Gail Whitiker (12 page)

For a moment, Hannah just stared at it. She felt like Pandora, about to open something that would change the
course of her life for ever. Because whatever lay within was undeniable proof of everything Sally had told her.

Still, if it was proof, wasn’t it best she look at it now and get it over with?

With fingers that visibly shook, Hannah unfastened the ribbon and pushed back the silk to reveal a beautifully woven shawl. It was of the palest green, and felt as soft as a whisper against her fingers. It was also of good size, as she discovered when she shook it out. Then she saw the small piece of paper lying on the silk.

Hannah swallowed, her chest tight as she set the shawl aside. She could hardly breathe as she reached for the fragile piece of parchment. The handwriting was barely legible, but the letters were neat and looked as though they had been painstakingly copied.

The message was brief, and there was no signature, but Hannah was left in no doubt as to its meaning.

Hannah bit her lip until it throbbed. Here, then, was the proof she had been seeking. This piece of paper was her birth announcement. This shawl, her christening-gown. Together they formed the only tie to her past that existed.

A past that indicated without a shadow of a doubt that she was not now, nor ever had been, the Honourable Hannah Winthrop.

Robert was convinced he must have passed as poor a night as Hannah. Why else would he feel like hell this
morning? After he’d taken her up to her room last night, he’d stayed with her until she’d fallen asleep. Then he’d gone back down to the library and poured himself a large brandy. He’d tossed it back, poured himself another, then tossed that one back too. But even the potent liquid hadn’t been strong enough to eradicate the memory of the pain in Hannah’s face, and the stunned disbelief that such a wretched thing could happen to her.

He wondered if a hundred years would be long enough. Certainly, if he’d harboured any doubts that Hannah knew the truth and was hiding it, he didn’t now. Not even the greatest actor or actress could have feigned such grief and shock at hearing that they were not the person they’d spent their entire life believing themselves to be.

But that was last night. How would Hannah feel upon waking this morning, Robert wondered as he sat alone at the breakfast table. What would she do? Would she continue to believe he had lied to her? That he had…made it all up in an attempt to…what? To disinherit her? To humiliate her?

The servant refilled his cup with fresh coffee, and as Robert raised it to his lips, he tried to put himself in the position Hannah had been in last night. But it was more than even he could manage. How would
he
have felt upon hearing from someone who was little more than a stranger to him, that he was not the person he’d grown up believing himself to be? That he was, in fact, a nameless child who had been abandoned by his mother in the carriage of a complete stranger.

What did that say about the depth of affection his mother had felt for him, or about the feelings of her family that they had not even been willing to give him a home and to raise him amongst them?

Robert didn’t like what it said any better than Hannah would. But he had no doubt it was exactly what she was thinking right now. She was probably lying upstairs, believing she’d been abandoned by everyone she’d ever known. She would be thinking that no one had cared enough about the welfare of a tiny baby to look after her and that she had been completely unwanted. Unloved.

That was,
if
she believed any of what he’d told her last night, Robert reminded himself. If she didn’t, she was likely going through emotional acrobatics of an entirely different sort—with the uppermost one in her mind being that he’d done this to hurt her. She might be thinking he had told her this terrible lie to get back at her for accusing him of not caring about their mother. Or maybe, because he didn’t care for
her
, as she so obviously believed to be the case. But surely she did not think him so contemptible that he would shatter a young girl’s life in such a way? Surely she did not believe him such a monster…

‘Good morning, Lord Winthrop.’

Lost in the tangle of his thoughts, Hannah’s voice caused Robert to start. He jerked his hand, spilling coffee. Swearing softly, he got to his feet and turned to look at her.

She was standing in the doorway; hesitating, as though uncertain of her welcome. There was very little colour in her face, and there were purple shadows under her eyes. The rims were red and swollen. Obviously, she’d spent a good part of the night awake, and crying.

Robert’s first instinct was to go to her, but something in her posture warned him against it. ‘Hannah. How are you feeling this morning?’

‘I am…tolerably well, thank you.’

She stayed where she was, prompting him to say with a faint smile, ‘Are you going to come in and join me for breakfast?’

‘I wasn’t sure I should. I thought perhaps I might not be welcome. Besides, I fear I have…little appetite for food this morning.’

‘A cup of tea, perhaps,’ he suggested.

She seemed to think about it for a moment, and then inclined her head. ‘Yes, tea would be most welcome.’

Robert dismissed the waiting servant and then moved to assist Hannah to her chair. She walked stiffly, as though her legs were made of wood. ‘Are you sure I cannot fetch you something from the sideboard?’ he offered gently.

‘Thank you, no.’ She slid into the chair he held for her. ‘Tea will be fine.’

Because he was attentive to detail, Robert already knew how she liked it. He prepared it for her now with a drop of milk, and a small spoonful of sugar. He was tempted to tip in a measure of brandy, but Lord only knew what that would do to her so early in the day. Then he set the fine china cup down in front of her and eased himself into the chair beside her. Where did he start?

‘Hannah, you must believe me when I say that I didn’t tell you what I did last night to hurt you.’

She raised the cup to her lips. ‘I know.’

Her hand was shaking so badly that Robert was surprised she didn’t spill tea all over the table. ‘Nor did I make it up. I would never concoct such a cruel and hurtful story.’

Hannah took a few sips of her tea, closing her eyes to savour the hot, sweet liquid, before carefully putting the cup back down in the saucer. ‘I know that too. There
may not be a great deal of affection between us, Lord Winthrop, but I do not believe you capable of such cruelty. But because it all came as such…a shock, and because I had so much trouble accepting that…something like that could have happened, I went to see Sally.’

He started. ‘Sally?’

‘Yes. I had to know it all, you see,’ Hannah told him quietly, ‘and Sally was the only one who could tell me. She was there. She knew exactly what had happened twenty years ago. So I asked her, because I knew she would have no reason to lie to me.’

‘But you thought I did.’

Hannah closed her eyes. ‘Let us not go back over that again, my lord. I have told you I do not hold you culpable for anything that happened. I know that…what you told me last night was the truth, and after speaking to Sally, I know it is what my…what the Viscountess wanted to tell me the night before she died.’

Robert hadn’t missed the change in reference to both his mother and himself. Hannah knew that the woman who had raised her was not truly her mother, nor was he her brother, and clearly, she felt she had no right to address them as such. But he could see from the anguish on her face the tremendous emotional toll this was taking.

‘There is still much we must talk about, Hannah,’ he said, wishing only to set her mind at ease. At least as much as he could under the circumstances. ‘But it is imperative you realise that nothing has changed.’

‘Everything has changed, my lord. Even a blind man could see that.’

‘But not to the outside world. Nothing has changed in the eyes of the people who’ve known you all your life. The servants will still look to you as mistress of the
house, and your friends and family will treat you exactly as they always have.’

‘But
I
know I’m not the same person,’ Hannah said in a voice quivering with emotion. ‘I know I’m not Hannah Winthrop and so do you. And, knowing that, how can I possibly go on pretending that everything’s all right, and that nothing has changed? I don’t know who I am any more. Do you have any idea how it feels to wake up one morning and suddenly have no identity?’

‘No, I do not,’ Robert said, not even attempting to try to make her think he could understand that extent of her pain. It would serve nothing to try to console her with empty platitudes. ‘But I have no wish to make this any harder for you than it already is. I will not expose you, Hannah. What has happened to you is not your fault. If anything, it is anger towards my mother I should be feeling for having allowed this subterfuge to go on. She should have told you the truth long before now.’

Hannah stared at the table. ‘Yes, she should. And I have been trying to figure out ever since I spoke to Sally why she did not. Other people obviously knew I was not…her daughter. Lady MacInnes, her husband. Some of the servants here. Perhaps all of them. Why would she let me go on believing I was someone I was not when she knew there were others who could expose me?’

She shivered convulsively, and it was all Robert could do not to pull her into his arms and hold her until the trembling passed. He had never seen any person so emotionally raw. It was as though her wounds were open and bleeding, and no one was doing anything to heal them.

‘I wish I could say I knew, Hannah, but I can’t. Per
haps she was afraid of what you would say. Perhaps she thought you would be angry with her—’

‘And she was right. I
am
angry with her,’ Hannah cried. ‘I’m angry that she spent the last twenty years convincing me that I had a right to be here. I’m angry that she let me feel…entitled to share her love, and that she encouraged me to love her as my rightful mother.’

‘But she
was
your rightful mother. Oh, all right, perhaps not in the truest sense of the word, but she was your mother nonetheless. She brought you home and raised you as her daughter. She gave you every consideration, and loved you as her own. How can you say she was not your rightful mother?’

‘Because she did not give me birth! Someone else did!’

‘Yes, someone who obviously cared a great deal less for your welfare than my mother!’

The words, spoken in the heat of the moment, were out before Robert even realised what he was saying, and he knew at once how deeply they had hurt. He saw the stricken look on Hannah’s face, and cursed himself for his clumsiness.

‘Forgive me.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I did not mean to sound so harsh.’

‘No. You only spoke…the truth.’ Hannah’s voice was haunted. ‘The woman who gave me birth…didn’t love me. She couldn’t have. Otherwise she wouldn’t have abandoned me the way she did.’

‘Hannah, the note said your mother was dead.’ He turned back to face her. ‘If that was the case, there was no choice—’

‘There is always a choice, my lord. If my mother knew she was dying…if she even had reason to suspect that she was, she could have asked someone else to look
after me. Or she could have given me to an orphanage.’ She looked up at him with eyes filled with the pain of betrayal. ‘Is that not what most mothers would do, Lord Winthrop? Would they not take the trouble to ensure their child’s welfare, if they could not see to it themselves?’

‘Perhaps your mother
did
charge someone to look after you,’ Robert said softly. ‘But perhaps that person was not able to see to your welfare either, and felt this was the only way to give you a chance at a better life.’

‘By leaving me in the carriage of a complete stranger?’ Hannah shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I cannot see it in such a noble light as you, my lord.’

‘Hannah, you told me that the night Mama died she wanted to tell you the truth about your origins. Why didn’t she?’

A soft sweep of colour brushed Hannah’s cheeks. ‘Because I…discouraged her from doing so. She was tired. She’d spent…long hours at her needlework, and I didn’t want her getting into any kind of emotional discussions. I told her that we would talk about it in the morning. But how was I to know what she wanted to say?’ Hannah pushed her cup aside in agitation. ‘How was I to know that what she was about to tell me would affect the rest of my life?’

‘I believe she told you it would have a great deal more impact on your life than a Season in London,’ he reminded her gently. ‘And I should think the fact that she’d never been able to find the right time to tell you should have indicated that the matter was of considerable consequence.’

‘Forgive me, but it did not,’ Hannah answered, her voice stiff. ‘I’m not a mind-reader, Lord Winthrop. I am not able to divine people’s thoughts, or to assess the
degree of importance attached to something they
might
wish to tell me. Your mother should have told me the truth as soon as I was old enough to understand the ramifications behind it.’

‘True,’ Robert said slowly. ‘But I think the reason she did not was because she was afraid of what
you
would do when you heard it. I think she was terrified of inflicting the kind of pain she knew such an admission would cause. The kind of pain you’re suffering now. She wanted to protect you from that for as long as she could. What loving mother would ever wish to see her child suffer so?’

Hannah pressed her lips together. ‘So she did not tell me, but left me instead to hear it from the mouths of strangers. She left me to deal with it, without giving me the benefit of being able to ask her
why
she did it.’ Hannah slowly got to her feet, leaving her tea unfinished. ‘Now I must draw my own conclusions, and I will never know if they are right.’

‘Where are you going?’ Robert asked.