So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4)

by Amber Lynn Perry

  Breathing deeply, she removed her apron and examined the azure floral design of her printed cotton dress for any impediment or smudge she might have overlooked. There was naught that she could notice, and she could only hope none lurked unseen. Though the gown was nearly six years old and more worn than she’d like to admit, ’twas passable, and wearing it made her feel less ordinary—younger, even.

  Critiquing the spread one last time, she fiddled with a pin that tried to stray from her curled tresses.

  “They have not yet arrived, hmm?” Of a sudden, Joseph’s voice circled through the kitchen. “I should expect they will be here any moment.”

  Hannah raised her head, instantly wishing she still had something to grasp hold of. Wearing a pair of white breeches, white linen shirt, simple waistcoat, and tan jacket, his hair brushed and tied, Joseph looked more like a hero from a fairy tale than a man who had once called her “my darling.”

  Her heart sputtered, and she busied herself by fussing with the placement of the forks. “Such a fine jacket and breeches. Where did you come by them?”

  Adjusting his neckcloth, his lips stretched to a smile that teased far more than he realized.

  “If this were home, I would have donned something much finer. But as the army doesn’t require more than passable attire, this was all I brought.” His eyes softened as he trailed his gaze over her gown. “You look beautiful, Hannah.”

  Cheeks aflame, Hannah could only offer a swift meeting of eyes before she spun away for a serving spoon she’d neglected. Preparing something artful in reply, her voice failed her, and she could only eke out a small “Thank you.”

  “Such a meal. They shall be impressed, I am certain of that.”

  Had he known she was so nervous? She couldn’t meet his stare, the sincerity in his face too dangerous to tempt further. “You are generous, I’m sure, but…I do hope you are right.”

  That pin began to push away again, and she shoved it in deep and firm, grateful for the innocuous distraction. “To own the truth, I’m…I’m nervous.” Somehow the truth found freedom in her voice. A light laugh left her, followed by a mumbled grunt as she held the curl in place, preparing for another go at the disobedient pin.

  “May I help?”

  Joseph’s head inclined toward her, his finger directed at her struggle.

  No.

  But her want slipped out, though in silence. She stalled and held out the pin, still unable to hold his gaze.

  He neared, standing at her side where the errant pin refused its duty to her curl. He slanted his head to look at her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Her skin flushed with heat. “You cannot.”

  Straightening, he raised the pin. “Where do I put it?”

  She tried to answer without the longing depth she knew would coat her words, but it did despite her efforts. “Right here.”

  Every nerve, every sense was afire. His scent of clean soap, freshly laundered clothes, and a spice she couldn’t name lured her to breathe deeper. So she did. More to prove she would not be weakened by any such allure than to enjoy the memories that could be made. Yet somehow the ploy seemed only to make her wish they could stand there all evening, talking, laughing—healing.

  “I shall have a go then.” Gentle, slow, he smoothed his calloused finger over hers, holding the curl in place as he attempted to force the tiny traitor to submit.

  His fingers at her hair, his breath on her ear made her body weightless.

  All too soon, he stepped back, lowering his hands. “How does that feel?”

  The question stalled her pulse. Like a dream.

  A quick breath restored her reason. “I don’t know how you managed it, but it feels very secure. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Stepping back, he spoke more with his gaze as his eyes flitted to her shoulders, up to her neck, and over her lips. With a shake of the head, he cleared his throat, only polite familiarity in his voice. “You look very lovely.”

  She studied his eyes, their almond shape, the rich blue of their color, the way they held her. Sighing her smile into place, she turned toward the window. Lord, help me. I cannot give my heart to him a second time.

  Out the window, a carriage pulled up to the house, and she leaned closer to the glass to get a clearer look. “They are here.”

  She spun back, her heart dipping slightly that he was no longer looking at her but heading for the parlor to let them in. Hurrying to follow beside him, Hannah glanced up with a smile, and he returned one of his own, the kind that twined around her heart, securing it in warmth and strength.

  Without waiting for a knock, he swung open the door, putting on an impressive display of hospitality—no false dignity, no force. Inwardly, Hannah grinned. Such a man he was.

  “Welcome.” He stood with arm outstretched to the parlor. “Do come in.”

  Hannah reached out as Stockton entered. “May I take your cloak?”

  He grinned, more than simple gratitude in his expression. “I would not have you serve me, my dear.” He almost winked, taking off his own cloak and hanging it on the hook by the door as the others entered. “Allow me to introduce Major Aldor Pitman and his wife, Mrs. Dottie Pitman.”

  Hanna curtsied deep. “We are honored to have you.”

  Major Pitman smiled as if he’d lost an inner battle against the expression, but his wife’s eyes were genuine.

  She neared, her smile lifting her full cheeks. “You are so lovely, my dear, as is your home.”

  Hannah took the woman’s cloak and muff as her compliments continued.

  “My goodness, what is that beguiling scent? Aldor, I do believe she has made your favorite. He could eat fried chicken for every meal and not ever tire of it—that is what I always say, isn’t it, Aldor?”

  He nodded absentmindedly at his wife, and she laughed at his indifference, taking Hannah by the arm and starting toward the kitchen as if she’d been there a dozen times before. “Do not mind him. He is notoriously peevish, but I do believe it is mostly for show. His heart is pure gold.”

  Hannah looked behind to see Joseph struggling to smother a grin, when she suddenly found it difficult not to fight her own. Quickly turning back to her companion, Hannah grasped for conversation. “Mrs. Pitman—”

  “Oh my dear, you must call me Dottie.” She strengthened her grip. “There are so few ladies in this town—delightful as it is—and I crave female companionship. Now that I know you are here, I daresay I shall be by to see you near every day.”

  Her heart pitched. Every day?

  Squeezing Dottie’s fingers in girlish friendship, Hannah pried away. “Dottie, you shall sit opposite your husband here and—”

  “Forgive me for being late.” The door opened behind them, and Higley entered, his red coat a perfect frame for his broad chest and shoulders. He closed it quickly and rested his cloak and hat by the rest. “I hope I have not missed the meal.”

  Stockton motioned to the table. “We’re just being seated.”

  Higley hurried in, nodding his greetings to all before taking the seat Joseph directed him to.

  Once all were seated—Dottie and Joseph sitting opposite Hannah and Pitman, Stockton and Higley at each end—grace was offered. With every plate filled, the conversation began, and it seemed, with Dottie at the helm, the evening’s musings would not be dull.

  “Mr. Young, you are quite a handsome fellow.”

  Hannah slid a glance his way, noting how Major Pitman shoved a large bite into his mouth.

  Dottie continued. “I am surprised you haven’t a wife. Are there not a crowd of woman pining for your hand?”

  Joseph finished the food in his mouth. “Nay indeed, madam.” He offered a charming slant of his mouth. “Though I may have one in mind.”

  The fork slipped from Hannah’s fingers with a clang, and she snatched it back up, the tips of her ears burning.

  “Is that so?” Dottie’s pointed features creased with pleasure. “Well, whoever she is, I should
say she is one fortunate woman.”

  Stockton cleared his throat, the personal nature of the conversation no doubt displeasing him. “Mr. Young is working in the foundry, smithing gun barrels for the army.” He looked to Pitman, who was preparing another bite of chicken. “A very skilled blacksmith. We are fortunate to have such a man on the side of the king.”

  “I should say.” Dottie reached for a drink, face toward Hannah. “And you, my dear, are you made to stay indoors all day, cooking and cleaning for these beasts? ’Tis a prison, I am sure.”

  “Nay.” Hannah pressed her fork into a carrot. “I enjoy the work. Labor is good for the body and the mind, is it not?”

  “Well, I cannot say anything to that one way or the other, but you make me almost want to try it.” She laughed, sliding a potato to her fork. “But why are you not married, my dear? Someone as lovely as you, with such incredible talents as you clearly possess, I cannot fathom how you have not yet been snatched by some heartsick fellow.”

  “She is being courted,” Stockton said between bites. “Or so she tells me.”

  Joseph’s face shot toward Stockton, then Hannah, and her muscles went stiff.

  Dottie’s face took on a sly, piqued expression. “Do tell me. I live for such gossip.”

  “That you do.” Major Pitman spoke his first words but promptly filled his mouth with another forkful.

  His wife laughed, unaware of the slight he’d handed her. “Aldor, you know me so well.”

  Hot clear through, Hannah suddenly couldn’t remember how to use her utensils. She offered what she hoped would be the sincerest of smiles and attempted to slide the conversation away from herself.

  “Mrs. Pitman, how long are you to stay in town? Are you at the inn?”

  It was a moment before she responded. As she finished her bite, an uncomfortable silence hovered between the candles on the table and swirled around Hannah when Joseph’s chest rounded as he inhaled a heavy breath. Was he curious? Upset? She kept the frustrated groan within by taking another bite of her own meat pie. She should have told him. Shame, embarrassment, self-inflicted discomfort all consorted in her belly, shredding to tatters what remained of her appetite.

  “Aye, I am staying in town with Aldor.” Dottie went on. “He craves my company. I knew I had to come see him when I hadn’t heard from him in months—he was desperate without me. Weren’t you, my dear?”

  Pitman didn’t look up. “I was doing just fine.”

  She frowned as if she hadn’t heard him. “Poor man. But now I am here, and we all are having such a marvelous time despite the Patriots causing trouble.” She grinned, glass in hand, and glanced down the table. “Captain Higley, you are most quiet.”

  Higley halted with a bite halfway to his mouth. “Madam?”

  Her attention pinned to Hannah. “’Tis a shame you are being courted, my dear, because I must say, our Higley is quite a catch.”

  Higley chuckled politely, dotting a cloth to his mouth. He offered Hannah a comforting look before turning to the woman who seemed intent on knowing the details of everyone’s romantic entanglements—in fact, creating some.

  “You flatter me, Mrs. Pitman. I assure you, I am well pleased with my work in His Majesty’s Army. I haven’t time for female companionship at present.”

  “Nonsense. Every man has time for that.” She turned again to Hannah. “If you were not already spoken for, I would insist that Higley accompany you to the ball we are having this Saturday.”

  Ball? She offered Dottie a slight smile and forced a bite into her mouth, despite the way her stomach churned. How had their conversation taken such a frightful turn?

  The woman kept on. “Mrs. Bates has offered me her home for hosting, as I cannot be thought to host at the inn of all places—and I must say her home rivals any I have seen in the colonies. They’ve a ballroom near as large as the one at Blenheim.”

  Pitman eyed her suspiciously, and she scoffed. “Well, perhaps not quite that large, but wait until you see it.” She looked again to Hannah, undeterred. “I must insist you come, my dear.”

  “Oh…well…” Hannah’s chair became increasingly uncomfortable, and she squirmed, though from the reactions of her several companions, everyone seemed to be suffering the same malady—shifting in their seats, reaching for glasses, filling their mouths with food.

  Dottie seemed the only one who could talk. “’Tis settled.” Tilting her head forward, as if to be sure Higley would look at her, she grinned, showing all her teeth. “And I must insist that as Higley will be most available, you—”

  “If she attends with anyone, she shall attend with me.”

  Stockton’s full voice froze everyone at the table. Hannah’s insides spun into a nauseous storm, stealing the last thread of comfort that clung on the cliff of her emotions. She turned to Joseph, who offered her a pointed sideways look.

  Facing her, Stockton tossed her a smile with a kind of sickening rescue to it, as if she’d hoped he would speak out all along. “Miss Young, if you are inclined, I would be honored if you would accompany me as my guest.” He darted a hard stare to Higley, who nodded submissively in response.

  Hannah’s palms moistened, and her neck and ears scalded as she struggled for an answer.

  Dottie swallowed the rest of her drink, shaking her head, blessedly speaking before Hannah. “But she cannot accept, Ezra. Another man is courting—”

  “He is at sea and not expected home for some time.”

  He paused, his eyes on her, but she could not look at him. Instead she rearranged the food on her plate as he continued.

  “I would not expect him to believe Hannah would refrain from enjoying herself in his absence. What say you, Miss Young?”

  A quick glance to Joseph assured Hannah of what she feared. Jaw set, mouth firm, she could see his masked glare, almost daring her to accept. He must know she hadn’t any other choice.

  “’Twould be an honor, sir.” The weak thread that came out sounded nothing like her usual voice. She cleared her throat. “I shall look forward to it.”

  “Marvelous!” Dottie sat back and clasped her hands. “I can hardly wait. Have you a gown?”

  This time, her voice wouldn’t work at all. She could only nod, her voice no doubt mute from the secretive look Joseph hurled from across the table.

  “I…uh…” Even another polite cough couldn’t produce any response.

  As if a blessing from Providence himself, Stockton took charge of the conversation.

  He leaned back in his chair, his arm outstretched. “We are fortunate indeed, Aldor, to have both Mr. Young and his cousin here. As he is offering his efforts for the cause, so is Miss Young.”

  He looked to her, and suddenly the blood drained from her head.

  “She has graciously consented to be my scribe.”

  The slow, downward tick of Joseph’s brow, the nary imperceptible tightening of his lips clenched around her throat. Her shoulders went taut. Blessed heaven. How could she have forgotten to tell him that as well?

  “Is that so?” ’Twas Mr. Pitman who now spoke, his timbre taut with suspicion. “Have you done such work before, Miss Young?”

  “Uh, nay. I have not, sir.”

  His disinterested look morphed into strained attentiveness. “Are you sure that is the right course, Ezra? You hardly know the woman.”

  Stockton’s cheekbones reddened, but his voice stayed smooth. “If there were anything to be questioned, I assure you I would have detected it.” He toyed with the edge of the tablecloth, nodding his head toward Joseph. “That is the same for Mr. Young, as well.”

  Pitman glanced to Joseph, then Hannah. “You know our work is secretive. That you cannot share what you will learn.”

  “Aye, sir.” Her heart crashed against her ribs.

  His eyes thinned. “There has already been someone who has broken a trust, and though that person has not yet been discovered, they will be. And when they are, they will be hanged.”

  “Pitman.” St
ockton’s polite reprimand stalled the major’s words. “Is that really necessary?”

  Dottie sat with face pinched, her hands in her lap. She gifted Hannah an understanding grin, but it did little to ease the vice of tension that squeezed the blood from her head.

  “If anyone is to engage in the work of war, they should understand the risks and that they are not exempt.”

  Stockton released an uncomfortable chuckle. “I am sure Miss Young is fully aware—”

  “Should we not speak more of the ball?” Higley’s well-timed interruption seemed welcome by all but Pitman.

  Stockton raised his almost empty glass. “Excellent suggestion.”

  Dottie began immediately a lengthy discussion of the plans and preparations that were already underway, but Hannah could hear nothing, could hardly see or taste or smell. She could feel only the heated skewer of Joseph’s gaze that burned against her skin.

  She couldn’t imagine what scoldings awaited her. Seconds ago she was eager for the evening to end. Now, despite the discomfiting conversation, the long hours were welcome.

  Joseph had much to say. And she knew the moment their guests took their leave, he would speak it all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joseph stood at the door, Hannah at his side, bidding farewell to their companions as Major Pitman and his wife ducked into the carriage. Stockton and Higley mounted their horses, touching their hats in final parting. The carriage door closed at last, the soldiers banking them on both sides as they rode away. Joseph allowed his chest to stretch as he filled his lungs with the cold air that spilled through the open doorway.

  The hours-long visit had taken him to the very brink of distraction. So much had been revealed he could hardly get his mind to rest. It ran like Pheidippides of old, racing to the finish. Yet for Joseph there was no end—no place for his thoughts to find solace.

  Hannah ducked away and headed to the kitchen, hoping, no doubt, to postpone the onslaught she must know was coming. Her stance told him she knew he would ask her everything once the door was shut. And he would. Man that he was, he wished to slam it closed and speak sense to her, make her see that accepting Stockton’s offer for both the dance and the scribing was outright foolery. But wisdom prevailed, and he clicked the door quietly in place.