Dr. Pritchard sat in the corner of the coffee house where Plato’s Assembly gathered, sipping an amber colored ale, and looking quite a bit more cheerful than last he’d seen the man. Graham strode across the space and pulled out a chair.

“Ah, there he is,” Dr. Pritchard said, coming to a half stand and shoving his hand forward.

Graham shook it and then took his seat. “You look well, my friend,” he said. “Seems that the country air has done you well.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” Pritchard laughed. “Ale?”

“Please.”

The older man gestured to the waiter and then turned his attention back to Graham. “You, on the other hand, look as if you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“A week, to be exact,” Graham admitted, as a glass of ale appeared before him. “We will get to that, I’m sure. But how did your patient fare with the babe?”

“Her condition was troubling at first, but with bed rest and constant care, I’m happy to say both mother and child are well.”

“Wonderful news. It is good to have you back in London, though.”

“You might not want to grow accustomed to having me here,” Pritchard said, and Graham eyed him curiously. “I’m an old man, Alcott. Forty years I’ve been caring for people. I’m tired.”

Graham nodded. It was a sad occasion, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. “You deserve to live out the rest of your days peacefully,” he said.

“Well, perhaps not peacefully.” There was a glint in the old doctor’s eyes. “I may have lost my mind, but for certain I’ve lost my heart.”

Now that was a surprise. Dr. Pritchard was an old bachelor, always claiming he’d been too busy to take a wife. “You don’t say,” Graham drawled.

“She was part of the staff at Chivelesword Abbey. She caught my eye the second I saw her.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Clara. Clara Smith, soon to be Pritchard.”

Graham’s smile spread from ear to ear. “Congratulations, my friend,” he said, and he meant it, even if it did raise concern for his own situation with Hannah.

“We will marry in the parish church in Leicestershire next month, just before Christmas. We’d be honored if you could be there.”

“Only if you promise to be at my wedding,” Graham said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the rough wooden table.

Pritchard’s eyes grew round and wide. “You mean to say…you…but…who?”

Graham couldn’t help but laugh. “You won’t believe it when I tell you.” He paused for a bit of dramatic effect. “The Widow Beeston.”

Oh, to have a paintbrush to capture the look on the good doctor’s face. He’d been rendered speechless, it seemed.

“You must be joking.”

“But I’m not. And I cannot ever thank you enough for leaving Town so that I may care for her. We are quite fond of one another.”

“Oh, my boy,” Dr. Pritchard said, his wise, older eyes glistening. “I had feared you would end up like me, an old, lonely bachelor. This is most happy news.”

Graham smiled at the man, knowing it was indeed most happy news, but also feeling deeply troubled by the shadow of Beeston’s return. “There is one small problem,” he said, the words coming out slowly, reluctantly.

Pritchard’s entire face wrinkled with concern. “What is that?”

Graham took a deep breath and put his face in his hands. “It seems Beeston has risen from the dead.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then, “Men like that always do.”

“Somerset paid him to leave the country, but apparently he couldn’t stay away. We don’t know his plan, we just know he’s here, in London. It is my belief he will attempt to reclaim his wife when we all least suspect it.”

“And how is Lady Beeston doing in all of this?”

Graham shook his head, feeling helpless. “Not well. I had weaned her off the laudanum completely, she was walking—with the help of a walking stick, of course—she was happy, and now…”

“And now?”

“We’re back where we started. But even worse, her sister-in-law is on her side, giving her the laudanum against my wishes. Insisting we all leave her alone. It is most painful to watch.”

“And what are you doing in the meantime?”

“Searching for him.”

“What will you do when you find him?”

“I would love nothing more than to drown him in the Thames,” Graham admitted bluntly, at which the old man chuckled. “But I keep reminding myself I’ll be of no service to Hannah if I’m locked up at Newgate. Or hung. So, to answer your question, I have no bloody idea.”

Pritchard patted Graham on the arm. “I will keep my ear to the ground for you. In the meantime, take care of your bride. Give her something to live for.”

Something to live for. He had hoped that something was him, but apparently it wasn’t good enough. Apparently he was no match for the despair that had befallen her. “I will try,” he said finally, but his heart ached as he prayed for a miracle.

* * *

While Hannah had most desperately wanted to keep her plan as much of a secret as she could, she had to admit it was somewhat helpful to have Mother on her side. If someone had told her that her mother would be her champion a few months ago, she would have laughed in their face. But as it turned out, Mother was quite excited about the prospect of exacting revenge on the baron. Quite admittedly, he deserved it. It was just nice to know Mother thought so too, after all her years of encouraging Hannah to be a good little wife and do her duty by him. It was clear she hadn’t understood the extent of Beeston’s cruelty, not until the night before he shot her. The night he’d come to Somerset House screaming that she was a whore. An odd accusation since she’d barely even slept with her own husband, let alone another man.

Heavens, she couldn’t wait for all this to be over with so she could be with Graham, in the truest sense of the word. He’d sparked something within her that day in her bedchamber when he’d kissed her. How she wanted more! To know what it was like to lay with someone who truly loved her and cared about her. Beeston had been…well, not terribly kind or thoughtful in the bedroom. The memories still kept her up at night sometimes, but she shook them away now. There was no time for breast beating. The plan was coming together—they had all but three girls willing to join them in the fight. They’d been too fearful, a feeling Hannah understood all too well. But she’d not fear him anymore.

Now came the hard part—the part where they would have to lure Beeston into the trap. And she had to do it quickly, before Evan and Graham found him first. Her way would be much more effective at making sure the man never stepped foot in England again, she was certain.

According to Evan—via Grace, of course—Beeston’s townhome—her home—had been sitting empty all these months, the staff having abandoned ship once she’d been shot and Beeston presumed dead. Hannah wondered why Beeston hadn’t gone back there upon his return, but apparently Evan had held vigil in a bush across the street for hours and hours, waiting for the man to return home. He never did, which further propagated the idea that he may have let an apartment in Spitalfields, as Graham had heard.

That was the other way Mother had proved useful. She accompanied Graham to Hannah’s bedside every morning to inquire about the investigation. Graham had no reason to believe that Hannah would do anything with the information, so he shared everything he knew. Sadly, it wasn’t much. Spottings here and there, but nothing concrete, which was troubling. Hannah was starting to worry that Beeston was one step ahead of her, but she needed to be one step ahead of him. She worried every day when she went out that he might pounce upon her. She wasn’t terribly strong, and with a weak leg, she wouldn’t be able to outrun him or his henchmen, if he chose to hire them.

So, she did her best to hide her face and hair beneath hats and veils, but still…if the man was after her, he would stop at nothing.

“Have you heard anything, Veronica?” Hannah asked as she entered Miss Delaney’s home and hung up her hat and coat on the hooks by the front door. “Veronica?”

Unusual. She ought to have been expecting her, as she had every day for the last couple weeks. John would drop her off there, and together, the two would set out to find the next girl on the list. Of course, they had exhausted the list now, but surely Veronica still planned to receive her. They still had planning to do and time was running out.

“Veronica?” She continued to call her name as she searched the downstairs rooms, her heartbeat speeding with every step she took. There was no sign of her friend on the main floor.

She stared up the staircase, and called again, “Veronica!” trying her best to tamp down the panic that was rising in her breast.

What if she was simply sleeping? Or maybe she’d even gone out. What would she think if she found Hannah lurking about the bedrooms?

But what if it was none of those things? What if…

Oh, God. She stepped onto the first step, then slowly, measuredly, climbed the rest, one by one, her heart in her throat, her hands numb from fear. Something was wrong—she could feel it in her very bones.