Hannah forced herself to look in the mirror, and tried to see past the long scars that marred her face. Sometimes it was easy.
Some days, she didn't look in mirrors at all.
"They aren't that noticeable," she said to the empty room.
They stood out on her creamy skin, wide and shiny.
"Owen thinks you're beautiful."
She looked away and concentrated on the greenery hanging around her mirror and the snow out her window instead.
When she'd first come home to Carnsley, the days had been as full of joy as they were long. Filled with old friends, Hugh—happy for once, Constance, Simon, Beatrice, Gran, and of course Owen.
Their hearts had been as twined as she could have hoped. He'd brought her wild flowers from the edges of the estate. She'd go with him to check the sheep herds, stealing kisses until heat bloomed inside her. The rhythms of Scotland had been bonnie indeed.
But the days shortened and suddenly Owen was distant, scarce and the scars on her face seemed to stretch and grow.
There was a knock on her door.
Constance entered with a smile. "I came to see if you needed help getting ready for the yule ball. Your lady's maid said you were done, but you hadn't come down."
Constance smiled a lot now. It was nice to see her friend, no her sister, so at ease.
Hannah forced a smile in return. "Perhaps I won't attend?"
Constance's eyes filled with worry. "Are you ill?"
"No, I just—Owen is gone." Her heart squeezed painfully. She had spent years being ignored at parties and dances in London. And now, the first ball she and Owen could attend together, he had chosen to go out of town on business.
"Everyone else will be there," Constance said, fidgeting with the edge of her gown. "It's my first time hosting a ball."
Hannah heard the nervousness in her voice, and guilt swept over her.
"Of course, I'm sorry. How silly of me." She touched her scars absently.
"Hannah, what is it?"
"Nothing."
"You can't lie to an empath." Constance took her hand and pulled her down beside her on the edge of the bed.
"I'm not supernatural."
"I can see something's bothering you, anyway."
They were quiet a long time as Hannah struggled with the pain and the fear warring inside her.
"I don't think Owen loves me anymore." The words came out a whisper.
"But he's so honorable. You must be wrong."
"He is honorable. And I think he cares for me but now—" tears stung her eyes. "Now that I live here, I think he realizes he doesn't love me. It's why he's been so distant. Why he left instead of dancing with me at the Christmas ball." Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"And you?"
"I love him dearly. I always have."
"Perhaps he is only distracted?" Constance chose her words carefully. "I know there's something he has to do in the city. Something important. I heard whispers of it between him and Hugh."
"If there was something pressing on him and he truly loves me, then he would share it with me. Hugh shares things with you."
"I have the advantage of sensing when something is wrong."
Hannah's soul ached. She was glad her brother had found Constance, that he was happy. She was so glad that she had Constance as a sister and confidant. But she wanted a love like they had. And she had thought she had it. To lose it now, after everything they had been through—It was like having claws rip into her all over again.
"I can't sense Owen's feelings for you. Not like I can Hugh's or Emile's, but I think his affections are true. Maybe coming tonight will distract you?"
Hannah sighed. "Martha and Florence will just come drag me out, anyway."