She looked again at Maria, taking note of the unusually serious turn of her expression.
“I want you to listen to what he has to say, Hanna. I want you to think very carefully. You know I only want what is best for you.” Maria patted Hanna on the arm, urging her into the house as she stepped outside with James.
“He promised I could stay with you and the boy,” Maria added, as she closed the door on Hanna’s surprised face.
Confused, head all a muddle, Hanna stood looking at the closed door for a minute while her thoughts scrambled to catch up. Then, slowly she turned and walked down the hall to find him there, sitting at ease at the kitchen table.
Alaric Wolff. Of course.
The man stood as she entered the cosy room, stooping slightly under the low ceiling.
“Hanna,” he said, moving towards her with a determined expression on his face.
She stopped him with a hand to his chest, looking resolutely at the place her palm pressed to the flocked wool of his waistcoat.
“There is no need, Alaric. Yes. I will be your wife.”
HANNA
Three days later
The church was cold.
Hanna stood in the small vestry, staring at her reflection in the tarnished mirror. She wore her finest church dress, saved from her time working at the manor, a soft grey wool with delicate embroidery stitches at the cuffs and collar. Maria had pinned up her hair and placed a crown of autumn leaves and late-blooming heather on her head.
"You look beautiful," Maria said softly, adjusting the drape of Hanna's shawl. The one Alaric had left for her as a gift.
It had felt fitting to wear it today for the first time.
"I look terrified," replied Hanna, her hands trembling as she clasped them tightly together. She turned to look at the dear woman, who was the only one who stood by her side today.
"Maria, what if I'm making a terrible mistake?"
"Are you really, though?" The old woman met her eyes and smiled reassuringly. "Do you think he'll hurt you?"
"No," whispered Hanna.
That much, at least, she was certain of. Whatever else Alaric might be, he wasn't cruel.
"Do you think he'll abandon you and James?"
"No." The man had been unshakable in his determination, unwavering in his promises.
"Then you are not making a mistake." Maria squeezed her arm. "You are choosing to survive. To give your son a future. There's no shame in that."
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"It's time," called Reverend Michaels, his tone perfunctory. He'd made his disapproval of this hasty wedding clear, but Alaric's coin had bought his cooperation.
Hanna's heart hammered as she followed Maria into the main chapel. It was empty save for Alaric, who stood at the altar with the reverend.
He'd dressed formally, a dark coat and breeches, a crisp white shirt, his hair tied back neatly. But his eyes... his eyes burned with an intensity that made her breath catch.
As she walked down the short aisle, his gaze never left her face. She saw hunger there, yes, but also something softer. Something almost like wonder.
When she reached him, he held out his hand. She placed hers in it, and his fingers closed around hers without hesitation, warm, strong, certain.
"You came," Alaric murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.
