Hannah stiffened in shock and then wrenched herself out of Slade’s grip. Backing up a few paces, unable to absorb or respond, she turned her back on him. She walked over to the window, skirting Esmerelda. She stared outside at nothing in particular. In the stillness, she heard a clock chime the five o’clock hour. Like a death toll.
At that moment, Esmerelda snored loudly and snorted. Hannah turned enough to spare the dog a glance. The mastiff’s legs worked as if she were running. Wishing she could run away too, Hannah turned back to Slade. He hadn’t moved that she could tell. She centered on him, as if she were sighting down the long barrel of a Winchester. “How do you know my sisters’ names?”
His face set in lines of weary disgust. “I’m not guilty of anything, Hannah. I told you—I’ve been doing some checking. My men tracked down a man who’d bragged in a saloon here that he’d earned some easy money following an outlaw’s daughter to Boston. This tracker said he’d been following you since you left home.” He pierced her with his black-eyed stare. “But he won’t anymore.”
“Following me? And you had him killed?” A cold heaviness spread over Hannah, locking her muscles into a stiff stance. “My sisters. Are they being followed?”
He nodded grimly. “Yes.”
“Who did this?”
“The man … died refusing to say. The obvious guess is Cyrus. But your father had a lot of enemies of his own, Hannah. It could be anybody.”
Images of Jacey and of Glory essentially alone on the ranch—and both of them unaware, just as she’d been—besieged Hannah’s heart. She shook her head, feeling the panic building. “I never saw anyone watching me. I never even noticed. Neither will they. I can’t reach them. Not in time. It may be too late already. Oh, my God, my sisters—!”
Slade took long strides over to her, stepping over the mastiff to grab her arms. He held her tightly, steadying her. “Listen to me, Hannah. Listen. I don’t think these men have orders yet to kill you and your sisters. If they did, they would’ve just waited at the ranch for you to come home and killed you then. Or they could’ve done so at any moment after that. Even while you were on the train. But that didn’t happen. You’re fine, so there’s every reason to believe your sisters are, too.”
Hannah watched his mouth move. She tried to listen to and absorb his words. But a surge of hatred, darker than the bowels of hell, claimed her. With deliberate movements, she pried his hands off her arms and pushed him back. She then slipped a hand into her skirt, pulling out her Smith & Wesson pistol.
Slade jerked in a breath. “What the hell! What do you think you’re going to do with that?”
“I’m going over to Cloister Point and rid the world of two monsters. You and I both know they’re responsible for me and my sisters being followed.” She pivoted on her heel, but was immediately jerked back around and held onto.
“You’re not going any-damn-where, Hannah.”
She unfeelingly poked the gun’s barrel square up against his abdomen. “I say I am. And I’m the one with the loaded gun. Now, let me go. Or say your last words in this life, Garrett.”
He held on to her and said his last words. “If you kill Cyrus and Patience, and they are the ones paying the trackers, they’ll kill your sisters for sure.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “You just said their orders weren’t to kill us.”
“I said not yet. And I’m only guessing. They could have orders to kill if they should check in and there’re no follow-up instructions. Or money. That’s the type of men we’re dealing with. I don’t know yet who’s paying them. Hell, I don’t even know why you were being followed. Until I find all that out, I just have suspicions. And no way to call them off, if Cyrus and Patience die.”
It made sense. But Hannah wasn’t ready to trust him. Or to lower her gun. “Just how do I know I can trust you? Just how do I know that everything you’ve told me, from the first minute I met you, isn’t a load of so much cattle crap?”
He blinked in surprise as he let go of her and stepped back. “Cattle crap? That’s quaint, Hannah. All my efforts come down to so much cattle crap. Fine. I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. It doesn’t change the fact that my life is in as much danger as yours over Ardis’s money—maybe more.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes and kept her gun poked against his gut. “I don’t want the damned money. You keep it.”
Enraged to the point of stuttering, he bellowed, “It’s … goddammit, it’s not mine to keep! If you don’t want it, then … your sisters might. Now put that damned peashooter away and come here.”
Then, with complete disregard for her weapon, he turned his back and Went around his desk. He sat down, pulled out a bank ledger, and inked his pen. “If you can’t trust me after everything I’ve already done for you, after all the information I’ve shared with you”—he began writing—“after everything I’ve just told you, when I didn’t have to, then to hell with you. You want to be on your own? You want to find your own answers with no help from me? Fine. That can be arranged.” He finished writing and then looked up at her.
Hannah remained in place. Her gun was still pointed at the empty space where his belly had been. She watched him with eyes narrowed—and mind slowly opening. If he only knew it.
He capped the ink and inserted the pen back in its hole. Then he tore the draft out, holding it out to her. “Take this draft. I’ll also make my town house in Boston and a brougham available to you, as well as my employees there. You can take everything I’ve already given you, too. That way, you won’t be hog-tied by my presence or by my interference. And you can then learn for yourself the truth. And match it against what I’ve told you. Fair enough?”
He looked from her to the draft in his hand and then back at her. “Well? Don’t you want it? If it’s a matter of pride, consider it a loan against your inheritance.”
Hannah was through watching him. Up to now, except for bringing her here, he’d pretty much been a man of words. But now he’d just become a man of action. That she understood. When a man put his own money where his mouth was, you could bet yours that he was telling the truth, Papa’d always said.
Hannah lowered her gun, slipped it back in her pocket, and walked slowly up to the desk. She looked him in the eye, saw naked challenge mirrored there, and took the draft from him. She looked down at it and swallowed. She’d never seen a number that big before. Too bad she wasn’t going to keep it. Looking him in the eye again, she tore the bank draft into tiny pieces and tossed them onto the desk between them. “I don’t want your money, Slade. I want you.”
His eyes widened, but he quickly recovered and narrowed them. He then slouched back in his chair, his legs wide, his elbows on the armrests. He put a finger to his bottom lip and rubbed it thoughtfully as he looked her up and down. “What are you saying, Hannah?”
“I’m saying … I believe you. I’m saying I want to stay here with you. But most of all, I’m saying I want you to pretend to marry me and let Cyrus think we’re hard at work producing you an heir.”
Slade catapulted to a stand, leaning stiff-armed over the desk with his fingers tented on its surface. “What the hell do you have up your sleeve, besides another gun?”
The very air crackled with his shouting voice. Esmerelda jerked to a sitting position, woofing out her displeasure at being awakened so rudely. Hannah turned with Slade to the source of the woof. Esmerelda, seeing she had their attention, frowned in judgment and then flopped back down on her side.
Hannah exchanged a look with Slade and then perched her hip on the desk’s corner, dangling her foot and mimicking his posture from when she’d first entered. “I’ll explain, but first you have to sit down.” She waited … and waited.
He finally sat, but gingerly, as if he thought the chair under him would explode. Crossing an ankle over his opposite knee, he spread his hands wide as he leaned back. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Hannah raised her chin. If only her fluttering stomach had as much bravado as her words did. She ticked off her points on her fingers. “Isabel’s already planning a real wedding. Let her. It’ll make everything seem that much more believable.”
Slade eyed her without blinking. His look said he was seeing her in a new light—a very unfavorable one. “I see. We use and deceive my grandmother. Go on.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Garrett. And don’t judge me. Go ahead—tell her. Tell her it’s not a real wedding. Or a real marriage. See how convincing she is then. Just remember—your life’s at stake here, too.”
“Of course. My mistake.” Gripping the armrests now, he swiveled the chair slowly, slowly, side to side, in place. “For the first time, I’m beginning to see evidence of Wilton-Humes blood in you. Or maybe it’s that famous Lawless blood. Or the mix of them both.”
Stung, ashamed of herself but seeing no other way, Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. “You got a better idea?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. And you already know what it is.”
Hannah fairly squinted at him now. “Marry you for real? And give you that damned revenge you’re always spouting off about? That’s not going to happen. Ever.”
His changing expression, like a fast-moving storm racing across the plains, framed his struggle for control. But in the end, all he did was grin. Like a snake would, if it could. “Not ever. That’s a long time. But do go on.”
Hannah’s heart lurched. What was he thinking? Forced into a corner of her own making, she valiantly plunged ahead. “All right. We stage this mock-wedding here in the next couple of weeks or so, and we—”
He held up a hand. “I won’t involve tremendous expense in this scheme. Nor will I break Isabel’s heart by lying to her. Let’s rethink this lavish wedding. The more people we involve, the more chance there is of the truth coming out. I suggest we appear to elope. Dudley Ames will pretend to be our witness. That will lend credibility to this farce. Our story will be that we were swept away with love and desire. That should be a huge scandal and produce a tremendous amount of publicity. And satisfy even you.”
“Don’t act as if I’m enjoying any of this. I’m not. No one has to satisfy me … least of all you.”
He shot forward with lightning quickness and grabbed a fistful of her blouse, pulling her slowly toward him, until the tip of her nose was touching the tip of his. “If I don’t satisfy you—or appear to—we’ll never convince Cyrus we’re working on that little heir we need. And isn’t that what all this is about?”
Hannah didn’t dare breathe or blink. When would she remember how dangerous this man was? Finally, she managed the barest of nods.
“Good girl.” His voice was warmed-over death. “Now, Cyrus isn’t stupid enough to storm over here on the day we announce our elopement and try to kill us. Not with every Brahmin dropping by to belatedly congratulate us and laugh behind their hands. No, he’ll let the furor die down. Then he’ll make his move. So, you see, we have time. A lot of time. We’ll have to be … convincing.”
Hannah swallowed and nodded again. This wasn’t going as she planned. But at least he was agreeing. After a fashion. As for that making-an-heir part, she’d worry about that when the time came. She’d handled him so far, hadn’t she? Yeah, that’s why she was hauled up against him with his fist at her throat. Stung, Hannah gritted out, “Take your hands off me, Garrett.”
He held on to her for another second or two. His grip even tightened the least bit. Then he released her as if she’d bitten him. Pulling back from her, he straightened up. His expression right then would scare small children. “When this is all over, Hannah, you get the hell out of Boston. And don’t you ever let me see your face again.”
Near to tears, Hannah fumblingly righted her clothes and snarled right back at him. “Don’t worry, Garrett. That was always my plan. Did you think I was staying here forever? Ha. I want to get this over with as much as you do. Maybe more so because my life, my family, are out West. But I’m here now, and I refuse to wait around for my great-uncle to order my death. So, the way I see it, I’ve got to make Cyrus make a move.”
Slade contemplated her. “You don’t have to convince me, Hannah. I think you’re absolutely right. But tell me, what do you plan to do when he makes his move? What do you get out of this?”
Just thinking about what she’d get, Hannah concentrated on all the hate coalescing around her heart. “I get to kill the man responsible for murdering my folks, that’s what.”
* * *
“Good Lord, Slade, you were serious.” Dudley Ames, a Scotch in one hand and a fat cigar in the other, shot forward like an arrow to the edge of his well-padded and comfortably worn leather chair. He looked around at the censuring stares of his fellow members at the Sommersby Club and promptly lowered his voice to a hiss. “You’re serious? You’re going to marry Hannah Lawless?”
Slade raised his drink. “I am. May I have your blessing, my friend?”
Dudley sat back just as abruptly as he’d slid forward. “Hardly. I wouldn’t sanction something that will damn my own soul for just knowing about it. You’re determined to dishonor yourself and destroy this girl, aren’t you?”
Slade grinned and took a sip of his whiskey. “Not really. Besides, it’s her idea … after a fashion.”
Dudley slid forward again in a wreath of hazy smoke and jerked his cigar out of his mouth. “Now I’ve seen the elephant. Her idea? Since when?”
“Since two days ago. She begged me to marry her and get her with my child.”
Dudley flung himself back into his chair. “What a load of horse apples. You think me a fool—of course, Mother would agree—but I wasn’t born yesterday. Tell me why she would do that. Hannah, I mean. Not Mother. I know why she thinks I’m a fool.”
Slade shrugged, enjoying this banter with Dudley. It felt good to be with men again and not in the company of ancient servants, his crafty little grandmother, and the about-to-be-very-surprised, yet still irresistible Hannah. “Simple. She’s found herself totally in love with me and must have me.”
“Bullsh—” Dudley cut off his epithet at the gasps and shocked stares of the older members. “Pardon,” he excused himself to them. He turned back to Slade, whispering. “She’s not the first young lady to profess those sentiments to you, if she did at all. And no one leads you around by your—um, nose. So it’s the other way around, isn’t it, you old sock?”
Slade leaned forward, also whispering. “I admit to nothing. Let’s just say I see the sense in her plan. With my own added twist, of course.”
His cigar held between his fingers, Dudley slammed his hamlike hand down onto the soft leather of the armrest. “Then, bully for you! And for her!” Again, he was forced to turn to the richly paneled room’s aghast company. “Once more, I beg pardon.” Turning back to Slade, he eagerly sipped at his drink and then clenched his cigar between his big teeth as he grinned in open curiosity. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“What’s this plan of hers? And when did this all happen? But first, I almost forgot—you’ve been notably absent from society for the past weeks. Which has been duly remarked upon, I must add, by more than one brokenhearted young lady. Respectable and otherwise.”
“Give them all my sincere apologies. Especially the otherwise ones. And tell them I regret that I won’t be back in their arms—er, their society—anytime soon. If at all.” Slade grinned at his friend’s rapidly changing expression.
“If at all? Now, dammit, Garrett, this is serious. Something’s afoot, and you’re going to tell me what it is. No hedging, now—I’ve always been able to best you with my fists.”
Slade remembered anew why he liked this senator’s son. Such bravado for someone who made a good-natured mess of everything he attempted. “First of all, Dudley, you’re about to spill your ash down the front of your shirt. And second, her plan is to seduce me. That will gain for me an heir. And for herself—her great-grandmother’s money and the chance to kill her great-uncle and then leave for home on the next train out of town, once all that is accomplished.”
Slack-jawed, cigar tipping out precariously from between his lips, Dudley stared blankly at him.
Slade arched an eyebrow. “That particular expression of yours is my favorite, Ames. It speaks so well of your intelligence.”
Dudley clamped his jaws shut and bit clean through the butt end of his cigar, sending it tumbling down his front to land lit-end on his crotch. He didn’t seem to notice—not for several … long … moments.
But Slade couldn’t take his eyes off the smoldering tobacco. “Dudley, you might want to—”
A screech tore out of Dudley. “Great jumping Jehoshaphat!” He jerked up and out of the chair in a flurry of arms and legs, sent his drink flying, and—amid the shouted protests of the other members—began to dance around in a circle and beat at himself. In the process, he managed also to crush the errant cigar into the thick maroon carpet. Finally, he stopped his stampeding about to look down at himself. “I nearly burned the damned thing off before I ever got to put it to legitimate use.”
He thrust his hips forward obscenely, took hold of his pants, and then fanned the general area. Finally, he turned an appalled expression on Slade, who simply stared at him, one corner of his mouth quirked up. Dudley, hands to his waist as his pants smoked and smelled up the room, burst out laughing.
Within moments, Slade found himself out on Beacon Street with Dudley, who was gainfully occupied in buttoning his chesterfield over his ruined attire. Slade held on to his friend’s shoulder for support as he bellowed out his laughter. “Dudley, old man, this is a new record for us. In and out in less than an hour.”
“I’ve been thrown out of better,” Dudley fumed. But then his face lit up. “Now there’s an idea—let’s try our luck at my dear father’s country club.” He then slipped a hand under the overlapping fold of his coat to unabashedly fumble around and once again assure himself of his member’s well-being. “I could’ve gelded myself.”
“What, and deprive your mother of the pleasure?” Slade turned to signal to Rigby to follow them with the brougham as they walked in the crisp autumn air of late afternoon. He turned back to Dudley. “You are such an ungrateful son.”
Dudley grinned at Slade. “Oh, you’ve been visiting Mother, have you?”
“No. Actually, she was visiting Isabel and Hannah when I left.”
Dudley feigned horror. “She’s been loosed on the unsuspecting population? What a nightmare for your household.”
“More for her, I’d say. Esmerelda dragged in a dead rat and deposited it at your mother’s very proper feet.”
Dudley’s broad-boned face lit up with beatific glee. “God love that huge horse of a dog. I knew we were doing the right thing when we imported her from jolly old England.” His expression then sobered some. “Now, back to this Hannah thing. As I understand it, she’s simply going to become the next Mrs. Garrett, obligingly supply you with an heir, and then promptly leave?”
Slade nodded. “That’s the public version, yes.”
“The public version. I see. Now, we’re talking about a year’s time, at the least, for all this to occur—given Mother Nature’s requirements for the actual conceiving and producing of a born child, whether it be an heir or not. And we’re assuming that the virile husband can get her with child on, say, the first outing. Here now. Wait a moment. If your lady is in such a tear to leave your company, then why would she get herself…?” With his hand, he indicated a very rounded belly. Then he went on, happily considering all the details.
“First of all, I don’t see the law looking the other way—your wife or not—if she succeeds in cold-bloodedly killing the very deserving Cyrus. But, that problem aside, neither do I see a mother leaving her infant child behind, never to see it again. Nor do I see you allowing her to return to that savage-plagued prairie with your heir in tow.”
Slade clapped Dudley on his impressively wide back. “Ames, if only you could order your own affairs as neatly as you do mine. Let me assure you, none of your concerns are going to transpire.”
Dudley stopped in the middle of the street. “The devil you say.”
“I do. Hannah’s going nowhere. She’s not going to kill anyone, but she will marry me in a scandalously short time and produce my heir. But neither she nor my child is leaving here. Ever.”
Dudley shoved at Slade’s shoulder. “Go on with you. Does she know any of this?”
“Of course … not. Not really. No, not like she thinks. Oh, the hell with it—it’s a surprise.” Slade stopped short when Dudley did. “Stow it, Ames, I swear it. Now listen, I’ve just had a brilliant idea.”
Dudley’s face outdid his voice for drollness as he clapped his hand over his heart. “God save us all.”
Slade grinned. “Are you game for a little adventure?”
“No. The last two times you asked me that and I agreed, I found myself rowing the tiniest little craft as an oarsman for Harvard—and promptly swamped the damned thing. Then, the next time, I was your victim on the tennis courts. But wait—there was a third. And a fourth. Suffice it to say I like neither guns nor archery as a result.”
“Are you quite done?”
Dudley feigned giving Slade’s question deep thought. Then, he nodded. “I believe I am.”
“Good. So, are you game for a little adventure?”
“Of course,” Dudley pronounced cheerfully. “What are we about?”
Slade put his arm around Dudley’s shoulder. “My friend, we’re about to get rip-roaring drunk. And then we’re about to get me married.”
“You’re not serious!”
“I am. Til-death-do-us-part serious, my friend.”
* * *
“See? Right there. By next April, we’ll have the most beautiful lilacs where that bare patch is—Oh, for evermore, Esmerelda! Get out of that flower bed and go bury your rat elsewhere! You’ve already scared everyone you can with it. Poor Mrs. Ames lay on the fainting couch for thirty minutes. And it’s all your fault. You ought to be ashamed, you great cow of a dog.” Done with upbraiding the bounding-about mastiff, she turned to Hannah, a delighted smile lighting her tiny features. “She’s not the least bit sorry, you know.”
“I believe you’re right.” Hannah smiled, more at Isabel’s unflappability than at the mastiff’s far-off antics in the afternoon’s freshness. “I can picture them now, Isabel—the lilacs, I mean.”
“Wait until you can smell them, come next spring. They’re quite fragrant.”
Next spring? She wouldn’t be here then. A pang lanced through her as Isabel slipped a child-sized hand under Hannah’s elbow. Then, the little bird of a woman at her side peeked back over her shoulder. Hannah grinned. Isabel loved to bedevil their guard. The square, dour man shadowed their every move outside the manor, so she knew without looking what Isabel would see.
Isabel finally turned her highly rouged face up to Hannah and whispered, “That Jones is still back there. Slade’s always said I need a keeper.” Her black and twinkling eyes attested to her opinion of that. Then, right out of the blue, she raised her voice and changed the subject. “Are you enjoying your stay here, Hannah?”
“Certainly,” Hannah rushed to assure her hostess. “I feel very welcome at Woodbridge Pond. I think I could come to love it.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Hannah glanced down at Isabel’s softly smiling face as that one kept a watchful eye on Esmerelda. Hiding both a frown and a smile, Hannah reminded herself that—make no mistake—a sharp and calculating mind lurked inside that head. And missed nothing.
With her free hand, Hannah pulled her shawl around her shoulders. Walking quietly beside Isabel, enjoying the cool, windless day, she cast her gaze over the winter-readied formal gardens through which they walked. The sculpted greenery stretched from the mansion itself and ran to the high hedges this side of the pond. Was she already coming to love this place?
“You’re awfully quiet, Hannah. Are you worried about your little Olivia?”
Glad Isabel hadn’t divined her true thoughts, Hannah nodded. “Yes. Very much. Not one word from her, and tomorrow will be three days. I miss her chattering, cheerful presence. If I knew where she was, I’d go get her myself.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine that great, frowning man back there—or my great, frowning grandson—would like that.”
Hannah huffed out a scoffing noise at that notion. “I don’t care what either of them likes. I do as I please.”
Isabel cackled and patted Hannah’s shoulder. “You’re quite his match, you know. You two should make very lovely children. The Good Lord knows we need the healing sounds of laughing and running children through this house.” She pulled back, the better to eye Hannah. “And I just can’t believe it’s you—a Wilton-Humes and a Lawless.”
Hannah clamped her teeth together and managed a smile. She’d almost blurted out that there would be no children … not really. Slade was right—her charade was going to break Isabel’s heart. She was completely convinced that a marriage between the two children, as she called them, was exactly what they both wanted and needed. And she felt it was her God-given duty to bring them together. Why, she’d even told Dudley’s mother to expect an announcement.
Her conscience roiling now as much as her stomach, Hannah changed the subject. “Isabel, tell me about Slade’s childhood. I’m sorry to say, but from what little bit I know, it doesn’t sound like a very happy one. What I mean is, I understand his strong feelings regarding the Wilton-Humeses, but not regarding my father.”
“Ahh. I suppose I brought that up, didn’t I? Well, obviously your mother never told you.”
Hannah stopped, looking down pointedly at Isabel. There it was again—that sense of some mystery that only she knew nothing of. “Told me what?”
Isabel raised a brown-spotted, thin-veined hand to her brow, using it to shade her eyes from the sun as she squinted up at Hannah. “That many years ago our families were to have been so much more than mere neighbors.”
Hannah’s heart thumped, warning of bad news yet to come. “How do you mean?”
Isabel considered Hannah a moment and then tugged on her arm. “Come, we’d best sit down. There’s a nice bench by the pond where we can visit and keep an eye on Esmerelda, lest she dig up the summer cottage itself.”
With Isabel directing, they walked in silence to the other side of the tall shrubs. Hannah helped the winded grandmother to settle herself and then sat down beside her. The continued crunching of the gravel behind them told of the guard’s approach. Jones came into view, making his presence conspicuous on the other side of the walk from them. He remained unobtrusively silent.
Sighing at the need for such measures, Hannah then looked around until she spied Esmerelda careening joyfully around the pond’s perimeter, the dead rat’s fat and nasty, long-tailed body still clutched in her jaws. A purely feminine shudder rippled over her.
Isabel drew Hannah’s attention back to her when she spoke. “Esmerelda is quite the handful. Just like Slade.”
Hannah laughed with her. “Yes, I’ve noticed—on both scores.” Her laugh subsided to a smile and then gentled into an open, neutral expression as she looked out over the calm water. And waited for Isabel’s explanations.
“Quite simply,” Isabel began abruptly, bringing Hannah’s gaze to her face, “your mother was supposed to marry my son, John.”
The air left Hannah’s lungs as if lightning had flashed out of the clear, blue sky and struck her. She put a hand to her heart, not certain that it still beat. Or that her blood hadn’t congealed in her veins. “Your son—Slade’s father—and my mother were to marry? My mother?”
Isabel nodded, looking far off, over the pond’s waters. “Yes, they were. Ironic, isn’t it?” She turned now to Hannah. “I’ve always prayed for healing in my family, Hannah. And perhaps now, with you and Slade, that healing can begin.” She stopped, putting a knobby-knuckled hand to her lined cheek. “But what am I saying? Neither you nor Slade would have been born, if events had turned out differently. And I suppose I’d be sitting here by myself.”
Staggered, Hannah could only frown and make a helpless gesture. “Mother never said anything. Why didn’t they marry, Isabel? What happened?”
“It’s all so sad.” Isabel shook her head, as if a great burden weighed her soul down. Sighing, she surprised Hannah by reaching for her hand, holding on to it as she spoke. “You look so much like your mother that I … Well, it doesn’t matter. I believe your mother saw a bad something in my John that none of us did for a number of years. A weakness. Or a coldness or cruelty. Something like that.”
When Isabel didn’t say anything else, Hannah stroked the older woman’s fragile-boned hand and broke into her thoughts. “Your hand is awfully cold. Do you want to go back inside?”
Isabel shook her head. “No. It’s the memories, not the weather.” She was silent another moment, but then launched into her story. “John and Catherine were childhood playmates. Then, they became betrothed after your mother’s coming-out season. The happy date was set for the following year.”
She turned now to look at Hannah. “We were quite good friends back then with your family. But it wasn’t to be. You see—Catherine never would say why—but she very suddenly just broke it off. And, I’m sorry to say, John didn’t take it so well. He began drinking and raging about. Nothing Herbert—my late husband—and I said or did seemed to help him. Or to stop him. Especially on … that night.”