Page 20 of Lady Maybe
Long after James had stalked away, Hannah remained, staring out the window at the lashing rain, wind-bent trees, and grey sky as evening darkened. Yet she saw not that storm, but another stormy night early last spring, when she had still lived in the Mayfields’ Bristol house....
Hands clasped before her, Hannah glanced around the drawing room. Lady Mayfield’s customary armchair was empty. She had gone out. Again. Meeting her lover, no doubt. Sir John stood before the hearth, imposing in evening clothes, one hand resting on the high mantel, the other propped on his hip. He stared at the fire, expression brooding.
Outside, lightning flashed and rain lashed the windowpanes. To go out on such a night? How desperate she must be to see Anthony Fontaine. Hannah recalled unsettling images of Marianna and Mr. Fontaine flirting and stealing kisses in this room not long ago, but blinked them away. It seemed almost a betrayal to think of the two of them in her husband’s presence.
Hannah and the Mayfields often gathered there in the evenings after dinner. Marianna in an armchair or dreamily playing the pianoforte, her mind far away, while Hannah sat in the corner, quietly sewing or reading by candlelight. Sir John standing near the fire as he was now, lost in his own thoughts, or perhaps sitting on the sofa, reading. Now and again, Lady Mayfield would engage him in a game of draughts or cards. If he was unwilling, she would turn to Hannah and urge her to play in his stead. Hannah complied because she was paid to do so, not because she cared for either game. When she was in one of her restless moods, Lady Mayfield might call for wine and two glasses and insist Hannah play cards with her into the wee hours.
But Hannah was unaccustomed to being alone with Sir John.
She had never before remained long in the room when only Sir John was present. He’d never showed any interest in her company and it would be awkward to attempt polite conversation with him—pretend that they were both unaware of the missing person, and where she likely was and in whose company.
“Lady Mayfield has gone out,” he announced, unnecessarily.
“On such a night...” Hannah murmured. She stood there awkwardly, reluctant to sit down.
“She would rather face foul weather than her foul husband, it seems.” He picked up a fire iron and began poking at a log, causing the languishing fire to smoke.
“Well. I think I shall turn in early. Good-night, Sir John.” She turned to go.
“Please stay, Miss Rogers. I find I cannot bear the solitude tonight.”
She turned back. His eyes were still on the dying fire.
“Very well,” she said quietly, and stepped toward her customary chair in the corner.
“It is cold tonight,” he said. “Come and sit by the fire, if you will. I do not bite, no matter what my wife may have told you.”
Hannah hesitated, then complied, walking over to sit on the sofa near the fire, but on the end farthest from him. “She has never said such a thing, I assure you,” Hannah said, not sure if she was defending her mistress or him.
The Mayfields had been married a year and a half at that point. Still in their honeymoon period—or they should have been. And Lady Mayfield was not discreet in her little jabs about her husband’s futile attempts to woo her, confessing she could not stand him touching her. In fact, she had confided to Hannah that she had not allowed him to share her bed since their first wedding anniversary. Hannah had thought perhaps Lady Mayfield was exaggerating the matter, boasting to her companion as though it were something to be proud of. But judging by her husband’s defeated expression, it was all too true.
He asked, “Has she told you what I have done to so offend her?”
Hannah shifted, feeling uncomfortable. She should not be having this conversation with Marianna’s husband. He must be tormented indeed over his marriage to ask his wife’s paid companion for advice. A companion he had not wished to engage in the first place.
When she made no reply, he stepped to the sideboard, poured two glasses of port, and carried one to her.
Murmuring her thanks, Hannah accepted the glass and sipped the ruby liquid. She thought again of Anthony Fontaine sitting on this very sofa with Marianna, kissing her ear and stroking her knee. Her sparkling eyes and eager smile in response... Marianna was certainly interested in intimate relations, just not with Sir John.
He downed his drink. “If she found me disgusting before our marriage, she certainly hid it well. What am I to do?” he asked, still not looking at her. Was he asking her, the fire, or God?
He continued, “I could bring a suit against her lover. But I have no desire to expose her or myself to scandal. Nor do I want a ruinous divorce. What I want is a wife who will be faithful to me. Is that too much to ask?”
“No. It shouldn’t be,” she quietly agreed.
“I don’t suppose there is anything I can do to win back her affection?”
What could he do? Lady Mayfield didn’t seem to worry about the rumors, his threats did not affect her, nor did his pleading and wooing. Knowing Marianna, the only thing that might move her was another woman’s interest in her husband—ideally someone more beautiful and more bewitching to turn his head, if such a woman existed.
Should Sir John make a pretense of flirting with another woman? Begin an immoral affair of his own? Sink to her level? No. He was a married man who wished to live honorably. Perhaps Marianna would respond if he simply stopped trying so hard. Hannah wasn’t sure if neglect would have much effect on spoiled Marianna, but it might be worth a try.
When Hannah did not answer, he glanced at her. “A lost cause, is it? I am too old and too serious, as she never tires of telling me.”
You are not old , Hannah thought, although serious and reserved? Yes. He would never be accused of being the life of the party—that had always been Marianna’s role. Yet he was well-respected and gentlemanlike and attractive.... Inwardly, she reprimanded herself, Stop it, stop it , you foolish girl .
She cleared her throat and said, “Perhaps you ought not try so hard. Ignore her for a time. Make her come to you. That might gain her attention.”
“And watch six months of alienation turn into six years? If I left her alone, I think her only reaction would be one of relief.”
Very likely , Hannah thought, but did not say such an injurious thing aloud.
“I was engaged to be married once before,” he said. “But the young lady broke things off. Apparently I am quite repulsive.”
She glanced up and found his gaze on her. What vulnerability etched that face. A handsome face, in her view. Sir John might be fifteen years her senior but to her he had always seemed younger. He was tall, his shoulders broad, his body lean. Fine lines crinkled the corners of his eyes and scored the space between his brows, but otherwise his skin was smooth and taut. He kept himself well-read, well-groomed, and well-dressed. Sir John Mayfield was also a wealthy man, knighted by the king. Personally, Hannah didn’t understand why Marianna found him unattractive ... or at least, not as attractive as Anthony Fontaine.
“No, sir.”
He smiled wryly. “That reply was long in coming. You needn’t be polite.”
“I am not being polite. It is true. I do not think you repulsive.”
He touched his heart, a mocking light in his grey-blue eyes. “What a compliment. I am in your debt, madam.”
“I did not mean—”
“Never mind, Miss Rogers. It is kind of you to try.”
Feeling the urge to lay a comforting hand on his arm to reassure him, she rose. His gaze snapped over, watching her in some surprise. How inappropriate such consolation would be coming from her, she realized. Courage failing her, she stepped to the window instead. She pretended to survey the storm, the swaying branches, the lightning slicing the ominous sky.
She felt his gaze on her profile.
“It’s getting worse,” she observed.
“Yes, it is,” he muttered, and went back to poking the fire.
She glanced at his despondent expression. He was not a perfect man. No one was. But Hannah had lived in that house long enough to know that the lion’s share of the blame lay with Marianna.
Courage returning, she stepped from the window to his side and—with a nervous swallow—laid her hand on his arm. He gave a little start and looked down at her pale, bare fingers on his dark sleeve. He looked from her hand to her face almost warily.
“Sir John, forgive me for speaking out of turn. But there is nothing wrong with you. You are kind and gentlemanlike. A bit quiet, perhaps, but also intelligent, well-respected, and honorable. I don’t know why she finds such fault with you. I think perhaps it is simply that you are not Mr. Fontaine.”
He inhaled, then slowly released the breath. “Well, there is nothing I can do about that.” He patted her hand awkwardly. “Still, I thank you, Miss Rogers.”
She smiled apologetically and removed her hand. “You’re welcome.”
In the hearth, the fire sparked to life at last.
She watched it for several moments, then sighed. “Well, I think I shall retire.”
He nodded. “I shall follow soon after. Good-night, Miss Rogers.”
“Good-night, sir.”
As she slipped from the drawing room, one of the footmen, waiting in the corridor, waved her over. “Evenin’, Miss Rogers.”
She nodded. “Jack.”
“I heard her ladyship’s gone out for the evening.”
Was the man fishing for gossip?
“She has,” Hannah replied evenly. “Sir John was just lamenting the fact that she had a prior engagement on such a night as this.”
“I imagine that was a bit awkward, just the two of you in there. Alone.”
If she wasn’t careful, Jack would be gossiping about her next. She bit back a rebuke and feigned nonchalance instead. “Not too bad,” she said with a shrug. “I believe he thought I missed her company, so he conversed with me to pass the time. Kind of him, but we have so little to talk about.”
“Does he really believe her ladyship is out at some charity meeting or whatever lie she fed him? Douglas hated having to take the horse and carriage out in this, I can tell you. Charity meeting, my eye.”
“I have no idea. Well, good-night, Jack.”
“Miss.”
She had neglected to bring a lamp up the stairs with her, but the candle on the landing guided her well enough. Besides, she knew the way by now. She passed Lady Mayfield’s room, then Sir John’s dressing room and bedchamber, before a sound drew her back.
What was that banging?
She followed the repetitive clatter back to Lady Mayfield’s room. She knocked, though she was quite certain Lady Mayfield had yet to return, then inched the door open. Lightning flashed, lighting up the room, and in an instant, she identified the problem. The windows had been left open and the shutters not lashed down. Rain and wind were blowing into the room. Hannah ran forward and began drawing in one window then another, latching them closed. The rain was coming in at a nearly horizontal angle—fat droplets splattered her face and neck.
Suddenly, Sir John appeared beside her, clearly drawn inside by the banging shutters as she had been. Or perhaps in the hope his wife had returned. Setting down his candle lamp in haste, he began latching the upper shutters, while she closed the lower halves. They worked together, passing closely, hands accidentally brushing as each reached for the last shutter.
“To leave open the windows on such a night...” Hannah muttered, shaking her head. Suddenly aware of her wet face, she grinned ruefully. “Here I thought we were the ones safe and dry indoors tonight.”
He remained silent, expression tense.
Nervous to be alone with him in Lady Mayfield’s bedchamber, she prattled on. “I shall ask Mrs. Peabody to remind the housemaids to be more careful in future, shall I?”
He merely stood there, looking at her.
She asked, “Is the carpet wet? Perhaps I should gather a few bath towels, and—”
“Leave it.”
She turned back in surprise, regarding him by the light of his nearby candle.
He said, “I don’t care about the carpet, but you are damp through.” He withdrew a clean handkerchief from his pocket, then lifted it toward her face. “Allow me.” With one hand, he lightly took her chin between his thumb and fingers. With the other, he gathered a corner of the thin cloth and softly brushed her forehead, then her cheeks.... Her heart began to accelerate, nerves tingling at his touch.
“I hope your freckles will not rub off.”
She chuckled mournfully. “If only they would. The bane of my existence.”
He tilted her chin to better regard her complexion in the lamplight. “They’re charming. You’re quite beautiful.”
“Ha.” She shook her head. Pretty, maybe. But no one besides her mother had ever called her beautiful. “With this long nose and wide mouth? Hardly.”
He ran the cloth down her nose. “Distinctive.” Then he slowly ran it across her lips and whispered, “Desirable.”
Their eyes met and locked. His fingers within the gauzy cloth lowered to her neck and trailed along her collarbones, stroking the bare skin above the modest bodice of her gown. She could hardly breathe. How wide the blacks of his eyes were in the flickering light. Intense with longing, yet tinged with uncertainty.
She didn’t move.
He lowered his head slowly, gaze flicking over her eyes, her face, her lips. She didn’t run or back away. She barely even blinked. He touched his lips to hers, softly, tentatively. A rush of sweet, heady longing filled her.
When she did not object, a spark flared behind his eyes. He pressed his lips to hers more fervently, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her against him. How tense his body was. How nearly frantic his endless kiss.
Suddenly he tore his mouth away, grabbed her hand almost roughly, and opened the adjoining room door. He paused only long enough to turn back for the candle lamp, then pulled her along behind him through his own dressing room and into his connecting bedchamber—a room she had never been in before. He shoved the door closed behind him with his foot and then he was kissing her again.
A small voice within her whispered this was wrong. That it was not too late. She could tell him to stop, break away, and retreat to her own room. But she gave the voice little heed. Perhaps it was the sweet port, the violent storm, his wife’s callous infidelity, or the fact that she could give him something he had been refused for far too long. Or perhaps she simply allowed herself to be swept away in the moment, on a foreign feeling of power and desirability.
His hands slid up under her arms, then slowly downward, to the deep indentation at her waist and slight flare of slim hips. He sighed deep in his throat and tilted his head the other way, fervently renewing his kiss.
The timid, stolen kisses she had once shared with Fred seemed like child’s play in comparison. She stood on her tiptoes—he was so much taller than she—allowing her shy fingers to touch the hair at the nape of his neck. Then she slid her hands tentatively down his shoulders to his chest. His coat and waistcoat did not conceal the firm muscle beneath. She ran her hands up over his shoulders and down the ropey muscles of his arms before returning to his chest. She had never touched a man before, except to embrace a youthful Freddie several years ago. His skinny, wiry frame had felt nothing like this.
Sir John lowered his head, kissing her neck, her shoulder. When she gasped, he returned his mouth to hers, perhaps afraid she was about to speak reason into the unreasonable, and stifled any protest with his kiss.
Suddenly he reached down, placed one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back, and swept her up into his arms with ease. Holding her, he gazed into her eyes. “Beautiful Hannah.”
Had he called her his wife’s name by mistake, or no name at all, she might yet have resisted him. But the sound of her given name in his deep voice, said with such feeling, such warmth ... She was lost.
She wrapped her hands around his neck, and he carried her to the canopied bed.
Hannah awoke with a start some time later. Outside, the storm had subsided, but it was still dark. What had awakened her—had a door slammed? Had Lady Mayfield returned home at last? Then suddenly she remembered. Where she was. With whom. And what they had done. All the desire and heady power dissolved into guilt and shame. And fear.
Pushing Sir John’s arm gingerly from her waist, she swung her legs over and climbed from bed. Still wearing her stays and shift, she stepped into the discarded gown and pulled it up over her shoulders and straightened her skirts as best she could. Her hair was down, the pins who knew where. She hoped whichever housemaid found them would assume they were Lady Mayfield’s. Hannah crept around the room until she found her stockings and shoes. She slid on her shoes barefooted and bunched the stockings in one hand. Going to the main door, she listened, and, hearing nothing, slowly opened it. She allowed herself one last look at the slumbering Sir John, but could see little save a dim outline in the dark room. The candle lamp had long since burned itself out.
She slipped from the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She tiptoed toward her own room at the far end of the corridor and had nearly reached it when a shadowy figure carrying a candle appeared from around the corner. She stifled a gasp.
It was Mr. Ward. Mr. Ward, who often looked at her in a manner that made her uncomfortable, now glanced significantly from her, down the dark corridor. Had he any idea which room she had come from? She prayed not.
He looked at her with suspicion in his small eyes, or something even less flattering.
“Miss Rogers ... What are you doing wandering about in the dark?”
She hoped he did not notice the few buttons at the back of her frock were not fastened. Hopefully her unbound hair covered the omission. “I ... I thought I heard a door shut,” she faltered, trying in vain to keep her voice steady. “Is ... Lady Mayfield home at last?”
He studied her expression by the light of his candle. “Yes, which you would know if you had been to her room.”
“I did not go in. I did not wish to wake her.”
“I doubt she is asleep. Her poor lady’s maid has just been called from her bed to undress her. For the second time this evening no doubt.”
She despised the man’s leering innuendo, though he was probably right.
“Then she is in good hands.” Hannah attempted a casual tone and reached for her door latch. Suddenly his hand shot out and descended over hers like a claw. She looked up at him in alarm.
He stared boldly into her face, as if daring her to protest. “Miss Rogers. Hannah. Perhaps we should ... talk. In private.”
Did he think he held some power over her? Was he threatening her, or simply hoping to take advantage of this unexpected encounter in the middle of the night?
“It is late, Mr. Ward,” she said coolly. “Anything you have to say to me can wait until morning. Now I must bid you good-night.”
She wrenched the door open, stepped inside, and quickly shut it behind her, turning the key in the lock. She pressed her ear to the wood, hearing nothing over the loud beating of her heart. One minute ... two ... Finally, she heard his footsteps retreat.
Hannah blew out a breath, fearing she had not suffered the last of his advances. A moment later, another fear rose in its place. Oh God, what have I done?
She did not see Sir John until the next afternoon. One of Marianna’s female friends called, and while they were ensconced over tea and gossip in Marianna’s boudoir, Sir John discreetly sought out Hannah in the library. Her stomach tensed at the sight of him. What would he say?
He closed the door behind them and began quietly, “Miss Rogers, I am deeply sorry about last night.”
She ducked her head, ears burning. “As am I.”
“I should have found the strength to stop myself. But I acted selfishly, and I apologize.”
She managed a wooden nod. What was she supposed to say? What could she say? The more he regretted it, the more her own regret mounted. For she was now ruined—a fallen woman. Oh! What would her father say if he knew?
He stepped closer. “I have never done the like before. You are a gentleman’s daughter—a clergyman’s daughter—which makes it all the more reprehensible. Were it in my power, were I not a married man, I would do the honorable thing. Since that is not possible, I am at a loss as to what to do. If there is anything you need. Mon—”
She cut him off. “Do not offer me money, I beg of you. That would make me feel even worse. Like a payment for services rendered.”
“Oh...” His Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Forgive me. I did not intend it that way.”
A single knock sounded, and the door was opened before Sir John could reply. Mr. Ward stuck his head in, like a jack-in-the-box. It might have been comical, save for the timing and his suspicious expression as he looked from one to the other.
Sir John said evenly, “Miss Rogers and I are discussing a few things, Mr. Ward, but is there something you needed?”
“Ah... No, sir. That is, I can wait. If you are in the middle of something... pressing?” His brows lifted in expectation.
A weasel, Hannah decided. The man looked like a long-necked weasel.
“Not at all.” Sir John crossed his arms. “What is it?”
Hannah spoke up, forcing a polite formality. “Thank you, Sir John. I shall make a note of it. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall leave the two of you to your business.”
Hannah didn’t know if companions in most houses ate dinner with their mistress and her husband, but Lady Mayfield insisted upon it. It gave her someone to talk to, she said. And the presence of a third party forced her stern husband to remain civil and dissuaded him from engaging in serious conversation, like asking her where she had been and with whom, or confronting her behavior. Then again, it was not very common for a married woman to hire a companion at all. But there was little common about this marriage.
The three of them sat at table together as usual that evening. Sir John at the head, Lady Mayfield on his right, and Hannah across from her. Most of the time, Lady Mayfield directed her chatter across the table to Hannah, effectively ignoring Sir John. Occasionally, she directed a question his way, or a bit of news, or a barb.
That night, however, Marianna Mayfield’s gaze swung like a pendulum from Sir John to Hannah and back again, brown eyes speculative above her raised wineglass. “You two are certainly quiet.”
Neither replied for several moments.
Then he said, “I suppose it was the storm. Neither of us slept well last night.”
His wife’s arched brows rose high. “Neither of you?”
“Well, I don’t know how anyone could sleep through all that thunder and lightning,” he clarified. “Did you, Miss Rogers?”
Hannah licked dry lips. “No, I did not fall asleep until quite late, I’m afraid.”
“Pity.” Marianna smiled. “I slept like a lamb.”
Hannah felt Lady Mayfield’s gaze linger on her profile. When she glanced up, the woman was watching her curiously. “Perhaps that was what Mr. Ward meant. He told me he thought you ... missed me ... last night. He said he found you wandering the corridors quite late in search of me.”
“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.
No doubt 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, 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 and concerts in the assembly rooms. All the best people come for the Bath season, and I should enjoy more variety in society. It won’t be the same as London, 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, might 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 toward the chairs at 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 sat, clasped her hands, and waited, pulse pounding.
He sat as well, looking 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.”
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 stiff nod.
“I hope putting a little distance between her and a certain man will help, yes. 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 rose, bobbed a shaky curtsy, and slipped from the room.
After 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 it 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 again 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 situation for me here—very kind of him, really—so I might stay. You won’t need me—you shall have a whole new set 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 should be terribly lonely.”
“And your husband will not suffice in this role, I take it?” he asked dryly.
“Have you ever? Pray, do not be offended, 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. If Hannah isn’t there—who knows whom I should turn to for companionship?”
The honeyed 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. Although she had not accepted for the reasons either of them probably thought.
Hannah had her own motives for getting out of town, away from the 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 a few more months. Maybe longer, since Sir John now avoided looking at her, and Lady Mayfield was self-absorbed. Eventually, however, Hannah knew she would have to leave them, before they discovered the truth.
And several months later, her small savings in hand, Hannah did leave. 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 away again, in the hidden trunk of her mind where she usually kept it? Or could she finally lay it all to rest ... along with Marianna Mayfield?