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Hannah stirred at Stockton’s announcement as the carriage slowed to a stop. She pressed out a weary breath. The lights from the torches lining the road slipped through the window of the carriage, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. They might have arrived, but her soul was ten miles behind, crouched and crying.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Stockton cleared his throat. “Miss Young?”
At the sound of her name, Hannah raised her head, slapping her mind awake. “Oh, aye. Forgive me.”
“If I may be so bold, you do not appear well.” His expression took on a protective angle, and he reached out, resting his hand atop her muff. “I fear perhaps…I fear your cousin is making unwanted advances.”
“What? Oh…no. Nothing like that.” Was that what he’d thought? He’d seen them in the kitchen and no doubt noticed her lack of color since they left Eaton Hill. “Not to worry.”
He inclined his head, unconvinced. “If he has done anything to—”
“Nay.” Hannah tried a relaxed laugh that came out as a high-pitched squeak. “All is well. I…I have just been overtired, but today’s rest did wonders.”
Stockton’s stare refused to leave her. “If you require anything of me, I should hope you would feel comfortable to speak to me of it, Hannah.”
Her stomach rolled, and she forced a response to cover the gag that built in her throat. “Of course.” She roused a smile with a slight nod, sucking in a deep breath that did nothing to calm her storming belly.
Blessedly, the footman opened the door, bringing the conversation to a quick end. Stockton exited first, offering his hand to Hannah. As she stepped from the carriage, she raised her eyes, and slowly, her mouth opened in awe. Dear heaven. Large as any estate she’d seen, the home was magnificent. Wood built and whitewashed, the wide walk of the three-story home was lined with large Greek-style carvings, and though snow blanketed most of the greenery, ’twas clear the gardening was meticulous.
The torches washed their orange light up the handful of brick stairs to the large doors that opened as if someone had seen them approaching.
A wigged man bowed and reached for her muff and cloak, looking to Stockton as he spoke. “You are most welcome, Major Stockton.”
Stockton placed a possessive hand at Hannah’s elbow. “This is Miss Hannah Young.”
The stranger stepped aside, motioning to the ballroom. “Jones will announce you.”
Another fellow walked before them, leading them down a vast hall. Candles lit the walk, portraits and busts seeming to nod with pride as Hannah passed.
To the left, the large doors were already open with two men standing at attention at either side. The guide stopped at the doorway, the soft yellow glow beaming from the chandeliers as his voice boomed through the room. “Major Ezra Stockton and his guest, Miss Hannah Young.”
The man stepped aside to allow her and Stockton to enter, all eyes intent on them as they stepped in.
Stockton offered his elbow and leaned her direction, whispering, “Did I not say you would be the most lovely woman here?”
“You are too kind, Major.” Sound drifted from her throat. Her lips moved, but ’twas mechanical, forced. All she could see were her failings. Scrambling to gather what strength she’d had earlier, Hannah gripped Stockton’s arm, holding him for fear her legs would weaken. The wood floor seemed more like soft soil beneath her shoes, giving way with every step. Lord, help Joseph forgive me.
Stockton looked down, placing his other gloved hand atop hers, his unabashed stare drifting to her chest before lifting back to her eyes. “I do hope this evening will calm whatever ails your spirit, that we may at last become even more acquainted.”
“Oh! There you are!” A mirthful chirp resounded from the right of the large room, the other guests already interested in the next announcement that blared from the entrance.
Dottie Pitman came bounding toward them, her ample bosom bouncing. “My dear, I have been awaiting your arrival with such anticipation.”
Hannah curtsied. “’Tis an honor, Mrs. Pitman.”
Plump and jolly, Dottie’s cheeks widened as she smiled. “My dear, I know you feel you must be formal since we are amongst so many, but please, you must call me Dottie.” She glanced up to Stockton. “I can see you will be reluctant to release your hold on this lovely woman, but Aldor is at the refreshment table and has something to speak with you about.”
Dottie looked to Hannah, her eyes growing wide, as if she were confessing through her expression that she fabricated the statement simply to be rid of him.
Stockton bowed before stepping back. “I would be pleased if you would do me the honor of the first minuet, Miss Young.”
Hannah looked to Dottie. ’Twas not his place to ask her, even though she’d come as his guest. As a woman of lower rank, she could not dance with those of a higher station, and she prayed from the depth of her that Dottie would hold to tradition.
But she did not.
Dottie frowned, happily tsking. “I see that worry, my dear, but you mustn’t think of it. With that gown, and attending as Major Stockton’s guest, no one will judge you.”
Stare still intent upon her, Stockton didn’t move until she faced him. “’Twould be an honor, Major.”
