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Chapter 20

Hannah sat on the window seat in her bedchamber, her forehead pressed against the cool windowpane, a heavy blanket of sorrow across her shoulders. It had been three days since Samuel had confessed his true identity. But it felt like three weeks—three of the longest, most unhappy weeks of Hannah’s life. After Hannah’s breakdown in the drawing room following Samuel’s abrupt departure, Sophia and Elinor had walked her back to her bedchamber. They’d listened to her broken explanation of what had transpired, offered comforting words and ordered her a cup of tea—which she had not touched—and then slipped away with the counsel that all would seem better after some rest. It hadn’t. No amount of lying down had helped. If anything, it had only made things worse.

When she lay awake on her bed, images of her time with Samuel flitted through her mind like the colors on a spinning top. At first, they’d filled her with anger that he’d not shared his past with her from the start and frustration that she’d spent so many years needlessly carrying the burden of guilt for a hanging that had never happened. When those burning emotions had finally ebbed, they’d been replaced by intense irritation that she’d allowed her heart to lead her head so poorly.

She should have known better than to think she had enjoyed a special connection with Samuel. The fact that a light brush of his fingers against hers had been sufficient to cause her pulse to trip was simply proof that she’d been spending too many hours working on her father’s books and not enough time socializing with gentlemen. There were surely other gentlemen whose presence would—given sufficient time—elicit a similar response from her traitorous heart.

Hannah sighed, her breath leaving a misty circle on the windowpane. If only such logical thoughts were powerful enough to counter her lingering regret over the loss of the future she had begun to hope for with Samuel. She closed her tired eyes. Somehow, she must put those foolish notions behind her once and for all.

To her detriment, her sleep—fitful and abbreviated—offered little escape from her troubled thoughts. Disjointed dreams and nightmares involving Sammy, Samuel, the highwaymen, and her family members plagued her, repeatedly waking her in a state of fear and dread. Sometimes, her pillow was wet with tears. At other times, her throat hurt from crying out.

She had purposely avoided looking in the mirror, knowing full well that it would callously reflect the dark circles beneath her eyes and her wan complexion. Each day, she had slowly and deliberately gone about her daily chores. But she’d found no joy in her father’s ledger books and had made herself unavailable to all callers. When she’d forced herself to eat something, she’d taken the meal in her bedchamber but had managed to consume very little of it. The gray clouds that had hung over London the day Samuel had made his confession now hung over her, and Hannah had yet to discover how to penetrate a bleakness that felt so all-encompassing.

A robin fluttered past the window and settled on the nearby sycamore tree to trill its familiar tune. She blinked. Normally, the birdsong would have provoked a smile. Today, a smile was beyond her. With another weary sigh, she rose and crossed the room to her dressing table. Her mother’s ivory brooch lay beside her brush. She picked it up, running her fingers across the intricately carved daffodils.

“Oh, Mother,” she whispered. “What would you say if you knew how much anguish this brooch has produced?”

As if in answer to her question, a knock sounded on the door.

Startled, Hannah looked up. “Who is it?”

“Your sisters,” Sophia called. “And we’re coming in.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Sophia opened the door and entered, closely followed by Elinor and then Fanny, who was carrying a heavily laden tea tray.

“Set it on the small table, would you, Fanny?” Elinor asked.

“Yes, miss.” Fanny obediently set the tray down, offered Hannah a small smile, bobbed a curtsy, and hurried out.

“I did not call for tea,” Hannah said.

“I know.” Sophia sat on the end of Hannah’s bed. “We did.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“We know that too. That is why we intend to stay until you have eaten at least one sandwich and one fairy cake,” Sophia said.

“You need to regain your full energy, Hannah.” Elinor picked up the teapot and began to pour. “We had Cook make your favorite egg and cress sandwiches,” she said. “So you have no excuse.”

Hannah stifled a groan. If Elinor had decided to make Hannah her patient again, there would be no escaping her ministrations. “I am fine,” she said. “Truly.”

“You are anything but fine,” Sophia said. “But as you have appeared to enjoy languishing in your misery, we have allowed it for three days. Unfortunately for you, not only is that all Elinor and I can tolerate, but it is also the last day we are willing to tell Father that you are suffering from a headache. He is threatening to send for Dr. Meyer if you are not more yourself tomorrow.”

“You have not told him about Samuel, then?” Hannah asked. It explained why her father had not grilled her for more information and why he had repeatedly asked her if she needed powders for her head.

“That is your story to tell,” Elinor said. “But Sophia is right. We cannot perpetuate an imaginary illness much longer.”

“Forgive me.” When had she become so thoughtless and self-­centered? “I did not think of how my behavior was affecting anyone else.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” Sophia said, accepting the cup of tea Elinor offered her. “Or how crushed Elinor was when you did not appear for her summary of Reverend Wilson’s Sunday sermon yesterday.”

Hannah gasped. “I’m sorry, Elinor. Somehow, it slipped my mind, which is ridiculous since I missed the Sunday service entirely and needed your summary more than ever.”

Thankfully, despite Sophia’s mild censure, Elinor did not look the slightest bit crushed.

“It is quite all right.” Elinor passed Hannah a steaming cup. “But if you are interested, I will give you an even more condensed version than Sophia received.”

“Yes, please tell me.” Hannah took a tentative sip of the hot tea, and though she had not asked for it, she found it remarkably soothing.