Second Chances; A Regency Story (For Anna)

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Anna's eyes darted to Alasdair's bare flesh at the mention of clothes before quickly diverting her gaze. It was highly improper, even at her age and spinster status, to be alone with a half naked man and she knew it. At a tap on the door, Annabelle requested the maid bring her letter writing set and a fresh service of tea.

When the girl was gone again Annabelle made her way back across the expanse of floor to his side while they waited. She tried to keep her gaze above his neck, but her eyes kept shifting to the flesh and bandages that were no longer partially covered by the sheets. "Yes of course we will have anything brought that you desire. I do apologize for the clothing, I tried to find you something but my father is a much shorter man and there was nothing to fit...." She gestured with a wave of her hand to the expanse of his shoulders and long torso.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Alasdair attempted to ignore the growing tension in the room, but it was near impossible to do. Michael had been gone some three years now and not once had he visited the bed of another. He was no longer taunted by the desperations of youth, but the coldness of night and the emptiness of his arms made him weary.

"I understand," he said, holding back whatever thoughts might have been triggered in his mind by the path of her gaze. "My tailor adores the added expenses." He considered lying down once more, the ache from his wound spreading as he sat, but was determined to handle his own correspondences if at all possible.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Luckily a footman saved her from responding by appearing with the necessary items to compose the letters. Taking them and dismissing the help, she glanced at Alasdair as if to determine if he was well enough to write for himself. "I can transcribe the letter if you wish?" She was reluctant to offer her help; she assumed whatever correspondence he would send the the Hardt residence would be of a personal nature. Although she was highly curious she had a feeling it would be quite awkward for them both. Annabelle scanned his face, trying to read the gentleman's thoughts on the subject.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

"Thank you, Miss Hennessy," Alasdair said, "but I should think myself quite well enough to write." The ache in his chest was deepening and he knew that he should lie back again, but two brief notes needed penned. He accepted her writing box with the necessary thanks and gazed down at the fine parchment, then brought quill to ink and ink to paper.

He wrote with large flourishes, one note a matter of a few concise lines. The other was written more carefully, with less decoration, though the removal of decoration was forced in an effort at neatness and ease of reading. He paused at the finish of the second note, and after a moment's thought, the quill began to move in a series of short strokes and curves.

A picture formed at the bottom of the page, and the moment it was done, a small scene too minute to make out from a distance, he was blotting it and readying it to fold.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle sat in her chair trying hard not to unnerve him by paying attention to what he was writing. Realistically there was nothing else to focus her attention on, so she could only try her best to avert her eyes as much as humanly possible. She caught enough to know that the first letter was very short, and completely contrasting to the second letter, which Alasdair seemed to take great care in composing. She was mesmerized by his actions as he began to draw a picture, Even though she couldn't make out the sketch it triggered a memory of those long-ago rumors. "You're an artist aren't you? A painter I believe?"

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Alasdair looked up from his work, and his eyes met those of the woman he'd nearly forgotten in his concentration. "Not the most respected of professions, but yes." It had been three years since he had last completed a painting. He told himself now and then that he needed to branch out, to accept commissions, but he hadn't the heart to do so when he had yet to finish those he had begun for himself.

"Do you have an interest in such things?" he asked. She was a lady, obviously of high standing if the quality of her simply-made clothes and the room's decor were any sign. Yet so much of Society only spared a passing glance for a fine painting. They decided in a look whether they liked it, then moved on.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

"I love looking at art, but I am far from being an aficionada. I gave up on watercolors myself within a week of instruction. I've been fortunate enough to have a father with a decent collection, and I used to visit the museums whenever I could get a party together during my seasons." Annabelle flashed the gentleman a playful smile. Her interest in art was purely in the pleasure of beautiful things and to even compare that interest with that of an artist was ridiculous.

"I however must disagree with you on the respectability of painting. I know far too many peers that waste away their time and money are far less worthy pursuits." It was a low blow to many of the male species of the ton, but well deserved. She had turned down several offers from fortune hunters that thought money was meant to be wasted at gaming hells and other establishments not to be mentioned in mixed company.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Alasdair arched an eyebrow as he set the writing supplies aside. "It is rare to meet a man of such intelligence, let alone a woman willing to speak such truths," he said. Those leisure pursuits were seen as a necessity by so many vapid young misses and careless rogues that he forgot from time to time that he was not the only one who watched the whole from a jaded distance.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle gave a light laugh at his words. "Perhaps I have been away for too long. I do hope Elizabeth will make a good match this season so i won't have to act the proper chaperone more than necessary. I'm sure my loose tongue and insightful comments will get me nothing but scorn in the parlors and ballrooms I shortly will be gracing." She let out an exaggeratedly resigned sigh while trying to hide her grin. "Society can be so fastidious."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Alasdair would have asked Miss Hennessy then who Elizabeth was, a young friend taken under her wing, perhaps. It was not his business to know, however, and so he kept his curiosity bottled and tightly corked. "Society is a necessary evil," he said, treading the line of propriety only because he half expected her to agree. In more fastidious company, the words would have been offensive.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

"Do you reside in London for most of the year then?" Annabelle chose not to directly comment on his remark. It might be necessary for the society to exist as a whole, but that did not mean that she had to subject herself to the tedious torture of it's daily existence. She much preferred to remain in the country where her every move was not dissected. "This is my sister Elizabeth's first season in the capital, and my first return since I was one and twenty. I must say we weren't expecting nearly as much excitement on our first day out."

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

Alasdair's eyes were inscrutable at the thought. He could not help holding a bit of anger for the lad with the spirited grays, but could not seem to wish it away. His days had become routine and however terrible an occurrence it was, this was the most excitement he had seen in recent memory which didn't involve the children. "This is my first visit to London in some years," he said, though he was saved further explanation by the appearance of a maid. She had brought tea and a light meal, and left with his letters.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle did her duty as hostess and poured the tea. She positioned the tray of food for him then sat down with her own cup and made light conversation about plans for the season. She would make sure that he had eaten and was properly settled before leaving to allow him to get his rest. As much as he intrigued her and she wouldn't mind keeping him company, she wanted to make sure he was comfortable and healing properly.

[Dare Blackwood-Hardt]

___________________________________________________________________

For two days after Alasdair returned home he had little time to think of all that had happened. Cara had played nursemaid to the tender bruise on his chest and Aidan had wanted vivid retellings of the accident. With each telling, the tale grew, until at last it wasn't a horse but a mythical griffin which had struck him down, and he had saved not a pair of ladies, but a princess and her handmaiden. Finally, the boy was satisfied, as was the girl, and he was allowed some moments of private silence.

On the third morning, Alasdair left the children to their lessons and dressed carefully in front of the mirror. He rarely wished that he had a manservant; he could dress himself very well, thank you. However, he wished to look more polished today, and that was difficult with his limited repertoire of cravat folds. At last he had to consider himself well finished. He hadn't all day to dandy himself up.

All the same, when he rapped on a certain door and handed the butler his card, the man looked at him in such a way as to imply surprise, though the man's face didn't change a muscle. Alasdair stood patiently at the door, checking the jaunty tilt of his new tall hat, then smoothing his fingertips over the head of his cane, waiting for a response.

[Annabelle Hennessy]

Annabelle was sitting in the morning room when her butler informed her of the visitor. Asking for Mr. Blackwood to be shown into the Drawing room, she quickly set aside her copy of Lady Whistledown's Society Papers and reviewed her reflection in the convenient mirror. She tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach as she triple checked to make sure her hair and the simple white mob cap she wore were just so.

While she walked down the hall to the drawing room with it's doors opened wide, she reminded herself that Mr. Blackwood was the painter that lived at the Hardt residence. He was formerly the Duke of Hardt's lover. That, and the fact that she was far too set on the shelf to expect any suitors during her London stay, should have been enough to keep the thought of him calling to take her for a ride in the park out of her mind. It wasn't though, and she smoothed her hands over her dress as she entered the doorway. "Good morning Mr. Blackwood, I hope your health is returning?"