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another offer. She certainly wouldn’t meet many eligible men out on her father’s farm. Nor would Molly, when she was old enough. David’s offer meant a world of difference to Molly as well as to Hannah herself.
Could
she pass it up?
    “Perhaps Jamie ought to talk to him,” Sarah suggested. “Just to see how sensible his offer is.”
    Hannah took a deep breath, and nodded. Jamie wouldn’t hesitate to tell her if he thought it was a mistake, but he also knew how reluctant she was to return to their father’s farm. Sarah promised to send him, and left.
    That night Hannah watched David closely. He held Molly enraptured with a fanciful story after dinner, and Hannah didn’t miss how happily Molly bade him good-night. Perhaps marrying David wasn’t so farfetched. Perhaps it would be the answer to her prayers. Perhaps he would be a good father, and a good husband, and keep her in comfort the rest of her days. When Jamie rode over the next day and closed himself in the parlor with David, Hannah almost held her breadi, waiting.
    Footsteps made her look up. “Come with me,” grunted Jamie, tramping through the kitchen. Heart in her throat, Hannah put down the basket of shelled peas and hurried after him.
    Her brother was adjusting his saddle. “He’s pledged to take care of you,” he muttered. “Got enough of his own money to support a family. He promised to deed a small country house of his to me in trust for Molly, so you’ll have a place to go if… well, just in case. Guess you’d be a lady, Han.”
    “What do you think, Jamie?” she asked. He shrugged.
    “Could be worse, I guess.” He glanced at her. “What do you think?”
    Hannah bit her lip. “I don’t know yet.”
    That night after everyone else had gone to bed, Hannah sat up with a pot of tea and thought through her options as coolly as she could. It was not an easy decision, but in the end there were too many arguments for it, and not enough against it. In the morning, hoping she was making the right decision, she told David yes.
    The banns were read the following Sunday.

Chapter Three
     
    Percy dropped into the chair with a groan. “Damn, Reece, you’ve put your foot in it this time.” He held out a letter with a familiar seal.
    David tossed it onto the bed and went back to scratching his foot He had expected it would be completely better by now, and was annoyed by the bandages and the cane he still needed. “Not your damn business, nor anyone else’s.”
    “Huh,” snorted Percy. “I managed to avoid him for three weeks, and paid for it. An hour he had me in his study, Reece, an hour! Is he really your brother?”
    “Sadly,” said David under his breath. That must be why Percy had returned to Misbegotten Middlebor-ough, as he had called it before bolting for London. “Many thanks, Percy.”
    His friend uncorked the bottle of brandy. David accepted a glass after a moment’s hesitation. He had given up almost all drink while at the vicarage, but by the second glass the familiar warmth settled over him. Percy was full of news of town: Walker’s new bays, which he expected to run at Ascot and earn back their extravagant purchase price, Hadley’s fight with
    Devere over an opera dancer, Brixton wagering and losing half his inheritance one night, and winning it back the next.
    David listened moodily. He knew it had been a bad idea to invite Percy to stay for the wedding. As long as he was steeped in the pure air of this little village, he wasn’t tempted to return to his old ways. Percy’s stories, though, stirred those dark and wild urges within him that he had sworn to banish with Hannah’s help. No more carriage racing, drinking, or whoring, if he was to be her husband. But the more Percy talked, the stronger the discomfort became, like spiders crawling under his skin. Could he never drink again? Never visit a brothel again? What was he thinking, getting married while he was still young?
    As if reading his thoughts, Percy kicked his