led her back to the house, where they passed the ballroom filled with people. Music crescendoed amidst the laughter of guests, but it only made her headache worsen. Finally, her father escorted her to her room, bidding her good night.
At the door he added gruffly, ‘Lady Whitmore brought over some ginger biscuits earlier this afternoon, when she visited. I had a servant place some in your room. Don’t tell your mother.’ Shaking his head in exasperation, he added, ‘You would think that a woman in her condition would know better than to work like a scullery maid. It’s ridiculous that she wants to bake treats, like a common servant.’
While most women rested in their final month of pregnancy, her sister-in-law Emily had gone into a flurry of baking during the past several weeks. Stephen humoured his wife, allowing her to do as she wished during her confinement.
Acting upon her father’s unspoken hint, Hannah slipped inside her room for a moment and returned with two of the ginger biscuits. She handed them to her father, who devoured them.
‘If I see Emily, I’ll tell her how much you liked them,’ she said.
He grimaced. ‘She shouldn’t be in the kitchens. Her ankles are swelling, so she said. If you see her, order her to put her feet up.’
‘I will,’ Hannah promised. Though he would never admit it, the Marquess thoroughly enjoyed his arguments with Stephen’s wife.
After her father left, Hannah rang for her maid. She sat down at her dressing table, wondering if she would need the laudanum after all. Her headache hadn’t abated and seemed to be worsening.
She massaged her temples in an attempt to block out the pain. It frustrated her, being unable to control this aspect of her life.
Then again, so much of her life was out of her hands. She should be accustomed to it by now. Her mother made every decision concerning her wardrobe and which balls and dinner parties she attended. Christine controlled what she ate, which calls she made…even when she was allowed to retire for the night.
Hannah ran her hands over a silver hairbrush, praying for the day when she could make those decisions for herself. Though she supposed it was her mother’s way of showing she cared about her welfare, as time went on, her home felt more and more like a prison.
Her gaze fell upon the list of reminders her mother had left behind. She’d received one every day since the age of nine, since, quite often, she didn’t see her mother until the evening.
1 Wear the white silk gown and the Rothburne diamonds.
2 Wait for your father and brothers to introduce suitors to you.
3 Do not refuse any invitation to dance.
4 Never argue with any gentleman. A true lady is agreeable.
Hannah could almost imagine instruction number five: Never allow strange gentlemen to touch you. Her eyes closed, her head pounding with pain.
Folding the list away, she rested her forehead upon her palm. A slow ache built up in her stomach when she saw a morning dress the colour of butter laid out for tomorrow. She had never cared for the gown, and would have been quite happy to see it burned. It made her feel as though she were six years old.
But she would never dream of arguing with Christine Chesterfield. Her mother alternated the colours of her dresses, selecting gowns of white, rose and yellow. When Hannah had tried to suggest another colour once, Christine had put her foot down. It wouldn’t surprise her if her mother measured each and every one of her necklines, to be sure that she wasn’t revealing too much skin.
Just once, Hannah wished to have a scarlet dress. Or amethyst. A wild burst of colour to liven up her wardrobe. But she supposed real ladies weren’t supposed to wear colours like that.
Hannah raised the hem of her gown, and at the glimpse of her petticoats, she thought of the man who would one day become her husband. Would he treat her with tenderness, bringing friendship and possibly love into their marriage?
Or was there…something more? Her mother had not breathed a word about the intimacy between a man and a woman. Only that she would learn of it, the night before her wedding. Any mention of the marriage bed made her mother blush and stammer.
The unexpected memory of Lieutenant’s Thorpe’s kiss made Hannah shiver. He never should have caressed her, especially with an ungloved hand, but then that was the sort of man he was. A man who made his own rules and broke them when he liked. The Lieutenant hadn’t offered tired compliments or begged her father for permission to call upon her. Instead, he’d touched her in the shadows, and she’d come alive.
Nothing you can give, sweet.
What had he meant by those words? Her hands moved to her shoulders, over the sensitised skin. Her mother would have a fit of the vapours if she knew the Lieutenant had stolen a kiss. His mouth had touched her here, on the nape. Almost like a lover’s kiss. A cold realisation dawned upon her when her fingers touched bare skin.
Her diamond necklace was gone. No. Oh, no. Panic shot through her, for the diamonds were worth nearly a thousand pounds.
Hannah threw open the door to her room and fled down the stairs. Keeping towards the wall, she tried to avoid notice.
She hid behind the doorway, searching the floor of the ballroom, but saw nothing. Nothing by the refreshment table, either.
Thoughts of the Lieutenant’s hands around her throat made her wonder. Had he unfastened the clasp? She didn’t want to believe that he’d taken the diamonds, but the last time she remembered wearing the necklace was in his presence.
With fear in her throat, she sought him out. The Lieutenant wasn’t among the ballroom guests, but instead stood alone on the edge of the terrace. Before him, the boxwood hedges rose tall, like silent sentries.
His arms were crossed in the ill-fitting formal wear, causing the seams of the coat to stretch against his shoulders.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she murmured, stepping towards him, ‘but may I speak with you a moment, Lieutenant?’
His gaze flicked across hers, but he shrugged. ‘Aren’t you afraid of your father? I believe it isn’t proper for a lady to be in the company of a soldier.’
She ignored his mocking tone. She knew well enough that what she was doing was highly improper. ‘I must ask you if you’ve seen my necklace. I’ve lost it, you see, and—’
‘You think I took it.’
His posture had changed, and she wished she hadn’t spoken. Just like her father, he was a man of pride. Soldiers valued their honour above all else, and she’d just insulted his.
Hannah chose her words carefully. ‘The clasp may have slipped when you—when you touched my neck. I thought it dropped where I was standing.’
That sounded reasonable enough, didn’t it? Surely he wouldn’t take offence—
‘I stole nothing from you.’ A hard edge accompanied his remark. ‘And there’s nothing of yours that I want.’
His harsh words stabbed her pride. He wasn’t merely speaking of the necklace any more. Hannah forced herself to nod, though her cheeks
