Lady Maybe (23 page)

“I heard your shutters banging, and went to shut them.”

Her brows shot up once more. “Really?” She glanced at her husband, eyes sparking with mischief, but not, Hannah thought, suspicion. “Sir John mentioned
he
shut them.”

Hannah felt her cheeks warm, but strived for a casual air. “We . . . did so together.”

“The shutters made quite a racket,” Sir John added. “Which you would know. Had you been here.”

Another course was laid, and Marianna changed the subject, to Hannah’s great relief.

L
ikely to avoid more such awkward encounters, Sir John took himself away for a time, visiting his other properties. His absence gave Marianna the freedom she relished, but it added guilt to Hannah’s already aching conscience—that he should have to leave on her account.

He returned several weeks later. Hannah saw little of him, for he spent the majority of his time in his study or in Mr. Ward’s office. She wondered what sort of business or arrangements kept the two men so busy.

She found out soon enough.

Marianna stormed into the drawing room that afternoon, eyes blazing.

“I cannot believe what Sir John did.”

Alarm jolted Hannah. Had Marianna found out somehow?

“Has he not mentioned it to you, either?” Marianna asked.

Hannah stared at her mistress. “Mentioned . . . what?”

“He has let a place in Bath. Do you know how I longed, how I begged to live in Bath when we first married? But no, he would deny me. And now, now that I wish to remain here, now he says we will go, whether I like it or not.”

“Why should you not like it,” Hannah murmured distractedly, her mind spinning with the news and what it would mean for her.

“Don’t be coy, Hannah. You know perfectly well why.”

“But would you not enjoy all the entertainments Bath affords?”

“I admit the plan has some appeal, if only for a few months. Bristol is so dreary in the winter. In Bath, there are balls in the assembly rooms, and concerts. And the very best people come for the Bath season. I should enjoy more variety in society. It won’t be the same as the London season, of course, but might prove diverting. . . .”

“I am sure it shall, my lady.”

Marianna inhaled an audible little gasp. “I shall have to order new gowns!”

How quickly Marianna had resigned herself to the move. Far more so than Hannah.

On her way upstairs to change for dinner, Sir John caught her in the hall.

“Miss Rogers, may I have a word with you in my study?”

Her breath hitched. “Of course, Sir John.”

Swallowing hard, she followed him across the hall and into the masculine chamber.

“Leave the door open, if you please.” He gestured her forward toward his desk. Quietly, he said, “Less chance of gossip if we
leave the door open. And I shall be able to see if anyone nears the door while we talk.”

Was gossip all he was hoping to avoid? Was further temptation to be avoided as well? Or did he find her revolting now that she was ruined?

She clasped her hands and waited.

He looked down at his desk as if gathering his thoughts, his fingers rolling and unrolling a scrap of paper. “I hope you will not be offended,” he began, then looked up at her. “I have taken the liberty of finding another situation for you, Miss Rogers.”

She stared at him in surprise.

“A friend of mine, Mr. Perrin, has a widowed mother in need of a companion. She is an old dear, and I have spent many a happy hour in her company. I would not have arranged it, if I did not think the two of you would suit one another. I honestly think you would enjoy the post. It will be far less . . . complicated.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep tears at bay.
Irrational creature,
she inwardly chastised herself. For it felt like a rejection.

His eyebrows tented in apology. “Please know I am not dismissing you. Not in that sense. Not for anything you’ve done.” He glanced toward the door. “Rather for what I fear I might do should you remain.”

The mantel clock ticked and ticked again. He did not find her revolting after all. It was small comfort.

Her throat tight, she managed, “I understand.”

“I hope Bath will be a new start for Marianna and me. What sort of a hypocrite would I be if I did not forgive her indiscretions and offer her a second, third, hundredth chance?”

She forced a wooden nod.

“I hope putting a little distance between her and a certain man will help, yes. But I also plan to make full use of the Bath season, and escort her to all the entertainments, all the pleasures
of youth she has no doubt missed in my quiet company. I don’t know if it will help. But I must try.”

Again she nodded, heart aching, the words she longed to say fading away. After all, he was a married man. She had already refused his money, and really, what else could he offer her? He and Marianna had enough problems as it was. She wouldn’t drive another wedge between them.

“She is my wife,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I took vows. For better, for worse.”

Unable to speak over her burning throat, Hannah bobbed a shaky curtsy, turned, and slipped from the room.

A
fter dinner that evening, Sir John remained in the dining room over a glass of port, while the two women withdrew to the drawing room.

Marianna glared at her. “Sir John says you have no wish to go with us to Bath. Is that true?”

She delivered her prepared explanation. “It is not that I don’t want to go with you, but that my father is here.”
My father is here . . .
Hannah thought,
the very reason I should leave!
Before he realizes and breaks his heart.
For though little more than a month had passed, Hannah already suspected the truth of her situation.

Marianna’s lip curled. “Nothing says you have to remain near your father. I never wanted to see mine once I moved out, I can tell you. Come, Hannah. Whomever shall I find to replace you? I need you. You cannot be so disloyal.”

“It isn’t a lack of loyalty, my lady. I assure you. But Sir John has found a suitable position for me here—very kind of him really—so I might stay. You won’t need me—you shall have a whole new retinue of friends and so many dances and concerts, you won’t even miss me.”

“Of course I will. Why don’t you want to come—really?”

“My lady, if your husband thinks it best that just the two of you go together, then we must bow to his wisdom and preference in this matter. Perhaps he wants to keep you for himself, to have more time with just the two of you. It is quite romantic, really.”

“Keep me to himself, yes. Romantic, no.”

Sir John walked past the drawing room at that moment.

Lady Mayfield tilted her head and waved her hand. “John! Hannah thinks you don’t want her anymore and are casting her off.”

He stepped back and paused in the threshold. His gaze flicked to Hannah before returning to his wife.

Hannah’s face burned. She said hastily, “I did not say that, my lady. Please do not put words in my mouth. I only meant that we should comply with Sir John’s wishes in this regard.”

“John. I said I would try and I intend to. But I had no notion you meant to deprive me of Hannah as well. To drag me to a new city with no companion? I shall be terribly lonely.”

“And your husband will not suffice in this role, I take it?” he asked dryly.

“Have you ever? Take no offense, John, but you are not much given to conversation, or society, or games, or fashion, or any of the things I like.”

“I will try.”

“John. I don’t mean to be difficult, but I think it only fair to warn you. Who knows from what quarter I might have to seek solace if Hannah isn’t there—whom I should turn to for companionship?”

The sweet doe-eyed words carried an edge of threat.

Sir John locked gazes with his wife, then turned to Hannah. “Apparently, my wife cannot live without you, Miss Rogers. Nor be accountable for her actions if you do not accompany us to
Bath. Will you come? I cannot force you, of course. You are free to refuse, to take the other situation I arranged for you. But if you wish to come . . . you are welcome.” The veiled message seemed clear. The invitation delivered with little enthusiasm. He wished her to refuse.

Hannah ducked her head, not meeting his eyes. “I will come,” she said. She accepted, though not for the reasons either of them probably thought.

Hannah had her own motives for getting out of town, away from the eyes of people who knew her best. But she wouldn’t be able to stay with the Mayfields forever. Her loose, high-waisted gowns would conceal her secret for several months. Maybe longer, since Sir John now avoided looking at her, and Lady Mayfield was self-absorbed. But eventually Hannah knew she would have to leave them, before they discovered the truth. . . .

A
nd several months later, her small savings in hand, Hannah did leave them. And tried to leave behind those memories, those feelings, and that vain hope. . . Now it all came flooding back. Did she have to lock it all away in the hidden trunk of her mind where she usually kept it? Or could she finally lay it all it to rest . . . along with Marianna Mayfield?

T
he next day Mr. Lowden rode again to Barnstaple on business for Sir John, and some of the tension in the house departed with him.

But not all.

To thank his neighbors for all they had done for him and his “family,” Sir John had invited the Parrishes to dinner, and it was too late to rescind the invitation now.

Mrs. Turrill had hired extra kitchen staff and two footmen for the day, and oversaw the preparation of a fine meal, sure to impress even her cousin-in-law, Mrs. Parrish.

Hannah gave in to Mrs. Turrill’s urgings and wore one of Marianna’s prettiest gowns—an evening dress of white gauze striped with blue, pinned and tacked-in at the bodice to better fit her for the occasion. She also asked Kitty to curl and arrange her hair.

It would be the first time Sir John would walk downstairs and preside over his own dining table. He left the invalid chair behind, trapped above stairs as he had once been, and made his way downstairs with Ben’s help. Sir John wore evening clothes that now hung loosely on him. But he looked elegant even so, in Hannah’s estimation.

At the appointed hour, he stood at the door, leaning on his cane, to welcome his guests. Hannah saw the strain in his tight jaw and knew he was in pain.

Mrs. Parrish entered, wearing a matronly, dark blue evening gown snug at bosom and upper arms and somewhat creased, as if she had not worn it in a long while. Nancy looked pretty in a dress of gossamer net over a pink satin, white flowers pinned in her hair. The doctor and Edgar wore Sunday best.

Greetings were exchanged, wraps taken, and everyone moved into the dining parlor.

“May I offer you something, Dr. Parrish?” Sir John indicated the decanter on the sideboard.

The doctor patted his chest as though for answers. “I . . . well yes, I think I will. Just a spot. Special occasion and all.”

Sir John poured a small glass, and Hannah noticed his hand was not quite steady.

“Come, Sir John. Let the footmen do their work,” she said gently, taking his arm. “Your place at the head of the table awaits.”

“Quite right, my lady.” Dr. Parrish nodded, sending her a look of understanding. “A place that has been empty too long, I’d say. I thank God you sit among us tonight, sir. Cause for celebration indeed.”

“Here, here,” Edgar echoed.

The six of them took their seats at the table. Mr. Lowden was not due back from Barnstaple until quite late, which, Hannah thought, was just as well. She was anxious enough as it was, sitting there at the foot of the table, facing Sir John at its head as though she really were mistress of the house, as though she really were Lady Mayfield. Nerves prickled through her and when she lifted her glass, her hands were not quite steady, either.

They began the first course of oxtail soup and red mullet. As Hannah dipped her spoon, she noticed Becky standing just outside the door, Danny in her arms. The baby—two fingers in his mouth and drooling away as usual—seemed content, so why had Becky brought him down? But the girl’s eyes were not seeking
hers out. Rather they seemed fastened on Edgar Parrish, a dreamy smile on her impish face. Edgar did not seem to notice, his attention fully engaged by Mrs. Turrill’s excellent soup. But Nancy noticed. And frowned.

Oh, dear.
Inwardly, Hannah sighed.

She tried to catch the girl’s eye. And when Becky finally glanced her way, Hannah gave a little jerk of her head, signaling—she hoped—for the girl to move away from the door and stop ogling another woman’s man. Not that she had never done the same . . . Instead one of the eager new footmen mistook it as his cue to lay the next course, though most were still spooning their soup. As the young man reached for Sir John’s bowl, Hannah quickly lifted a hand to forestall him, sending him an apologetic smile for good measure. Not a promising beginning.

Across the table, Mrs. Parrish smirked at her. Or perhaps Hannah was being overly sensitive.

To cover the mistake, Hannah opened the conversation, as perhaps Sir John should have done as host. She looked at Edgar and Nancy and asked brightly, “So, you two. What are your plans?”

It was the wrong question, evidently. Nancy turned to Edgar, who glanced at his mother. Seeing her dark expression, he looked into his soup. “Ah, we . . . No specific plans at present. I have my hands full managing the properties and putting money aside, and . . .”

“Really, Lady Mayfield,” Mrs. Parrish said. “Don’t go putting ideas into their heads. They are still so young.”

“Don’t forget, my dear,” Dr. Parrish spoke up. “You married me when you were only a slip of a girl. Barely eighteen.”

Mrs. Parrish gave him a sour look. “I was too young to know my own mind. Just because my parents allowed me to rush headlong into marriage does not mean I must encourage my one and only son to follow the same, rash course.”

Sheepish looks were exchanged, followed by silence as thick as clotted cream.

Nancy looked up first, her brave smile belying tear-bright eyes. “And what about you, Lady Mayfield? Why do you not tell us how you met Sir John and about your courtship and wedding?” She gazed at Hannah hopefully.

Hannah appreciated the girl’s tact in trying to rescue the conversation, but she did not appreciate the specific question.

“Ah. Well.” She darted at glance at Sir John, hoping he might rescue her. He coolly met her gaze from the head of the table. Apparently not. “I . . . am afraid there is not much to tell.”

“Come, my dear,” Sir John said. “If you won’t tell, then I shall have to do the honors.”

Did she hear gallantry in his tone, or threat?

When she said nothing, he began, “We met at a public ball in the Bristol assembly rooms.”

Then he did remember, Hannah realized. It was not a flattering memory for either of them, so they had never spoken of it.

Picking up the story, Hannah said lightly, “He refused to dance with me. Or at least ignored the extremely overt hint that he should do so, from the man who introduced us.”

Sir John shrugged. “I never cared for dancing. Good thing.” He tapped his cane on the floor for emphasis and grinned wryly. “I suppose that’s one benefit of being lame—I shall finally have an excuse to decline that amusement.”

“Oh now, Sir John.” The doctor tucked his chin in gentle chastisement. “One never knows. With God and plenty of exercise . . .”

Nancy interrupted eagerly. “Did you know right away he was the one for you? Did he sweep you off your feet?”

“Oh, em . . . Not then, no.”

From the vestibule came the sound of the front door opening and closing. Everyone turned to look. A moment later James
Lowden passed by the dining parlor on his way through the house.

He drew up short at the sight of the well-lit and crowded room. “Oh. Sorry to interrupt. I forgot the dinner was tonight. You all go on with your meal.”

“You’re back early,” Hannah said.

“Yes. We concluded our transactions more quickly than anticipated.”

Hannah glanced at Sir John’s placid expression, then smiled politely at the newcomer. “You must join us, Mr. Lowden. I am sure there is room for another place. Is that not right, Mrs. Turrill?”

Mrs. Turrill hesitated. “If you wish it, of course, my lady. And plenty of food.”

James waved a dismissive hand. “That’s all right. I’ll have something later. I need to wash and change after being on the road.”

Sir John looked from her to his solicitor. “Come, Lowden. Join us. You may even sit by Lady Mayfield if you like.”

“Yes, do tell us the news from Barnstaple, Mr. Lowden,” Mrs. Parrish urged. “I don’t get there as often as I should like.”

James surveyed their expectant faces. “Very well, if you insist. But only if you promise not to delay courses on my account. I don’t want Mrs. Turrill’s excellent cooking to go cold. You proceed and I shall join you in a few minutes. . . .”

He returned a short while later, having changed and combed his windblown hair. He sat down in time for the main course—croquettes of chicken, boiled tongue, and vegetables.

He picked up his table napkin and smiled at the cook-housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Turrill. Looks delicious.”

“And what took you to Barnstaple, Mr. Lowden?” Mrs. Parrish asked from across the table, forking an asparagus spear into her mouth.

He answered pleasantly, “Just some business for Sir John.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Parrish leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “What sort of business? Must have been important for you to undertake such a journey again so soon.”

He glanced at his employer, then away. “Not especially, Mrs. Parrish, just banking and the like—too tedious for dinner conversation.”

“If you say so.” The doctor’s wife lifted a heaping spoon from her saltcellar and sprinkled it liberally over her entire plate. Then she glanced at Mrs. Turrill, quietly directing the footmen near the sideboard. “Mr. Turrill’s business often took him to Barnstaple as well, I believe. Did it not, Mrs. Turrill?”

Hannah looked over and saw the housekeeper’s face grow rigid—it was the first time Hannah had heard a
Mr.
Turrill mentioned.

“Yes,” the housekeeper agreed with a brittle smile. “As well you know.”

Mrs. Parrish returned her focus to the solicitor. “At least you returned from Barnstaple, Mr. Lowden. Not all men do.”

The doctor’s mouth fell ajar. “Mrs. Parrish . . .” he breathed, sending a concerned look at his cousin.

“I am only making conversation,” she insisted, sending a veiled glance toward her hostess. “It is the polite thing to do. And what was the news in Barnstaple, Mr. Lowden?” she went on, unaffected by her husband’s tone or the tension in the room.

“Nothing much,” James replied. “High prices bemoaned, the summer fair anticipated. The usual sort of talk.” He glanced at George Parrish. “I brought those things you wanted from the apothecary, doctor. Don’t let me forget to give them to you after dinner.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lowden. Saved me a trip.”

Mrs. Parrish sawed at a slice of boiled tongue with exaggerated effort and then chewed it laboriously. She said with
philosophic air, “Tongue that is boiled too long always tends to be tough. So difficult to time it correctly.”

Sir John regarded the woman evenly. When he spoke, the glint in his eye belied his pleasant voice. “One can learn to bite any tongue, Mrs. Parrish, no matter how tough or bitter, if one tries.”

James bit back a grin and lifted a forkful of meat in salute. “Better a boiled tongue than a loose one, I always say.”

Mrs. Parrish formed a feline smile and countered, “And either one is preferable to a forked tongue.” She gave Hannah a pointed look.

Around the table, uneasy looks were shared—or avoided.

From the sideboard, Mrs. Turrill abruptly announced, “Now who is ready for their desserts?”

The dinner continued and with it the stilted conversation. Hannah sat there, barely tasting Mrs. Turrill’s lovely strawberry tartlets or orange jelly. The evening had clearly demonstrated to Hannah what life would be like if they allowed the deception to go on. It would mean continuing to lie to dear people like Dr. Parrish and Mrs. Turrill. And increasing her chances of discovery by people like Mrs. Parrish.

No. James was right; it could not be borne. Or risked.

She would have to gather her courage and talk to Sir John about ending the ruse. Danny didn’t need to be his heir. His protection, and hopefully someday his love, would be enough. Would Sir John bear the scandal and offer to marry her? If not, would James still want her? She doubted it.

With a heavy heart, she realized she would probably lose them both.

—

The next day Hannah gathered her courage and took herself to Sir John’s bedchamber to discuss the matter.

Mrs. Turrill was just coming out, men’s shaving kit in hand, and greeted her warmly. “Ah, my lady. You’re just in time. Sir John just asked me to find you.”

“Did he? Well . . . good,” Hannah murmured, even as her palms perspired.

Mrs. Turrill’s eyes twinkled. “Wait ’til you see him—some of my best work, if I do say so myself.” She grinned and walked away.

Hannah crossed the threshold and drew up short, arrested by his appearance.

Sir John Mayfield sat in a regular chair at his desk, his wheeled chair left in the corner. He was fully dressed in shoes, trousers, waistcoat, frockcoat, and cravat, hair groomed and face clean-shaven. He looked younger without the beard—handsome, serious, and masculine. She could hardly believe this was the same man who’d lain bedridden for weeks. He looked far more like the man who had once swept her into his arms and into his bed. She drew a shaky breath, and tried to blink the memory away.

A sheaf of papers lay on the desk. He raised a hand and gestured toward the chair on its other side.

Hannah walked forward, hands nervously clasped together, and sat down. “Before you say anything,” she began. “I need you to know that after last night, I have decided we cannot go on as we are. I will not continue to lie to everyone. Or to myself.”

“I thought you might say that.” He bowed his head, inhaling deeply. “In time, I could try to have Marianna declared dead. But it seems premature at present.”