Hannah couldn’t blame him there.
“So he set me up here.”
“How have you afforded the rent since he left?”
“Paid it through the end of the year, he did,” Miss Delaney said. “After that, I suppose I’ll be out on the street.”
Hannah needed a moment to think it all through, to grasp everything she’d just heard. She glanced about the room, realizing that Beeston had used his money—their money—to make certain this woman had a clean place to…to…
Oh, she couldn’t even think it. But she also couldn’t bear the thought of this poor woman being turned out on the street in the middle of winter.
“Of course we will figure something out for you,” Hannah said, rendering Miss Delaney speechless. “You may have had relations with my husband, but you weren’t the first. And I can’t imagine what kind of situation would make you so desperate for money to sleep with such an odious man, so no, I do not lay the blame at your feet, Miss Delaney. You were a victim, as I imagine all his paramours were. As I feel I was. Trapped by his charm at first, and then forced into what I feared would be a lifetime of loneliness and abuse from that man.”
“You said you needed my help?”
“Indeed, I do.” She reached into her reticule and procured the list Grace had made for her of all Beeston’s known paramours. It was quite long—twenty-six women, to be exact—and there was no guarantee they’d all be as willing as Miss Delaney, but Hannah could hope.
She handed the list to Miss Delaney.
“What’s this?”
“A list of his lovers,” Hannah said, choking a bit on the last word. “I want to find all of them, so that together, we can make certain Beeston leaves town and never comes back.”
Miss Delaney looked at the list, then back up at Hannah. “You want to trap him?”
“Better to trap him before he traps me.” She paused. “Do you know any of them?”
“Some.”
“Miss Delaney,” Hannah said, reaching across the divide and taking the woman’s hand. “Will you help me?”
The woman looked down at the list, then to Hannah’s walking stick, and finally her gaze settled on Hannah. “Yes.”
Chapter 22
Graham knew he ought not to beat himself up over the situation—he was doing the best he could, after all—but he couldn’t help it. Hannah was taking laudanum again, and her behavior was most troubling. Even worse, the duchess was defending and protecting her, insisting Hannah was a grown woman who could do as she pleased, and if laudanum helped her through this difficult time, Graham ought not to interfere.
It was ridiculous. He was her doctor first, fiancé second. He had more rights to tell her what to do than anyone else. And yet, in the face of the young duchess, he felt impotent. She was pushy and overbearing and so very loyal to her sister-in-law it was maddening.
“Are you going to sit there all day and watch her sleep?” came a voice from the doorway. Not the young duchess, thank God, but the dowager. He couldn’t take much more of Her Grace today.
“That was my plan,” he replied, turning back to Hannah’s sleeping form. “Has she eaten at all since yesterday morning?”
The dowager took her place at the other side of the bed. “Not that I know of.”
Damn. She would waste away to nothing again. He had to do something, but what? It clearly wasn’t enough that he was combing the streets night and day, looking for Beeston. Or that they were to be married in five weeks’ time. She’d fallen into despair and succumbed to the opiates again, and Graham felt completely helpless.
“Has Somerset had any luck tracking down Beeston?”
The dowager shook her head and sighed as she leaned back against the small, wooden chair. “I don’t think so. Apparently, someone saw him near Spitalfields, entering what seemed to be an apartment. But whether or not it is his or some doxy’s, no one knows.”
“Perhaps I will go there today.” He stared at his fiancé, his love. “I had hoped she would wake. I want to take her walking in the park, for ices at Gunters…to sit a spell on the verandah, at the very least, and talk about our future. Something. Anything.”
“It isn’t safe for her to be out and about anyway.”
“She would be safe with me.”
“Find Beeston, and all will be as it was before.”
He could only hope. “You will alert me to any changes?”
The dowager nodded, and Graham stood. He bent over to place a kiss on Hannah’s forehead and then left, praying the dowager was right.
The door clicked shut, but Hannah didn’t trust that her mother had left with Graham. Oh, how painful that had been, to hear him speak of all the wonderful things they ought to be doing during their engagement. How she wanted to walk with him and eat ices with him, and she would. They had a lifetime for that. But for now, she had to make certain Beeston never dared to show his face in England ever again. And such a plan required the utmost discretion. Evan and Graham would never have allowed her to visit all the women she’d visited over the last week.
“Aren’t you going to get up now?”
A gasp escaped her at the sound of her mother’s voice and her heart sped to a dangerous pace. Still, she lay still. She’d gotten quite good at pretending to sleep lately.
“Hannah, do you think me daft? Get up. You owe me some explanations.”
Hannah felt like a young girl again, cornered by her overbearing mother, as she slowly turned herself over and came to a sitting position on the bed. The dowager stood at the end of the four-poster, her arms folded across her chest, her eyebrows raised in question.
“How did you know?” Hannah asked, for she was certain now her mother knew more than she wanted her to.
“Because I’m not daft,” her mother replied sharply. “And because I saw you sneaking down the back stairs yesterday when you didn’t know I was watching.”
Hannah let out a long breath and collapsed against her pillows. “I suppose you’re going to tell Evan and make certain he stops me.”
Mother cocked her head sideways. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“Because what I’m doing is dangerous. What if Beeston finds me?”
“Well, I trust you’re being careful.”
“You do?”
The dowager moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know I haven’t been the warmest of mothers, and I’m too old to change all of that, I assure you. But perhaps I’ve softened a bit. Perhaps I’ve seen that my children are more capable than I ever thought them to be.”
Hannah almost wanted to hug the woman, but she knew Mother would never allow it, so she simply smiled and said, “Thank you, Mother.”
“But I want to know exactly what you’re doing. And I want to know how I can help.”
“Are you certain? It is not for gently bred ladies to hear.”
“My dear, I am not some green girl. Now tell me what it is you and Grace have been up to.”
Hannah shifted. “If you’re certain.” At her mother’s nod, she continued, “I have visited almost all of Beeston’s former…lovers.” She choked on the word again—she might never get used to saying it out loud, let alone in front of her mother.
The dowager’s eyes grew round, but she remained quiet, waiting for Hannah to go on.
“Grace found them by pouring over old newspapers and Beeston’s correspondence. I’m certain it’s not all of them, but the list was quite long—twenty-six women—of which we’ve visited nineteen.”
“And what is your point in doing this?” Mother wondered.
A little smile formed at the corners of Hannah’s mouth—she was helpless to stop it. She’d had a plan at first, but after talking it over with the nineteen other women, she had an even better one.
“To make Beeston wish he’d never come back to England.”
Chapter 23
Dr. Pritchard sat in the corner of the coffee house where Plato’s Assembly gathered, sipping an amber colored ale, and looki
ng quite a bit more cheerful than last he’d seen the man. Graham strode across the space and pulled out a chair.
“Ah, there he is,” Dr. Pritchard said, coming to a half stand and shoving his hand forward.
Graham shook it and then took his seat. “You look well, my friend,” he said. “Seems that the country air has done you well.”
“Oh, you’ve no idea,” Pritchard laughed. “Ale?”
“Please.”
The older man gestured to the waiter and then turned his attention back to Graham. “You, on the other hand, look as if you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“A week, to be exact,” Graham admitted, as a glass of ale appeared before him. “We will get to that, I’m sure. But how did your patient fare with the babe?”
“Her condition was troubling at first, but with bed rest and constant care, I’m happy to say both mother and child are well.”
“Wonderful news. It is good to have you back in London, though.”
“You might not want to grow accustomed to having me here,” Pritchard said, and Graham eyed him curiously. “I’m an old man, Alcott. Forty years I’ve been caring for people. I’m tired.”
Graham nodded. It was a sad occasion, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. “You deserve to live out the rest of your days peacefully,” he said.
“Well, perhaps not peacefully.” There was a glint in the old doctor’s eyes. “I may have lost my mind, but for certain I’ve lost my heart.”
Now that was a surprise. Dr. Pritchard was an old bachelor, always claiming he’d been too busy to take a wife. “You don’t say,” Graham drawled.
“She was part of the staff at Chivelesword Abbey. She caught my eye the second I saw her.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Clara. Clara Smith, soon to be Pritchard.”
Graham’s smile spread from ear to ear. “Congratulations, my friend,” he said, and he meant it, even if it did raise concern for his own situation with Hannah.
“We will marry in the parish church in Leicestershire next month, just before Christmas. We’d be honored if you could be there.”
“Only if you promise to be at my wedding,” Graham said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the rough wooden table.
Pritchard’s eyes grew round and wide. “You mean to say…you…but…who?”
Graham couldn’t help but laugh. “You won’t believe it when I tell you.” He paused for a bit of dramatic effect. “The Widow Beeston.”
Oh, to have a paintbrush to capture the look on the good doctor’s face. He’d been rendered speechless, it seemed.
“You must be joking.”
“But I’m not. And I cannot ever thank you enough for leaving Town so that I may care for her. We are quite fond of one another.”
“Oh, my boy,” Dr. Pritchard said, his wise, older eyes glistening. “I had feared you would end up like me, an old, lonely bachelor. This is most happy news.”
Graham smiled at the man, knowing it was indeed most happy news, but also feeling deeply troubled by the shadow of Beeston’s return. “There is one small problem,” he said, the words coming out slowly, reluctantly.
Pritchard’s entire face wrinkled with concern. “What is that?”
Graham took a deep breath and put his face in his hands. “It seems Beeston has risen from the dead.”
There was a moment’s pause, and then, “Men like that always do.”
“Somerset paid him to leave the country, but apparently he couldn’t stay away. We don’t know his plan, we just know he’s here, in London. It is my belief he will attempt to reclaim his wife when we all least suspect it.”
“And how is Lady Beeston doing in all of this?”
Graham shook his head, feeling helpless. “Not well. I had weaned her off the laudanum completely, she was walking—with the help of a walking stick, of course—she was happy, and now…”
“And now?”
“We’re back where we started. But even worse, her sister-in-law is on her side, giving her the laudanum against my wishes. Insisting we all leave her alone. It is most painful to watch.”
“And what are you doing in the meantime?”
“Searching for him.”
“What will you do when you find him?”
“I would love nothing more than to drown him in the Thames,” Graham admitted bluntly, at which the old man chuckled. “But I keep reminding myself I’ll be of no service to Hannah if I’m locked up at Newgate. Or hung. So, to answer your question, I have no bloody idea.”
Pritchard patted Graham on the arm. “I will keep my ear to the ground for you. In the meantime, take care of your bride. Give her something to live for.”
Something to live for. He had hoped that something was him, but apparently it wasn’t good enough. Apparently he was no match for the despair that had befallen her. “I will try,” he said finally, but his heart ached as he prayed for a miracle.
While Hannah had most desperately wanted to keep her plan as much of a secret as she could, she had to admit it was somewhat helpful to have Mother on her side. If someone had told her that her mother would be her champion a few months ago, she would have laughed in their face. But as it turned out, Mother was quite excited about the prospect of exacting revenge on the baron. Quite admittedly, he deserved it. It was just nice to know Mother thought so too, after all her years of encouraging Hannah to be a good little wife and do her duty by him. It was clear she hadn’t understood the extent of Beeston’s cruelty, not until the night before he shot her. The night he’d come to Somerset House screaming that she was a whore. An odd accusation since she’d barely even slept with her own husband, let alone another man.
Heavens, she couldn’t wait for all this to be over with so she could be with Graham, in the truest sense of the word. He’d sparked something within her that day in her bedchamber when he’d kissed her. How she wanted more! To know what it was like to lay with someone who truly loved her and cared about her. Beeston had been…well, not terribly kind or thoughtful in the bedroom. The memories still kept her up at night sometimes, but she shook them away now. There was no time for breast beating. The plan was coming together—they had all but three girls willing to join them in the fight. They’d been too fearful, a feeling Hannah understood all too well. But she’d not fear him anymore.
Now came the hard part—the part where they would have to lure Beeston into the trap. And she had to do it quickly, before Evan and Graham found him first. Her way would be much more effective at making sure the man never stepped foot in England again, she was certain.
According to Evan—via Grace, of course—Beeston’s townhome—her home—had been sitting empty all these months, the staff having abandoned ship once she’d been shot and Beeston presumed dead. Hannah wondered why Beeston hadn’t gone back there upon his return, but apparently Evan had held vigil in a bush across the street for hours and hours, waiting for the man to return home. He never did, which further propagated the idea that he may have let an apartment in Spitalfields, as Graham had heard.
That was the other way Mother had proved useful. She accompanied Graham to Hannah’s bedside every morning to inquire about the investigation. Graham had no reason to believe that Hannah would do anything with the information, so he shared everything he knew. Sadly, it wasn’t much. Spottings here and there, but nothing concrete, which was troubling. Hannah was starting to worry that Beeston was one step ahead of her, but she needed to be one step ahead of him. She worried every day when she went out that he might pounce upon her. She wasn’t terribly strong, and with a weak leg, she wouldn’t be able to outrun him or his henchmen, if he chose to hire them.
So, she did her best to hide her face and hair beneath hats and veils, but still…if the man was after her, he would stop at nothing.
“Have you heard anything, Veronica?” Hannah asked as she entered Miss Delaney’s home and hung up her hat and coat on the hooks by the front door. “Veronica?”
Unusual. Sh
e ought to have been expecting her, as she had every day for the last couple weeks. John would drop her off there, and together, the two would set out to find the next girl on the list. Of course, they had exhausted the list now, but surely Veronica still planned to receive her. They still had planning to do and time was running out.
“Veronica?” She continued to call her name as she searched the downstairs rooms, her heartbeat speeding with every step she took. There was no sign of her friend on the main floor.
She stared up the staircase, and called again, “Veronica!” trying her best to tamp down the panic that was rising in her breast.
What if she was simply sleeping? Or maybe she’d even gone out. What would she think if she found Hannah lurking about the bedrooms?
But what if it was none of those things? What if…
Oh, God. She stepped onto the first step, then slowly, measuredly, climbed the rest, one by one, her heart in her throat, her hands numb from fear. Something was wrong—she could feel it in her very bones.
Chapter 24
Graham’s time with Dr. Pritchard had given him new hope. Hope that he could fix Hannah again—cure her of the fear that had sent her back to the laudanum. It wasn’t enough that he visited her every morning and left again, feeling dejected and hopeless. If he had no hope, how could he expect her to? And that was why he marched himself right back to Somerset House that afternoon. He was going to get her out of bed, remind her she was loved and that everything would turn out fine. He was going to give her hope.
The butler let him in and as he handed off his hat and coat to the man, the duchess peeked out from the drawing room, her eyes wide.
“Dr. Alcott?” she said, and Graham couldn’t help but notice the high pitch of her voice.
“Your Grace,” he said, with a slight bow.
“Erhm…did you forget something this morning?”
“Yes,” he replied, at which point the duchess seemed to deflate in relief.
She stepped into the corridor. “Please allow me to fetch it for you.”
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