Chapter 2 - The High Steward's Warning
The private wing of the Carver mansion was a place Hannah had never entered. As a maid, her domain was restricted to the kitchens, the formal dining areas, and the vast, drafty corridors of the ground floor. Here, the carpets were thick and green, swallowing the sound of Daniel’s heavy steps, and the walls were lined with old, dark oil paintings of ships lost at sea.
Daniel carried her into a spacious, sunlit bedroom that smelled of lavender and beeswax. He laid her gently on the edge of a massive four-poster bed, immediately stepping back to give her space.
"Martin!" Daniel called out toward the hallway.
Almost instantly, the elderly estate steward, Martin Hale, appeared in the doorway. His hands were clasped in front of his black vest, his face pale but remarkably calm. He looked at Hannah, his eyes softening with a deep, sorrowful pity before he turned to his master.
"I warned her, sir," Martin said quietly, his head bowed. "I told her to stay in the pantry. I should have been more vigilant."
"It wasn't your fault, Martin," Hannah said, her voice shaking as she clutched Daniel's jacket tighter around her chest. "There were no clean glasses left. I thought... I thought if I was quick, no one would notice me."
"It is no one's fault but Claire's," Daniel said, his voice flat. He walked over to a small mahogany cabinet, pouring a splash of amber liquid into a glass. He brought it to Hannah, holding it out. "Drink this. It’s blackberry cordials. It will help with the shock."
Hannah looked at the dark liquid, then up at Daniel. His face was a mask of granite, but his eyes—dark grey, like the sea before a nor'easter—were searching her face with an intensity that made her look away. She took the glass, her fingers brushing his. His skin was burning hot, while hers was ice.
"The baby," Daniel said, his eyes dropping to her hands, which had returned to their protective position over her stomach. "Is she... are you having pain?"
"A little," Hannah admitted, taking a small sip of the sweet, warming cordial. "Just a dull ache. My husband, Aaron... he always said the baby would be stubborn like me. She doesn't like loud noises."
At the mention of Aaron, a brief shadow passed over Daniel’s face. It was gone so quickly Hannah thought she might have imagined it.
"Martin," Daniel commanded, turning to the steward. "Call Dr. Sterling. Tell him to come through the rear entrance. I don't want the Whitlocks’ lookouts seeing his car. And find Caleb."
Hannah’s head snapped up, the glass nearly slipping from her fingers. "Caleb? You... you have news of my brother?"
Daniel looked down at her, his expression softening just a fraction. "Not yet, Hannah. But Caleb was working the docks under my name. If he found what I think he found, he’s hiding because it's the only way to stay alive. I’m going to find him. I promise you."
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"But Claire," Hannah whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "She knows I’m Aaron’s widow. She called me a thief. She knows I was looking for the shipping manifests."
"Let her think what she wants," Daniel said, his voice hardening. "She has no power here. Not anymore."
