But it had something to do with the realization that he was not the spoiled, heartless rake she had first believed him to be. Not entirely, at any rate.

And if that turned out to be true…had she any right to object to his marriage to Natalie?

FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS HANNAH SEARCHED FOR AN OPPORTU-nity to return the toy soldier to Rafe Bowman, but with the manor so busy and Christmas drawing near, privacy was in short supply. It seemed that Bowman’s courtship of Natalie was running smoothly: they danced together, went walking, and he turned the pages of music for Natalie as she played the piano. Hannah tried to be unobtrusive, keeping her distance whenever possible, staying quiet when she was required to chaperone them.

It seemed that Bowman was making a concerted effort to restrain himself around Hannah, not precisely ignoring her, but not paying her any marked attention. His initial interest in her had vanished, which certainly wasn’t a surprise. He had Natalie’s golden beauty dangling before him, along with the certainty of power and riches if he married her.

“I do like him,” Natalie had told her privately, her blue eyes glowing with excitement. “He’s very clever and amusing, and he dances divinely, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who kisses half so well.”

“Mr. Bowman kissed you?” Hannah asked, fighting to keep her tone even.

“Yes.” Natalie grinned mischievously. “I practically had to corner him on the outside terrace, and he laughed and kissed me under the stars. There is no doubt he’ll ask me to marry him. I wonder when and how he’ll do it. I hope at night. I love getting proposals in the moonlight.”

HANNAH HELPED NATALIE CHANGE INTO A WINTER DRESS OF pale blue wool, the skirts heavy and flat pleated, the matching hooded cape trimmed with white fur. The guests were going on a massive afternoon sleigh ride, traveling across the new-fallen snow to an estate in Winchester for a dinner and skating party. “If the weather stays clear,” Natalie exclaimed, “we’ll be riding home under the starscan you imagine anything more romantic, Hannah? Are you certain you don’t want to come?”

“Quite certain. I want to sit by the hearth and read my letter from Mr. Clark.” The letter had been delivered that very morning, and Hannah was eager to peruse it in private. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to watch Natalie and Rafe Bowman snuggle together under a blanket on a long cold sleigh ride.

“I wish you would join the sleighing party,” Natalie persisted. “Not only would you have fun, but you could do me the favor of keeping company with Lord Travers and diverting him. It seems that every time I’m with Mr. Bowman, Travers tries to barge in. It’s dreadfully annoying.”

“I thought you liked Lord Travers.”

“I do. But he is so reticent, it drives me mad.”

“Perhaps if you corner him, as you did Mr. Bowman”

“I’ve already tried that. But Travers won’t do anything. He said he respects me.” Scowling, Natalie had gone to join her parents and Mr. Bowman for the sleigh ride.

Once the sleighs had departed, the horses’ hooves tamping down the snow and ice, bells jingling on bridles, the manor and grounds were peaceful. Hannah walked slowly through the manor, enjoying the serenity of the empty hallways. The only sounds were the distant muffled conversations of servants. No doubt they, too, were glad that the mass of guests were gone for the rest of the day and evening.

Hannah reached the library, which was empty and inviting, the air lightly pungent with the scents of vellum and leather. The fire in the hearth cast a warm glow through the room.

Seating herself in the chair by the fire, Hannah removed her shoes and drew one foot up beneath her. She took the letter from Samuel Clark from her pocket, broke the seal, and smiled at his familiar penmanship.

It was easy to picture Clark writing this letter, his face still and thoughtful, his fair hair a bit mussed as he leaned over his desk. He asked after her health and that of the Blandfords, and wished her a happy holiday. He proceeded to describe his latest interest in the subject of inherited characteristics as described by the French biologist Lamarck, and how it meshed with Clark’s own theories of how repeated sensory information might be stored in the brain tissue itself, thereby contributing to the future adaptation of species. As usual, Hannah only understood about half of it…he would have to explain it later in a way that she could comprehend more easily.

“As you see,” he wrote, “I require your good, sensible companionship. If only you were here to listen to my thoughts as I explain them, I could arrange them more precisely. It is only at times like this, in your absence, that I realize nothing is complete when you are gone, my dear Miss Appleton. Everything seems awry.

It is my fondest hope that when you return, we will sort out our more personal issues. During the course of our work you have come to know my character, and my temperament. Perhaps by now my meager charms have made some sort of impression on you. I have few charms, I know. But you have so many, my dear, that I think yours will atone for my lack. I hope very much that you might do me the honor of becoming my partner, helpmate, and wife ….

There was more, but Hannah folded the letter and stared blindly into the fire.

The answer would be yes, of course.

This is what you’ve wanted, she told herself. An honorable offer from a fine, decent man. Life would be interesting and fulfilling. It would better her to be the wife of such a brilliant man, to become acquainted with the people in his educated circles.