“What was that, my dear?” Stockton cocked his head sideways.
She twisted and motioned up the stairs. “Forgive me. I’ve forgotten my fan. I’ll not be a mo—”
“Allow me.” Joseph stepped backward. “Where shall I find it?”
Hannah’s chest fluttered at the shielded love in his stare. “In the drawer of my dressing table.”
With a nod he bound up the stairs and disappeared into the room.
She turned politely to Stockton. “Forgive me for the delay.”
“’Tis nothing.” His response was airy, as if he hadn’t really heard her. And likely not, for the way his gaze still crawled up and down her frame.
Hannah glanced to the stairway, when panic drained all blood and feeling from her head and limbs. No. Oh heavens, no. What had she been thinking? If Joseph opened that drawer…
“Joseph!”
Gripping her petticoat, Hannah raced through the parlor and up the stairs, praying beyond hope he would see the fan and nothing else.
Halting with a jerk at the open doorway of her bedchamber, Hannah’s lungs heaved with terror as fear tackled her forward. She gripped the door to keep from losing her strength. No, no, no. Lord, no!
Back to her, Joseph stood motionless in front of the dressing table. His broad shoulders were drooped, his head slightly bowed.
Hannah’s hands went clammy, her breath shallow. “Joseph?”
He remained still, every passing second making her blood pound harder in her ears.
She tried again. “Joseph, I—”
“What is this?” He moved at the waist, peering to her over his shoulder, his voice deep and quiet.
Hannah swallowed, willing her strained voice to produce words, sound, anything. “I…” Her throat cut off her words. Lord, help me.
His face had lost a sheen of color, and his strong brow pinched low. Lifting the booties in his hand, he asked a second time, though now his tone was darker. “Hannah, what is this?”
She could neither think nor feel. The truth she longed to share was branded on the inside, and she yearned to show him her scars, yet somehow her lips had no strength to move.
His throat worked, and he looked down at his hand, finally turning the rest of him to face her. Gaze gripping like an iron vice, his voice cracked, and the muscles of his face flinched. “You had a child.”
Eyes burning, Hannah held the doorframe harder, the apathetic wood giving no comfort to her failing strength when by grace alone, the answer slipped free. “Our son.”
“Miss Young? Is everything all right?”
The clomp of Stockton’s shoes echoed up the stairway, and she turned to the hall, the effort it took to move and speak without weeping as painful a thing as she’d ever known. She smiled down at Stockton, where he’d stopped halfway up the stairs. “It seems my fan cannot be found. I shall go without it.”
He nodded, smiling. “Of course.” Hand extended, he waited for her to come to him.
Though her eyes burned with an unquenchable fire of grief and regret, she blinked away the rising moisture. She wished nothing else but to throw her soul at Joseph’s feet, reveal everything and beg him to forgive her. But with Stockton’s unfaltering stare upon her, she could not show the emotion that threatened to slay her soul—could not peer even one last time at Joseph as he stood beside her dressing table, holding the treasure of their child in his strong hand.
Lord, give me strength.
Descending, she took Stockton’s arm, and he led her down the remaining steps and out the door. She had to remind herself to breathe, but even forcing air in and out took strength she didn’t possess. ’Twas a dream. Or so it seemed from the way the world moved in and out around her, the way the sounds of voices and shoes and doors seemed far away as Stockton helped her into the carriage. All she could hear, see, feel, was Joseph. His hurt, and pain, and shock stabbed through her very bones.
The carriage moved, but she was too numb to feel it. Joseph had loved her that morning—did he still now? The memory of the lack of life in his eternal blue eyes drained more of her strength. He thought her selfish, cruel for keeping such a thing from him. And mayhap she was.
Hannah pressed a palm to her chest and closed her eyes when the paper between her breasts shifted, and she wrenched her spine straight. Her eyes sprung open. The note. A groan built in her throat, and she closed her eyes again to force it away. She had meant to give it to Joseph before they’d left. Oh! Hannah dropped her head in her hand. She’d failed. She was no spy. All the work they’d volunteered for would come to naught.
“Miss Young? Are you unwell?”
She looked up and gasped in surprise at Stockton’s sudden question. A small laugh she hoped would ease the tension did nothing but stir it. “Aye, indeed. I was…I was just pondering over my fan. I can’t think of where I might have left it.”
Giving the laugh another hopeful try, she shrugged and circled her fingers deeper into her muff, falling instantly backward to the pit that gaped behind her.
Joseph. Joseph, I am so sorry.
Perhaps if he had come back as she’d hoped he would those many years ago…if her father hadn’t shunned her and forced her from town…if she had told Joseph of their child.
Perhaps then all of this would have been nothing but a bitter dream and she would wake in the morning wrapped in the arms of the man she loved.
But ’twas not a dream.
And she could only hope the rest of what awaited her that eve would not crush what remained of her spirit. For the night had only just begun.
* * *
Joseph stared, his arms and legs heavy and numb. He tried to swallow, to dislodge the emotion that clogged his throat. But it wouldn’t move.
Again he lifted the tiny, soft booties, shock so consuming him he could hardly form a single thought but the memory of Hannah’s mouth forming the words he couldn’t believe she spoke. Our son.
Why hadn’t she told him?
He turned back to the dressing table and yanked open the drawer in full. There must be something else—a journal, a letter perhaps. Something to answer the questions that writhed through him. Privacy be hanged.
There, in the center of the drawer atop a folded cloth, sat something he hadn’t seen since that night ten years ago—something, to own the truth, he hadn’t even remembered. Though now that he looked at it, the memories crashed against him like a wave, dragging and pulling him under.
Joseph rested the booties on the table and took the ring in his fingers, the touch of the metal opening a sacred closet, one he’d locked but not forgotten. With this ring he’d asked for her hand. And she’d accepted.
He breathed out a soft breath, thick with hurt…and love. Not enough money to purchase a more fitting semblance of the marriage they wished for, he’d made it that morning. Rolling it between finger and thumb, a pain-filled grin pulled at one side of his face. How she’d smiled when she’d seen it, begging him to slip it on her finger. How she’d loved him then.
The stabbing he’d felt from the time Philo told of Hannah’s hatred of him throbbed, the wound never having healed.
But she’d kept it. Why? It seemed foolish to keep such a trinket that would only remind her of what they had lost, if she truly hated him as much as Philo had claimed.
Lost.
Joseph groaned deep in his chest and shook his head. To bury a child all alone? How had she endured such grief? If he had known, nothing in heaven, earth, or hell would have kept him away. Didn’t she know that of him? Was his unfailing devotion not so profoundly felt?
“Joseph?”
The deep voice from the parlor tapped at his shoulder, bringing him around and rousing his mind just enough to respond.
“Aye?” He paused to rest the ring and booties in the drawer and went to the top of the stairs. “Oh, Sackett.” He descended almost too quickly, needing to move his body and force away the blinding confusion. “The barrels are finished?”
“I figure we w
ill be done just in time to make the delivery.”
“Excellent.” Joseph slipped his arms into his greatcoat, enough anxiety in his limbs to give him the strength to run the ten miles to Duxbury. How would he ever endure the three-hour wait? “Stockton informed me I should make the drop alone, but you know that, of course?”
Sackett nodded, almost chuckling. “I’ve no trouble with that.”
“Good.” Flinging open the door, Joseph marched out with Sackett following, grateful for the weighty distraction. The delivery, the raid, and the evening’s ball were enough to keep his mind and his body engaged without combustion. But only for tonight. For tomorrow would come. And with it the realization that more sorrows lay between him and the woman he loved than he had ever known.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Aw, we’ve finally arrived.”
Hannah stirred at Stockton’s announcement as the carriage slowed to a stop. She pressed out a weary breath. The lights from the torches lining the road slipped through the window of the carriage, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. They might have arrived, but her soul was ten miles behind, crouched and crying.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Stockton cleared his throat. “Miss Young?”
At the sound of her name, Hannah raised her head, slapping her mind awake. “Oh, aye. Forgive me.”
“If I may be so bold, you do not appear well.” His expression took on a protective angle, and he reached out, resting his hand atop her muff. “I fear perhaps…I fear your cousin is making unwanted advances.”
“What? Oh…no. Nothing like that.” Was that what he’d thought? He’d seen them in the kitchen and no doubt noticed her lack of color since they left Eaton Hill. “Not to worry.”
He inclined his head, unconvinced. “If he has done anything to—”
“Nay.” Hannah tried a relaxed laugh that came out as a high-pitched squeak. “All is well. I…I have just been overtired, but today’s rest did wonders.”
Stockton’s stare refused to leave her. “If you require anything of me, I should hope you would feel comfortable to speak to me of it, Hannah.”
Her stomach rolled, and she forced a response to cover the gag that built in her throat. “Of course.” She roused a smile with a slight nod, sucking in a deep breath that did nothing to calm her storming belly.
Blessedly, the footman opened the door, bringing the conversation to a quick end. Stockton exited first, offering his hand to Hannah. As she stepped from the carriage, she raised her eyes, and slowly, her mouth opened in awe. Dear heaven. Large as any estate she’d seen, the home was magnificent. Wood built and whitewashed, the wide walk of the three-story home was lined with large Greek-style carvings, and though snow blanketed most of the greenery, ’twas clear the gardening was meticulous.
The torches washed their orange light up the handful of brick stairs to the large doors that opened as if someone had seen them approaching.
A wigged man bowed and reached for her muff and cloak, looking to Stockton as he spoke. “You are most welcome, Major Stockton.”
Stockton placed a possessive hand at Hannah’s elbow. “This is Miss Hannah Young.”
The stranger stepped aside, motioning to the ballroom. “Jones will announce you.”
Another fellow walked before them, leading them down a vast hall. Candles lit the walk, portraits and busts seeming to nod with pride as Hannah passed.
To the left, the large doors were already open with two men standing at attention at either side. The guide stopped at the doorway, the soft yellow glow beaming from the chandeliers as his voice boomed through the room. “Major Ezra Stockton and his guest, Miss Hannah Young.”
The man stepped aside to allow her and Stockton to enter, all eyes intent on them as they stepped in.
Stockton offered his elbow and leaned her direction, whispering, “Did I not say you would be the most lovely woman here?”
“You are too kind, Major.” Sound drifted from her throat. Her lips moved, but ’twas mechanical, forced. All she could see were her failings. Scrambling to gather what strength she’d had earlier, Hannah gripped Stockton’s arm, holding him for fear her legs would weaken. The wood floor seemed more like soft soil beneath her shoes, giving way with every step. Lord, help Joseph forgive me.
Stockton looked down, placing his other gloved hand atop hers, his unabashed stare drifting to her chest before lifting back to her eyes. “I do hope this evening will calm whatever ails your spirit, that we may at last become even more acquainted.”
“Oh! There you are!” A mirthful chirp resounded from the right of the large room, the other guests already interested in the next announcement that blared from the entrance.
Dottie Pitman came bounding toward them, her ample bosom bouncing. “My dear, I have been awaiting your arrival with such anticipation.”
Hannah curtsied. “’Tis an honor, Mrs. Pitman.”
Plump and jolly, Dottie’s cheeks widened as she smiled. “My dear, I know you feel you must be formal since we are amongst so many, but please, you must call me Dottie.” She glanced up to Stockton. “I can see you will be reluctant to release your hold on this lovely woman, but Aldor is at the refreshment table and has something to speak with you about.”
Dottie looked to Hannah, her eyes growing wide, as if she were confessing through her expression that she fabricated the statement simply to be rid of him.
Stockton bowed before stepping back. “I would be pleased if you would do me the honor of the first minuet, Miss Young.”
Hannah looked to Dottie. ’Twas not his place to ask her, even though she’d come as his guest. As a woman of lower rank, she could not dance with those of a higher station, and she prayed from the depth of her that Dottie would hold to tradition.
But she did not.
Dottie frowned, happily tsking. “I see that worry, my dear, but you mustn’t think of it. With that gown, and attending as Major Stockton’s guest, no one will judge you.”
Stare still intent upon her, Stockton didn’t move until she faced him. “’Twould be an honor, Major.”
“The honor is all mine.” He stepped back, holding her with his stare before turning to locate the companion he’d been sent to find.
Dottie reached out, and Hannah took the woman’s hand with both of hers, grateful to have someone else to cling to. “I am so pleased to be here.” Hollow words, but ones that must be spoken.
“My dear, you are positively radiant.” Dottie quieted, as if she wished to hide her voice from listening ears. “I am pleased you were willing to attend with the major, but I daresay there are a few others I wish to acquaint you with.” She walked Hannah to the side of the dance floor where a row of seats lined the edge. “Higley is to arrive later, and he is simply—Oh! Mrs. Harper, there you are. You simply must meet my new friend Miss Young. Miss Young…”
’Twas easy to pretend she heard as the two women prattled on. Hannah need only nod and smile, curtsy and offer an occasional “hmm” or “aye” while her mind moaned over her heartache. Where was Joseph now? She looked to the clock in the far corner of the room. She’d been there only twenty minutes. Oh, how would she survive another ten hours?
“I’m most curious, Miss Young?”
Hannah shook her head, grasping wildly for the trail of unheard words her mind struggled to follow. She ducked her head apologetically. “Do forgive me. I…I didn’t hear—”
“Oh, not to worry, dear.” Dottie patted Hannah’s arm. “Mrs. Harper wanted to know who made your lovely gown.”
“Uh…’twas in town. Already made.”
Another woman began to speak. Something about how she thought she’d seen it, when another rang in saying she was sure it was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. Hannah’s eyes began to burn, and she smiled over the pain, breathing long and slow.
Dinner could not come soon enough. Then she could busy her hands and keep her mouth full despite the fact her stomach rolled and was likely to reject anything she forced
into it. But dinner was still another four hours away.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your places for the minuet.”
Hannah whirled and jerked back to see Stockton already inches from her. She placed a hand at her chest. “Forgive me, Major. I didn’t see you there.”
He swept around, motioning to the floor, where couples were beginning to gather. “Shall we?”
Perhaps a dance or two would do her good. Not that she wished to be any closer to this man than she must, but the music and the motion might dull her anxieties.
She placed her hand on his and practiced a smile, praying he didn’t detect the pretended sincerity. One minute, one hour at a time. That was the only way she would make it through the night.
* * *
The drive was awash with heavy shadows, the sliver of moon offering little light for Joseph’s arrival at Willis’s yard. He pulled the horse to a halt and jumped from the wagon, the hairs at his neck already on end. Higley’s warning tapped endlessly through his memory, and he scanned the wood for any sign of movement. There was heat in the wintery air, as if unseen eyes burned through the blackness.
So far the yard appeared vacant, and God willing ’twould continue to be so. He patted the horse’s neck, wishing not for the first time it had been Anvil with him and not the wagon horse. Rounding the front of the animal, Joseph glanced to the darkness of the surrounding wood. If Greene was hiding somewhere, he had better not be alone. If he were, Joseph would prove how dangerous attacking him would be.
At the door, he knocked twice, and it swung open.
Bathed in a soft light, Willis motioned Joseph in, that jolly exterior slightly dimmed from the recent beating, but still afresh. “Come in.”
After Joseph entered, Willis shut the door, his tight expression speaking something different than his mouth. “You are ready?”
Joseph nodded, understanding the unspoken meaning. “I’ve the barrels in the back. Waiting to be put to good use.” Should any listening ears be privy to what they spoke, their conversation would be taken as naught but their already proposed plans. “Shall I help you unload them?”
So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4) Page 28
