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disagreeable, mean old man. So old he was ... dead , she suddenly realized.
    And this man was his heir.
    Henry Forster. She recognized the name, but the man who stood before her was not someone to whom she had been introduced at a ball or musicale. Lady Charlotte had spoken of him. She knew him from her youth. Nearby estates, or some such. “And I am Lady Hannah Slater,” she stated, shaking herself from her brief reverie. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her mind raced. Had he only come to the parlor because of the music? He’d called on her father. Their business must be complete. “Would you care to join me for tea?” she wondered, a bit surprised she would invite him, but if she did not, she was afraid he would take his leave of Devonville House, and she’d never see him again.
    Stunned at the invitation – he was alone with her in the parlor, with not a footman nor a maid in sight to act as chaperone – Henry cocked his head to one side. He wasn’t about to question his good luck. “I would be honored,” he replied with a nod.
      
    Hannah dipped her head in return and moved to the bell pull. “I thought perhaps I would have had another morning caller by now, so it shan’t be long.”
    Henry remembered what the marquess had said about her earlier caller being her ‘other best friend.’
    “Won’t you take a seat?” she offered, waving to the only chair her father would sit in when he was in the parlor.
    Hannah made sure to sit in an adjacent chair with a low table in front. She watched as Henry took the proffered chair. He seemed nervous, as if it was the first time he was alone in a room with a lady. “Did you have business with my father?” she asked, not sure how else to start the conversation.
    Henry considered the question. “Something like that. I find him quite ... agreeable,” he offered, daring to look at her as he made the assessment.
    About to respond, Hannah waved toward the parlor door. A maid rolled the tea cart into the room, her eyes widening a bit at the sight of her mistress with a man and apparently no other servant in the room. She placed the silver tray with the pot and cups on the low table in front of Hannah along with a plate of lemon biscuits. “Did you by chance bring a biscuit for the dog?” Hannah wondered, hoping the mention of the hairy beast would put to rest any qualms the maid might have at leaving Hannah alone with the visitor.
    “Aye, milady,” the maid replied, her voice sounding ever so relieved at the mention of the dog. She placed a plate with an odd looking brown shape onto the table next to the biscuits.
    “Thank you. That will be all,” Hannah said by way of dismissal. Turning to the earl, she asked, “How do you take your tea, my lord?” as she lifted a cup and saucer.
    “Gisborn,” Henry stated emphatically. At Hannah’s widened eyes, he wondered if he had erred in insisting she use his name so soon after their introduction. “No sugar, a bit of cream,” he added. He dared a glance in the dog’s direction. “Will Harold be joining us, milady?”
    Hannah was pouring the cream and did not see the glint in Henry’s eye as he asked about the dog. She wondered how he knew her pet’s name. Did Father talk about Harold with him? She lifted her gaze to his as she handed him the tea. “I’m sure he would love to, that is, if you were not asking in jest.”
    Henry smiled. “I was not,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Unless I have taken his chair, in which case I should like the opportunity to move to another before we invite him.”
    Smiling at his joke, Hannah turned her attention on her pet. “Would you like a biscuit, Harold?”
    The Alpenmastiff raised his head in surprise. A very small but deep ‘woof’ erupted before the beast raised his entire body off the floor, a move that seemed to take a great deal of effort and at least two or three whines before he lumbered over to Hannah’s side. He appeared to notice