So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom 4)

So much of her was weak, childish. For now, in his presence, the young Hannah emerged—the Hannah that was, and always would be, a daughter peeking from around that looming pillar of fear, always hopeful, always wishing. But a blink was all it took to right her mind and her heart. She closed the door, once again feeling the woman she was, and all the heartache she’d endured that made her so.

“What are you doing here?”

He set down his drink next to Stockton’s and took a step forward, then stopped. His gaze rained over her like a summer downpour, covering every inch. “You’ve not changed.”

“I have. If you knew me at all, you would see it.”

The light breath he pressed from his mouth, the drop of his eyes, said her words hit their mark. He spoke of things physical, she of things much deeper.

Lifting his chin, and again his gaze, he tried once more. “’Tis good to see you.”

Hurt, with its thousand weeping cuts, throbbed hard in her chest. “You have heard the news of Uncle then?” What else would make him come these twenty miles? Certainly not her presence. But how would he have learned of it?

“Aye.” Philo’s throat bobbed. “I am grieved at the loss.”

Hannah shook her head, a bitter breath escaping her nose at the lack of sincerity in his profession. She was no fool. “You wish Eaton Hill for yourself. That is why you are here. Do not let pretense paint over reality.”

Finally, the man she knew emerged. That hard look found its place over his expression, and the girl within her shrunk further away as he spoke.

“Then let me be plain. Eaton Hill should always have been mine, but my brother had an idea that perhaps he could take the future into his hands.”

If not for lack of strength, and the fact her shoes seemed fastened to the floor, she would have fled, his bitter presence bleeding a raw ache through her muscles.

She gripped hard to her unraveling rope of strength. “He wanted only what is best for the foundry—for all of it.”

“Ha!” Philo’s head bent back as the laugh shot to the beams above. “So he would sell to your lover then, hmm?”

Hannah blinked, unsure she had heard him. “I have no love—”

“Joseph!” Philo took a giant step, his arm outstretched as he pointed to the door. “Joseph is here, Hannah. Don’t think I don’t know it.”

Knees quivering, her mind flailed about for something to grasp hold of. Her body went numb, and her tongue thick. She didn’t know how to act, what to say—should she try to deny it or simply stand against his accusation as if it were nothing but a simple spring breeze?

She ground her tone into submission. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He lowered his arm and his voice. “I am no idiot, Hannah. Ensign sold the foundry to Wythe, allowing that hateful man one last blow to my life. It is too much to be borne.”

She could hardly formulate a response before he started again. “How long have you been with him, hmm?” Mouth tight, nostrils flared, his voice rumbled across the floor. “Are you even married? Or have you long since disposed of that formality?”

Hannah’s mind struggled, stumbling and gasping as it raced uphill over the jagged rocks. Joseph had bought the foundry? Why hadn’t he told her? She nearly protested the accusation, but halted. If she denied the claim, he would want to know why Joseph was here—and that she could not say. Then again, he hadn’t seen Joseph, so how could he know for certain? Perhaps this was a ruse to get her to come away with him? Perhaps he lied—made up such a thing to get her to speak, to spill all she held close so Stockton could know her secrets.

“I owe you no explanation.” She shook her head, flinging aside the grip of weakness. “You cannot know he is here. You have not seen him.”

“One does not need to see to know.”

A quick glance to the window eased some hidden fear that perhaps Joseph would return to the house. The yard was vacant. “And if he is, what of it?”

“I would know if my daughter lives in sin.” ’Twas more an accusation than a question.

“You are not my reverend, and I am your daughter in little else than blood.”

He stormed forward, skin scarlet. “What would people say of you if they knew? Have you no thought of my reputation? I hoped after your first ignominious transgression you would have—”

“I do not care what others think. I never have.” Her chin quivered. “’Twas you who despised the ruin of flapping tongues—tongues that bespeak only shadowed, partial truths.”

Philo’s high cheekbones glistened with rage. “Eaton Hill will be mine, Hannah, no matter what you may say.”

“I have never had a say in any of it, nor do I wish to.” She stepped forward, feeling the spirit of Ensign beside her. “Before he died, I gave my word to my uncle that I would care for this land, and I intend to do so, and not even you will I allow to stand in my way.”