I’m doomed, she thought.

With her head lowered, she plowed along the hallway, intending to go to her room, where she could mope and cry in private. Unfortunately, walking with one’s head down meant one could not precisely see where one was going. She nearly collided with a woman approaching from the opposite direction, someone who walked with a distinctively long, free stride.

They both stopped abruptly, and the woman reached out to steady Hannah.

“My lady,” Hannah gasped, recognizing Lillian. “Oh…I’m so sorry…I beg your pardon …”

“No harm done,” the countess assured her. “My fault, actually. I was hurrying to tell the housekeeper something before I had to meet my sister, and” She paused and stared at Hannah closely. “You look ready to cry,” she said bluntly. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Hannah said brightly, and a few hot tears spilled out. She sighed and bent her head again. “Oh, bollocks. Forgive me, I must go”

“You poor thing,” Lillian said with genuine sympathy, seeming not at all shocked by the profanity. “Come with me. There’s a private parlor upstairs where we can talk.”

“I can’t,” Hannah whispered. “My lady, forgive me, but you’re the last person I can confide in about this.”

“Oh.” The countess’s eyes, the same velvet brown as her brother’s, widened slightly. “It’s Rafe, isn’t it?”

More tears, welling up no matter how tightly she closed her eyes against them.

“Is there a friend you can talk to?” Lillian asked softly.

“Natalie is my best friend,” Hannah said between sniffles. “So that’s impossible.”

“Then let me be your friend. I’m not sure I can helpbut at least I can try to understand.”

They went to a cozy parlor upstairs, a private receiving room decorated in a plush, feminine style. Lillian closed the door, brought Hannah a handkerchief, and sat beside her on the settee. “I insist that you call me Lillian,” she said. “And before either of us says a word, let me assure you that everything in this parlor will remain completely private. No one will know.”

“Yes, myLillian.” Hannah blew her nose and sighed.

“Now, what happened to make you cry?”

“It’s Mr. Bowman…Rafe …” She could not seem to put her words in the proper order, and so she let them tumble out, even knowing Lillian would never be able to make sense of them. “He is so…and I’ve never…and when he kissed me I thought no, it’s merely infatuation, but…and then Mr. Clark proposed, and I realized I couldn’t accept because…and I know it’s too soon. Too fast. But the worst part is the letter, because I don’t even know who he wrote it for!” She went on and on, trying desperately to make herself understood. Somehow, miraculously, Lillian managed to make sense of the mess.

While Hannah poured out the whole story, or at least an expurgated version, Lillian gripped her hands firmly. As Hannah paused to blow her nose again, Lillian said, “I’m going to ring for tea. With brandy.”

She pulled the servants’ bell, and when a maid came to the door, Lillian cracked it open and murmured to her. The maid went to fetch the tea.

Just as Lillian returned to the settee, the door opened, and Daisy Swift poked her head inside. She looked mildly surprised to see Hannah sitting there with Lillian. “Hello. Lillian, you were supposed to play cards.”

“Hang it, I forgot.”

Daisy’s brown eyes were filled with curiosity and sympathy as she glanced at Hannah. “Why are you crying? Is there something I can do?”

“This is a very private and highly sensitive matter,” Lillian told her. “Hannah’s confiding in me.”

“Oh, confide in me, too!” Daisy said earnestly, coming into the room. “I can keep a secret. Better than Lillian, as a matter of fact.”

Without giving Hannah a chance to respond, Daisy closed the door and came to sit beside her sister.

“You are to tell no one,” Lillian said to Daisy sternly. “Hannah is in love with Rafe, and he’s going to propose to Lady Natalie. Except that he’s in love with Hannah.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Hannah said in a muffled voice. “It’s just…the letter …”

“Do you still have it? May I see it?”

Hannah regarded her doubtfully. “It’s very private. He didn’t want anyone to read it.”

“Then he should have burned the damn thing properly,” Lillian said.

“Do show us, Hannah,” Daisy urged. “It will go no further, I promise.”

Carefully Hannah pulled the scrap of parchment from her pocket and gave it to Lillian. The sisters bent over it intently.

“Oh, my,” she heard Daisy murmur.

“He doesn’t mince words, does he?” Lillian asked dryly, her brows lifting. She glanced at Hannah. “This is Rafe’s handwriting, and I’ve no doubt he was the author. But it is unusual for him to express himself in such a manner.”

“I’m sure he knows many pretty phrases to attract women,” Hannah mumbled. “He’s a rake.”

“Well, yes, he’s a rake, but to be so open and effusive…that’s not like him. He’s usually”

“A rake of few words,” Daisy finished for her.