“You’re awake!” an appallingly chipper voice exclaimed.

Hannah’s eyelids felt sticky as she turned her aching head. Her stomach rumbled, hollow and sore, and she had a terrible taste in her mouth, but at least her joints no longer ached with fever. She glanced around, struggling to sit up, and was surprised at how weak and shaky she felt.

“Who?” Hannah glanced in the direction of the voice.

A young woman leaned closer. Soft brown curls framed a lovely, dimpled face, and her large brown eyes twinkled with bouncy good humor. “I’ve been waiting ages for you to awaken! You’ve been sick for days!”

“Days?” Hannah repeated, finally sliding up enough to partially sit up against her pillows. She glanced around the room, feeling lost and confused.

“Yes—you’ve been frightfully ill! Blackwold wouldn’t even allow Grandmother to visit you for fear you would make her ill, too. The only person who is even permitted inside your room is Mary.” Eyes shining with glee, she leaned forward and gripped Hannah’s wrist. “But I came in this morning, anyway. I wanted to see the infamous Miss Cowles from Boston—is it true that you were fighting off a man at the top of the cliffs when Beamish halted the coach and rescued you?”

“Fighting off a man?” Hannah repeated. Her throat and mouth burned—she desperately wanted a glass of water. Who was this extraordinary young woman anyway, and what was she doing in her bedroom?

The girl nodded, her brown curls bobbing around her plump cheeks. “Is it really true?” She clasped her hands together. “How exciting! Was he a wrecker?”

“A wrecker?” Hannah repeated, the room spinning around her. Maybe it was just her illness that made her mishear what the girl had said.

The brunette nodded, her curls bouncing around her face. “Was he trying to ravish you? Were you frightened? Was it horrible?”

“No! That is, there was no wrecker. Where did you hear that dreadful tale?”

The brunette reached out and pressed her hand on Hannah’s arm, giving her a warmly sympathetic look. “You needn’t be afraid of what I might think—I’m convinced you were quite brave. I don’t care if you are no better than you should be.” She covered her mouth with one hand as she giggled. “That sounds so silly—don’t you agree? But how exciting! Did you push him over the cliff when he accosted you? I believe I would have, unless you wanted him to accost you, of course. Was he very handsome? If not, it was a good thing that Grandmother came along when she did, was it not?”

“No! Yes! That is, I’m grateful to your grandmother, of course, but there was no wrecker—I didn’t push anyone over the cliff. I was alone. There was no wrecker, truly. Where did you hear that story?”

“Why, everyone in the village is talking about it. My uncle said it was such a pity, too, that you failed to perish when the Orion sank, as you might prove to be yet another bad influence for Grandmother, and she does not need any more bad influences.”

Dazed by the flood of gossip, Hannah tried to swallow. Her throat burned. She glanced at her bedside table. “Is there any water?”

“Oh, yes!” The girl leapt out of her chair, laughing. “I am so sorry.” She dashed over to a tall chest of drawers and picked up a white china pitcher. Water sloshed into a teacup, and Hannah winced as it slurped over the edge onto the wooden surface of the chest. But the girl didn’t seem to notice or care. Carrying the cup, she returned to Hannah and carefully placed it in her hands. “There.” She giggled and pressed her fingers over her mouth. “Sorry. I’m such a chatterbox—Blackwold says I’d talk the ears off a donkey, but you don’t mind, do you? You look so nice, and I feel as if we already know each other, even though we’ve never been introduced. Oh!” She laughed. “You must be wondering who I am—but I assure you I’m not the ninny or terrible chatterbox Blackwold insists I am.”

“Really? That is good to hear.” Hannah drained the cup. Although the water was tepid at best, it tasted sweet to her parched tongue.

“I’m Georgina Hodges—but I hope you will call me Gina. I despise the name Georgie—I don’t know why. George is such a kingly name, though, and I’m not at all kingly. And Gina is so much nicer, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Hannah agreed weakly.

Gina snatched the cup out of her hand, splashed some more water into it, and handed it back to Hannah with a wide grin.

“Thank you,” Hannah said. “And I’m Hannah, though I suspect you already know that.”

So, this was the grandchild the dowager was preparing to present to Society. Hannah nodded and smiled as the girl continued to speak, unable to resist the younger girl’s enthusiasm. Gina couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, and her vivacity and the sparkle in her eyes made it hard to do anything except grin back.

She immediately liked her—she couldn’t believe that anyone would not like her, in fact. But more than that, Hannah had the warming sense that she’d found a real friend.

“Oh, yes. And you are nice, no matter what they are saying in the village.”

Gina’s flood of words washed back over Hannah, and she eyed the girl. “You said your uncle had told you that I was with a man?”

“Oh, yes.” Gina nodded vigorously. “Uncle Carter. He’s the vicar in the village—Pencroft—and one of the steady Hodges, like Cousin Henry. Very precise, but so very handsome. Cousin Henry is quite the paragon of fashion, don’t you agree?”

“Yes—”

“And he is such a gentleman. He never forgets my birthday. Every year he gives me a yellow silk ribbon—my favorite color—and, of course, something else nice. Last year he gave me a lovely box of chocolate confections, which I just adored! My father always forgets, but Cousin Henry never fails me. He really is the kindest one of us. As opposed to the mad Hodges.” She frowned. “My father says I’m one of the mad Hodges, just like Blackwold, but I disagree because even I fail to understand Blackwold, and I would understand him if I were mad as well, wouldn’t I?”

“Well—”

“He is always making these peculiar remarks, and frankly, they either prove that he is indeed quite mad, or he doesn’t know what he is saying, because they don’t make the least sense. Or they are terribly offensive, which I don’t think he intends to be. If he weren’t a marquess, I’m convinced the family would lock him in the cellars, along with the brandy.”

A twinge of sadness at Gina’s sad view of her cousin made Hannah let out a long breath.

So even Blackwold’s little cousin didn’t understand him, or his wry sense of humor. How frustrating it must be for him.

Slowly, a smile played at her mouth. Warmth spread through her at the sense of a shared secret with the misunderstood marquess. His sense of humor touched an answering chord in her, one she never knew existed.

“He does have a very subtle sense of humor,” Hannah said.

“Subtle? Don’t tell me that he makes sense to you!” Gina exclaimed, her eyes widening.

“I must be mad, too,” Hannah said, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing.

“Oh, you are teasing me—honestly—you must be feeling better to say such a thing.”

“Yes, I do feel better.” Hannah’s smile slowly changed into a confused frown. “But your uncle, why would he think I was wrestling with a man when I was not doing any such a thing?”

“I expect he heard the gossip, though you’d have thought that the storm and wreck of the Orion would have been a rich enough mine of gossip without talking about you, too.” She shrugged. “I suppose it is because you are from the United States of America.” A wistful look passed over her face, and she chewed on her plump lower lip. “You are so fortunate to be able to travel.”

“I suppose so.” She certainly didn’t feel fortunate. In fact, if she had her way, she’d find a nice snug home and never set out on another journey for the rest of her life. “But you are going to London soon, and that is a start.”

“Yes.” Gina’s lack of enthusiasm was obvious in the drooping curve of her mouth. She smoothed her sprigged muslin skirts and picked at an invisible speck of dust. “Just to fling myself at some man’s head.”

“Maybe you will fall in love,” Hannah replied wistfully. “And perhaps he will enjoy traveling. My father adored exploring the world and took us with him everywhere he went. You might find someone similar.”

“Perhaps.” Gina’s expressive face suddenly grew cold, as if every warm emotion had drained away. She shrugged, her slender fingers now picking at the silk edge of the blanket covering Hannah. “But only if he has a title and meets with my grandmother’s approval.”

“If you fell in love, I’m sure she would approve.”

Gina glanced away, her face a mask emptied of emotion.

Icy dismay settled in the hollow of Hannah’s admittedly empty stomach. Surely, the dowager wouldn’t force Gina to marry someone she didn’t love, merely for the sake of a title?

Unfortunately, she was all too aware that for many women, marriage was a business decision. Emotions had nothing to do with the matter, and one was fortunate, indeed, if any affection at all grew within the bonds of matrimony.

Hannah’s father may have dragged them hither and yon until she was so footsore and weary that she could barely stand the thought of looking at another map, or climbing into another carriage, but she knew in the depths of her heart that he would never expect her to marry someone she did not love. He had married his childhood sweetheart, a woman as enamored of traveling as he was, and he’d never appeared to regret it, despite the occasional hushed argument.

He’d never gotten over her death, either, but at least he’d had nineteen glorious years with a woman he loved. And he hadn’t suffered his final loneliness very long. He’d passed away only a few years later.

The silence stretched uncomfortably around them. Hannah shifted in her bed, weak and tired, despite having been in bed for hours, if not days. She looked at Gina, searching for something that would bring back the dimpled smile to her round face.

As she opened her mouth to speak, the door creaked. Mary entered sideways, carrying a wooden tray draped with white linen.

Gina leapt to her feet, her round cheeks flushed with guilt.

The movement caught Mary’s attention, and a frown creased the maid’s forehead. “Miss Hodges! You should not be in here—the dowager Lady Blackwold specifically said that you should not risk your health in this careless manner!”

Gina giggled and flashed a bright-eyed glance at Hannah. “You know very well, dear Mary, that it was you who insisted that no one visit Miss Cowles except you, you selfish creature! Grandmother has wanted to visit for days, and you positively blockaded the door. One would think you had a chest of gold hidden in here instead of one poor, sick woman.”

Mouth open, Hannah’s hands clenched the covers as she transferred her gaze to the maid, expecting the worst.

Instead of anger, a smile tugged at Mary’s thin mouth. She sucked in her lips, clearly trying not to grin as she shook her head. “It were for your own good, Miss Hodges, as well you know.” She flicked a sheepish glance at Hannah. “And for my patient’s sake. You chatter worse than a greenfinch, and Miss Cowles needs her rest.”

“Yes, but she’s rested for days now, and is dying for company.” Gina turned to look at Hannah. “Are you not?”

Hannah nodded and struggled to swing her legs out of bed, though they seemed to be tangled in the heavy covers.

“What are you about?” Mary shrieked, rushing in to set the tray on top of the dresser next to the door. “See what you have done, Miss Hodges!” She ran over to the bed and grabbed Hannah’s shoulders, pushing her back into the pillows. “Stay where you are—you cannot rise yet, Miss! Whatever be you thinking?”

“I’m sorry.” Hannah sank back, too weak to push against Mary’s strong grip. “However, I dislike eating in bed.” Crumbs always resulted, and ants soon followed. She stifled a shudder.

“Dislike or not, you shall do so!” Mary replied sharply.

Gina laughed and moved toward the door. “I will leave you to your breakfast.”

“But—”

“I’ll return this afternoon,” Gina said. “I promise.”

Mary’s head swiveled in her direction, her brows creasing. “You will not—”

“I will, too! With a book!” Gina’s reply sounded like a dreadful threat.

Mary’s lips trembled again. She pressed them together and picked up the tray from the dresser. “If you become too ill to go to London, don’t blame me. I cannot be expected to do more than I’ve done, now can I?”

“No, indeed,” Gina said, her eyes twinkling. “You’ve done everything humanly possible to keep Miss Cowles imprisoned. I’m sure no one can blame you in the least, or accuse you of excessive amiability.” With that, she slipped through the door and closed it before Mary could reply.

Half-fearing that the maid would unleash her frustration upon her, Hannah watched Mary as she brought the tray to the bed and set it carefully upon her knees. The warm scent of beef broth rose as the maid lifted off the linen napkin covering the dishes. Or dish.

Despite the large size of the tray, the only thing on it was a bowl of clear beef broth.

Mary stepped back and folded her hands at her waist, her gaze fixed on Hannah’s face.

Oh, no. I’m in for it now.

“Finish your broth, now, like a good girl, and perhaps you may have a piece of dry toast for your tea,” Mary said. She stared at Hannah and then bent down, her hand hovering over the spoon. “Let me help you.”

“No—no, thank you.” Hannah picked up the spoon and plunged it into the bowl. The broth was rich and savory, with a faint but unmistakable hint of delicious rosemary, but a couple of spoonfuls only made her aware of how hungry she really was.

“You mustn’t let Miss Hodges disturb you.” Mary smoothed the covers and tucked them securely under the edges of the mattress, effectively trapping Hannah in bed.

She didn’t think she could so much as move a leg, however, at least the maid didn’t appear angry. In fact, she had a curiously tender look on her face as she turned to straighten the already clean room.

“I enjoyed her visit,” Hannah said between spoonfuls. “How long was I ill?”

“Four days, Miss. The doctor came and bled you twice—there weren’t nothing else to be done.” Instead of her usual, dour expression, Mary’s gray eyes were filled with sympathy as she watched Hannah finish her broth. “Makes your arms ache, though, don’t it? Never liked being bled, myself.”

“No. And you are right, my left arm is very sore.”

“Then don’t use it—no need for now.” She lifted the tray from Hannah’s lap before Hannah could do more than drop her spoon next to her bowl. “You just rest and let me take care of you—you’ll be up in no time.”

“Thank you, Mary.” Hannah felt overwhelmed, and perhaps it was the lingering effect of her illness, but warm tears stung her eyes. She blinked and busied herself with pulling the covers up.

Clearly, Mary needed to feel that she was wanted—perhaps Hannah had been too independent before to earn her friendship. Whatever the reason, the maid seemed inclined to treat her now like one of her own children—requiring cosseting and attention.

“Now you go back to sleep. No reason to stir.”

“Yes,” Hannah answered drowsily. Though her stomach was still tender and uneasy, she was by no means full. However, she felt content. The broth had sent warmth and an increasing lassitude through her limbs.

Mary smiled and nodded before she turned. The door creaked softly as she slipped away with the tray, leaving Hannah to fall into a deep slumber.