6. Parting

Will waited. He waited until he was shivering with cold, fingers almost numb. He waited until the sounds of laughter and carousing grew muted, a sure sign that the guests were beginning to succumb to the rigours of the evening. But Hannibal did not return. Perhaps, Will thought forlornly as he blew on his hands, he had been somehow prevented.

Or perhaps he has remembered that you are the illegitimate offspring of a mere country squire.

Old familiar sick feelings of rejection and self-doubt gripped him, churning his insides; and for one wild moment, Will considered abandoning caution and attempting the three mile walk home in the dark, risks of breaking a limb or being attacked by highwaymen be damned. But he knew his family would be frantic if he disappeared. And Will Graham did not run from anything.

Still, it was difficult not to allow regret the upper hand. Hannibal's scent lingered still, the moments they had shared fresh in Will's mind.

'...you draw me, Will Graham, as no other ever has.'

Please, just kiss me. Please.

Cheeks grown hot with humiliation, Will slumped back against the tree, scrubbing his fingers through his hair.

This is the man who brought ruin to Matthew Brown. He despises your family. He has scorned you countless times. And yet you allowed him to touch you and begged him to kiss you.

Had their physical proximity during the dance triggered his latent Omegan instincts? This was, after all, the first time he had danced with an Alpha with whom he had not been long acquainted. Lost in a maelstrom of confusion, Will clung to this comforting thought, brushing aside the traitorous voice which whispered of countless other times his heart had thundered in Hannibal's presence, regardless of their physical proximity.

It was now uncomfortably cold. Cursing his own stupidity, Will pushed away from the trunk and trudged back across the frost-tinged lawn, now limned silver in the moonlight.

Against the silhouetted darkness of the house, points of candlelight danced and flickered like fireflies in every window. The door by which Will had made his escape stood open, the shadow of a figure in the doorway bringing him to an abrupt standstill, until the person stepped forward and Will realised that it was Alana. Cheeks tinged with pink, eyes anxiously searching the grounds, she gave a brief exclamation of relief as she saw him.

Will hastened to her, grasping her outstretched hands as he reached the threshold.

'What is the matter?'

'Oh, Will! I am so glad you are returned. Mother is being rather more verbose than usual.'

'More than usual?' Will stared at his sister in horror. 'Dear gods, what is she saying?'

Alana sighed. 'Many, many things. The latest of which is that she plans to oversee redecoration of the Verger’s drawing room immediately after the wedding.'

'Please tell me the Vergers did not overhear that.'

'If only wishing made it so.' Alana sighed.

Aghast, Will followed his sister back into the house and through to the dining parlour, where the guests were now seated around numerous small tables, feasting on a variety of cold cuts and sweets. Unfortunately, as a consequence of the lull in conversation, the shrill - and rather slurred - tones of Mrs Graham were clearly distinguishable. From her prime position in the centre of the room, she held court amongst a gaggle of eager listeners.

'And I told my sister – I said to Mrs Prurnell – I know of the perfect Beta surrogate once my dear Alana is married and settled. The Fosters have twice employed him, and a fine pair of boys they have now!'

Mr Graham, sandwiched between his three youngest children, met Will's eyes with an expression of weary resignation.

'I am so sorry.' Will drew Alana aside as their mother was defeated at last into silence by an enormous piece of cake. 'For abandoning you all in that way, I mean.'

'You are hardly to blame,' said Alana with a rueful smile. 'The punch, perhaps, but most assuredly not you, dear Will. Besides, I understand fully your need to escape.'

At the furthest end of the room sat Miss Verger at a table with her sister and Mr Cordell. Head bowed, she appeared to be enduring something of a lecture, and Will frowned as he imagined the likely subject of their discourse.

'No.' He shook his head. 'It was thoughtless and self-indulgent.' As he considered just how indulgent, he blushed with shame.

Hannibal and Mr Verger were noticeable by their absence, and Will both feared and longed for the return of one, while caring not a jot about the other. He suspected that Hannibal had quit the general company in disgust – either regretful of his actions in the garden or contemptuous of Mrs Graham's indiscreet prattle – or both. Eyes trained on the doorway, he paid scant attention to Alana's next words, until he realised that the name of Matthew Brown had passed her lips.

'I beg your pardon. My mind was elsewhere just now. What did you say of Mr Brown?'

'That although Miss Verger does not know the whole of the history,' repeated Alana patiently, 'she is convinced that Mr Brown is by no means a respectable young man.' Touching Will's forearm, she added earnestly, 'I am sorry to say it, Will, but I fear we may have been deceived there.'

Will had hardly time enough to digest this unsettling idea before he was thrown into further confusion by the sudden reappearance of the two Alphas. Hannibal’s countenance was sternly forbidding; Mr Verger appeared a great deal vexed. They passed the alcove within which Will and Alana stood partially screened by the open door, and Will felt a curious fluttering in his stomach as he caught Hannibal's scent. It floated above all others, strangely grounding despite the antipathy which he once again felt towards the aristocratic Alpha. Still, the very last thing he wished for now was a face to face encounter with Hannibal so soon after having endured yet another humiliation at his hands.

'Come,' he whispered, taking his bemused sister by the hand and whisking her from the room. In the vestibule, he released her and sighed his relief. 'Now we may talk without interruption. I did not know that Miss Verger was acquainted with Mr Brown. Indeed, he indicated quite the reverse.'

'You are correct. She does not know him at all, but that is –'

'Then her account has been fed to her by Mr Lecter!' Will shook his head in frustration. More lies. 'I am sorry, Alana. I have no doubt of Miss Verger's sincerity, but she cannot equably judge a situation in which her only informant is so very partial! No, my opinion of both gentlemen shall remain unchanged.'

Hannibal watched Will's hasty departure with deep regret. The sweetness of the Omega’s scent had announced itself like a siren's call, yet Hannibal had forced himself to stay with Mason when his greatest wish had been to turn back, grab Will and take him somewhere wholly devoid of miscreant friends and mothers, that he might attempt to explain his actions. The idea that Will might believe himself to have been abandoned to no purpose was unconscionable. But Mason could not be allowed the liberty to roam, and that was that.

'Whatever has happened?' asked Margot, looking from one to the other in concern.

'Well might you ask,' replied Hannibal grimly. 'Would you care to enlighten your family, Mason?'

'To what end?' came the sulky response. 'You have decided to take a servant's side, therefore you must tell it as you wish.'

Ignoring Mason, Hannibal addressed Margot and Mrs Cordell. ‘A short while ago, your brother called for my assistance to deal with one of the housemaids, who had, by his account, set upon him in a fit of apoplexy and was in dire need of calming.'

'With a house full of guests, what other option did I have?' muttered Mason.

'Yet it seems that the reason for the maid's distress was Mason himself.' Hannibal directed a quelling glare at him before turning back to Margot and the Cordells. 'He had apparently been courting the girl on the promise of an engagement which, of course, was never forthcoming. And Mason chose this evening to break the unhappy news to her.'

'Mason, really!' tutted Cordell as Mason's sisters stared at him, one with incredulity, the other in horror. 'A little discretion, man.'

'She would not desist from pestering me,' whined Mason, 'and I care not what she says. I never promised marriage. Am I to be blamed for the fanciful assumptions of a servant?'

‘What did you promise?’ Margot’s eyes were full of censure.

Her brother tossed his head. ‘One says what one says in certain… situations. Wine and moonlight have been known to render even the best of us unwise at times. The girl should have had more sense than to pay my words any heed.’

When, earlier, Hannibal had witnessed Mason touching Will, he had been possessed of a strong urge to take hold of the Alpha’s prodding finger and rip off the offending digit. Half-fearing that he might yet give in to the temptation of doing bodily harm to the man whose company was proving increasingly unpalatable, he said stiffly, 'My advice would be to leave for London as soon as possible. Stay a while in town and allow the girl to recover her dignity.'

'You have not dismissed her?' Mason's voice rose in outrage. 'Then I shall!'

'You shall do no such thing.' Standing over Mason, Hannibal lowered his own voice to a menacing hiss. 'She has been imposed on enough. And if you will not consider the girl, then consider how it would look were she to go about telling all and sundry about the Vergers and their broken promises. No, you will let her be. She values her job here, and all will be well if you are absent for a time.'

'I suppose that means we must all go,' sighed Margot. 'But not for too long, surely?’

Avoiding Margot's anxious gaze, Hannibal merely nodded. In truth, although the circumstances were regrettable, he could not help but see this as an opportunity. A valid reason at last to remove Margot from the sphere of the lovely yet wholly unsuitable Miss Graham. Her beauty notwithstanding, the Beta was too much of a mystery to risk Margot’s unhappiness. And if she was possessed of even a fraction of her mother’s avarice…

Besides, there were other, even more pressing considerations. Within the space of half an evening, he had forgotten his promise - his resolve to protect his sister, come what may, from the spiteful glare of society - because he had lost his head over a wild-haired, fiercely opinionated Omega. Yet surely, with distance and the relentless gaiety of the London Season, the boy's allure would fade. Recitals by the purest tenors would silence the soft voice that had begun to filter into Hannibal's dreams. Parlours filled with the exotic sweetness of orchids and roses would stifle the fresh vivacity of Will's scent. And somewhere - somewhere - there had to exist a person with eyes more beautiful than the bright blue which pierced Hannibal’s soul each time he looked into them, and with hair more lustrous than the curls which had felt like coiled silk against his fingers...

Heartbeat quickening traitorously, Hannibal came to a swift decision. No explanations or apologies could be forthcoming. No matter how much it pained him, he could not again allow himself to be alone with Will. To do so would mean risking Mischa’s reputation – for risk it would be, by association – and that, after all she had suffered already, he would not do. And if his heart lay like lead in his chest at the thought of parting on such terms, well, it was a self-indulgence he could ill afford.

***

Fearing confrontation with Hannibal, Will insisted on lingering in the vestibule for a full half hour. He was persuaded back into the dining parlour only after Alana’s hushed reminder that, left unchecked, their mother was very likely to heap further embarrassment on the family. Their table, although central, was thankfully some distance from Hannibal’s, and Will was able to slide into a seat between Beverly and a dozing Mr Franklyn without attracting undue attention. Still, he could not help casting furtive glances down the room. He need not have bothered, for Hannibal did not attempt to engage him. Indeed, he appeared rooted to his seat, and seemed hardly even to look up from his plate, even when Mrs Graham and Abigail engaged in a lengthy, raucous debate about which of the dining officers looked the most becoming in their regimentals.

And the more Hannibal ignored, the more Will brooded.

'Wait here.'

Words spoken in softness, in promise, taunting him now, the indifference presented by the Alpha whose back was turned rigidly against him sending a clear message.

You have been toyed with. Again. Cast aside. Again.

Stupid, so stupid, to feel tears pricking behind his eyes.

What did you think would happen? What did you want to happen?

No answers were forthcoming. And it was untenable to remain any longer - to allow Hannibal the satisfaction of knowing that his manipulations had once again yielded fruit.

'Beverly, did I hear you mention just now that Sir James has called for your carriage?'

'Yes, Father is much fatigued. I fear we must leave shortly. Are you unwell? You have been so quiet, Will.'

Beverly's concern, well-meaning as it was, only served to increase his anxiety. Was he really doing so poor a job of hiding his distress?

'It is nothing. You know how I dislike large gatherings. I shall be well enough once this evening is over,' he muttered.

Brow crinkling, Beverly placed her hand over his. 'Would you like to come back with us? Wolf Manor is on our way, after all, and there is plenty of room in the carriage.’

The idea was a welcome one. With a rush of relief, Will leaned across the table and addressed his father in low tones. 'May I accompany the Prices back to the village?’

'Of course, my boy.' Mr Graham smiled dryly. 'I only wish that we could all go back with you. However, your mother seems determined to see in the dawn. One might wonder at her seemingly inexhaustible appetite for sweet cakes and façile conversation, but there it is.'

Mrs Graham, mouth still full of cake, merely chortled. It was fortunate, thought Will, that she had consumed enough punch to be currently uncaring of such caustic remarks, although he rather suspected that the morning might bring about a less forgiving attitude.

'I think the officers are going,' pouted Abigail, nudging Fredricka who was attempting to stifle a succession of yawns. 'Freddie, look! Colonel and Mrs Chilton are taking leave of the Vergers.’

Mr Franklyn's snoring form provided excellent cover for Will to observe discreetly. The Chiltons were fawning, Mr Verger was scowling, and Hannibal – Hannibal was looking straight back at Will, expression enigmatic.

Will coloured but did not drop his gaze.

What care I for your low opinion? I shall never apologise for who I am.

'Will? Are you ready?'

The squeeze of Beverly's hand reclaimed Will's attention. With a final fierce glare at Hannibal, whose amber eyes burned into his from across the room, he turned and softened his expression.

'Forgive me, Beverly. Yes, of course.'

Movements jerky and self-conscious, Will stood and bowed, muttering a general farewell to the table. His one departing consolation was a glimpse of Miss Verger hurrying towards Alana, a strangely apologetic smile on her face.

As he stood on the house steps waiting for Beverly to retrieve her pelisse, Will closed his eyes and savoured the night chill. It cooled his overheated cheeks and cut through the fog of mingled scents which all evening had assailed his senses. How terribly ironic, he thought, that the one scent which soothed and anchored him belonged to an Alpha whose manner and actions did anything but!

As if summoned from memory, fresh mineral earthiness enveloped him, transporting him instantly to the tranquil bank of his favourite stream. Sitting in the long grass, knees drawn up, head tilted to the caressing summer sun. And Hannibal beside him, a warm and reassuring presence. Drawing a deep breath, Will sighed as he fancied he felt the light sweep of long fingers brushing between his shoulder blades. Had not they been interrupted in the garden – had those stern lips pressed against his own – how would they have felt?

Unwilling to open his eyes, to break the spell, he murmured, 'It would have been my first kiss.' And smiled with self-derision as his fevered imagination even conjured a faint sigh in response.

'Will?'

With reluctance, he returned to the considerably bleaker present. Beverly was walking towards him, her movements uncharacteristically hesitant; and as she fastened her pelisse, she eyed him with apparent confusion.

'What did he want?'

Will's brows drew together. 'Who?'

Her voice lowered. 'Mr Lecter. He left in something of a hurry when he saw me.'

Mouth agape, Will stared at her. 'He was here?'

It was now Beverly's turn to frown. 'He was standing directly behind you. Do you mean to say he did not speak to you?'

'No.'

But he touched me. He touched me and... Oh gods. He heard me.

Little wonder then that Hannibal had walked away. How mortified he must have been, confronted with such immature – not to mention indiscreet – mumbling.

Not a moment too soon, the Prices' carriage drew up and Sir James beckoned them from the window. As Will stood aside for Beverly to precede him, he wondered bleakly whether he – or, indeed, any of his family – would ever again be allowed to darken the doors of Muskrat Hall after such a disastrous evening.

***

'It would have been my first kiss.'

That wistful voice had almost been Hannibal’s undoing. Had Will been aware of his presence? Nothing in his trance-like demeanour had indicated it, yet why then had he spoken so?

It had been folly, of course, to have touched him. Folly to have approached him at all. But when he had seen Will standing by the open door, the need to be close, to breathe him in – one last time – had proven too tempting.

And then those whispered words. Bringing back a memory of frosted breath and warm bodies, skin soft beneath stroking fingers, dark hair charmingly dishevelled, rosy lips slightly parted…

How would he have tasted?

A curse hovering on his tongue, Hannibal forced himself from the breakfast room window and the view of the carriage bearing Will away. He poured a generous glass of port wine and downed it, grimacing at the overt sweetness. Setting the glass back on the salver, he smoothed back his hair and tugged decisively on the servants’ bell rope.

***

It was with resigned forbearance that Will, at breakfast the following morning, listened to his mother's raptures over the Vergers' incomparable hospitality and first-rate entertainments.

'We were the last to leave, you know,' she announced, slathering butter onto a hot roll with relish. 'And they were so mournful to see us go! Even Mr Verger seemed quite out of spirits.'

At that, Mr Graham glanced up from his morning paper.

'I, on the other hand, attributed their various grimaces rather to a desire to have their house to themselves again than reluctance to be parted from us.'

Before Mrs Graham could retort, the arrival of a rather bleary-eyed Mr Franklyn provided a convenient distraction.

'Ah, my dear Mr Franklyn! I trust you slept well.'

A pained smile was his first response to her greeting. He gave his second as he lowered himself carefully into a chair.

'Alas, I fear that the demon drink quite overcame me last evening. I am somewhat gaseous this morning.'

The thought of sitting at table with his bilious cousin quashed fully Will's already lacklustre appetite. Abandoning his plate of eggs and edging back his chair, he stared meaningfully at Alana, who had conveniently just finished her own breakfast.

'Of course we may practise now, Alana.' And at his father's questioning look, 'I promised to teach Alana how to make fishing lures.'

'Er, yes, so you did.' Rather nonplussed, Alana nevertheless smiled gamely and retrieved her napkin from her lap, placing it on the table.

'Oh, fair cousin!'

Halfway out of his seat, Will took one look at Mr Franklyn's hopeful expression and blanched inwardly. But he replied with restrained politeness.

'Mr Franklyn?'

'Might you do me the honour of granting a private audience in the course of the morning?'

'Well –'

'Why, of course, Mr Franklyn,' gushed Mrs Graham, dropping her breakfast roll onto her plate with a resounding clunk. 'Why do not you both go into the morning room?'

'But –'

'The lures can wait,' she asserted sharply. 'Remember your manners, Will!'

Alana squeezed Will's hand, Molly gazed at him in consternation, and the younger girls giggled. As for Mr Graham, he shrugged helplessly at his son before retiring once more behind his newspaper.

And so it was that five minutes later, Will found himself sitting across from his cousin in a state of mingled dismay and amusement.

'My dear cousin Will, you can hardly doubt the purpose of my discourse,' was his confident opening. 'Indeed, my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered this house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life.'

Suppressing a shudder at the mere thought of spending an entire lifetime with Mr Franklyn, Will allowed himself to slip to away into the safe tranquillity of his mindscape. The cool silk of rushing water against his skin, fishing rod in hand, sun on his back. There he remained, content, as on droned Mr Franklyn, trotting out list upon list: essential spousal attributes, almost all of which Will apparently possessed; the daily routine of life at Fogmear, the sizeable parsonage which Lady Bedelia had graciously bestowed upon him in Kent; and finally, Mr Franklyn's many and varied reasons for marrying. It was his ponderous account of the fifth of these reasons which jolted Will back to reality.

'And it was at approximately eight o'clock in the evening, after the cheese course, when Lady Bedelia said to me, 'Mr Franklyn, it is time that you married. Choose a person of suitable rank for my sake; and for your own, be sure to select a Beta, for an Alpha would prove far too headstrong for a person of your nervous disposition.'

'But surely, sir, you must know that I am not – that is –'

Will hesitated, unwilling to discuss such a personal subject, although it was clear that Mr Franklyn had no such qualms. It seemed certain, however, that his cousin's proposal was likely to span the remainder of the morning if some sort of response was not offered.

'I thank you for the honour of your proposal. However, it is impossible for me to accept.'

Mr Franklyn looked back at him blankly for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. Leaning forward, he tapped Will's knee with an admonishing finger.

'Come now, cousin. It really is not necessary for you to attempt to increase my love by suspense. I am, I assure you, perfectly aware already of your manifold attractions. And I am confident that I will not tire of them, even over the course of an entire lifetime.'

Shifting uncomfortably, Will tried again. 'Sir, I do not say this to dissemble. Please believe me, we could not in a hundred lifetimes make one another happy.' And getting up, he bowed. 'Thank you again, but my answer must be no.'

'But cousin,' protested Mr Franklyn, rising rather awkwardly from his own seat, 'you cannot possibly be serious in your refusal. I hesitate to mention the unfortunate circumstances of your birth –'

'Yet you have done so anyway,' interrupted Will frostily, any sympathy he might have felt for his cousin’s plight evaporating instantly. 'This interview is over, sir.'

'Only consider this,' huffed Mr Franklyn, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his florid cheeks. 'It is by no means certain that another offer may ever be made to you. And remember that I offer not only the security of an establishment, but also the privilege of connection to the illustrious family of du Maurier!'

The fact that Hannibal's haughty face immediately floated before Will's eyes did nothing to ease his agitation.

'Then it is a privilege which sadly I shall have to forfeit,' were his final words, snapped out as he stalked towards the door.

Marching into the vestibule, he narrowly avoided running headfirst into his mother who had, naturally, been eavesdropping on the entire conversation. Her disbelieving countenance, and the practically shredded handkerchief which was twisted around her fingers, were ample evidence of her dismay; but before she could open her mouth to begin what was sure to be a lengthy diatribe, Mr Graham appeared in the breakfast room doorway.

'Will, come here, please,' was his stern instruction.

Silently, Will followed his father into the now-empty room, standing with arms folded as he waited for the inevitable scolding.

Which never came.

Instead, Mr Graham took up his former seat at the table and unfolded his newspaper, chuckling beneath his breath. 'Well, well. It seems that my intervention will not be needed after all. Get along now, Will.'

'Get –' Flummoxed, Will approached the table. 'You do understand that Mr Franklyn has just made me an offer of marriage?'

'I guessed as much.'

'An offer which I have refused.'

'Of course.' Mr Graham lifted quizzical eyes to his son. 'You do not for one moment, I hope, believe that I would have sanctioned such a match?'

Will bit his lip. 'Even though Mr Franklyn is to inherit Wolf Manor, and a union between us would have secured our family's future?'

'Even so. Good lord, child. Should I have encouraged you to throw away your future for the sake of property? Putting aside the fact that the man is a dithering idiot, you could never have bonded with him. What kind of life would that have been for you?' Shaking his head, Mr Graham disappeared again behind his newspaper. 'Having said all that, I should steer clear of your mother for a day or two. I advise long walks and fishing expeditions.'

Gratitude and relief flooding him, Will hugged his father impulsively, crushing the paper in the process.

'Thank you,' he said softly.

'Careless child,' tutted Mr Graham. But he was smiling as Will slipped from the room.

***

Twenty-four hours were insufficient to lessen either Mr Franklyn's vexation or Mrs Graham's annoyance. The arrival of Beverly after breakfast the following morning provided some relief, however, for she took it upon herself to occupy Mr Franklyn in conversation, thus allowing Will to escape into the garden.

Frustrated by his continued inability to likewise escape thoughts of Hannibal, Will sought distraction, and was consequently relieved to find Alana in the summer house, poring intently over a letter. He grinned as he took a seat beside her.

'Does Miss Verger write well?'

'I beg your pardon?'

Blinking, Alana looked up, and Will was immediately alarmed by the pallor of her cheeks.

'Alana? What is the matter?'

'I – nothing, really. Miss Verger told me last night that she was going away for a time. It is only –' Sighing, Alana held out the letter. 'This is from Mrs Cordell. She writes to inform me that the whole party have left Muskrat Hall by this time for London. And without any intention of coming back again.'