Why her?
Gideon leaned back a fraction, studying her more closely.
“It was the end of your last Season, then.” Gideon kept his tone even. “That this determination of yours began?”
Beatrice did not meet his eyes.
She shifted, teeth coming down on her bottom lip in that familiar nervous habit. Her hand, which had been resting lightly upon her knee, now clenched into a fist, nails biting into the fabric of her skirt.
Before he could think better of it, Gideon reached out and closed his hand over hers.
She stilled beneath his touch—but did not pull away.
“Yes…” she said at last. “In part. I told you Lark and I wrote to one another often. She told me about Lady Hannah—her charge. How unwell she was. How much she relied upon Lark. More than most ladies would rely upon a companion.”
Her voice remained composed, but by now her fingers had tightened around his.
He was almost certain she did not realize it.
“Lady Hannah was vulnerable,” she said. “And her father… he cared for appearances more than affection. For obedience more than happiness. Her illness displeased him, not because she suffered, but because it… it made her inconvenient.”
Beatrice’s mouth tightened.
“So he avoided her. Left her mostly to herself. Lark said Lady Hannah had grown used to that. Her circumstances were unhappy, but not dire.”
Beatrice shook her head faintly.
“Until he promised her to that man. None of us could make sense of it. Groby had no title, no fortune anyone spoke of, no position that ought to have made such a match advantageous.”
Her voice lowered.
“Lark had crossed paths with him in that last Season in London and would say very little of it, which told me enough. And Lady Hannah, on the few occasions she was made to endure his company, was terrified of him.”
Not uneasy.
Terrified.
“Dudley Groby.” Her lips curled faintly around the name, as though even saying it required effort. “You have heard what people say of him, I’m sure.”
Gideon nodded.
He had.
Unfortunately, Gideon knew Groby all too well. Knew enough of Lady Hannah’s brief betrothal to understand Beatrice’s disgust.
Hell, he had witnessed the wedding that followed, when Dash married Hannah himself.
Not for love. For rescue.
Hannah had once been promised to Sebastian Hartwell, heir to Lovington. But after Harrowgate, with Sebastian gone, Groby—Sebastian’s bastard half-brother—had crept close enough to be dangerous.
“I understood what such a match would mean,” she continued quietly. “For any lady, let alone one as unprotected as Hannah. And when I brought her situation to Dash’s attention, when he was able to step in…”
Her grip tightened again.
Then eased.
“That was when I realized what could be done.”
