Page 60 of A Lady of Conscience

She was reminded of one of the myths she’d read as a girl. The one about Hades, God of the Underworld, and his stolen bride, Persephone. She too had ended up having to spend six-months of the year in a less than desirable residence. Although in Persephone’s case, that residence was in hell, not in London.

At the moment, the two places didn’t seem so vastly dissimilar. Not as far as Hannah was concerned. For a lady of a retiring temperament, one who struggled with meeting new people, and who could only find solace in the countryside with her animals, the notion of spending half the year in the most populous city in England, surrounded by judgmental elites, held a particular kind of horror.

She curled her fingers over the stone balustrade. “London is not a comfortable place for someone like myself.”

James set his hand over hers. “Why not?”

Hannah felt the strength of him through his glove, a warm reassuring weight. A catch formed in her voice as she answered. “For the same reasons I told you when I rejected your proposal. To be alone in such a place, without family or friends, and to face the judgment of the beau monde, who make sport of anyone who is different⁠—”

“You wouldn’t be without family or friends,” he said quietly. “If you came to London, you would be with me.”

She flashed him a bleak look. “You would not wish to spend all your time looking after me.”

“Would you require looking after?”

“No, but…perchance I would be lonely.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid. I’m attempting to be realistic. Even the best husband cannot be with his wife always. She must necessarily take charge of her own sphere—the household, entertaining, appearing at society events and…and…”

James’s fingers closed around hers, holding her hand safe in his. His voice deepened. “If you were mine, you would be my first and best concern. I would in all things endeavor to make you happy.”

Hannah could think of no reply. She could only return his gaze, feeling for a moment as breathless as she’d felt when he swept her into the first turn of the waltz.

“I could make you happy,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

“I begin to believe you could,” she said.

He stilled.

“It’s all the rest that worries me,” she said. “Thinking about what comes next.”

“Don’t think about it, then.”

She smiled slightly. “And what should I be thinking about?”

“Us.” He brought her hand to his lips. “This.”

Her stomach fluttered.

“I’ve only begun to court you. There’s time enough for all the rest of it.” His thumb moved over her knuckles in a slow caress. “When can I see you again?”

Hannah’s knees felt a trifle weak. It was dangerous to encourage him. To encourage this. Unless, of course, she truly wanted him for her own.

In that moment, she realized, for the first time, just how much she did.

“I’ll be at home tomorrow,” she said softly. “You would be very welcome to call if…if you’d like.”

* * *

The following afternoon, Hannah had several callers during her receiving hours. True to his word, James was one of them. He was the last to arrive, a fact which Hannah suspected was more by design than by happenstance. It allowed them to go for a walk rather than confine their visit to the formality of the drawing room.

She drew her cashmere shawl more firmly about her shoulders as they strolled through the Royal Victoria Park. Located at the end of Queen’s Parade, it was a grassy, tree-studded sanctuary, replete with secluded walks and shady nooks where one could engage in private conversation. “Will you be attending the concert at the Assembly Rooms this evening?” she asked him.

James walked at her side. His dark wool frock coat was open, revealing an exquisitely tailored shawl-collared blue waistcoat, and his tall hat was tipped down against the sun. “That depends,” he said. “Will you be there?”

“I am to attend with Lady Carleton.”