Lady Maybe (30 page)

He shook his head. “Marianna has been in London, attending balls. While Miss Rogers helped nurse me back to health, hour by tedious hour.”

For a moment Sir John’s eyes met hers, and Hannah’s heart beat hard.

He dragged his gaze from her face and continued, “And now here she is—traipsing back from the dead.” He looked at his wife. “What happened, Marianna? Did your money run out? Did your lover tire of you and abandon you? So the gossips claim.”

Marianna lifted her chin but did not deny it.

“So only now does she resurface. With a mouthful of deceit. And tricks you all with her beauty and artful lies.” Sir John’s gaze swept over the assembled company before returning to the magistrate.

“Would you like to hear from my solicitor? He has been gathering evidence to prove Marianna has been living in secret with her lover, not as one lost trying to find her true identity, but as one fearing to be discovered.”

Was that true, Hannah wondered. Or was he bluffing? She looked at James but his flinty expression gave nothing away.

Lord Shirwell grimaced. “That will not be necessary. Again,
your wife is not on trial here. Nor do these accusations against her bear on the present case—the wrongdoing committed by Hannah Rogers.”

“Of course they do,” Sir John insisted. “For there sits Marianna, pretending to be the injured wife, when nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Even if that is true, it does not change the fact that Hannah Rogers perpetrated a fraud. She doesn’t even deny it.”

Sir John rose, cane forgotten, and stood tall and straight. “If you insist on pursuing this farce, if you try to punish Miss Rogers in the slightest degree, I shall avenge her if I have to go to Parliament itself and argue my case. For all the wrong I have done, I could never forgive myself, nor any of you, if any harm befalls this fine woman or her son, because of my stupid, prideful posturing.”

He speared the magistrate with a fierce gaze. “Do you hear me, your worship? Let this woman go.”

The magistrate sputtered, “But . . . there has been wrongdoing. Laws have been broken. . . .”

“Yes, there has been wrongdoing, but not by Hannah Rogers. She has helped me, succored me, aided me. Not harmed me. Do you understand? What sort of a travesty of a trial is this, when the man supposedly defrauded is not even pressing charges, but is defending the falsely accused?”

“She has done something to Lady Mayfield. She has tried to take her rightful place. She—”

“Her rightful place?” Fire sparked in Sir John’s eyes. “This woman has done everything in her power to dishonor me and our marriage vows ever since our wedding trip. She has committed adultery with her lover again and again without discretion or thought to my feelings or reputation. There is no shortage of people who know of this affair. She has detested her rightful place and has lost any claim to it in my eyes, no matter what the law says.
Now will you release Miss Rogers or must I remove her by force and charge you with lynch law and intention to riot?”

For several moments Sir John and the magistrate locked gazes. Hannah feared Sir John had pushed too hard against the man so keen on demonstrating his superior power. But at last Lord Shirwell tore the paper in two and handed the pieces back to his clerk. “Very well. Miss Rogers, I hereby dismiss all charges against you based on Sir John’s evidence. You are free to go.”

Dr. Parrish murmured, “Thank God.”

Marianna sat stone-faced, while Mrs. Parrish looked at her like a child regarding a cheap toy, quickly broken.

Hannah rose on shaking legs.

Sir John turned to Marianna, jaw ticking. “So. Shall we go home,
wife
?”

Lady Mayfield formed a sour smile. “For now.”

H
annah walked out of the magistrate’s office before any of the others. Alone. She trembled all over and felt physically ill. Relief at her freedom washed through her but along with it came nausea from all the seedy tales and lies she had heard this day. Marianna’s lies. Her own past lies. Even Sir John’s lies, in omission if nothing else. She felt coated with tar as foul as sin. All she wanted to do was take Danny and go away somewhere clean and sunny, peaceful and true. And maybe have a long bath.

She stopped short at the sight of Mrs. Turrill rising from a bench in the hall just outside the door. She barely resisted the urge to throw herself into the woman’s arms.

Hannah breathed, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I had to come. Don’t worry, Danny is safe at home with my sister. I wanted to be here, whatever the outcome. You’re not vexed with me, I hope?”

Hannah shook her head. “I’m glad.”

Mrs. Turrill smiled. “I heard the last of it, my girl, sitting here as I was. And I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

“Me, too.” Hannah’s chin trembled.

Mrs. Turrill put an arm around her and together they walked outside. “Well, thank God, that’s over. What will you do now, my dear?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at the kind woman. “Mrs. Turrill, why are you so good to me, after all I’ve done? After I’ve deceived you and everyone else?”

“Oh, not everybody. Sir John knew. He was no victim, no matter what
she
said. And I had my suspicions. But I saw your heart. Even if you took it too far, I knew you were thinking only of your son.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “And perhaps a certain gentleman.”

Hannah shook her head. “At this point, I want nothing to do with either of them.”

“Don’t forget how they rushed in and saved you today.”

Hannah lowered her head, cheeks flushing anew. “I won’t forget.”

Mrs. Turrill patted her hand. “Now, come home with me and have some tea. We’ll talk and sort things out, all right? Becky got awful scared when you were taken away. Thought she was next, poor creature. She’ll be over the moon to see you again, and that’s the truth.”

Hannah hesitated.

“Come, my dear,” Mrs. Turrill insisted. “You heard the justice. You’re free to go. It’s all in the past.”

“Is it?”

“Well, that’s for you to decide, isn’t it?”

Behind them, the door opened. Nervous, Hannah glanced back, and saw James Lowden step outside. James met her gaze, his mouth drawn tight, eyes intense. Hannah was uncertain
what else she saw in his expression, but it wasn’t good. He looked away first.

He did not approach her. Instead he crossed the drive, signaling a groom to bring the carriages back around.

The others came out, Sir John and Marianna, followed by a trio of sheepish Parrishes.

Sir John saw her with Mrs. Turrill and broke away from the others with the help of his cane. “Miss Rogers. Where are you going?”

Hannah was aware of the others ceasing their own conversations and turning to watch them. “To Mrs. Turrill’s. For now.”

He opened his mouth, thought the better of what he’d been about to say, and pressed his lips together, making do with a terse nod. He clasped his hands, cane and all, behind his back as though they were tied. And indeed, they were.

Hannah swallowed. “And are you and . . . Lady Mayfield . . . going home?”

He winced. “Yes. To Clifton for now and then back to Bristol. I shall endeavor to forgive her. To do my duty by her, but I don’t pretend it shall be easy. Especially after today.”

Tears pricked Hannah’s eyes. She whispered, “You are doing the right thing.”

He grimaced. “I hope so. But if you need anything—”

Hannah interrupted him gently, “I appreciate you defending me so gallantly. I do. But that’s the end of it. It’s time I was out on my own.”

She half expected him to ask,
“On your own, or with James?”
But he did not. His gaze flickered to the solicitor, who watched them from a distance.

Mrs. Turrill spoke up. “She’ll be in good hands, Sir John. Her and Danny both. Never you worry.”

Again, that pained terse nod. “Thank you, Mrs. Turrill.”

A few minutes later, Hannah walked side by side with her
former housekeeper to the yellow cottage at the bottom of the Lynmouth hill. It had been their parents’ home, she explained, which she and her sister had inherited together—and now shared when not employed elsewhere.

Inside, Hannah warmly greeted Martha Parrish, a spinster, and thanked her for her hospitality. The woman was gracious, though a bit more reserved than her sister.

In the small sitting room, they drank weak tea together, took turns cuddling Danny, and assuring Becky that all was well.

Was it?
Hannah silently asked herself. Inwardly, she was not as confident as she tried to appear.

J
ames Lowden watched Hannah walk away with the housekeeper. Seeing them together reminded him of Hannah’s change in status. At one time, she had seemed far above him as “Lady Mayfield.” Then she’d descended closer to his social equal as a clergyman’s daughter. And now? Side by side with a housekeeper. Was she even lower than that? Fallen woman that she was, and nearly a criminal? Perhaps he should feel relieved to be parted from her and take advantage of the jarring turn of events to make a clean break. A part of him thought it would be wisest to do just that.

Another part of him longed to run after her, regardless of who was looking. Beg her to marry him, to allow him to provide for her, take care of her. Remorse filled him. He felt embarrassed, weak—when he thought of how he’d sat there, silent, while Sir John spoke up so nobly and effectively on her behalf, and gained her release. James was the solicitor, after all. Should it not have been him? But he had not said a word.

Even now, James was hesitant to speak. To make known the information he had learned while in Bristol. He had set out to uncover evidence of Marianna Mayfield’s fate and affair—but he had found so much more. Was he obligated to make it known? He had planned to. After all, he had even brought along a witness
to his astounding claim. Otherwise he doubted anyone would believe him.

But seeing the passionate plea Sir John had made on Hannah’s behalf, and her obvious gratitude afterward, almost made him wish he had not been so hasty in bringing the fellow along.

It was too late now. He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret what he was about to do.

James waited until the Mayfields and Parrishes departed in cart and gig—a silent, somber party—before making his way to Lord Shirwell’s stable yard to reclaim the horses. And his guest.

Arriving at Clifton House a short while later, James left the horses in the stables, and asked his guest to wait outside for a few minutes.

Then James trudged with leaden legs toward the house.

In the drawing room, he found Sir John standing at the cold hearth, hand propped atop the mantel, staring at the ashes within.

Lady Mayfield walked to the decanter on the sideboard and lifted the stopper. She paused when she saw him in the threshold. “Mr. Lowden, I believe? Nice of you to join us. Yes, I do see a resemblance to your late father, now I see you more closely.” She poured herself a tall drink. “May I pour you one as well?”

“No, thank you.”

“You will join us for dinner, I hope?” She formed a vague smile. “That is, if we still have a cook?”

James wondered what the Mayfields would do now—rebuke and rage at one other? Attempt some civil, stilted domestic scene? James found he could not stand the prospect of either. As tempted as he was to keep silent, it was time to put an end to this sham once and for all.

“Sir John,” James began. “Do you honestly plan to live with this woman?” He flicked a glance at Marianna, who was staring down into her drink as though for answers.

“You are the one who counseled me against divorce,” Sir John said dully. “Unless—have you found the evidence we’d need?”

“Not exactly. But I have discovered something that bears on your situation.”

Sir John’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

“As you and I have discussed before, divorce is nearly impossible to achieve, scandalous, and typically unconscionable. But there is little typical about your case. Because you were never legally married to Marianna Spencer in the first place.”

Marianna’s head snapped up.

Sir John frowned thunderously. “What?”

James continued, “You are only too aware of Marianna’s longtime lover. But Anthony Fontaine is not only her lover—he is her husband.”

“Ha!” Marianna blurted. “I wish!”

Sir John scowled. “What are you talking about?”

James glanced at the woman—saw her dark look—but addressed his client as though she were not present. “Marianna Spencer eloped with Anthony Fontaine before her marriage to you. Her father found the wayward couple in Scotland a few days later and, knowing any attempt he made to publically annul the marriage would end in scandal and ruination for his daughter, he instead bribed Fontaine to hide the elopement and not object to Marianna’s marriage to you. A marriage that would bring his daughter not only the advantages of title and situation, but wealth as well. Wealth that would benefit all three of them.”

Marianna scoffed. “That is preposterous!”

Sir John ignored her. “After everything else we’ve been through today . . . You have got to be joking.”

“No. I am perfectly serious.”

“But that’s impossible,” Sir John said. “I heard nothing of any elopement. And why would Fontaine go along with such a scheme?”

“I imagine Marianna assured him that her marriage to you would be a marriage in name only and would not hinder them from being together.”

Sir John ran a hand through his hair. “Can you prove any of this?”

Marianna’s lip curled. “Of course he can’t.”

“I can actually,” James said. “All of it. I have the testimony of the coachman who drove them to Gretna Green, a certificate attesting to the marriage, and—”

Marianna protested, “No such evidence exists!”

James looked at her. “You mean, because the coachman burned it? He only pretended to—burnt a stage bill or some such in its stead.”

Marianna stiffened in her chair, white-faced, but met his gaze straight on. “Any certificate you have is a forgery, no doubt.”

“Oh, I think you will find it all too real,” James said. “As would a judge and jury.” He then again focused on his employer.

Sir John’s eyes pierced his. “How long have you known?”

James took a deep breath. “I learned of it just before I received your urgent letter summoning me here.”

“But you didn’t think it worth mentioning at the hearing?”

“Not really, no. If your marriage is to be annulled, that is for an ecclesiastical court to decide. Besides, I was not sure you would wish it aired in public. And . . .”

The taller man’s eyes glinted. “And you didn’t wish to reveal it for personal reasons.”

“I cannot deny it hindered me for a time, yes.”

Sir John crossed his arms. “Then why tell me now?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And I wouldn’t want Miss Rogers to . . . regret any decision she might make, without knowing all the facts.” Sir John met and held his gaze. Eyes keen with understanding.

Marianna lifted her chin.“I have done nothing illegal. It was all my father’s doing.”

James shook his head. “I disagree. I think you are guilty of the very charges you tried to lay at Miss Rogers’s door. And worse. For you entered a second marriage contract, knowing you were already legally bound to another man. That is bigamy as well as fraud.” James’s ears picked up the sound of stealthy footsteps entering the room.

“Do you not concur, Mr. Fontaine?”

Anthony Fontaine stepped into the room and leaned against the doorjamb. “Indeed, I do.”

Sir John rose to his feet. “How dare you enter my house?”

Fontaine’s eyes flashed. “How dare you marry my wife?”

Sir John threw up his hands. “Can this day get any worse?” He shot Marianna a thunderous look before turning back to Fontaine. “I had no idea she was married to you, if that is indeed true. While apparently you have known all along and have never bothered to protest before—our engagement or wedding. Why start now?”

“Revenge, I suppose.” Fontaine casually crossed his arms. “I thought to myself, what is good for the goose must be good for the gander. But when Marianna heard that I was wooing an heiress, she quickly squashed that relationship by sending an anonymous letter to the girl, letting her know I was already married. The girl cried off, taking her money with her.” He shook his head and tsked. “And after I’d been so understanding about Marianna and her knight.”

“Understanding?” Marianna sneered. “You were the first to agree when Papa proposed the scheme. I would never have gone along with it, had you not persuaded me to do so. How I longed for you to throw Papa’s plan back in his face and tell him no one would have me, save you. I would have defied him, had you stood by me. But you never could say no to money.”

Fontaine shrugged and gave them a self-satisfied smile. “I can’t deny it. It’s part of my charm apparently.”

James shook his head in disgust. Anthony Fontaine had initially been reluctant to accompany him to Devonshire, but finding the threatening letter he’d sent to Sir John in the solicitor’s possession had convinced him. Now, James Lowden looked from the smirking dandy to the vain adulteress and thought they made a well-matched pair. For the first time, he felt true sympathy for his client. And he was glad he’d uncovered the truth at last. . . .

J
ames had waited in the dim parlor of the Red Lion, with its smoky fire and men in low conversation all around him. Right on schedule, the coachman, Tim Banks, appeared. James bought the man a pint and the two found a quiet corner.

Banks took a long drink, then began. “I was there, see, the night Mr. Spencer realized his daughter had up and left his house. He guessed straight away which way the wind blew, and lost no time in calling for his traveling coach and fastest horses. It was me at the reins, and the groom, Joe, alongside. We heard the old man swearing and shouting orders and had little doubt what had happened—his daughter, the spoiled Marianna—had gone off and eloped with her young man, against her father’s express orders to stop seeing him and marry the man he had chosen for her.”

“Sir John.”

“Right. So with Mr. Spencer and his spinster aunt in tow, we went charging out of the city on a direct course for Scotland. We drove day and night, only stopping to change horses. Joe and I took turns driving while the other tried to get a bit of sleep without being tossed to the ground.”

“When we finally crossed the border and reached Gretna Green, we stopped at the blacksmith’s shop. Mr. Spencer, his aunt beside him, asked where they might find a man who performed marriages. I was supposed to wait with the coach, but I left Joe with the horses and went to listen at the blacksmith’s door. I was curious. After all, had I not just ridden head over tails and barely slept for days to do whatever it was Mr. Spencer was determined to see done?”

The coachman took another drink of his ale. “The parson was called for and soon arrived. At least he called himself a parson, but didn’t look like no parson I’d ever seen. You know in Scotland, any adult can set ’imself up as a minister of weddings. No bans required, no license. Only two witnesses. Had himself a tidy little business from the looks of things. Even kept a room in a nearby inn they called ‘the nuptial chamber’ where couples might consummate their marriage quick afterward, to deter an angry father who might otherwise try to undo the marriage. Mr. Spencer asked the man if he kept any record of the marriages he performed, or sent any notice to the registrar. The man said he kept a book for his own records, but did not feel bound to notify the parish, since so many of the couples he wed lived elsewhere. He did say he provided any couple who wanted one—and had a shilling to pay—with a certificate of their marriage.”

The coachman slowly shook his head.

“Then I heard Mr. Spencer tell the supposed parson a tale of woe as I’ve never heard! Why I barely recognized my master’s
voice, so grieved was he. Would the man not spare the reputation, nay the life, of his one and only daughter? She and the young man had realized the folly of their ways, he declared. And, filled with remorse, the repentant children had not even consummated the marriage after they’d said their vows. Could the good man not see his way clear to rubbing out that entry in his records . . . a spill of ink would do the trick and no one would be the wiser. Might a donation to his ‘ministry’ be unwelcome?

“I was nearly sick to hear him. Especially since we had not yet even found Marianna yet. And even if Mr. Spencer succeeded in having the record blotted out, there was no erasing the fact that the couple had been alone together—first in a post-chaise, then at an inn—for two or three days. And nights.” Again Banks shook his head. “The parson agreed out of the
vast
goodness of his heart—and Mr. Spencer’s purse.