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For a woman who purposefully makes herself scarce, Hannah is never too hard to find. For her entire stay at the mansion Valentine has only ever seen her in a few specific places. It's as if her determination to fully realize her hermit has set her on a track, making any other stops unnecessary and impossible. It's rather impressive, really, if it were just a bit less annoying of course. It seems she purposefully chose the most unlivable spaces, rooms that hardly anyone else in the house used or even remembered until Hannah had come and filled them up with her work. She gave them a purpose, bring some sense of life to this old house.
Not that they look any better for her presence. No, most of them had been in disrepair before her arrival which only got worse as the rooms quickly started to mimic Hannah's close attention to her work and nothing more. But as dusty and dark as they might be, they had that quality of a room being used for something someone felt passionate about. Valentine found it rather endearing to see someone in the world of academia had not yet given up passion for popularity.
Hannah, of course, not the rooms themselves.
God, that makes him sound like he's been tracking Hannah's every move, or at least keeping a close watch on her throughout her stay. No, no. Valentine has only been watching her so carefully for the last month or so. Even if he hadn't given her more than a once over and dismissed her on the spot as another famous name for his mother to collect he still would have been able to find her with relative ease. After all, where else would one go to find a completely mad hermit?
Easy to find, harder to get to. That's always the way of it.
“Ahh, shit.” Damn it, he'd forgotten about that. Who builds an obstacle course in the middle of a garden? Certainly Valentine hasn't helped his cause by wandering blindly through the grounds without even a small torch and, yes, perhaps just a little drunk.
He should just go back to the house, check on his sister (he won't even mention how he told her that damned bird-brained man was a total and incurable bastard) and then go sit around with Gus, keeping each other company until the yard empties out and it's safe to return to their own home. Still, after spending an appropriate amount of time at mother's party (which, Valentine had discovered long, long ago, is exactly how long it takes for him to finish a bottle of wine) Val would have liked some time to himself.
Which is why he is tracking through mud and shrubbery to find Hannah.
It turns out to be a terrible plan. After almost falling the once, being attacked by a small thorny plant, banging his shin against some small gate enclosure Valentine had seriously been contemplating which would have been the more reasonable choice: heading back the way he came or simply trying to stand still until daylight.
Then he spots a pale light shining out from the unevenly set windows of the hermitage. A sight for sore eyes, indeed, though Valentine suspects that it's even more attractive for drunk eyes. Certainly he can't think of anything quite so lovely.
He isn't referring to the hermitage. At the moment he's rather forgotten there is a hermitage there.
Back at the mansion he left behind a crowd of people all playing dress up, pretending to care about some cause, holding inane little conversations just to fill up the silence... Actually, come to think of it that described a rather large amount of Valentine's life. Tonight, though, tonight it seemed worse than usual. Tonight something had been itching at his brain and he couldn't quite understand what it was or why it wouldn't bugger off and leave him alone.
Hannah is... Hannah. She's standing so he could make her out through the doorway at least enough to see that she's still wearing the same outfit she had at the party, the one she'd spent most of the night avoiding him in while Valentine took no notice of it while talking to everyone else there. Only he thinks his mother would have pointed out if her clothes had been covered in mud, which they certainly were now. You wouldn't have guessed she'd ever even left her garden for the party if it weren't for the wine glass in her hand. It's a twin to Valentine's except his is all but empty where as Hannah hasn't touched hers.
She's watching one of the walls. No, not just watching but staring into the stone with such focus that Val would swear she's trying to make it speak. One of the largest benefit parties in this county is being held just over the way, and yet Hannah would rather be here.
It seems so would Valentine.
Not wanting to scare her and being a bit over tipsy, Valentine figures he best say something before walking right up behind her. “Hello, Beautiful.” Ahh, he hadn't entirely meant to say that, perhaps, but it's endearingly bad like his proposals.
“Oh.” If she was startled to find she wasn't alone out here, she doesn't seem at all surprised that it's Valentine. “Is the party over, then?”
“Just beginning, I'm afraid.” He leans against the doorway, which is neither comfortable nor safe judging by the dilapidated state of the rest of the structure. Amazing mom hasn't taken on this project yet. That would mean going through Hannah. It may be their family's property, but Valentine very much doubts that would stop her from fight to preserve this rotting shack. Sorry, this historical rotting shack. “Should only be a few more minutes before my uncle starts telling us about how European prostitutes have loss their quality since WWII and dad starts to accuse Marcus Tenly of being a trader to the crown for opening a sushi bar.”
“Mmm.” Hannah is still staring at her wall. It reminds Val of a computer that's put up it's screensaver. The motor still hums, the computer is still on, and it even pretends to be busy.
“I figured you wouldn't want to miss all the heartwarming family moments. Not too mention all the irresponsibly drunk strangers crawling everywhere.” This time she doesn't even give so much as a grunt in response. If he wants her attention, perhaps he should turn himself into some fascinating bit of wallpaper.
He's not sober, but he's sober enough not to say all that. Besides, it's worlds simpler just to change tactics. “You didn't say anything. About my compliment.”
Val lifts up his glass only to find it's empty, and he hadn't even gotten to drink the last of it. His mind flashes back to all the stumbling he had to do through the dark to get out here. So now there is wine all over the garden. Damn. What a waste of the cheapest wine his parents could consider passable.
“What, when you decided to get drunk and call me beautiful?” She's annoyed with him, he can hear it laced through her voice. Well, of course she's annoyed with him.“It's confusing.”
Valentine stares down into his glass for a moment not sure what he should say or if anything will convince her otherwise. Hannah can be rather stubborn at times, even when it gets in the way of her own brilliance. Actually, that's usually when she gets the most stubborn. “I am drunk, not a liar. You ARE beau-”
“It's not the compliment that confuses me. It's your grammar.”
She is rather beautiful, even when she is trying so hard to return any compliments with all her usual personal distance and professional mordancy. At this particular moment his tongue feels too weighed down under a near full bottle of wine to manage a reply, which is unfortunate. So for a while he lets her talk, explaining to him about sentence structures and nouns and all those things you learn in primary school and then promptly forget. It's the most comfortable conversation he has had all night.
Shame if the whole thing were so one sided. Val isn't sure he'd be able to say anything intelligent, though, not right now. So he settles for adding something good.
It's a feather light kiss that isn't really a kiss but almost assuredly is the closest to one he has gotten from the elusive, distant Hannah. Val can never pick the easy solution. He could have lived off his family title and various incomes, but he would have been driven mad by the boredom. He should have listened to his adviser and picked a better thesis, but the discovery of someone else's data is hardly satisfying. He could have easily found a pretty girl, someone soft and feminine, someone gentle and kind and demure who spoke to him only in praise and followed him about with puppy eyes and an eager smile.
But, God, could you imagine the dullness of all that?
So he settles for this small kiss and makes sure it doesn't last more than two heart beats. He'd rather not give Hannah enough time to work out how incredibly, recklessly stupid Val is. “Sorry.” He isn't, of course, but he says it and quickly looks away. It could be shame and humility, but the Coverlys breed those traits out of the family line generations ago. “I'm a little too drunk for grammar lessons. They were giving me a headache. Something I have covered myself,” he adds, motioning with his empty glass.
And Hannah is just standing there with her hand over her mouth in complete shock. She keeps touching her lips lightly, like she's not sure what just happened. Good. So long as both of them are equally confused.