Page 15 of Lady Maybe

Hannah returned to Sir John’s bedchamber the next evening. Not to sleep in his bed, nor in the uncomfortable chair again, but to talk with him for a time before bidding him good-night.

She was surprised to find him propped up with pillows—a portable writing desk on his lap, and quill in hand.

“Good evening, Miss ... my lady. What a pleasant surprise.”

She ducked her head, ill at ease to hear him call her by the title. “If you are busy, I shall leave you.”

“Not at all. Come and talk to me. What a pleasure that will be.” His warm tone seemed sincere. Was he?

She walked closer. “May I ask what you are writing?”

“A letter to Mr. Lowden.”

“Ah.” Hannah felt an odd twinge at the sound of his name.

Sir John set aside his writing things and patted the edge of the bed. “Please. Come and sit by me. I promise to behave myself.” The words rumbled low in his chest. She had almost forgotten what a rich baritone voice he had.

Tentatively, Hannah sat on the edge of the bed. He took her free hand in his, interlacing their fingers. Had she not once longed for such a gesture?

“How is Danny?” he asked.

“He is well, thank you.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He hesitated, then said gently, “How surprising to learn you’d become a mother. We had no idea.”

She avoided his gaze. “I know.”

“I ... don’t suppose it would be polite to ask about... the child’s father?”

Hannah felt her cheeks heat. Instead of replying, she asked the question that had been on her mind for some time. “Pardon me for raising a sad topic, but I was surprised to hear from Dr. Parrish that Lady Mayfield had been with child.”

He flinched. “Yes, a physician in Bath confirmed it.”

“A double loss for you, then.”

With a sigh, he said, “Of course I am sorry for any loss of life, especially one so young and innocent. And when I think it was in my power to prevent it...”

“Sir John, you don’t know that.”

“But the child Marianna carried was not mine,” he went on evenly. “Couldn’t be. But as she and I would have been married at the time of its birth—the child, if a son, would have legally been heir to my entailed property. And, if Marianna had but asked me, I would have forgiven her and loved that child as if he or she were my own flesh and blood.”

A wistful ache ran through her at the words. “What did Marianna say, when the doctor confirmed the news? She must have feared you might realize the child was not yours.”

“She was not repentant, if that is what you think. She said, ‘What did you expect?’”

Hannah shook her head. “Yet you still hoped to keep her from Mr. Fontaine? Hoped coming here would bring her back to you?” She heard the incredulity in her voice but felt powerless to curb it.

“She was my wife. And I, her husband. Before God. For better or for worse. Though I never imagined how much worse— how that vow would test me like no words I had spoken in my life.”

Sir John pulled a face and continued, “What did I do to make Marianna so despise me, did she ever tell you?”

Hannah hesitated. “I don’t know that it was anything you did, Sir John. I think she already had strong feelings for Mr. Fontaine when you met her.”

“Then why did she marry me?”

Hannah had wondered that herself, and had pieced together at least a partial answer from things Marianna had confided. “You know her father wielded a great deal of influence over her while he lived,” she began. “And you are a man of far more consequence than Mr. Fontaine—wealth, property, title. It’s little wonder Mr. Spencer was so strongly in favor of the match.”

Sir John nodded thoughtfully. “And Marianna agreed, believing there would be no hindrance to continuing her affair with Fontaine on the side.”

Hannah shrugged. “I don’t know if she intended to continue seeing him from the beginning, or not.”

“In either case,” Sir John said, “I am quite certain she didn’t foresee the lengths I would go to prevent that happening.” He rubbed his free hand over his eyes. “I thought if I could just get her away from him, away from his influence, she might give me, give us, a chance. But she never did.”

He looked down at their entwined fingers, then sent her a sidelong glance. “How hypocritical you must think me now.”

“I’m sorry, Sir John.”

“How can you be sorry? After everything I’ve done? It is I who should be begging your forgiveness.”

Hannah did not reply. How self-conscious she felt, sitting there, her small hand in his large one. Yet she could not deny the sensation a pleasant one. They sat that way, silent for several minutes.

Then Hannah took a deep breath, dreading his reaction to what she was about to say. “By the way,” she began. “While you were still insensible, Mr. Fontaine came here, demanding to see Marianna.”

His brows lowered ominously. “The devil he did.”

“Yes. About a week and a half after the accident. He demanded to see Marianna, but of course I told him that was not possible. And why.”

“What did he say?”

“He was shocked. And clearly devastated.”

Sir John took this in, thoughtfully chewing his lip.

“Of course he recognized me,” Hannah added. “But he only stayed for a short time, and no one referred to me as Lady Mayfield while he was here.”

He nodded his understanding.

“But if he should return...” Hannah let her timid words trail away.

“Why would he? Now that she is gone?”

“I hope you are right,” Hannah said. She hated to think what Fontaine would do when he learned she’d been impersonating his dear departed lover. For the time being, she pushed that thought away.

Sir John ran a thumb over her knuckles. “You know, I’m surprised some handsome suitor like Fontaine hasn’t claimed your affections by now. I would say I was sorry to learn you had not married after you left us, but that would be a lie.”

“Perhaps I should have. For Daniel’s sake.” Again she wondered whom Sir John had meant when he said, “that is not who I see” when he looked at Danny. He had never met Fred Bonner, she didn’t think. Had he noticed the way his secretary, Mr. Ward, had looked at her, and suspected him? She hoped not.

Sir John traced a finger around the delicate skin of her inner wrist, sending a feathery tingle up her arm. “A place without freckles,” he observed.

He then ran his hand up her arm, bare to the puffed sleeve high on her shoulder, and back down again. “You are a beautiful woman, Hannah. I hope you know that.”

She managed a little shrug. She thought herself rather plain, although Fred had often told her how pretty she was. He’d admired her, even asked her to marry him. At the moment, she was glad she’d declined.

She said, “Nothing to Marianna, I know.”

“She was a rare beauty, it is true,” he allowed. “In face and figure.”

Hannah immediately felt self-conscious and inadequate. Marianna had been endowed with a generous bosom. A generous ... everything.

Suddenly she drew in a sharp breath as his palm pressed her waist. His gaze, however, remained on her face. “You are beautiful, Hannah. Just as you are. Never doubt it. Slender and feminine and graceful.”

Heart thumping, Hannah sat there stiffly on the edge of his bed, torn between fleeing and leaning closer.

He removed his hand, and she released the shaky breath she’d been holding. Awkwardly, she rose. “Well. Good-night, Sir John.”

“Leaving?”

“Yes. I think it’s best, don’t you?”

He slowly shook his head, eyes glinting. “I don’t think you want to hear my answer to that.”

Hannah found herself singing to Danny the next morning, feeling the closest thing to happiness she had felt in a long while. As she looked into her son’s precious face, irrational hope rose in her heart, and she found herself entertaining an unrealistic dream.

Later, she left Danny in Becky’s care and went downstairs to find a children’s book to read to him, as well as a simple book for Becky, who had confided that she didn’t know how to read. Hannah would have liked to go outside and pick some flowers to brighten the nursery and Sir John’s room, but at the moment, rain fell steadily outside.

She was passing the vestibule when someone knocked at the front entrance, so she answered it herself. She opened the door and stared, her vision and mind not connecting for a moment. She’d forgotten how tall he was. How strange, how surreal to see him here, out of his usual element. He was from her past life—how had he managed to step onto the stage of her present one?

“Hannah,” Fred breathed, eyes wide. “I knew it. I knew you could not be dead.”

“Shh, Freddie. Not here. Let’s go out into the garden.”

He hesitated, mouth parted. “It’s raining.”

“I know, but ... we used to like the rain, remember?”

“We were children then, Han.”

She grabbed an oilskin coat from a peg near the door and swung it around her shoulders. Rangy, dark-haired Fred turned up his collar, replaced his hat, and followed her back outside.

She led the way along the stone path, stopping beneath the arched, vine-covered trellis—a doorway of sorts between Clifton and the garden, with a path to the Grange beyond. The thick, interwoven vines and leaves protected them from the worst of the rain.

“What happened, Han?” he asked. “Why are you here? You do know they put it about that you had died. It was in the newspaper.”

“I know. I received your letter.”

“ You received the letter? But I wrote to Sir John....”

She explained about the crash, the drowning, Sir John’s injuries and her own, and the doctor’s assumption that she was Lady Mayfield.

He stared at her in disbelief, dark eyes pained. “And you let them go on believing it? And let me go on believing you were dead? I told your father you died! How could you do that, Han?”

“I needed a way to get Danny back. I could think of nothing else to do.”

“Nothing?” His eyes flashed. “Nothing but lying and pretending to be dead? Deceiving people into believing you are another woman—another man’s wife?” Incredulity warred with the anger in his voice.

“What should I have done, Freddie?” Her voice rose. “You could not help me. I would never have been able to earn enough on my own, and especially not while my arm was broken.”

“What about your father?” he challenged. “He would have helped you.”

“Would he? Even if he had the money, would he really? Once he knew everything?”

Fred considered, then his gaze skittered away. “He might.”

For a moment they stood there in uncomfortable silence, the rain pattering against the glossy leaves of the trellis.

Finally, Fred asked, “Is Danny all right? I didn’t know if you’d taken him with you or not. I was so worried when I went to that house in Trim Street and found no children there.”

“Yes, he is with me and well, thank God.”

“What will you do when Sir John wakes and realizes what you’ve done?”

“He has regained his senses. And he has not exposed me.”

“What? Why on earth not?” Suddenly Fred’s mouth tightened, and his eyes dulled. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“It’s not like that,” she said, hoping it was true. Sir John’s acceptance of her charade felt almost ... protective. Might it mean more? She gripped her old friend’s arm. “Look. I am sorry, Freddie. For all of it. But it has gone too far. I know I cannot pretend to be Marianna for much longer, but I can’t just walk away. Not yet. Not until I learn Sir John’s intentions, and how to provide for Danny.”

His gaze lifted to the grand house beyond. “Seems like you’ve worked that out well enough.”

She winced. “Please, let it lie for now. I will tell my father in my own time. Though really, might it not be easier for him to go on thinking I’m dead? Might that not be more bearable than the truth of all I’ve done?”

He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know.” For a moment he stared blindly across the dripping, green garden. Then he said, “You should know that a man came around, asking questions about Hannah Rogers, and why she had left the Mayfields’ employ. I don’t remember his name. A solicitor, I think he said.”

Her heart thudded. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.”

“Good.” From the other side of the trellis, movement caught Hannah’s eye. A flash of green cloak and black umbrella. A sharp-featured face. Oh no. Mrs. Parrish. Had she seen her there, speaking to a strange man in private? No doubt she would think the worst and waste no time in spreading it about the county.

She turned back to Fred. “I would invite you in for a meal after your journey, but I hate to ask you to pretend you are only a friend passing by.”

“Whose friend?” he asked, lip curled. “Me, Lady Mayfield’s friend? That’s a laugh.”

“Well at least come to the kitchen door and I’ll wrap up something for the journey home.”

“The kitchen door like a beggar? No, thank you, Hannah. Or should I say, my lady. ”

His sarcasm cut her. “Fred, please...”

Suddenly he gripped her arms, big brown eyes pleading. “This is insane, Hannah. Come away with me. Right now. Go collect Danny and I’ll take you home. We’ll marry. My father will help us and so will yours, perhaps.”

For a fleeting second she considered it, allowing her mind to travel down the path of possibilities. What she would gain, what she would lose. She was fond of Fred, but Sir John was a widower now. Was there any hope...? Guilt flooded her at the thought.

She felt Fred’s scrutiny. Did the shame show in her heated cheeks, her difficulty in meeting his gaze?

His entreaty turned into a scowl. “You don’t want to marry me. Why should you give up all this”—he gestured toward the house—“to be a simple carter’s wife? I never would have thought it of you.” He shook his head. “Better to be a rich man’s trollop than a poor man’s wife?”

She gasped and her vision blurred. She felt dizzy and ill. Never had dear Fred spoken to her with such venom. She momentarily considered slapping his face as a maligned lady might. But truly, what else was he to think? Had she any virtue, any honor left to defend?

He bit his lip and his eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Han. I didn’t mean it. I’m just shocked. Disappointed.”

“I understand,” she murmured. She took a long, steadying breath, then asked, “Why did you come here, Fred?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t believe it was true, that you were gone. I had to come and see where it happened. Learn if anyone had witnessed the accident, and if your body had yet been recovered. Ask the Mayfields if any of your belongings had been salvaged that I might take to your father. Or keep for myself, to remember you by.” He shook his head. “How foolish I am.”

She squeezed his arm, tears filling her eyes. “Not foolish—dear.”

“Not dear enough, it turns out.” He sighed deeply. “If you won’t change your mind, I’ll leave. But I warn you, Han. When people find out they’ve been deceived, there’ll be the devil to pay.”

She nodded, fearing and believing that very thing. “I know.” If only she had not allowed people to think she was Marianna. What a trap she had laid for herself.

He reached a hand toward her, hesitated midair, then dropped it. “Good-bye, Han. Again.”

With a sad smile, he turned away. He passed through the archway, out of the garden, and out of her life. Leaving her standing there in the rain. Alone.