Hannah could only hope that this would get easier as time went on. As it was, her nerves were on edge and she hadn’t stopped trembling the entire journey to the west end of town. A million thoughts whirled through her mind, making her belly turn over and over with each new one. What if Miss Delaney reacted badly to her? What if she turned her away? Or the most horrifying thought of all: what if Beeston was with her right now? Wouldn’t that be just her luck?

But she couldn’t think about that. She had to at least try, didn’t she? Otherwise, she would regret not doing so every day of her life.

As the carriage came to a stop somewhere near Covent Garden, Hannah affixed the black fascinator to her hair and pulled the black lace veil over her face. With any luck, her widow’s weeds would keep her from being recognized, as the clothing covered practically every inch of her and eclipsed her face almost entirely.

John opened the door and helped her down from the conveyance.

“Stay near,” she instructed. “I won’t be long.” And then she looked down at the small piece of foolscap in her hand that instructed her on where to go.

It wasn’t the worst part of town, but it wasn’t the best either. It was far too close to Seven Dials for Hannah’s comfort, but thankfully, it seemed Miss Delaney had a fairly nice set up in Covent Garden proper, if the outside of the building was any indication. No doubt a wealthy suitor had seen to her every need.

Hannah stared up at the townhome for a long moment before finally knocking on the door. Then she waited. And waited. And—

Nothing.

Disappointment flooded her, and she began to turn from the door, trying not to turn melancholy over the situation. There were many other women, much as she hated to admit that. It didn’t mean her mission was over by any means. It just meant—

“Who are you?” came a voice from behind her.

Hannah whirled to find the door to the townhome cracked just enough to see part of the woman’s face.

“My name is Hannah,” she said, the words coming out far more steady than she felt. “Are you Miss Delaney?”

“What’s your business?”

“I only want to talk to you—it won’t take long, I swear. I just—” she glanced down the street, becoming nervous all of a sudden that someone might see her standing here, talking to the door. “It requires discretion. If I may come in.”

There was a slight pause, and then the door eased open, allowing her entry into the foyer.

“Follow me,” Miss Delaney said, leading her to a door just past the staircase.

They entered a small parlor that was well-appointed, but a bit dim, seeing as the only light came from a single window at the back of the townhouse. Hannah took a seat across from the woman, unable to stop herself from assessing her, head to toe.

She was blonde and quite beautiful by anyone’s standards. She was of a similar height to Hannah, it seemed. Not short, not tall, simply average. But she was built quite a bit differently, with far more curves, to put it gently. If she wasn’t careful, she’d spill right out the front of her gown. Given that, it was easy to see what Beeston saw in her.

“Who are you?” she asked, pulling Hannah’s gaze from where it should not have been, back to her round, cherubic face.

“Hannah,” she replied simply, at first. “Hannah Ludlum. Lady Beeston.”

It wasn’t until the last that Miss Delaney registered who she was. Her eyes grew round, and she began shaking her head frantically. “I don’t want any trouble,” she said, her cockney accent barely seeping through. “I swear, I didn’t know he was married.”

“Please,” Hannah said, holding up a hand to stop her from blathering on. “I’m here as a friend.”

That took the woman quite off guard. “A friend?”

Hannah nodded. “Indeed. You see, my husband was…well, not a good husband at all, as you might imagine. As a matter of fact, he shot me.”

“Yes, I know,” the woman replied. “That’s the first I’d heard of you. From the papers. Then he came here, all distraught, going on about what he’d done and that he had to leave town.”

Now it was Hannah’s turn to be caught off guard. “You mean, the two of you were still…?” She couldn’t say the words, so she simply waved her hand about, as if to indicate she was talking about intimate relations.

Miss Delaney nodded. “Not that I was the only one.”

Hannah swallowed down the bile that rose to her throat. What a disgusting, odious man. To think she’d allowed him into her bed. Of course, she’d not had much of a choice, being his wife and all, but still, it made her stomach lurch to even think about it.

“No,” Hannah muttered. “Of course not.”

“If you’ve come to yell at me, I pray you get it over with.”

“Oh.” Hannah looked up at the woman. Funny to think she’d actually put fear into her. No one ever feared Hannah. “No, you misunderstand,” she said. “I’ve come to ask for your help.” She moved forward on her seat. “You see, Beeston took his own life—”

Miss Delaney gasped.

“Or so I thought,” Hannah finished, and the woman relaxed in relief. “As it turns out, my brother only sent him away, to America. But he’s come back, and I fear he plans to reclaim me.”

“Reclaim you?”

Hannah nodded. “Of course he doesn’t care for me. To him, I am but a mere possession. Something that rightfully belongs to him. And knowing him as I do, he will stop at nothing to get me back. If that happens, I will have little recourse. I am legally his wife, after all.”

Miss Delaney just stared at her with her wide, blue eyes, waiting for Hannah to continue.

“Tell me,” Hannah said. “Did you care for Beeston?”

That elicited a snort that was most certainly made of derision. “No one cared for Beeston but Beeston, my lady. But he paid for all this and kept food on my table.”

“He…?” Hannah looked about. “Beeston paid for this?”

“Said he didn’t want to keep having relations in my Seven Dials residence.”

Hannah couldn’t blame him there.

“So he set me up here.”

“How have you afforded the rent since he left?”

“Paid it through the end of the year, he did,” Miss Delaney said. “After that, I suppose I’ll be out on the street.”

Hannah needed a moment to think it all through, to grasp everything she’d just heard. She glanced about the room, realizing that Beeston had used his money—their money—to make certain this woman had a clean place to…to…

Oh, she couldn’t even think it. But she also couldn’t bear the thought of this poor woman being turned out on the street in the middle of winter.

“Of course we will figure something out for you,” Hannah said, rendering Miss Delaney speechless. “You may have had relations with my husband, but you weren’t the first. And I can’t imagine what kind of situation would make you so desperate for money to sleep with such an odious man, so no, I do not lay the blame at your feet, Miss Delaney. You were a victim, as I imagine all his paramours were. As I feel I was. Trapped by his charm at first, and then forced into what I feared would be a lifetime of loneliness and abuse from that man.”

“You said you needed my help?”

“Indeed, I do.” She reached into her reticule and procured the list Grace had made for her of all Beeston’s known paramours. It was quite long—twenty-six women, to be exact—and there was no guarantee they’d all be as willing as Miss Delaney, but Hannah could hope.

She handed the list to Miss Delaney.

“What’s this?”

“A list of his lovers,” Hannah said, choking a bit on the last word. “I want to find all of them, so that together, we can make certain Beeston leaves town and never comes back.”

Miss Delaney looked at the list, then back up at Hannah. “You want to trap him?”

“Better to trap him before he traps me.” She paused. “Do you know any of them?”

“Some.”

“Miss Delaney,” Hannah said, reaching across the divide and taking the woman’s hand. “Will you help me?”

The woman looked down at the list, then to Hannah’s walking stick, and finally her gaze settled on Hannah. “Yes.”