Hannah couldn’t decide if it was unfortunate that she’d forgotten her shawl in the library, or fortuitous. For if she hadn’t gone back to retrieve it, she never would have learned that Beeston was still alive.

She’d run from the room once she’d heard all she could stomach, making a beeline straight for the ladies retiring room. It was blessedly empty, and she was able to toss up her accounts in peace. Well, as much peace as her churning mind and stomach would allow.

Dear God. How could this be? He was dead. Mother and Evan, they’d told her so. They’d come to her room, heads hung, a note in Beeston’s own hand, saying goodbye forever. She’d been conflicted at the time—riddled with both guilt and joy simultaneously. He was gone, but was it her fault? For months she’d toiled over that question. It had kept her up at night—another reason for the heavy doses of laudanum.

Oh, how she wished for some now. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget any of this had ever happened.

Tears rushed down her cheeks, and she stifled her sobs as best she could, but fear and anger and sheer sadness engulfed her. How would she get through this? How would she get past Beeston? How would she ever forgive her brother and mother for deceiving her in this way?

And Graham. He knew, and yet he’d not come rushing to tell her. He ought to have. She needed to know he was out there, that he could strike at any moment.

The thought of going back to Beeston made her wretch all over again. If he found her, and claimed her, there was very little anyone could do. She was his wife, so long as he was living. And no doubt he was angry now, after being forced to relinquish her. God help them all if he heard about her engagement.

Oh, God. The engagement. The announcement. She had to stop it from being printed in the papers tomorrow. But what good would that do now that so much of the ton knew firsthand that they were getting married? The news would fly through the ton tomorrow, whether in the papers or not.

Goodness, it was all scandalous enough, wasn’t it? The barely widowed baroness finds love with the doctor who nursed her back to health after her boorish husband shot at her. What a tale she had weaved. It would be a fascinating one for generations to come, if only she were able to bear children.

Only then did the thought occur to her that Graham might want children. Heavens. What if he wanted them? She hadn’t been terribly forthcoming with him about her situation. Would he still want her if he knew she was barren?

The tears wouldn’t stop, not now. Not when she’d made such a mess of her life. It had been pathetic before, but now that she’d tasted a bit of true love, a hint of what true happiness was, it would be positively unbearable.

Voices out in the corridor drew her attention, and she swiped at the tears that moistened her cheeks. Blast it all, she had to pull herself together. What if someone saw her like this? She didn’t want anyone to think her tears had to do with Graham, but she also didn’t want to admit she knew Beeston was alive. She would sound mad to those who thought him dead. She sounded mad to her own self. It was all madness, and the thoughts threatened to send the tears rushing again, but she choked them back. A skill she’d perfected over the years. How many times had she hidden her tears and heartache behind a smile? More times than she wanted to count, really. But the practice would come in handy tonight.

She approached the mirror and took several deep breaths as she stared at her reflection, willing the redness out of her eyes. “You will get through this,” she said to her reflection, thinking of that day many months ago when she’d stared at herself, and noted the sadness in her eyes. But lately, the sadness had been absent, replaced with the sparkle of youth she’d once had, long ago, before Beeston. Before she’d known what kind of man Beeston was, what kind of cruelty he was capable of.

Graham. He was not like Beeston at all. He was the kind of man Beeston most likely poked fun at. Quiet, kind, a man who revered women rather than viewing them as some thing he could use when it was convenient for him and toss them away a moment later. He was more man than Beeston would ever be.

By the time Grace barged through the door of the retiring room, clutching her chest and sighing with relief as she collapsed onto a tufted stool, Hannah’s eyes were dry and white again, her resolve quite set.

“Grace!” she said, whirling to look at her sister-in-law properly rather than through the mirror. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Grace puffed. “I just…I didn’t…that is…”

Hannah smiled at her. Did she know about Beeston? Had she been worried that Hannah had been abducted by the blackguard? No, he wouldn’t dare come here, would he? He would pounce when she least expected it. “Catch your breath,” she said.

Grace took a moment to do just that and after a few moments, said, “I was looking for you.”

“Goodness, I am sorry,” Hannah said. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I needed the, um…” She glanced to the partition, behind which sat a chamberpot.

“Of course,” Grace replied, her color returning to normal. “I’m just glad, that is…your mother is ready to depart.”

“As am I.” Hannah grabbed her sister-in-law’s hand and pulled her up to stand. She was fully prepared to pretend she knew nothing about Beeston, and to excuse her sister-in-law’s odd behavior, but then an idea formed in her mind. An idea that would require…assistance. She could accomplish it on her own, of course, but it would take longer and be much more difficult. Not to mention, trying to hide it from her entire family whilst living beneath their roof. An ally would be most helpful. “Grace,” she said, catching Grace’s gaze.

“Mm-hm?” Poor girl looked like the cat that swallowed the canary, what with her wide eyes and pursed lips.

“I know,” Hannah said simply.

It took only a moment for Grace to realize what she was talking about, and then she collapsed back to the stool once again. “Oh, thank goodness! You don’t know what a burden it has been to carry that secret!”

Hannah cocked her head sideways. “How long have you known?”

“Since earlier this evening.”

It was all Hannah could do not to fall off her own stool with laughter. Poor Grace, never able to hold onto secrets too long. “Well, you needn’t carry it alone any longer. While I don’t know all the details, I do know he’s alive. One day soon, I will confront Evan on the matter. However, I need your help. I have a plan to bring Beeston to his knees, and I cannot do it alone.”