Page 18 of Lady Maybe
Hannah spent the next several days remaining close to the nursery—close to Danny. She needed to watch over him. To assure herself he was improving. To think.
Dr. Parrish called often, and declared both patients well on their way to recovery. Concerned, Sir John asked to see the child, but the doctor hesitated, just in case the fever was catching. He didn’t want to risk it when Sir John was regaining his strength at last. Mr. Lowden, meanwhile, had ridden to the larger town of Barnstaple to acquire a bank draft to send to Mr. Ward. The hours passed slowly in his absence. Hannah had seen him only in passing the last few days.
Now that Mr. Lowden knew and Mrs. Turrill surely suspected, Hannah knew she should stop pretending to be Lady Mayfield and leave, but still she hesitated. The reality of her situation washed over her anew. Danny’s fever had made it painfully clear. If ... when ... she left, how alone she would be. How vulnerable. No Sir John to house them. No Mrs. Turrill to bring them meals. No handsome solicitor to rush out for fever powder. What would she do if Danny fell ill while she was in some squalid inn or boarding house? No gentleman-physician would come calling then. And apothecaries and surgeons did not work for free. The truth was, she was frightened to leave. Especially with Danny still listless from the fever, and her arm still tender. What if he had a relapse? Moreover, did she really want to disappear from Sir John’s life again? Or from Mr. Lowden’s, for that matter?
Mrs. Turrill came up to sit with her one evening while a storm brewed off the coast. She studied Hannah’s face, her dark eyes filled with concern. “You look so weary and ill at ease, my lady. The fever is past and all is well. I’m sure of it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Turrill. I am sorry to be out of sorts.”
“Not at all. It’s only natural—what a trying few days you’ve had. I wish I could help somehow.”
“You have helped me, far more than I deserve.”
Her eyes lit. “I know. A nice warm bath is what you need. I’ll have Ben and Kitty bring the tub to your room and start heating the water. You go and lie down while you wait.”
“That is not necessary, Mrs. Turrill. I don’t want to put everyone to extra work. You are already taking care of Sir John along with everything else.”
“Nonsense. It’s no trouble. Sir John had a nice long soak yesterday and it did him a world of good.”
“Did it? I confess it does sound heavenly, but I hate to ask.”
“You’re not asking. I’m telling.” Mrs. Turrill winked. “Go on with you now.”
An hour later, Hannah found herself sitting in the large tin tub, knees bent, submerged in warm, wonderful water up to her chest, her bandaged arm resting on the edge of the tub. Usually she made do with a sponge bath or a wash in the small hip bath, but she realized Mrs. Turrill had been right. She felt the tension easing from her body. She washed with lilac-scented soap, then Kitty came in and washed her hair. The gentle scrubbing of her scalp felt so good, and she felt her fears wash away with the rinse water. “I think I’ll soak a little longer if you don’t mind, Kitty.”
“You go right ahead, my lady. I shall help Mrs. Turrill batten down the shutters against the storm. Then I shall come back to help you out.”
“No hurry.”
The girl left, shutting the door behind her. Outside the wind howled, but she was warm and safe indoors. And so was Danny. She leaned back and rested her head against the towel folded over the end of the tub. Ahhh ...
The door banged open and Hannah started, sitting upright with a gasp and covering her bosom with one arm. She turned to see who had so boldly entered, but the threshold and passage beyond remained empty. The wind, she realized. Someone must have opened a window or the front door, sending her own door flying open in response. She waited a minute, assuming Kitty or Mrs. Turrill would have heard the bang, come to investigate, and close the door for her. She waited a few minutes longer, feeling self-conscious sitting there, her upper body partly exposed and quickly cooling.
No one came. With a sigh, she rose, using her good arm to help herself up. Then she wrapped the towel around her torso as best she could. Her dressing gown was out of reach on a chair several feet away.
She gingerly stepped out of the tub, placing one foot on the braided rug, then the other.
Footsteps sounded in the passageway outside. At last!
She looked up, a self-conscious grin on her face, ready to explain to Kitty what had happened. Instead, she sucked in a breath and gaped at James Lowden.
He drew up in surprise and froze where he was, hat in hand, greatcoat hanging open, hair tousled by the wind. His mouth parted but he did not redden, or turn, or smile. His gaze began on her face and slowly moved down her neck, her shoulders and unbound hair, past the towel, to her long legs....
Hannah found herself unable to move, barely able to breathe. A blush burned down her entire body.
He stepped across the threshold, and her heart thumped hard. What would he do? For a moment he stood there, staring at her. His expression almost ... disapproving—jaw clenched, lips tight. If he found her comely at all, he certainly did not show it.
“Be careful, my lady,” he warned, voice low and dangerous.
“The wind blew it open,” she defended.
His eyes glinted. “It’s an ill wind that blows no one good.”
He reached out his hand, and she gasped. But he only took hold of the latch and slowly pulled the door toward himself. He stood there on the threshold, eyes burning into hers, until the door snapped shut.
The next morning, Hannah rose languidly. She had slept deeply the night before—thanks to the relaxing bath, no doubt—despite that strange and embarrassing encounter with Mr. Lowden. Since he had come to their rescue during the fever, her heart had warmed to him. Meanwhile, he flashed warm then cold in unpredictable turns. Did he wrestle with his feelings as she did? She was probably flattering herself. Perhaps the man had no feelings. For her, at any rate. Which was probably for the best, considering she was still posing as Sir John’s wife.
Kitty helped her into the pale, rose-pink day dress, and then Hannah sat at the dressing table to brush her hair. Her freshly washed strands felt soft and thick and clean, and in the sunlit mirror, golden highlights shone more brightly than usual.
After a solitary breakfast she went up to the nursery and cuddled Danny. Becky declared she felt quite her old self and was ready for another reading lesson. Hannah agreed and, laying Danny in his cradle, sat beside the girl on the made bed. Becky opened A Little Pretty Pocket-Book and began reading the simple rhymes for each letter of the alphabet.
“My lady?” Becky asked some time later. She tugged on Hannah’s arm and repeated more loudly, “My lady?”
“Hm? Oh, sorry.”
“What is it? You seem ... different. Is it that Mr. Lowden? Or are you taking sick? Is everything all right?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, Becky. But thank you for asking.”
A short while later, Hannah left Danny napping peacefully and Becky reading. She glanced through the open door of Sir John’s bedchamber and saw him in the wheeled invalid chair, positioned near the window with a book. Mrs. Turrill was likely busy in the kitchen, and she believed Mr. Lowden was out riding. With everyone seemingly content for the moment, she decided she could take a little time for herself.
She strolled outside and into the garden, drawing in the warm, fragrant air. Many decisions spun through her mind, but for a few moments she didn’t want to think or worry or plan. She only wanted to be, and to breathe.
Mr. Lowden came striding over from the stables. Seeing him, Hannah felt uneasy. What sort of reception could she expect from him after last night? Even so, she could not help but admire his confident bearing, the gleam of his riding boots, the formfitting cut of his coat, and the beaver hat that shadowed his face. He looked up as if sensing her appraisal and lifted a hand in greeting. She liked his face, the deep vertical grooves along either side of his mouth, the straight nose, the full lower lip.
“Good day, my lady.”
Her eyes flashed to his. The sound of his voice, the emphasis on the word “my,” caused her heart to thrum. She had thought he might begin calling her Hannah or Miss Rogers now that he knew the truth. A part of her was relieved he had not. Another part longed to hear him speak her real name.
“Mr. Lowden.” She dipped her head.
He lowered his voice. “I am sorry about last night.”
“It was not your fault.”
“No, but I might have responded in a more gentlemanlike manner.” He cocked his head to one side and gave her a lopsided grin. “Or less of one.”
Embarrassment nipped at her. And perhaps an ounce of pleasure.
She changed the subject. “Good ride?”
“Excellent, thank you.” His moss-green gaze slowly traced her face. “You’re looking lovely, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“So are you,” she replied before she could think the better of it, and felt her cheeks heat.
“Thank you. I think.” He grinned, and the brackets in his cheeks deepened.
Then he squinted off into the distance and said, “Riding—motion—helps me think.”
She nodded. “Walking does the same for me.”
His eyes glinted. “Would you like to know what I was thinking about?”
The look he gave her unsettled her. “No. I don’t believe I would.”
Around them the wind picked up, scattering dandelion seeds and swaying the heavy hydrangea blooms on their stalks. He removed one of his gloves, reached out, and captured a tendril of her hair floating on the breeze. For a moment he looked at it. “All the colors of autumn,” he murmured, grinning again. He hooked the strand behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.
He was close. So close. His gaze caressed her face, sinking into her eyes, then lowering to her mouth. She held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? Right then and there, in full view of their meddlesome neighbor Mrs. Parrish or anyone who might be looking from the windows? A part of her wished he would. Longed to lean near, to press her lips to his. Then, with a little stab of guilt, she remembered Sir John.
As though guessing her thoughts, Mr. Lowden glanced over her shoulder up at the second level of windows. His grin faded. “We appear to have an audience. So I shall bow and politely bid you good day.”
“Sir John?” she asked.
He nodded, bowed, and left her standing there alone.
Standing in Sir John’s doorway later that day, Hannah looked on as Dr. Parrish addressed his patient, still seated in the wheeled chair.
In his hands, Dr. Parrish held a carved wooden cane. He said, “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing this for you. One of my favorite patients carves them in his spare time. Paid his medical bill with two of these fine specimens. And it would be my privilege to give one to you.”
He angled the handle nearer Sir John. “See the intricate carving?”
“I see an invalid’s cane,” Sir John snapped. “What an old man I shall look.”
“Oh now. Just imagine it is one of those fine walking sticks sported by London gentlemen.”
“Then I shall be a dandy.”
“Better a dandy than an old man.”
Sir John grimaced.
Personally, Hannah thought Sir John was looking stronger and younger every day, except, that is, when he scowled, as he was at the moment.
Dr. Parrish noticed her in the doorway. “Ah. My lady. Just in time. You stand there and Sir John shall endeavor to walk to you.”
Sir John’s mouth twisted bitterly. “I am not an infant, man, toddling to his mother.”
“Of course not, Sir John. But what better incentive than your dear wife’s arms to urge you onward?”
Hannah felt her cheeks heat.
Sir John looked up at her, eyes twinkling. “Do you hear that, my lady? You are to hold out your arms to me as incentive.”
His teasing was playful, Hannah realized with relief—and not taunting as before.
He said to the physician, “I am more likely to bowl her over than sweep her off her feet.”
“Just do your best, Sir John,” Dr. Parrish said. “Even one step will be a victory.”
Face furrowed in concentration or pain or both, Sir John took step by laborious step across the room. One hand white-knuckled the cane, the other was supported by Dr. Parrish.
Hannah was tempted to take a step or two forward, to shorten the gap.
As if guessing her intention, Sir John stopped her with a determined lift of his chin. “Stay where you are.”
Brow sweating, he pulled his hand from Dr. Parrish’s grip. “I’ll manage these last few steps on my own.”
“But I want to be near at hand, should—”
“If I fall, I fall.”
One foot slid forward—weight transferred, balance regained, cane thumped. Then the next foot, each step arduous and small. Hannah feared he would collapse before he made it. Sweat glistened at his neck now.
“Just one more,” she said. “That’s it. You’ve almost made it!”
Impulsively, Hannah extended her arms, thinking she might help support him, though doubting she would be able to catch him should he fall. He had lost a stone or more since the accident, but he was still a large man.
An ironic grin curled his lip. His eyes glinted with humor and determination.
The final step. Hannah reached out and held his arms, trying to steady him as he swayed on trembling legs.
Dr. Parrish applauded. “Bravo. I’d say that deserves a kiss, wouldn’t you?” The doctor winked at Hannah.
“Hear, hear,” Sir John agreed. “If only I can catch my breath long enough to enjoy it.”
“I...” Hannah swallowed self-consciously. “Don’t you want to sit down?”
“Oh, go on, my lady. I shall look the other way.” Dr. Parrish grinned impishly.
Suddenly as breathless as Sir John himself, Hannah said, “Very well.”
She reached up on tiptoes and aimed a friendly kiss toward Sir John’s cheek. But he turned his head at the last moment and she met his lips instead.
She blinked in surprise. The firm warmth of his lips on hers was unexpected and unexpectedly... welcome. Mixed emotions stirred through her: confusion, loyalty, disloyalty, guilt. It was only a chaste kiss, she told herself, for the doctor’s benefit. Was it not? Whatever it was, she was glad James Lowden was not there to witness it.
Dr. Parrish clapped again. “Now, that’s more like it. A good day’s work indeed.”
Sir John’s eyes shone as he held her gaze. “Indeed.”
That night, Hannah struggled to fall asleep. When she closed her eyes, she found her thoughts spinning from Mr. Lowden to Sir John—their faces revolving through her mind again and again.
Hannah did not sleep well, and was late coming down for breakfast the following morning. Kitty mentioned Mr. Lowden had already eaten and gone out for his ride.
After her meal, Hannah put on the altered spencer jacket and returned to the garden once more. She strolled past the flower beds, enjoying the fragrances of the colorful blooms and the temperate breeze in her hair. Secretly, she hoped for another stolen moment with James Lowden. Though she supposed if she were wise, she would keep her distance and avoid a private meeting with the man.
Hannah had just convinced herself to return to the house when he came riding through the gate.
She paused behind a wide yew tree as Ben came out and took his horse. How furtive she felt, hoping to shield herself from any prying eyes at the house windows. She hoped James wouldn’t guess her motives. Or did she?
Entering the garden, he removed his hat and smiled as he neared. “Good day, my ... Hannah. May I call you Hannah?”
She warmed to hear her name on his lips. “Yes. I miss hearing it.”
He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. “Hannah. Sweet Hannah...”
Her pulse skittered.
He glanced about, and seeing they were alone, he leaned toward her. His mouth neared, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered, “I have been trying to keep my distance from you. Especially here, under Sir John’s roof.” Straightening, he again stroked her cheek. “But one day, I hope to kiss every single one of these freckles....”
Her breath caught and a flush ran over her.
Suddenly, rain blew in off the channel in a pelting shower.
She squinted up at the sky in surprise. “Oh no...”
“Come on.” He took her hand and together they ran toward the house, him all but pulling her behind him.
They dashed inside, laughing. Her wet shoes slipped on the polished floor and his arm quickly came around her, catching her before she could fall. Even after she was steady on her feet, his arm remained.
She smiled into his face and saw a leaf plastered to his cheek like the golden imprint of a kiss. She lifted her hand and peeled it off, her fingers tracing the admired groove as she had longed to do for days.
“A leaf,” she explained, showing him the offending thing—her excuse for touching him.
His eyes darkened, and again he leaned near.
Suddenly a flicker of movement, a squeak of sound, drew her attention upward. There at the top of the staircase sat Sir John in his invalid chair. Her heart twisted to see him through the balusters as though he were trapped behind bars—a prisoner abovestairs. He watched them, face tense, eyes hard. She realized how they must look, standing so close together, James Lowden’s arm lingering at her waist, her hand touching his face. Instinctively, she stepped back from James.
He followed the direction of her gaze and his smile faded. “Good afternoon, Sir John. We were caught out in the rain.”
“So I see.”
Caught . It seemed a very appropriate word.
“Did you need something, Sir John?” Hannah asked, stepping to the bottom of the stairs.
For several moments, his eyes held hers from above. “I thought I did, but I was mistaken.”
After she had dried her face and hung up her damp spencer, Hannah went up to the nursery to look in on Danny. Then she went back downstairs and knocked softly on Sir John’s door.
“Yes?” came his muffled reply.
Inhaling deeply, she cracked open the door. “May I come in?”
He sat in his wheeled chair near the window, staring out at the lashing rain. He did not turn to greet her. She stepped in anyway and shut the door behind her, closing the tension in the room and making it hard to breathe.
She slowly crossed the room and stood beside his chair. She stared unseeing out the window, waiting for him to speak. Fearing what he would say.
Several moments passed, punctuated by the tick, tick, tick of the mantel clock and the spit, spit, spit of rain against the wavy glass.
Finally, he began, “I thought we had an understanding, you and I.”
Chagrin filled her and not a little surprise. She drew in a deep breath and asked weakly, “Have we?”
She felt his gaze shift toward her, but when she looked down, he was already looking out the window once more.
“I realize,” he said slowly, “that we have never spoken of it directly. It is—well, an awkward subject to say the least.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He lowered his voice. “I thought you wished to be known as my wife.”
Her heart thumped painfully. Did she? How shocking to hear him say the words outright. She felt astonished anew at her presumption.
He asked, “Was I wrong?”
Again, she felt his gaze on her profile. She shook her head. It was what she wanted, was it not? For Daniel’s sake. For her own. Yet James was nearer her own age, attractive, and unencumbered. Might he offer her a real marriage instead of pretense? Real love? Neither man had spoken of love, she realized.
He said, “I did not think you would perform Marianna’s role so admirably—down to the infidelity.”
Her face burned. “That’s not fair.”
“Is it not?”
She turned and met his eyes. “No.”
He studied her closely. “I am glad to hear it.”
The eye contact grew too intense. Hannah looked out the window once more, as though the cool rain could soothe the heat from his scorching gaze.
A few moments later, he spoke again, his voice gentle. “May I ask why you have stayed here?”
She nodded. “At first, I only wanted to find a way to rescue Daniel. To provide for him. I dared not dream of a happy home for him.”
“And now?”
“I...” How could she express her jumbled thoughts?
When she hesitated, he sent her a flinty glance from beneath his lashes. “Waiting for a better offer to come along?”
She flinched. “No.”
He said patiently, “I understand what you want for Danny. What about for yourself?”
She considered, then shrugged. “How can I separate the two? If he is happy and healthy and safe, then I am content.”
“You are a mother, Hannah, yes. But you are also a woman, a person with your own thoughts and feelings and dreams.”
His words surprised her. “Am I?” she murmured. She felt as though she had given up her dreams long ago.
“Has Lowden offered to marry you?”
“No.” But she wondered if he would.
Sir John expelled a sigh of relief. “Listen to me, Hannah. I don’t want you to stay with me out of financial need alone. Or as your cross to bear to provide for your son. If you want to leave me, leave. If you want to stay ... I realize that is unlikely, yet I hope ...” His words faded away.
She swallowed, wondering exactly what he was asking of her. The implication of his words prickled through her body in a combined chill and flush. She whispered, “What is it you want, Sir John?”
She felt his fingers entwine with hers, and looked into his face.
Voice hoarse, he asked, “Is that not obvious?”
She shook her head, stunned by the intensity of his expression, his voice.
His eyes sparked with fire. He pulled her toward him and down until she was seated on his lap. Before she fully realized the intimacy of the position, he cupped the side of her face with one of his large hands, tilting her mouth toward his. His other circled her waist and drew her near. He pressed his lips to hers, hard and passionate. When she did not pull away, he angled his head and melded his warm mouth to hers.
His ardor overwhelmed her and she was stunned by the feelings that flowed through her in response. What sort of woman was she that she could be drawn to two men at once?
He pulled her tight against him, moving his mouth over hers. Slowly his lips caressed, savoring one corner of her lips, then the opposite, then the sweet center. He lifted his head to look into her eyes, to regard her mouth as though the most desirable prize in the world before descending again.
She remembered being kissed like this once before. It had been too long.
She lifted her free hand, spreading her fingers to hold his face, the heel of her hand cupping his jaw, feeling the bristle of beard below and smooth cheekbone above. Then she slid her hand around his neck, splaying it against the back of his head and into his thick hair.
“Hannah...” he breathed.
She kissed him again.
A knock sounded on the door. Hannah leapt from Sir John’s lap as though a scalded cat.
Mrs. Turrill entered with a tray bearing a chocolate pot and two cups. She hesitated, her smile fading as she looked from one embarrassed face to the other.
“I’ve brought chocolate,” she said, setting the tray down with an agitated air. “It’s very hot.” She retreated to the door, then turned back once more. “Be careful you don’t burn yourselves.”