you, Miss Hennessy, but I believe that I am strong enough to return to Hardt House if you'll only summon a carriage on my behalf." He needed to return to the children. News spread quickly, and if either overheard the servants' idle chatter as they were wont to, the other would be certain to hear as well.

"If I have distressed you, please accept my humblest apologies," he went on. "I have done nothing more for you than any gentleman with reckless disregard to the state of his wardrobe might have done."

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle offered up a smile at his jest. "Regardless it was very fortunate on my part that you were passing by and I would feel awful sending you back to His Grace in such condition. What if your stitches break midway? And surely the jolting of the carriage ride will cause unnecessary pain." Concern for him shone in her eyes as she begged him to reconsider his hasty decision to leave. She would never forgive herself for being such a poor hostess if her rusty social skills caused an injured man to flee her presence.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Alasdair released a heavy breath. "Your point is well-taken, Miss Hennessy," he admitted. The children would fare better if he were absent a night than if he took a turn for the worse and died at home. He looked to the woman, and a moment of observation told him that she was genuine. "A letter, then," he assented. "Two, if it isn't much trouble. I'll have a change of clothes sent as well." It felt so cold and businesslike, considering his state of dress.