Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

H annah stared at James in the torchlight. "Six months!" she echoed in disbelief.

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."

"Then, yes. I will."

She stifled a pleased smile. "It is to be in Italian. And very beautiful too, I'm told, even if one doesn't speak the language."

"If you'll permit me to sit beside you, I shall be happy to provide a translation."

Her cheeks glowed. "I will save you a seat, of course."

A smile edged James's mouth. "How else have you been occupying your time since last I saw you?" he asked. "Aside from entertaining callers."

"There have not been so many of those. Indeed, it's my correspondence that's taken up the bulk of my free time. I've fallen terribly behind since the start of my season."

"Ah, yes. As I recall, you're a capital letter writer."

"I am," she said, on her mettle. "At least, I was before having to devote so many hours to balls and concerts and the like." She adjusted her shawl. "I had a letter just this morning from my friend, Miss Winthrop."

"The publisher of the Animal Advocate ?" James asked, looking at her.

Hannah warmed under his regard. One of the things she liked best about him was that he didn't affect a polite curiosity about the subjects that meant something to her. Whenever she spoke, he showed a genuine interest. And he listened. Really listened. "She has become a good friend since I arrived in Bath."

"I look forward to making her acquaintance."

"I hope you shall, in time." Hannah hesitated. "Did I mention that she's agreed to publish my cat article? Indeed, she has published it. The new journal went out to its subscribers several days ago."

"Which makes you a multipublished author?" James smiled. "I congratulate you."

Two riders trotted by along the avenue. One of the men touched his hat to them in acknowledgment as he and his companion passed. James inclined his head in return.

It was a lovely day out, and there were several people in the park taking advantage of it. Mothers and their children, nurses and invalids, and even a few couples like Hannah and James.

"You're not scandalized by the fact?" she asked him.

"Should I be?"

"You might be," she said.

James gave her another look.

Hannah was steeling herself to explain about her name being printed in the Animal Advocate when she heard a faint, but entirely distinctive, noise emanating from a patch of woodland that ran alongside the path. She came to an abrupt halt. "Is that…?"

James stopped alongside her as the noise came again. "It sounds like a kitten."

"Several kittens," Hannah said. There was no mistaking the plaintive cries. She entered the stand of trees, moving toward the sound with a cautious step. She didn't wish to startle the poor creatures. Unless she was mistaken, they were in distress. Either hurt or hungry.

Or worse.

James followed her, just in time to see a man hunched over the underbrush. He held a burlap sack in one beefy hand and a struggling gray kitten in the other.

Outrage rose in Hannah's breast. "I beg your pardon, sir!" She strode toward the man. "Just what is it you think you're doing?"

The man straightened. Dressed in brown homespun and a tweed cap, he had the look of a groundskeeper or gamekeeper. He kept hold of the kitten's scruff, ignoring its cries as it thrashed in his grasp. "What someone shoulda done days ago," he said. "Disposing of these creatures to save 'em from suffering."

There were three more kittens huddled in the undergrowth—all of them varying shades of gray, and all of them crying pitifully. They couldn't have been more than four weeks old.

"Where is their mother?" Hannah asked.

"Dead," the man said. "And they ain't old enough to fend for themselves."

Hannah's kindling gaze flashed from the kitten in the man's right hand to the burlap sack in his left. "You surely aren't going to drown them?"

"Best thing for ‘em," the man said. "It's a kindness."

James came to stand beside Hannah. She was certain she heard him utter a weary sigh. "I think not," he said.

The groundskeeper gave a visible start at James's tone of authority. "Sir?"

"Relinquish the kitten," James said. "We shall take charge of him—and the others."

Hannah was already slipping off her shawl. The kittens appeared quite wild. She had no wish to alarm them any further than was necessary. She scooped up the kitten that dangled from the groundskeeper's fingers an instant before the man released it.

The kitten didn't willingly accept his rescue. He uttered a menacing growl, as sinister as the buzzing of an enraged bee. His little body thrashed within the confines of the soft cashmere.

Hannah pressed the precious bundle close to her, murmuring soothing words. She was vaguely aware of James exchanging words with the groundskeeper. He gave the man a coin before sending him off.

"I presume you know how to feed kittens of this age," James said after the man had gone.

"I do," Hannah assured him. She would soak a soft cloth in warm milk and allow the kittens to nurse from it. It would do until they could be persuaded to take solid food.

James crouched beside the three remaining kittens. "Do you want them all in your shawl?"

"Yes, but you mustn't?—"

Before she could complete her warning, James made the grievous error of gathering the kittens up with his hands.

Hannah gave an eloquent wince as, before her eyes, the three small kittens were transformed into a hissing and spitting ball of feline mayhem. They clawed at James wildly, one climbing up his waistcoat, the other snapping its teeth at his hands, and the third striking out with its claws.

"Bloody hell," James muttered under his breath as the smallest kitten scratched his face. A line of blood welled across his cheek.

"Oh, do have a care!" Hannah hurried toward him, opening her shawl. "Put them in here with their brother before they tear you to ribbons."

"I'm all right," James said. He gently pried the kittens from his waistcoat, placing them into her shawl one at a time, even as a droplet of blood slid down his jaw untended. "Poor mites. They're frightened, that's all."

Hannah's heart thumped heavily as she gazed up at him. Whatever doubt she'd had about their future together slipped away. And just like that, standing there in Victoria Park, a bundle of squirming kittens clutched to her breast, she fell all of the way in love with him.