Chapter 15

Hannah could hardly contain her excitement. Today was to be her first outing since she’d been wounded. Now that Grace was feeling better thanks to Graham’s ginger concoctions, Hannah would accompany her and her relations on a little shopping trip. Nothing terribly strenuous—just a visit to the modiste, where she and Grace could sit most of the time. She had a lofty dream that they might have a ready-to-wear gown for her that she could wear to Lady Wolverly’s soiree in a few days’ time. She knew Graham held her in high esteem no matter what she looked like—he’d seen her at her very worst, after all, and had still somehow fallen in love with her—but she still wanted to surprise him by looking her absolute smartest for his sister’s party.

“Are you ready?” Grace asked, poking her head around the door of Hannah’s bedchamber.

Hannah turned slowly from the mirror and smoothed her skirts, noticing that the color was back in Grace’s cheeks. One would hardly have known that just a few days ago she could barely get out of bed.

“How do I look?” Hannah asked. She wore a day gown of dark lavender trimmed with a floral chintz pattern. Her maid had braided her hair into a crown on top of her head, leaving a few tendrils to peek out from beneath her yellow bonnet, which she was currently tying around her neck.

Grace smiled sweetly at her. “Oh, Hannah, we thought you’d never walk again, and now look at you. You’re as lovely as ever.”

“Well, perhaps not as ever,” Hannah deflected, “but I must say, I’m feeling quite in my prime, even if I do walk with a bit of a limp.”

“One can hardly even notice,” Grace gushed. “Besides, there are lots of people who walk with limps. Miss Macintosh, for one. She had some awful disease as a child and never fully recovered.”

And the girl used it to her every advantage. She was quite pretty and she knew it, so she often played Damsel in Distress with the young men of the ton who were more than happy to take pity on her and dance their attentions upon her. Of course, there were others who weren’t so kind, but Miss Macintosh didn’t seem to notice them. Hopefully, Hannah would be oblivious to those who might mock her as well.

“While that is meant to be comforting, this affliction is not something I would wish on anyone.”

“Oh, of course you wouldn’t,” Grace said. “You’re far too good-hearted for that.”

“I am only that which God made me.”

“Well, God made you the nicest of all, then.”

Hannah laughed. “You’re awfully nice yourself, you know?”

Grace scoffed. “Hardly! But it is kind of you to say so. I do love you so, Hannah.”

“And I you,” Hannah replied, taking her sister-in-law by the arm. “Shall we go?”

She limped alongside Grace to the carriage, which conveyed them across town to Regent Street, where they were to meet the others. Hannah was somewhat acquainted with all the Wetherby women—of course, Lady Chloe lived right next door, so she knew her best. Lady Chloe’s cousin, who also happened to be her sister-in-law, wouldn’t be in attendance, as she lived in Scotland. But the Duchess of Hart would be there, along with her sister-in-law, the Marchioness of Eastleigh, and the marchioness’ dear friend, the Viscountess Hastings. She sincerely hoped that would be everyone. Being her first outing in so long, she was a bit nervous about becoming overwhelmed by all the activity.

“You needn’t be nervous,” Grace said, as if reading her mind. Or perhaps simply noticing that Hannah was mangling her skirts with her fingers as they rumbled along.

Hannah stopped her fidgeting. “There are so many of them,” she replied, not bothering to deny that she was nervous.

“And they’re all aware of the ordeal you’ve been through,” Grace said. “They’ve promised to be…subdued today.”

“Oh, goodness.” That didn’t really make Hannah feel any better. She didn’t want anyone to compromise who they were for her sake. “They don’t have to do that for me.”

“But they want to. For both our sakes’ really.”

“You seem to be right as rain now,” Hannah pointed out. “Dr. Alcott must have some magical spell he puts into all his concoctions.”

“Indeed,” Grace agreed. “I’m still a bit tired, and occasionally I’m surprised by a wave of nausea, but heavens, I feel so much better than I did.”

Hannah was about to respond when the carriage came to a halt. She peered out the window to see they had pulled up in front of the modiste’s shop, and a moment later, the door flung open for them.

“Thank you, John,” Grace said to the driver as a footman handed her to the ground. “We won’t be but an hour or so.”

John nodded. “I shan’t be far, milady.”

Hannah stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath before following Grace into the shop. They were all there already, poised around the sitting area with glasses of champagne in their hands. Her Grace, the Duchess of Hart, was the first to greet them in a whirl of red silk.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, rushing to kiss them each on the cheek. “You dear things, we’re so glad to have you join us today. And I insist you call me Katherine, all right? Now, come say hello to the others.”

If this was subdued, Hannah shuddered to think what the duchess was like on a regular day.

While Grace went around the room, greeting the others, the duchess refreshed Hannah on who everyone was—Lady Eastleigh, a lovely brunette with a kind smile, and Lady Hastings, a voluptuous blonde with eyes the color of emeralds. And of course, Lady Chloe, whose red hair seemed even more fiery today—Hannah wondered briefly if they’d be able to find her amidst all the brightly colored autumn trees were she to stand amongst them.

With the introductions out of the way, Hannah accepted a glass of champagne and a seat on the settee between Grace and Lady Chloe. She took note of how she was feeling, being careful not to overwhelm herself, but thankfully, she felt quite wonderful. The ladies chatted around her, sharing stories of their children and husbands, discussing the cooling weather and the soirees they’d be attending in the coming days. It was no surprise to hear they’d all be at the Wolverly soiree, which was rather comforting to Hannah—the more familiar faces, the better.

The modiste began a parade of fabrics, over which they all Ooh’d and Ah’d. The duchess was partial to the shiny silks and satins, while Lady Eastleigh was drawn to more practical, muted tones. Lady Hastings barely said a word after declaring she was quite content with her wardrobe as it was, and Lady Chloe seemed to share the sentiment. Grace merely stared longingly, complaining every now and again that it would be some time before she had a gown commissioned.

“Nonsense,” Katherine finally exclaimed. “Just because you are enceinte doesn’t mean you’re dead. You should certainly have some dresses made for your confinement.”

Grace sighed. “You really think so?”

“At least something pretty for Christmas,” Lady Chloe, who had been mostly silent, put in.

“Oh, I suppose you’re right.” Grace cheered a bit. “Madame Morisette,” she called without even bothering to use the correct French pronunciation, “might I see what you have in a dark green fabric?” Then she turned to the others. “Green over red, don’t you think?”

They all nodded in agreement. Green was a lovely color on Grace.

Once her sister-in-law had chosen the fabric and trim and consulted every last fashion plate in the shop, the hour was up and it was time to go. Only, Hannah had yet to ask about any ready-made dresses.

Before Grace began saying her goodbyes, Hannah stopped her and addressed the proprietress. “Perhaps before we go, you could show me some ready-made dresses, Madame Morisette?”

Grace stared at her, wide-eyed, while the others smiled on.

“You’re buying a dress?”

Hannah stared back. “I would like to,” she replied. “Hardly anything fits me anymore, and I thought it might be nice to have something new for the Wolverly soiree.”

And so began another half hour of assessing and trying on what the modiste had in her shop. There was a gown of dark olive with yellow and beige flowers embroidered along the edges, a red silk gown, not unlike the one the duchess wore today, with tiny black beads for trim, and finally, a white gown with a filmy white overlay, dabbed with blue embroidered flowers and trimmed with ruffles. They were all exquisite in completely different ways, and every lady in attendance had an opinion on which one they preferred. But Hannah wasn’t really conflicted at all. She knew which one she wanted, and so, without hesitation, she asked the modiste to wrap it up, while Grace instructed the assistant to charge it to the duke’s account.

At last, it was time to make their departure. Hannah was starting to wilt a bit, and she could see Grace was in need of a nap herself. They said their goodbyes and went out to the sidewalk. The Somerset crest gleamed from the side of the coach across the street, and John immediately moved to bring it ‘round for them.

Hannah smiled as she looked up and down the street. It was all so lively and exciting—she’d missed this, being part of society, the hustle and bustle and—

“What is it?” Grace asked, and only then did Hannah realize her gasp had been audible.

But now she was frozen in fear, her heart racing, her lungs struggling to take in air.

“Hannah,” Grace persisted. “What is it? What is the matter?”

Hannah blinked as she followed the figure with her eyes. A man with the same stature as her late husband. The same balding head. The same belabored stride, a result of too much wine and meat.

Grace must have spotted him too, for she grabbed Hannah’s hand, now cold with fear. “It can’t be,” she whispered.

And then the man turned, sending relief rushing through Hannah’s body. “Dear God,” she muttered. “I do think my eyes are playing tricks on me.”

“It wasn’t just you,” Grace said. “The resemblance was uncanny—until he showed his face, of course. Heavens, my heart can’t take much of that.”

“Mine either.” Hannah pulled her sister-in-law by the hand toward the carriage. “Come. We both need a rest.”