“No, sir. I haven’t sent any letters, sir.”
Edward narrowed his eyes—and then he understood. Hannah was simple. The intelligence behind those limpid blue eyes was no greater than a child’s.
“But I can write,” Hannah said proudly. “Mother taught me. I used to send Aunt Starling letters every month.”
“You’re a good, clever girl,” Mrs. Starling said, patting her cheek.
Edward swallowed his disappointment and returned the letter to his pocket. “Thank you, Mrs. Starling, Hannah. I beg your pardon for disturbing you.”
Edward handed Trojan to the ostler at the inn, ordered a tankard of ale in the taproom, and climbed the stairs to the parlor Gareth had hired.
Gareth was reading a newspaper while eating a hearty luncheon.
Edward took off his hat and cast in down on the sofa. Chérie could be
