Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) (18 page)

“Yes, but who knew he
meant
it? I thought toffs were all the same. Out to fatten their purses and increase their position at any cost. I think I may have misjudged him.”

Hannah smiled but made no comment.

“How much did he pay you for nursing him? The girls weren’t making any sense when I arrived, Rachel talking about a shopping expedition to Thornton to buy a
new
dress.”

The Foster girls were known for their thrift, making over garments given to them by the more charitable members of their congregation. They did not
purchase new ones ready-made. Grace, herself, was clothed from the same source via Hannah’s generosity.

“Naomi was garbling something about the orphans being rescued,” Grace continued. “But before I could ask her what she meant, your father waved me through. He said you needed me?”

Hannah’s shoulders hunched. “I’m afraid I made a bit of a fool of myself earlier. Rachel said something tactless about the viscount, and I overreacted.”

“Really? That’s not like you, though I suppose we both know why. How much did he give you all?”

“Rachel received ten pounds for enduring my absence and Naomi twenty for her good work and the promise of funding for the orphanage.”

“Heavens! And you?” Grace was not to be diverted, but Hannah hesitated. If the townsfolk had already begun gossiping about William’s focus on helping the vicar and his family, there was no way she could keep his exorbitant gift.

“One hundred pounds,” she whispered, unable to keep the truth from her best friend.

“Good Lord.” Grace sat down with a thump. “The situation is more serious than I thought.”

“What situation?”

“Between you and the viscount. He’s as good as courting you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannah said, secretly wishing Grace’s assumption were even possible. “You said yourself, he’s setting things right throughout the district. He’s given you and Naomi far more by offering ongoing funding for your endeavours. That doesn’t mean he’s going to ask for either of your hands in marriage, does it?”

“No, but the man doesn’t stare at either of us like we’ve hung the moon.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “You told me you thought he was a lecher.”

“I said that to protect you,” Grace said, worry contorting her delicate features. “You ignored my warning and developed
feelings
for your patient. The man is not a suitable candidate for your affections, Hannah. His current actions merely confirm my fear he’s interested in you, a fear that remains valid regardless of his generosity.”

“My
feelings
are irrelevant.” Hannah gestured for Grace to lower her voice. “William’s generosity is motivated by gratitude, nothing more.”

Grace arched a brow. “He may be a worthier gentleman than his predecessors, but do you honestly believe his intentions are honourable?”

“You’ve just finished saying you think he wants to court me. What, pray tell, is dishonourable about that?” Hannah rose to her feet, her ire increasing as she felt the need to defend William once more.

“An
honourable
gentleman does not condemn his betrothed to death in the asking.” Grace stood toe to toe with her friend. “Are you forgetting
who he is? Do you
want
to die in childbirth?”

“Of course not,” Hannah scoffed, wishing she could send the blasted curse back to perdition where it belonged. “But you’re wrong about his intentions. He sees me as a friend, a
sister
. He’s made that very clear in both word and letter.” His inexplicable
My Dear
and
Sincerely yours
notwithstanding. “Besides,” she said firmly. “William is a true gentleman. Even if he were interested in me, which he most definitely is not, he would never put another’s life at risk. He is as committed to a solitary existence as I am doomed to spinsterhood.”

“That may well be, but there is talk all over town linking you
to the viscount.”

“People are curious, that’s all.”

“Now you’re just being obtuse.” Grace threw up her hands. “Do you want to end up like me? Shunned by society because you’ve gone too far beyond the pale? I know you, Hannah. It would destroy you if your father lost the respect of his parishioners and your sisters their chance at a good match because
your
reputation was ruined. You need to be careful.”

“Careful!” Hannah spat the word, stung by her friend’s accusation despite its awful truth. “When am I anything but?”

Hannah stared glumly at the door Grace slammed behind her. They had fought before, her friend unwilling to “agree to disagree” when she believed strongly in a matter. But Hannah hadn’t expected her to leave without their resolving the argument.

Sighing, she sat heavily on her bed, having managed to offend her best friend and lose her temper in front of her family all in the same morning. Surely time would prove to Grace—and the rest of the village—there was nothing improper between her and William. But she would have to return the bulk of the money he’d given her and request he do nothing else that could be misconstrued by a suspicious and closely observant society. The task was not one she relished, as she would be reneging on her promise of friendship by cutting herself off from the man she had so unwisely come to love.

Putting her heartache aside, Hannah went to make things right with her family. Restoring her relationship with Rachel proved simple enough. The girl was not one to hold a grudge, and she returned a surprisingly humble apology in response to Hannah’s words of contrition. Naomi was not so easily mollified, even though she denied having taken offence.

“I’m worried,” Naomi said privately after Rachel departed to catalogue her wardrobe and decide what additions she required. “You haven’t developed feelings for the viscount, have you?”

“No, of course not.” Hannah was surprised at how easily the falsehood flowed from her lips. “I just don’t like people speaking badly of someone they don’t know.”

Naomi appeared unconvinced. Hoping to distract her sister and make further amends, Hannah instructed her to take Rachel grocery shopping, trusting them with the chore she normally took responsibility for herself.

“Tomorrow, the three of us can go to Thornton for new dresses,” she added as Rachel rejoined them.

“You mean it? I was so worried you’d say we had to use the money to pay bills or give it to charity, not that I’m opposed to giving a
little
to those in need. Naomi probably wants to give all of her money to the orphans.”

“Not
all
of it.” Naomi frowned at her sister. “I can’t remember the last time I had a new dress, and I could do with some shoes that haven’t already been moulded to someone else’s feet. But only if you think we can afford it,” she added, looking to Hannah.

“The bonus the viscount gave Papa will buy us some time, especially now we won’t be required to pay rent,” Hannah said. “As for the orphanage, Lord Blackthorn has promised to fund it. After this morning, I believe we can rest assured he is a man of his word.”

Relieved to have restored things with her sisters, Hannah presented herself to her father in his study.

“Do you have a moment, Papa?” she asked, taking her usual seat in the padded chair beside his desk.

“Always.” His smile was tinged with concern. “I hoped you might tell Grace what was bothering you, but she didn’t stay long. Is everything all right between the two of you?”

Hannah sighed. “I seem to be doing a good job of alienating the people I care about this morning. Hopefully we won’t be at odds for long.”

“Your disagreement wouldn’t have anything to do with your earlier defence of the viscount, would it?”

“A little. She’s suspicious of his motives, but William is a
good
man . . . generous, honourable.”

Her father raised a brow. “
William?
”

“I don’t call him that to his face, just in my thoughts—out of habit—because we were friends when we were children. I’m perfectly respectful in his presence.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Her father reached to give Hannah’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “But you
have
come to care for him?”

“Well, yes,” she said, wary of lying to her father. “Nothing untoward, of course. I care for him like a . . . a
brother,
a younger brother.”

“I see.” Her father’s impassive expression left Hannah uncertain as to whether he believed her or not.
 

“I just don’t think he deserves the things that are said about him
or
his lot in life,” she said before taking the risk of mentioning her concerns. “It’s seems a dreadful tragedy he cannot marry without putting his wife’s life in mortal danger. I don’t understand why God would allow such a thing.”

“
Allow
is the operative word here,” her father said. “You know my thoughts on the matter.”

“That we reap what we sow. I understand, Papa, but why should William reap the consequences of his forebears’ actions, or the wives for their husbands’?”

“Ah, but that’s the nature of curses. To our modern way of thinking, they’re neither fair nor equitable, passing the sins of the fathers on to the sons even to the fourth and fifth generation. Yet we see evidence of curses all around us.”

“We do?” Hannah was unaware of any other accursed souls in their district.

“How often does the son of a drunkard grow up to follow in the same path as his father, turning to the bottle because he is full of anger and hate? Gambling, licentiousness, violence towards women . . . it rarely springs from out of nowhere.”

“But that’s at least somewhat comprehensible. People follow the examples that have been shown to them, storing up their hurt and pain and taking it out on the next generation.”

“Which is how the sins are passed down and why forgiveness is so important, as is taking responsibility for one’s actions regardless of the wrong that has been inflicted by others.”

“But you would have to agree the Blackthorn Curse is more sinister in its workings,” Hannah insisted, and the vicar slowly nodded.

“A curse inflicted by an African witch doctor does seem to fall into a different category than a propensity for a certain behaviour continuing down a family line.”

“You know about the origin of the curse?” Hannah sat back. Her father hadn’t mentioned it, and she’d been waiting to find the right moment to share William’s disclosure. “Is there any hope for it to be broken?”

Her father eyed her solemnly. “I’ve made an in-depth study of the topic over the years. It does fall rather close to home and has affected us
all
in its way,” he added at her surprised look.

“What did you discover?”

“What we both already know. That God’s love is greater than any evil,” he said with confidence. “From my understanding, the viscount is already on the path to redemption. He’s done a great deal to redress the wrong by his forebears and continues to act in an honourable manner . . .”

“But?” she asked when he hesitated.

“
But
could he be so easily persuaded to trust the curse has been lifted? Is his faith unwavering?”

Comprehending her father’s meaning, Hannah’s shoulders slumped. “The viscount’s faith is irrelevant. He would never risk the life of another.”

“It would seem his honourable nature requires him to walk a lonely road.” Her father sighed. “Fear not. He will be rewarded for both his sacrifice and his efforts.”

“Just not with a wife or family of his own,” she murmured, her expression mirroring the bleakness of her thoughts.
 

Chapter 17

Gracious

For a man who was not typically concerned with his appearance, William thought it rather ironic he’d acquired the service of
two
valets, Dawkins having finagled his way into the role of assistant to the recently arrived Markham. He had to admit, however, that due to their combined efforts, he looked every bit the perfectly presented gentleman. One only had to ignore the scar that ran down the side of his face, the arm that hung awkwardly at his side, and the fact he walked with a limp.

Ignoring the pain that jumped from dull to sharp whenever he instigated movement, he flexed his fingers, pleased when he was able to form a vague approximation of a fist. It wouldn’t pack much of a punch—his days as a pugilist for the Royal Fusiliers were well behind him. But it was a marked improvement on the first time he’d attempted the exercises Miss Daniels had recommended to assist with his recovery.

At least the injury was to his left arm. Hunting with a rifle would prove a challenge, and archery was out of the question, but with his right hand he still had mastery over a pen, a horse, a sword, and a pistol. Dinner parties would be interesting affairs, as cutting up his food one-handed was a skill he had yet to acquire, not that he’d been inundated with invitations to social engagements since his return. His peers might be keen to reap the benefits of his endeavours to restore the district, but he didn’t imagine their antipathy towards him would wane any time soon.

“Buck up,” he muttered to his reflection.

There was much to be thankful for.

Rectifying the travesties that had occurred under his name had supplied him with a purpose that would keep him busy into the foreseeable future. He was pleased to be able to offer employment to returned soldiers who otherwise might have found themselves cast aside by a society that venerated courage but frowned upon imperfection. And several of his new employees were fellow officers with whom he shared a common history, men who’d known him as the competent and loyal Captain Blackthorn.