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“It will be good for me to be outdoors again.”

That, at least, was completely true. She had not left the house since Samuel’s last visit, and she was grateful that the desire to do so had finally returned. It had taken a couple more days of soul-searching after her sisters’ intervention to acknowledge that, somehow, despite whatever good sense she may have previously claimed, she had lost her heart to Samuel. Recognizing the root cause of her suffering, however, did little to ease the pain. She ached to see him again, and as of yet, no amount of internal counseling had successfully assuaged that longing.

She lowered her head, helplessly wishing that before the carriage started down the street, she would hear Samuel’s brisk footsteps striding toward the house as though nothing had changed between them. He had said that he would not wish their time together undone. And there had been moments—particularly when they’d danced ­together—when she’d thought she’d caught something in his expression that had hinted at the kind of yearning she was currently experiencing. Yet his departure had felt overwhelmingly final.

What was it that had caused Samuel to walk away? Was it discomfort over her obvious distress? Shame over his withholding information from her for so long? Or did he simply believe that she would consider his background too far beneath hers to further their acquaintance?

Sadly, she was no closer to uncovering the answers to those questions now than she had been days ago. And no closer to alleviating the ache in her heart either. Time, Sophia and Elinor had insisted, was the greatest healer in such situations. And staying busy was Hannah’s most worthwhile means of passing time.

She lifted her gaze to meet her father’s. “Thank you for letting me join you, Father,” she said as the carriage lurched forward. “I know Mr. Cantrell could have seen to the paperwork just as well, but I do enjoy being with you.”

Her father’s expression softened. “Cantrell is an eager fellow and works hard, but you are much more pleasant company.”

Inevitably, Hannah could not help but associate her father’s comments not with Mr. Cantrell but with Samuel. He most certainly qualified as hardworking. One could not rise up the ranks in the Royal Navy without extra effort, and she herself had witnessed his tenacity in searching for clues for their missing hogsheads of rum and in learning the steps to the cotillion. Unlike stuffy Mr. Cantrell, however, Samuel was disconcertingly handsome. And his smile, no matter how slight, had the power to cause her heart to beat a little faster.

She gazed out through the window. Already, they had left behind their tidy street lined with attractive trees and well-kept houses and were entering one of London’s less salubrious neighborhoods. A young boy in a tattered coat stood alone on the street corner. Her aching heart constricted. Is that what Samuel’s life had once been? He’d mentioned being orphaned at a young age, but did he have any other family? She rather thought he did not. He’d gone directly from his ship to Bow Street without taking time away to visit anyone.

“Father,” she said, watching the young boy through the glass until the carriage turned yet another corner. “I know you admire hard work, but do you think it is possible for someone to work their way out of poverty? To become someone new through their own grit and determination?”

“Yes.” His immediate and firm response surprised her. “It is rarely accomplished because it is extraordinarily difficult, but if the person’s tenacity is coupled with a stroke or two of good fortune, it can be done.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am sure.” He tapped his cane with his fingers, the rapid tattoo signaling uncharacteristic disquiet.

Hannah waited. “Father?”

“Do you know how your mother and I met, Hannah?” he asked.

“Of course.” Her mother had been fond of recounting how she’d fallen in love with Father almost as soon as she’d seen him across a ballroom floor. “It was at Mr. and Mrs. Ashworth’s summer ball.”

His smile held sadness. “That was when your mother claimed she felt her first inklings of love for me. I, however, fell in love with your mother many years before that.”

“But she was barely nineteen when you married.”

“You always have been rather too good with numbers,” he said, his soft chuckle erasing the sorrow in his eyes. “You are right, of course. She was very young when we first met. Twelve, I believe. I was seventeen years of age and working in my father’s shop. Your mother and her governess would visit the shop once a week to buy a ribbon or gingerbread or glacé fruit.”

Hannah had never known her father’s parents; they had died before she was born. She had been told her grandfather was a businessman and had assumed he’d dealt with merchant ships and large cargoes, as her father now did.

“How did I not know this before?” she asked.

“Your mother and I chose not to speak of it.”

“Why?”

His sigh was heavy. “Have you ever wondered why we so rarely see your aunt Josephine?”

“I had always thought it was because she does not enjoy London or having visitors.”

“I imagine both are correct, to some degree,” he said. “But the greater issue is that she remains furious that her youngest sister married so far below her station.”

“But you are one of the most respected businessmen in London,” Hannah said.

“Now, perhaps. But that was not the case when I was courting your mother. At that time, I was nothing more than a rural shopkeeper’s only son who had the good fortune of having received sufficient schooling and work experience to understand the principles of business. I had no land, no title, no fortune. Nothing to recommend me beyond my deep love for your mother and a burning desire to improve my situation.”

Hannah could hardly breathe. How was it possible that she had been so completely and utterly unaware of her father’s story. “What did you do?”

“Upon my father’s death, I sold the shop and invested the money. I worked hard and was fortunate enough to connect with gentlemen of higher standing who took a chance on me.”