When Hannah began pulling dresses out of her salt-encrusted trunk, she found the fitted, fringed buckskin jacket her mother had specially made to match the frontiersman jacket her husband had obtained from a trapper. Hannah gently removed it and laid it on the bed, the heaviness in her chest making it difficult to breathe.

Even her limbs seemed uncoordinated and strapped with weights as she moved to hold the jacket up to her in front of the mirror. Her eyes burned with hot tears.

Several years had passed since her mother died, and yet at times, the wounds seemed as fresh as ever. She ached with a deep, tearing loss for both of her parents. How she missed their laughter and optimism, and most of all, their arms around her shoulders. A tear trickled over her cheek, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand.

Her mother and father never let the snobbery of others worry them. Her hand smoothed over the soft buckskin. In fact, they’d taken to wearing their matching fringed jackets when visiting friends, as if to proclaim that they were simple Americans with no interest in titles, peerages, and estates.

Hannah’s gaze lingered on the fringes. Her parents were not the first to do such a thing. Benjamin Franklin had worn a simple fur hat while acting as a diplomat in France, in a clever attempt to appear as an unsophisticated frontiersman. The United States of America had subsequently profited from the sophisticated Parisians’ low expectations of Mr. Franklin, unaware that he was a brilliant scientist and intellectual, definitely not the humble, uneducated backwoodsman he appeared to be.

Perhaps she ought to take a leaf from Mr. Franklin’s book. Time and time again, it had been pointed out to Hannah that she had already failed to behave as a proper British lady, and indeed, she was not. Nor would she ever be. She glanced out the window at the flaming sunset. Her emotions threatened to rip her apart.

While she hadn’t even been at Blackrock for a complete month, she felt at home. Her heart had soared when she’d watched the breathtaking view of the sun setting over the ocean, or the massive power of the clouds darkening to rage in a brief storm that ended in misty sunshine and the occasional distant rainbow. It would be painful to leave Blackrock Manor now, when she was just learning to appreciate its wild changes of mood.

She pulled out the letters and tucked them behind the secret panel of her trunk. What should she do? Did she have any hope of rebuilding her fortune? She had no idea what condition her father’s abandoned estate was in, or if she’d even want to refurbish it and live there, if that was possible with her terribly reduced inheritance.

Would it be worthwhile? What if she didn’t feel at home there as she did here?

But she’d come to England to make her home. She thought she belonged here, would fit in as she had not in Boston, where her parents had rented a humble apartment before one after the other had died. The epitaph in Boscastle would have served them just as well.

Hope, darkly tinged with bitterness, fluttered inside her. The dowager’s request offered a way to fit in—a sure way to marry and settle down to start her own family, even without her own money. Perhaps she’d been foolish to think she could find love and happiness such as her parents had experienced. Their life had not been a perfect idyll, either. There were often times when her mother and father had fought—their words ringing with anger. There were difficulties, certainly, and times when Hannah had gone to bed and pressed the pillow over her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear their deep-throated, furious words.

What should she do?

Coldness stiffened her hands. What if she married Henry, and he turned out to be the man on the beach? Could she live with him, knowing that?

In truth, could she live with any of the Hodges, knowing that one of them was a murderer?

But if she went with Gina to London, what was the best that she could hope for? Without any funds, there were very few men who would even give her a second glance. And she could not expect to return to Cornwall and Blackrock Manor.

Her heart seemed to shrink within her chest as she took a long, shuddering breath. It might already be too late for her to find what her parents had had. Too late… Much too late.

The truth was harsh and unkind. She’d already fallen in love, but it was with a man she could not hope to marry—might not even want to marry if she knew everything about him.

Ruined, indeed, but not in the ridiculous way the villagers gossiped about. She was ruined because her heart was already filled with the dear image of Blackwold, his shaggy hair hanging over his left eye, his neckcloth loose and hanging down on either side of his strong neck, and his waistcoat unbuttoned and rumpled as he slouched in the chair next to her bed at three in the morning, asking her impertinent questions.

A trembling sigh escaped her as she stared in the mirror. What should she do? What had she really hoped to find by coming to England? She would never fit in and could not hope to outshine ladies such as Lady Alice or even her fashionable mother, Lady Northrop. And the trip had cost her everything: Mrs. Lawrence had been drowned and Hannah had lost her inheritance.

She straightened and picked at the fringe of the soft buckskin. Maybe it was time to stop trying so desperately to be a proper British lady or a rich heiress. Honesty was called for.

Though tonight was not the night for buckskin. Or the truth. Her mouth twisted ruefully. She returned to the gowns she’d removed from the trunk and flung onto the bed. She’d been so pleased with them when she left Boston, but now they all seemed slightly old-fashioned after seeing the well-fitted and obviously expensive dresses the other ladies had worn for traveling. If Lady Alice’s silvery-gray traveling outfit was any indication, she would have some exceptional evening gowns for her first—and obviously only—Season in London.

Why she even bothered to go was beyond Hannah, although perhaps it was necessary for her to be presented at Court and all of that folderol. It was one social necessity she was glad didn’t exist in America. Her hand smoothed over the shimmering folds of a geranium-colored silk dress. If she married Henry—or anyone else for that matter—and he somehow managed to receive her father’s title, would she be required to be presented at Court, too?

Another unforeseen complication, and one she didn’t relish. No wonder her father had abandoned his home and title and started wandering the world. His special genius had somehow managed to amass another fortune, even without a title or social position. He just used his wits and his cheerful gift for making friends with anyone, regardless of age, position, or wealth.

Enough. She was becoming maudlin, a useless mood that she detested.

She picked up the geranium silk dress and held it against her. The gleaming reddish color brought out the rose in her cheeks and made her eyes a darker, richer blue. Not that Henry would admire that change. He appeared to prefer lighter, sky blue eyes, and apparently, his cousin cherished similar tastes as he was going to marry the lovely Lady Alice.

Brushing out the dress, Hannah glanced up when the door opened.

Mary entered briskly and eyed the mound of dresses on the bed. “I’m to assist you to dress for dinner.” She picked up the dress on top of the pile and turned to the armoire, folding it efficiently and placing it on one of the shelves. “I’ve done altering a white satin gown, if you wish it.”

“This silk might be more suitable.” Hannah held up the gown for the maid’s inspection.

“One of your own,” Mary muttered, folding another gown and putting it away.

“Yes, well, I thought since I have it now…”

“The white satin has got blue velvet trim with matching silk flowers. It were one of her ladyship’s favorites.” Mary’s controlled expression gave no hint of emotion, and she carefully avoided Hannah’s gaze.

After her illness, Hannah had realized that the way to Mary’s heart was to let her care for her, but there was a limit to how much care she desired. She pressed her lips together and gave her silk dress a light shake.

“Could you assist me with this gown? I fear saltwater may have stained the fabric. It would be a terrible shame if it were ruined before I ever got the chance to wear it.”

Mary paused in folding the last of the gowns on the bed. She stared at the dress, a frown puckering her brow. “The white satin might do for tonight.”

“But don’t you think Lady Alice might wear white? I fear I will be cast into the shade by her.”

Eyes flashing at the thought, Mary grunted and took the silk dress out of Hannah’s hands. “A girl like her can’t never hope to wear this color. Let me look it over. There’ll be no sign of salt when I finish, I promise you.”

“Thank you, Mary. I knew you would understand.” Hannah watched the maid examine the gown, feeling a little guilty even though she’d won this round.

An hour later and finally dressed in her silk dress, Hannah hesitated only a moment before clasping her pearl necklace around her neck. The square neckline needed something to set it off, and the pearls were demure enough for any unmarried woman. The shoulders draped nicely and flowed into sleeves that were full and gathered at the elbows, where they then fitted smoothly down to the wrists. She picked up her white evening gloves and touched one of the curls hanging in front of her ears.

Mary had outdone herself in creating a new hairstyle for Hannah. The back was braided and wound into a knot on her crown, leaving small curls around her face that echoed the soft curl of the white feather of her pearl and silver filigree headdress.

“You looks beautiful, Miss.” Mary stood back and clasped her hands together at her waist, studying Hannah with a critical eye. “No one can fault you.”

“And the credit belongs solely to you.” Hannah smoothed the front of her dress again. “There is no sign of any salt or staining.”

“No, miss. Weren’t none to worry over. That trunk of yours must have floated on the air to shore to keep out the seawater so well.”

Hannah laughed. “Perhaps it did.” She took a deep breath and smoothed her dress again. “Well, I suppose I should join the others.”

“Yes, Miss.” Mary stepped aside and opened the bedroom door.

The silence in the hallway suggested that the others had already gone downstairs to the sitting room next to the library. There was a pianoforte in the corner of the room and several comfortable sitting areas, so it was the room the dowager preferred to use when she ventured down to the ground floor. As Hannah descended, light feminine laughter floated up the staircase, and she could hear the click of a man’s heels against the oak floorboards.

Her hands curled at her sides, but she was almost laughing at herself when she stepped off the last stair. There was absolutely no reason for her to be nervous. It didn’t matter in the slightest if Lady Alice outshone her. Blackwold was nearly betrothed to her—his opinion no longer mattered—and she knew what Henry thought.

Her smile died as she approached the door. Another tinkling cascade of laughter escaped from the room, and she felt like an unwanted intruder. She hated being the last one to enter a room. One never felt as if one belonged and could never really join a group and catch up on the conversation. One was always out of step.

Another lilting stream of laughter, male and female mingling happily, rose through the air. That had to be Lady Alice—it sounded too young and carefree to be her mother or the dowager. She could just imagine Henry and Blackwold clustered around the young woman, smiling down at her, sharing a witticism.

Hannah took a deep breath and braced herself. One last, unpleasant thought rushed through her as she stepped over the threshold. Even Henry preferred Lady Alice, the perfect British lady.

What if Hannah lost him, as well?

The thought was absurd. She didn’t even want him. In fact, it would be a relief if he eloped with Lady Alice, and she never saw either of them again. She forced a pleasant smile, raised her chin, and walked straight over to stand near the dowager’s wing chair by the fire.

Looking around, she saw Gina and the three men, Blackwold, Henry, and the vicar, standing in an arc around Lady Alice. Her first reaction upon seeing her was relief that she hadn’t worn the white dress with the blue trim. Gina was wearing a lovely white gown with trim of green leaves intertwined with yellow roses, and Lady Alice was wearing a pale ensemble that would have cast the dowager’s remade dress into the shade.

Lady Alice’s gown of gros de Naples was the palest pink imaginable, barely pink at all, with an overdress of sheer white silk gauze. The bodice was rather high in the front, but lower on the shoulders, emphasizing the lovely curve of her neck, shoulders, and hint of a bosom. The neckline was trimmed with a notched ruche of gros de Naples and the sleeves were short and extremely full, set in with a satin-corded band and long white crèpe lisse sleeves inserted at the shoulder. The elegant sleeves were confined at the wrists with broad seed-pearl bracelets.

Her jewelry consisted of a simple gold locket and small pearl earrings, and Hannah eyed the locket while fingering her own necklace. The pearls felt huge and ostentatious as she rubbed them and then touched her dangling earrings. Even her headdress felt too much. A simple pale pink ribbon had been threaded through the soft curls piled up on top of Lady Alice’s head. She looked very young—fresh and appealing—and Hannah could see why Henry admired her.

In fact, she could see why all the men admired her. Even Gina appeared a trifle gauche, though her dress was fashionable and lovely on her, with a simple yellow ribbon threaded through her brown hair. She was clearly drinking in the elegance of Lady Alice’s costume and probably making notes about modifications she might make to her own wardrobe.

Lady Northrop, sitting on the couch across from the dowager, flicked satisfied glances at her daughter, clearly pleased with the girl’s reception. The older woman obviously spent time on her own toilet as well, for she wore a lovely blue silk gown fitted tightly on the bodice with drooping shoulders similar to her daughter’s dress, but cut slightly higher and not quite as revealing. Her sleeves ballooned out from the shoulders to the elbows, where they were nipped in and fitted to the wrist.

Unlike her daughter’s modest jewelry, the diamond collar necklace, set with deep blue sapphires, sparkled around her long neck, and diamond-and-sapphire earrings dangled from her small ears. Diamonds nestled amongst the curls and elaborate intertwined braids of her brown hair crowning her, and the jewels glittered like tiny stars as she moved her head.

Even the dowager, arising from her sickbed to entertain her guests, had made an obvious effort to dress well. Her black dress shimmered with the light cast by the fire, revealing the fabric to be a heavy and extremely expensive silk. Her gray hair was pinned up in curls around her face, and a lace-edged cap sat on top, with white silk ribbons fluttering down to the nape of her neck. Her jewelry consisted mostly of jet, but the darkness was enlivened by the thick ruffles of silver lace running around the high neckline of her gown and around the cuffs of her long sleeves.

She was flushed and grinning, breaking into a jolly laugh at some remark of Lady Northrop’s before she noticed Hannah standing nearby. “Miss Cowles—there you are at last.”

Hannah smiled, trying not to blush at the implication that she was the last one to arrive and therefore late.

“Join us.” The dowager waved at the couch where Lady Northrop was sitting.

Although there was room next to her, Hannah really didn’t want to sit so close. But it would be rude to move another chair into the gap between the two women, so she resigned herself and smiled. Her face was growing numb with the effort to retain her pleasant expression when she finally took the indicated seat.

Lady Northrop moved over a fraction, but her violet perfume filled the surrounding air. Her sharp elbow kept brushing Hannah’s arm as she resumed her conversation with the dowager. “I truly do not want to live on Upper Seymour Street; I would much prefer Berkley Square. But thus far, we have simply been unable to locate any available apartments. This is Lady Alice’s first,” she smiled complacently and clasped her hands in her lap, “and if we are fortunate, only Season, so it must be perfection itself.”

The dowager laughed. “I am sure she will make do, regardless of the address, and that is hardly a poor situation.”

“Make do?” Lady Northrop murmured, her nose wrinkling as a look of distaste crossed her face. “We must certainly do better than that.”

“Well, Blackwold has a townhouse on Portman Square, just around the corner, so perhaps Lady Alice might find it convenient, after all.”

Lady Northrop sighed. “I suppose so. All these small matters are so tiresome.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple for an instant. “I suppose I worry over nothing.” A set, polite smile stretched her mouth as she turned to Hannah. “I understand you will be joining Miss Hodges in London, Miss Cowles. You must be very pleased.”

“Yes, Miss Cowles is quite the American heiress,” the dowager said before Hannah could reply.

She felt her cheeks flame, and she dropped her gaze to her clasped hands. The last thing she wanted to do was to admit the truth now, with Lady Northrop’s critical gaze fixed on her. “That was my original plan,” she said finally. Her fingers tightened. “To be honest, since the shipwreck, I have not had sufficient time to consider how I should proceed.”

“Oh, yes. The wreck.” Lady Northrop’s voice sounded cold. “So unfortunate.”

“Yes.” Hannah could entirely agree with that statement: Orion’s sinking was unfortunate. At the very least.

“It is just too bad that you cannot join the girls at Almack’s.” Gazing at her fixedly, Lady Northrop’s lips curved into a self-satisfied smile. “But of course, foreigners and the nouveau riche cannot hope to be granted entrance.”

“I am hardly nouveau riche—my father was a baron.”

“Would have been a baron,” Lady Northrop corrected, her tight little smile never leaving her face. “According to Lady Blackwold, he never applied for the title, my dear. He as good as abandoned it, as well as his estates, when he left England. Hardly an illustrious background that would grant you entrance to such an exclusive gathering as the Wednesday night subscription ball at Almack’s.” She reached over her lap with her left hand and patted Hannah’s knotted fingers. “You do have our sympathy, my dear. It must be terribly frustrating, but it cannot be helped. Nonetheless, you may find that you have no need to attend such functions if what I gather from Lady Blackwold’s hints is true.” Her blue eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Hannah glanced at the dowager. The elderly lady had a crafty grin as she winked at her.

“We shall see,” Hannah said. Just go ahead and tell her—I’m as poor as Mr. Furlong—maybe poorer. It’s the honest answer. But she could hardly believe it herself, much less admit it to the two women watching her like scavenging crows waiting for any sign of weakness. She forced herself to smile and loosen her clasped hands.

Thankfully, Mr. Hopwood stepped through the doorway at that moment and announced that dinner was served. The guests immediately rose and arranged themselves according to social position, leaving Mr. Furlong to escort Hannah as the least important people in the room.

Nothing like having your nose rubbed in it, Hannah thought wryly as they trailed into the dining room.

While excellent food was served, including a lovely lamb roast, crispy new potatoes, huge platters of delectable fish in a rich cream sauce, and several vegetable dishes, the conversation seemed to center upon London. Hannah had little to contribute.

She felt increasingly out of step and alone as she picked at a pickled cucumber and pushed it to the edge of her plate. The smell of vinegar made her choke. Even the men were caught up in discussions about some place called Tattersalls, horses, Hyde Park, and occasionally, places of interest to the ladies.

Gina and Lady Alice professed themselves to be fascinated and listened with wide-eyed eagerness while Hannah fought back yawns and the desire to return to the quiet of her room.

She needed to think.

More and more, she wondered if she truly should give up and return home, to assess the state of her finances. She did have at least one friend in Boston, Mrs. Pernell. She’d kindly offered Hannah a place to stay anytime she needed one, and since she was widowed, Hannah wouldn’t be intruding on a large and busy household.

Of course, there was the matter of buying passage home.

Her head throbbed. She was relieved when the footman collected her plate and began serving the final course.

All she had to do was to get through dessert, spend five minutes with the dowager in the drawing room, and then give her excuses.