Her father led her through the gardens toward the stables, their feet crunching upon the gravel as they walked. Hannah found herself comparing the two men. Alfred Chesterfield was every inch a Marquess, displaying a haughty exterior that intimidated almost everyone except herself. Never did he stray from the rules of propriety. In contrast, Lieutenant Thorpe had a devil-may-care attitude, a man who did exactly as he pleased. She shivered at the memory.

When her father’s silence stretched on, Hannah guessed at the reason. “You turned another proposal down, didn’t you?”

He paused. “Not yet. But Baron Belgrave asked for permission to call upon me tomorrow.”

It wasn’t a surprise, but she felt it best to make her feelings known. “I don’t want to marry him, Papa.”

“He possesses a large estate, and comes from an excellent family,” her father argued. “He seems to have a genuine interest in you.” He escorted her back to the house.

“Something about him bothers me.” Hannah paused, trying to find the right words. “I can’t quite explain it.”

“That isn’t a good enough reason to reject his suit,” the marquess protested.

She knew that, but was counting on her father to take her side. To change the subject, she asked, “What sort of man are you hoping I’ll wed? I do want to get married.”

The marquess cleared his throat. “I’ll know him when I see him. Someone who will take care of you and make you happy.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, though he didn’t smile. Streaks of grey marred his bearded face, his hair silvery in the moonlight.

He led her back to the house where they passed the ballroom filled with people. Music crescendoed amidst the laughter of guests, but it only made her headache worsen. Finally, her father escorted her to her room, bidding her good night.

At the door he added gruffly, “Lady Whitmore brought over some ginger biscuits earlier this afternoon when she visited. I had a servant place some in your room. Don’t tell your mother.” Shaking his head in exasperation, he added, “You would think that a woman in her condition would know better than to work like a scullery maid. It’s ridiculous that she wants to bake sweets like a common servant.”

While most women rested in their final month of pregnancy, her sister-in-law Emily had gone into a flurry of baking during the past several weeks. Stephen humored his wife, allowing her to do as she wished during her confinement.

Acting upon her father’s unspoken hint, Hannah slipped inside her room for a moment and returned with two of the ginger biscuits. She handed them to her father, who devoured them.

“If I see Emily, I’ll tell her how much you liked them,” she said.