Moving quickly, Hannah went out into the garden. Gina had been correct to praise the flower beds. A few bulbs had begun blooming in February, and early daffodils and crocuses were almost at the end of their cycle. However, there were a few varieties still blooming, as well as hyacinths, tulips, and a few other flowers, giving the garden the appeal of a sheltered green bower interwoven with rich yellow, blue, red, and white strands of color. As soon as she stepped into the brisk air, she took a deep breath. The scent was so powerful that she seemed to be entirely bathed in flowers. A smile of pleasure settled over her face.

The scent of spring. She stooped to touch a late daffodil. The bright yellow trumpet released its heady scent at her touch, but she resisted the urge to pick it. Daffodils had always been her favorite flower. Yellow was such a sunny, cheerful color, and their fragrance raised her mood further. She thought she’d never been so completely happy before.

When she moved, the thick letter in her pocket rustled. Her stomach tightened.

Might as well read it and get it over with, whatever it is. She let out a long breath. Most likely, it was a simple confirmation of the transfer of her funds to the Bank of England, she thought, trying to recapture her previous euphoria.

She reached in and pulled the documents out, breaking the red wax seal of the covering note. One piece of paper had been folded around another letter with a different seal. She smoothed open the first sheet and skimmed down to the signature: Captain Brian Hodges. The note was brief, written in bold, masculine handwriting.

Dear Miss Cowles,

The bank manager of the Bank of England, Mr. Herbert Greene, has entrusted the enclosed correspondence to me. We felt it best to send it to you as expeditiously as possible. Mr. Greene expressed profound concern for your account and the state of your fortunes, and he will be pleased to discuss the matter with you at your earliest convenience.

The enclosed correspondence was sent to you, in care of Mr. Greene, by a Mr. Winthrop of Boston in the United States of America. He is, I believe, the lawyer entrusted with the management of your father’s estate.

We hope the missive serves to bring clarity to what appears to be a difficult situation.

My brother, Mr. Carter Hodges, has expressed himself willing to forward any correspondence you may care to send to either Mr. Greene or your willing servant.

With sincerest regards,

Brian Hodges

The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach hardened. The palms of her hands grew damp and her icy fingers shook as she broke the seal on the second letter. The precise, copperplate signature at the bottom was indeed her lawyer’s: James Winthrop.

His beautifully regular writing almost filled the page, and her gaze drifted past the greeting and what seemed like an entire first paragraph of apologies. I dislike writing you about such a matter… find myself in an extremely difficult position… messenger disappeared… authorities have been unable to locate either him or your funds… misappropriated…

Theft…

Line after line of Winthrop’s cursive writing, detailing how Hannah’s inheritance had vanished somewhere between Boston and London; stolen by the courier sent with it to ensure its safe arrival at the Bank of England.

The blue sky swirled dizzily around her. She sat down with a thud on the low stone wall, edging the terrace. Gone. Her inheritance was gone—or as good as. Certainly, if she’d had her way, it would all have been gone. She had to be at least a little grateful to Mr. Winthrop for convincing her to keep back some of her funds—not send it all to England.

However, what he’d kept in reserve was a tiny amount. The income from it would provide her less than three hundred dollars a year—what was that in pounds? She had no idea. Not enough, certainly, to hire servants or live like a lady.

Was it enough to stay in England at all?

Her cold fingers pressed against her mouth.

Even if she went to London with Gina, what could she truly hope for? She had nothing—she was not an heiress after all. In near panic, her thoughts whirled to Henry Hodges. He might be her last chance—what of his proposal? It was likely to be the only one she’d ever get, now. Would he withdraw it if he knew?

There was still the possibility of her father’s title. There might even be some income from whatever estates were attached to it. Assuming the dowager’s notion of having Hannah’s husband apply for the title even worked.

Strange how she suddenly found Henry not so dreadful, after all. The iron bands squeezing her heart tightened further. She wasn’t attracted to him, but he might be her last chance for marriage and a home of her own.

Or could she bring herself to face a life one step away from poverty? Other women had been forced to do so. Perhaps she could find some kind of employment. Become a companion like her beloved Mrs. Lawrence.

She remembered the letters Mrs. Lawrence had preserved in her small box. They’d been from her husband—personal and with small touches of humor. Nothing terribly romantic or exciting, and yet they’d revealed the deep connection between the two, a sense of shared interests and cherished love.

Hannah had loved her, as well, like her own mother. She’d tried to treat her as one of the family, but she was well aware that no matter how comfortable she thought they all were, Mrs. Lawrence never forgot that she was a paid companion. She was always a bit apart, a touch reserved, and her employment was not a situation one would accept unless one had no choice.

However, it was an alternative. She could offer to be a companion to the dowager…

What if the dowager didn’t want—or need—a companion? What would happen if she refused to marry Henry, and they asked her to leave? Where would she go? How would she live with no money?

She’d have to sell her jewelry—that much was certain. That would provide her with enough to live on for a while.

Or she could return to Boston. That would please Mr. Winthrop, and it would keep whatever was left of her fortune from the risk of another transfer. All-in-all, that was the most practical solution. Sell her jewelry, buy a ticket on the next packet out of Liverpool, and return to a lonely life in Boston.

Feeling numb, she got up and walked across the terrace to the shallow flagstone steps, edged with jonquils and narcissus. She barely saw the flowers, barely noticed their heady fragrance as she stepped down onto the path that led through the herb garden to the rose beds. A splash of pink caught her attention. Yesterday, she’d noticed that one rose, Old Blush, had buds preparing to open.

She straightened and took a deep breath as she folded the letters together and shoved them back through the slit into her pocket. A decision could wait—would have to wait. Looking around, she saw that the paths were deserted and showed no signs of footprints.

Thinking that Gina might have led Mr. Furlong—Miles Furlong, indeed, she smiled although her lips felt stiff—to the rougher area near the cliff trail, she started off in that direction.

However, as she moved down the path, a flicker of white against the brown and green fields made her look that way. Gina and Mr. Furlong had left the gardens proper and were, indeed, in the wilder area between the grounds of the house and the cliffs. She picked up her skirts and walked toward them, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Gina and Mr. Furlong weren’t standing, enjoying the view. They were on their hands and knees, their bottoms in the air and their noses almost touching the rough grass.

As if hearing her steps, Gina raised her head and looked over her shoulder. “Hannah! Oh, do come and see what Mr. Furlong is showing me. I had no idea there was such a variety of life in even the smallest square. Why, it is like one of our cities in miniature, with tiny insects rushing about their daily errands. And there is a lovely spider—you must look through Miles’s magnifying glass, the markings are exquisite!”

Miles? Dismay tightened the back of Hannah’s already tense neck. So, Gina felt comfortable using Mr. Furlong’s first name, so soon after their first meeting. They had only been alone together for a few minutes. Surely, that was a hint that an unusual level of intimacy had grown between the two far too quickly for good sense or comfort.

Miles sat back on his heels and held out a large magnifying glass with a brass handle. “Do you wish to observe, Miss Cowles?” The expectant expression on his face gave no suggestion that he’d noticed anything amiss in Gina’s use of his first name.

The two seemed quite companionable and content with each other’s company. In fact, to Hannah’s increasing alarm, Gina didn’t seem to be pretending an interest in ants and spiders and whatever else she was looking at. She actually seemed to find the creatures as fascinating as Miles Furlong did.

Worse and worse. The identical, hopeful expressions on their faces as they glanced up at Hannah reminded her precisely of Mrs. Lawrence’s letters and the harmony of expression she’d seen in her parents’ faces when they’d been pouring over maps. Such accord was a rare and precious thing and could only mean a great many tears when Gina eventually went to London.

“Hannah?” Gina asked again, placing her fingers under Miles’s wrist to push his hand and the magnifying glass another inch closer to Hannah.

“No.” She took a step back. While she wasn’t frightened of spiders, neither did she want to examine them nose-to-nose. Or beak-to-nose, or whatever spiders had in the middle of their faces. “That is, I don’t wish to interrupt, and I forgot my shawl.” She rubbed her arms, her mood brittle and unsure. “I simply came outside for a breath of fresh air.”

“Oh.” Gina’s face fell, and she glanced at Miles for support. “Are you sure you don’t want to look, Hannah? It truly is fascinating.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“We noticed that other visitors have arrived,” Miles said, handing the magnifying glass to Gina when Hannah refused to take it. An anxious look tightened the skin over his sharp cheekbones. “Is Mr. Hodges requesting our attendance? Should we return to the house?”

Gina flashed an angry look over her shoulder at the manor. “My uncle can wait a few more minutes. I want to see if that pretty spider catches her supper.”

“Lady Northrop and her daughter have arrived,” Hannah replied, trying not to think about some poor, helpless insect, caught and eaten by a spider.

It probably won’t feel any worse than I do right now, drained of everything.

“Oh.” Gina snorted and turned back, her gaze searching the ground in front of her. “Blackwold’s betrothed—or nearly betrothed. They will have tea and gossip and not miss us in the least. We should have another half-hour before they even realize we are not in the room with them.” She turned her head to give Miles a quick, sweet smile.

He smiled back, his blue eyes softening behind the round lenses of his glasses. “Mr. Hodges—”

“Uncle Carter will never miss your presence, Miles, I assure you,” Gina said, interrupting him and leaning down to peer through the magnifying glass.

He gave another uneasy glance at the house and then bent over again, his long fingers gently moving blades of grass aside to improve Gina’s view of whatever creature was living down there.

Hannah studied their bent backs and shoulders brushing as they examined life in miniature on the rough ground. She sighed. “I’m returning to the house.”

Neither one of them appeared to hear her. Miles murmured something in a soft voice to Gina. She giggled and leaned closer to him, moving the glass a fraction in his direction.

“Goodbye,” Hannah said. “I’m going to jump off the cliff.”

Gina flapped a hand over her shoulder.

“If I survive, I’m going to go tell Lady Northrop and Lady Alice exactly what I think of them,” Hannah added. It was perfectly clear that no one was interested in anything she had to say.

Gina’s wave became a definite shooing-away gesture.

“Miss Cowles!” Henry Hodges suddenly appeared a few yards away. Although he cast one supercilious glance at the only visible part of the pair on the ground—their bottoms—he failed to display either puzzlement or concern over their extraordinary behavior. If anything, his gray eyes sparkled as if he were excited. “I am delighted to see you.” He held out his crooked arm.

Another deep breath whispered over her lips. With a sense of resignation, she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, and they began to walk back to the house. Her stomach gurgled. Should she tell him about the loss of her fortune?

“Have you met Lady Northrop and her daughter, Lady Alice?” he enquired with a smile. The brilliance of his eyes increased as did his pace until he was almost dragging her across the uneven ground. “Blackwold is exceedingly fortunate—Lady Alice is a lovely young woman. Fresh and innocent as a summer morning.”

And rich. Let’s not forget that. Her jaw and her grip on his arm tightened a moment as she murmured a vague agreement, her sick feeling returning full force.

“You are very similar—both lovely women—she the new morn while you are a riper, mature summer. She is so fair, and you must have noticed her blue eyes, as translucent as the clear sky. Though yours are as dark as the ocean, and your hair the color of honey.” It was clear—at least to Hannah—that he preferred the new dawn over ripe noon, though he tried to sound just as enthusiastic when he remembered to praise her.

Her facial muscles ached as they grew tighter and tighter over her forehead and around her mouth. Lady Alice was eighteen, only two years younger than Hannah, and the same age as Gina. Hardly a vast difference, even if she did feel like a middle-aged aunt at times around Gina.

“Are you staying for supper?” Hannah asked, trying to change the subject of conversation.

“Yes. Uncle Carter has even managed to convince Grandmother to join us, so we shall have quite a pleasant party.”

Pleasant wasn’t the adjective that leapt to Hannah’s mind, though perhaps with Lady Northrop present, the dowager would manage to be a little less acerbic.

Or perhaps not.

What would the dowager say when she learned that Hannah was as poor as Mr. Hodges’s young curate? It didn’t bear consideration.

Henry dragged her even faster up the terrace steps toward the door. “And Grandmother mentioned that you were quite pleased when she mentioned my proposal.” With his free hand, he pressed her fingers into the crook of his arm.

“I am considering it,” she replied sharply. The last thing she wanted to do was to discuss it now.

“That is all I ask, Miss Cowles.” He held the door open for her. “I am sure that the advantages will become apparent upon consideration.”

Even to a woman as dull as I am? Or as poor as I am? Blackwold was right—I should have drowned like a proper British lady, then I wouldn’t be facing such a bleak future. She mumbled a response that could be taken as agreement if one didn’t listen too closely.

It seemed to satisfy Henry. His smile grew as he led the way to the drawing room. He paused at that doorway, clearly forgetting her until she swept past him, her skirts brushing his leg.

She entered an empty room.

Or nearly empty. Hopwood was leaning over the low table in front of the fireplace, collecting half-empty teacups and plates and placing them on a tray.

He glanced up and straightened when Hannah and Henry entered the room. “Lord Blackwold and his guests have retired to their rooms to prepare for dinner, sir.” He bowed. “Miss Cowles.” He folded his hands over his plump stomach and awaited their orders.

“I shall retire as well, then,” Hannah said, grasping the excuse to flee to her room and collect herself. The corners of the letter kept poking through the thin linen of her pocket, reminding her that at some point, she was going to have to admit that she was not the wealthy heiress that she’d claimed.

She’d always thought of herself as a calm and thoroughly self-sufficient woman, but somehow, the past few hours had pushed her off balance. Now, she felt like a top wobbling near the edge of the table. She needed to collect herself before facing Lady Northrop and the dowager at supper.

And she needed to see if she had anything in her trunk that she could salvage. Lady Blackwold’s old, remade gowns were not going to be sufficient for her last appearance as an heiress.

One final night, and then she’d have to decide in which direction to take her future.