Graham knew he ought not to beat himself up over the situation—he was doing the best he could, after all—but he couldn’t help it. Hannah was taking laudanum again, and her behavior was most troubling. Even worse, the duchess was defending and protecting her, insisting Hannah was a grown woman who could do as she pleased, and if laudanum helped her through this difficult time, Graham ought not to interfere.

It was ridiculous. He was her doctor first, fiancé second. He had more rights to tell her what to do than anyone else. And yet, in the face of the young duchess, he felt impotent. She was pushy and overbearing and so very loyal to her sister-in-law it was maddening.

“Are you going to sit there all day and watch her sleep?” came a voice from the doorway. Not the young duchess, thank God, but the dowager. He couldn’t take much more of Her Grace today.

“That was my plan,” he replied, turning back to Hannah’s sleeping form. “Has she eaten at all since yesterday morning?”

The dowager took her place at the other side of the bed. “Not that I know of.”

Damn. She would waste away to nothing again. He had to do something, but what? It clearly wasn’t enough that he was combing the streets night and day, looking for Beeston. Or that they were to be married in five weeks’ time. She’d fallen into despair and succumbed to the opiates again, and Graham felt completely helpless.

“Has Somerset had any luck tracking down Beeston?”

The dowager shook her head and sighed as she leaned back against the small, wooden chair. “I don’t think so. Apparently, someone saw him near Spitalfields, entering what seemed to be an apartment. But whether or not it is his or some doxy’s, no one knows.”

“Perhaps I will go there today.” He stared at his fiancé, his love. “I had hoped she would wake. I want to take her walking in the park, for ices at Gunters…to sit a spell on the verandah, at the very least, and talk about our future. Something. Anything.”

“It isn’t safe for her to be out and about anyway.”

“She would be safe with me.”

“Find Beeston, and all will be as it was before.”

He could only hope. “You will alert me to any changes?”

The dowager nodded, and Graham stood. He bent over to place a kiss on Hannah’s forehead and then left, praying the dowager was right.

* * *

The door clicked shut, but Hannah didn’t trust that her mother had left with Graham. Oh, how painful that had been, to hear him speak of all the wonderful things they ought to be doing during their engagement. How she wanted to walk with him and eat ices with him, and she would. They had a lifetime for that. But for now, she had to make certain Beeston never dared to show his face in England ever again. And such a plan required the utmost discretion. Evan and Graham would never have allowed her to visit all the women she’d visited over the last week.

“Aren’t you going to get up now?”

A gasp escaped her at the sound of her mother’s voice and her heart sped to a dangerous pace. Still, she lay still. She’d gotten quite good at pretending to sleep lately.

“Hannah, do you think me daft? Get up. You owe me some explanations.”

Hannah felt like a young girl again, cornered by her overbearing mother, as she slowly turned herself over and came to a sitting position on the bed. The dowager stood at the end of the four-poster, her arms folded across her chest, her eyebrows raised in question.

“How did you know?” Hannah asked, for she was certain now her mother knew more than she wanted her to.

“Because I’m not daft,” her mother replied sharply. “And because I saw you sneaking down the back stairs yesterday when you didn’t know I was watching.”

Hannah let out a long breath and collapsed against her pillows. “I suppose you’re going to tell Evan and make certain he stops me.”

Mother cocked her head sideways. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because what I’m doing is dangerous. What if Beeston finds me?”

“Well, I trust you’re being careful.”

“You do?”

The dowager moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know I haven’t been the warmest of mothers, and I’m too old to change all of that, I assure you. But perhaps I’ve softened a bit. Perhaps I’ve seen that my children are more capable than I ever thought them to be.”

Hannah almost wanted to hug the woman, but she knew Mother would never allow it, so she simply smiled and said, “Thank you, Mother.”

“But I want to know exactly what you’re doing. And I want to know how I can help.”

“Are you certain? It is not for gently bred ladies to hear.”

“My dear, I am not some green girl. Now tell me what it is you and Grace have been up to.”

Hannah shifted. “If you’re certain.” At her mother’s nod, she continued, “I have visited almost all of Beeston’s former…lovers.” She choked on the word again—she might never get used to saying it out loud, let alone in front of her mother.

The dowager’s eyes grew round, but she remained quiet, waiting for Hannah to go on.

“Grace found them by pouring over old newspapers and Beeston’s correspondence. I’m certain it’s not all of them, but the list was quite long—twenty-six women—of which we’ve visited nineteen.”

“And what is your point in doing this?” Mother wondered.

A little smile formed at the corners of Hannah’s mouth—she was helpless to stop it. She’d had a plan at first, but after talking it over with the nineteen other women, she had an even better one.

“To make Beeston wish he’d never come back to England.”