“I know,” Hannah said simply.
It took only a moment for Grace to realize what she was talking about, and then she collapsed back to the stool once again. “Oh, thank goodness! You don’t know what a burden it has been to carry that secret!”
Hannah cocked her head sideways. “How long have you known?”
“Since earlier this evening.”
It was all Hannah could do not to fall off her own stool with laughter. Poor Grace, never able to hold onto secrets too long. “Well, you needn’t carry it alone any longer. While I don’t know all the details, I do know he’s alive. One day soon, I will confront Evan on the matter. However, I need your help. I have a plan to bring Beeston to his knees, and I cannot do it alone.”
Chapter 20
When Graham arrived at the Somerset townhome the next morning, he was met with a grave looking Somerset. The man wore a frown even deeper than usual and immediately summoned Graham to his study. There was no denying the sick feeling in Graham’s belly. Something was amiss—he only prayed Hannah was safe. Anything else could be dealt with, he was sure.
“Have a seat,” Somerset said, gesturing to the empty leather chair and then making his way to the sideboard, where he poured two rather generous helpings of brandy. He handed one to Graham and then rounded the desk to sit on the other side. He took a drink; Graham followed suit.
Silence.
“Somerset, are you going to tell me why I’m here?” Graham asked, eager to get upstairs to Hannah.
“I think Hannah knows.”
Graham nodded. He wasn’t certain how to feel about that. What would it do to her? She was fragile enough as it was—news like this could…
“Why do you think that?” he asked, moving to the edge of his seat and setting his glass down on the desk.
“Grace found this—” The duke procured a small bottle. “—beside Hannah’s bed.”
Damn. She’d reverted to the blasted laudanum. There was no doubt now that she knew. Graham pushed back his chair and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To reassure my bride-to-be that as long as I’m alive, no harm will come to her. She needn’t resort to such measures just because that man—if one can even call him that—is still alive and in London.”
“I don’t know why she didn’t come to me. Or you. Anyone! She must know we will protect her and do all we can to keep him away. No doubt, she is worried about your engagement, and what all of this means in terms of your marriage.”
No doubt. “We will go on as if nothing has happened,” Graham insisted. “The banns will be read, preparations made, and we will marry in six weeks’ time.”
“And what if Beeston does lay claim to her.”
Then I shall kill him. A thought that frightened the devil out of Graham, and yet he’d lain awake last night plotting just how he might do it without getting caught. He couldn’t tell that to the duke, though, so he simply shook his head, and said, “I don’t know.”
He stormed through the house and up the stairs until he stood at Hannah’s door. Part of him was angry with her for picking up that damn bottle. After all they’d been through, all she’d overcome, and now she was going to send herself right back to bed, her body soaked in opiates, and pretend none of it ever happened? Sure, the news of Beeston was distressing, even to him—certainly it was catastrophic in her mind. But it didn’t have to be. They would figure it out together, even if it meant running away to China or Australia or some far-off place where no one would care that her husband was still alive.
But to what lengths would Beeston go to claim his bride? Would they always have to look over their shoulders? Would they always wonder if he was nearby, watching, waiting for his moment?
Damn!
“Dr. Alcott?” The young duchess glided down the corridor toward him, her peach gown billowing around her legs.
“Your Grace,” he said, offering her a bow. “How are you feeling today? I do hope last night’s party wasn’t too taxing for you.”
“Not at all,” Her Grace said, and then she drew in closer and lowered her voice. “Not for me, anyway.”
Graham nodded. “Your brother has already enlightened me on the situation. But we mustn’t fear a minor setback. I cured her of the addiction once, and I’m certain I can do it again.”
“But can you promise her that Beeston won’t come to claim her?”
No. He couldn’t. And it was eating him up inside. “I will say what I have to in order to get her better.”
“Please,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “Do what you must.”
She moved on and Graham faced the door again. His heart was heavy with sadness and frustration over the whole situation—he couldn’t imagine how Hannah was feeling.
After a deep breath, he knocked three times in rapid succession and then pushed through the door. All the curtains were drawn closed, the only light a tiny sliver coming from the sun that sneaked through the edges of the drapes. The scene was almost identical to the one he’d come upon months and months earlier, when he’d first begun to care for Hannah. When she was weak and unable to care for herself. She’d come so far, he couldn’t bear to see her reverted to this. It nearly broke his heart.
He approached the bed where she lay sleeping, the covers pulled tightly around her, a part of the fabric balled into her fist.
“Hannah,” he whispered, kneeling down so that when she opened her eyes, she’d see his face. “Hannah, are you awake?”
She blinked her eyes open and it took a moment for her to realize who was there with her. Then her lower lip began to tremble and she closed her eyes again. “He’s alive,” she whispered.
Graham moved to sit on the bed and gathered her into his arms. “I know, my love,” he murmured into her hair. “I know all about it.”
He rocked her back and forth as she held onto him, quietly crying against his chest. “I took some laudanum last night.”
A sigh escaped Graham. “Yes, I know about that too. Grace told me.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“I don’t imagine anyone could after hearing their husband had come back to life.”
“What if he comes for me?”
Graham didn’t know how to answer that. He knew what he wanted to do if that happened, but he’d do Hannah no good in Newgate. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I do know that I will do everything in my power to keep him from getting near you. Tell me…how do you feel about Australia?”
Hannah pulled back and stared at him, her tearful eyes shimmering in the dim room. “Australia?” she repeated with a bit of disdain in her tone.
“Or China?”
“China!”
“India?”
“Heavens, Graham,” she said. “I don’t want to leave England.”
Damn. “Then we will find another way,” he replied, at a loss for what that other way might be. “But you must promise me two things…”
She blinked at him.
“You must not take even another drop of laudanum.”
She swallowed. “Fine.”
“You must not leave this house without your brother or myself by your side.”
She hesitated, but finally said, “Fine.”
“We don’t know what he has planned, Hannah,” Graham went on, unsatisfied with her reluctant answer. “Perhaps he plans to reclaim you. Perhaps he plans something worse.”
Hannah pursed her lips together and nodded. Clearly, she’d considered that possibility—that perhaps he wanted to torture or even kill her. The thought made Graham absolutely sick to his stomach. If that bastard harmed even a single hair on her head, he’d have hell to pay.
“And I want you to know that this changes nothing,” he went on. “The banns will be read, and we will be wed in six weeks.”
“But what if—”
He placed a finger to her lips. “There is no room for ‘what if.’ This matter will be settled before then one way or the other, and you
will be my bride.”
Her lips spread into a grin beneath his finger, which he replaced with his lips. He promised her, with his kiss, that she had nothing to fear, that she was his, and no man—not even Beeston—would tear them asunder.
It was all Hannah could do to not pull Graham against her and beg him to have his way with her. How she wanted to feel his body pressed to hers, his hands roaming her bare skin. She ached for him all over. But she had work to do, so she would have to find a way to stave him off, much as it pained her.
She pulled away from the kiss and pretended to yawn. “I am still feeling the effects of the laudanum, my love,” she said sleepily, burrowing back into the covers. “I fear I must rest some more.”
He caressed her hair. Such a simple gesture that somehow had the power to make her feel so safe and adored. “Of course,” he said. “You should sleep. You will feel back to yourself by tomorrow.”
“I do hope so.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I will see you then.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, then waited. He walked slowly to the door, clearly taking care not to disturb her, now he thought she was asleep, then at long last, the latch clicked, and she was alone again.
Of course, she would have to wait a while longer before she could get up and prepare to leave. He might take time to speak with Mother or Evan before he left, and any one of them might come to check on her. But with any luck, he would urge them to leave her alone to sleep off the laudanum.
The laudanum she hadn’t really taken.
Thank heavens for Grace. She was more than excited to play a part in Hannah’s scheme, and right now she was compiling a very important list on her behalf. Once Hannah had the list in hand, she would set out on her mission, and Grace would have the arduous task of convincing the rest of the family to leave Hannah alone. Hannah, who wouldn’t even be in the house, let alone lying in her bed feeling sorry for herself.
Satisfied that Graham was downstairs by now, Hannah rushed to the window, tucked into the corner of the widow seat, and pulled the curtain back just enough to see the street below.
It was all a bustle—mothers with their children, businessmen rushing about, aristocrats trying to avoid beggars—and there was Graham, his black bag in one hand, walking stick in the other. So tall and handsome, he stood out in the crowd, and Hannah smiled, knowing that soon enough, he would be hers. She just had to settle the little matter of Beeston first. Easier said than done, she was sure, but she had to try. She had to make certain he never did to another woman what he’d done to her.
Grace burst through the door a moment later, out of breath and flushed. But of course she wore a smile on her face. She absolutely lived for this sort of thing.
“Do you have the list?” Hannah asked, moving from the window toward her sister-in-law.
Grace procured a piece of paper from her bosom. “Here,” she said. “Veronica Delaney.”
“The actress?” Hannah confirmed.
Grace nodded. Hannah wasn’t certain how she felt about this all of a sudden. Confronting her husband’s paramours was going to be odd, to say the least. Perhaps a bit disturbing. Would they bear a resemblance to her? Or would they reflect a different preference of his altogether? Would she have to face her own shortcomings and wonder what it was he saw in them that he didn’t see in her?
“You’re trembling,” Grace pointed out. “Perhaps you should reconsider—let Evan and Dr. Alcott handle this.”
“No.” The mere suggestion reminded Hannah why she was doing this. She couldn’t let someone else fight her battles anymore. “I must do this. Is the carriage ready?”
“Leave out the servants’ door and head to the mews. John will be waiting for you there with the unmarked carriage.”
“And you’ve assured his discretion?”
“With a heavy coin purse, yes.”
“Good.” Hannah grabbed Grace’s hands. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”
Chapter 21
Hannah could only hope that this would get easier as time went on. As it was, her nerves were on edge and she hadn’t stopped trembling the entire journey to the west end of town. A million thoughts whirled through her mind, making her belly turn over and over with each new one. What if Miss Delaney reacted badly to her? What if she turned her away? Or the most horrifying thought of all: what if Beeston was with her right now? Wouldn’t that be just her luck?
But she couldn’t think about that. She had to at least try, didn’t she? Otherwise, she would regret not doing so every day of her life.
As the carriage came to a stop somewhere near Covent Garden, Hannah affixed the black fascinator to her hair and pulled the black lace veil over her face. With any luck, her widow’s weeds would keep her from being recognized, as the clothing covered practically every inch of her and eclipsed her face almost entirely.
John opened the door and helped her down from the conveyance.
“Stay near,” she instructed. “I won’t be long.” And then she looked down at the small piece of foolscap in her hand that instructed her on where to go.
It wasn’t the worst part of town, but it wasn’t the best either. It was far too close to Seven Dials for Hannah’s comfort, but thankfully, it seemed Miss Delaney had a fairly nice set up in Covent Garden proper, if the outside of the building was any indication. No doubt a wealthy suitor had seen to her every need.
Hannah stared up at the townhome for a long moment before finally knocking on the door. Then she waited. And waited. And—
Nothing.
Disappointment flooded her, and she began to turn from the door, trying not to turn melancholy over the situation. There were many other women, much as she hated to admit that. It didn’t mean her mission was over by any means. It just meant—
“Who are you?” came a voice from behind her.
Hannah whirled to find the door to the townhome cracked just enough to see part of the woman’s face.
“My name is Hannah,” she said, the words coming out far more steady than she felt. “Are you Miss Delaney?”
“What’s your business?”
“I only want to talk to you—it won’t take long, I swear. I just—” she glanced down the street, becoming nervous all of a sudden that someone might see her standing here, talking to the door. “It requires discretion. If I may come in.”
There was a slight pause, and then the door eased open, allowing her entry into the foyer.
“Follow me,” Miss Delaney said, leading her to a door just past the staircase.
They entered a small parlor that was well-appointed, but a bit dim, seeing as the only light came from a single window at the back of the townhouse. Hannah took a seat across from the woman, unable to stop herself from assessing her, head to toe.
She was blonde and quite beautiful by anyone’s standards. She was of a similar height to Hannah, it seemed. Not short, not tall, simply average. But she was built quite a bit differently, with far more curves, to put it gently. If she wasn’t careful, she’d spill right out the front of her gown. Given that, it was easy to see what Beeston saw in her.
“Who are you?” she asked, pulling Hannah’s gaze from where it should not have been, back to her round, cherubic face.
“Hannah,” she replied simply, at first. “Hannah Ludlum. Lady Beeston.”
It wasn’t until the last that Miss Delaney registered who she was. Her eyes grew round, and she began shaking her head frantically. “I don’t want any trouble,” she said, her cockney accent barely seeping through. “I swear, I didn’t know he was married.”
“Please,” Hannah said, holding up a hand to stop her from blathering on. “I’m here as a friend.”
That took the woman quite off guard. “A friend?”
Hannah nodded. “Indeed. You see, my husband was…well, not a good husband at all, as you might imagine. As a matter of fact, he shot me.”
“Yes, I know,” the woman replied. “That’s the first I
’d heard of you. From the papers. Then he came here, all distraught, going on about what he’d done and that he had to leave town.”
Now it was Hannah’s turn to be caught off guard. “You mean, the two of you were still…?” She couldn’t say the words, so she simply waved her hand about, as if to indicate she was talking about intimate relations.
Miss Delaney nodded. “Not that I was the only one.”
Hannah swallowed down the bile that rose to her throat. What a disgusting, odious man. To think she’d allowed him into her bed. Of course, she’d not had much of a choice, being his wife and all, but still, it made her stomach lurch to even think about it.
“No,” Hannah muttered. “Of course not.”
“If you’ve come to yell at me, I pray you get it over with.”
“Oh.” Hannah looked up at the woman. Funny to think she’d actually put fear into her. No one ever feared Hannah. “No, you misunderstand,” she said. “I’ve come to ask for your help.” She moved forward on her seat. “You see, Beeston took his own life—”
Miss Delaney gasped.
“Or so I thought,” Hannah finished, and the woman relaxed in relief. “As it turns out, my brother only sent him away, to America. But he’s come back, and I fear he plans to reclaim me.”
“Reclaim you?”
Hannah nodded. “Of course he doesn’t care for me. To him, I am but a mere possession. Something that rightfully belongs to him. And knowing him as I do, he will stop at nothing to get me back. If that happens, I will have little recourse. I am legally his wife, after all.”
Miss Delaney just stared at her with her wide, blue eyes, waiting for Hannah to continue.
“Tell me,” Hannah said. “Did you care for Beeston?”
That elicited a snort that was most certainly made of derision. “No one cared for Beeston but Beeston, my lady. But he paid for all this and kept food on my table.”
“He…?” Hannah looked about. “Beeston paid for this?”
“Said he didn’t want to keep having relations in my Seven Dials residence.”
How to Care for a Lady Page 13
