Page 30 of Lady Maybe

From the road, Clifton looked like a landscape painting—an old stone house nestled between whitebeam trees, its flower garden framed by privet hedges and an arched trellis. Or perhaps it was more like a still life—too still. Too quiet. No Mrs. Turrill waving from an open doorway. No Dr. Parrish calling out cheerful greetings from the neighboring Grange. No Sir John sitting in his chair at an upstairs window.

She walked closer, yet still saw no one about the place. Where was he?

Mrs. Turrill could not tell her for certain if Sir John was once again living in Clifton House, because she no longer worked there. She had declined to return after Hannah’s trial, and then the Mayfields had left for Bristol. She’d heard that Sir John had recently returned to the area, but didn’t know if or how long he planned to stay.

Hannah hoped Sir John had not suffered a relapse. Was that why he had not visited her when he’d been in Bristol? Or worse, had he changed his mind about her? After all, he no longer had to settle for a woman willing to assume Marianna’s place. He was free to marry any fine lady he wished. Far finer than she could ever hope to be.

Even so, it was good to see the place again—and see it peaceful. When she was last at Clifton, she had been under guard and then led away like a criminal. This was a better, more pleasant memory to tuck away for some lonely someday to come.

Hannah stood at the edge of the garden a moment longer, silently bidding the house and its former occupant farewell. In a few minutes, she would walk back to Mrs. Turrill’s. Becky and Danny were there now, catching up on all they’d missed in each other’s lives since they had last been together. But for now, one more minute to remember it all.

She closed her eyes and there he was. Sir John holding her hand. Pulling her onto his lap and kissing her. Taking his first steps. Saying, “ You are beautiful, Hannah. Just as you are .” Cradling Danny in his arms. Coming to her rescue. Letting her go...

The sound of galloping hooves interrupted her reverie. Startled, she stepped behind a tree, afraid to be found like a trespasser should it be Edgar Parrish or perhaps a prospective new tenant.

She watched in surprise as Sir John Mayfield came cantering over the rise on a muscled bay. He sat tall and straight, coat tails flapping behind him, hat brim pulled low. With knee-high cuffed boots in the stirrups, thighs melded to the horse’s sides, and reins held easily in gloved hands, he looked strong and confident. The Sir John Mayfield of old.

Hannah’s breath caught at the sight.

As he neared the stables, she expected Ben or some new groom to come out to help him dismount and hand him his cane. No one came. She thought about running forward to help, but doubted he would welcome any witness to his weakness. Especially her.

When he reined in, he did not wait for anyone to assist him but swung his leg over and dismounted with apparent ease. He gathered the reins and patted the horse’s sleek neck. Only then did Ben jog out with a ready smile and take the horse from Sir John.

Hannah decided she would wait where she was, and greet him there in the relative privacy of the garden on his way inside. She smoothed back her hair and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. But Sir John did not walk toward the house. Instead, he snatched up a walking stick propped against the stable wall and set off at a brisk pace away from the garden. For a moment, Hannah feared he was avoiding her, but she didn’t think he had even noticed her there. Would he be glad to see her? She wished she knew.

Hannah followed after him. Sir John walked with a swift, sure stride toward the Cliff Road. My goodness , Hannah thought. He was not weak any longer.

Unable to keep up with his long legs and rapid pace, she finally called out, “Sir John!”

He looked back, and hesitated upon seeing her. Her heart sank. No welcoming smile broke across his face. Nor did he use his newfound strength to run to her. In fact, he stood there regarding her almost warily. Did he think her presumptuous for coming uninvited?

Her confidence left her. She hesitated as well, unsure how to proceed.

She pushed herself slowly forward, trying to catch her breath and calm herself. “Good day,” she managed.

He nodded. “Miss Rogers.”

So formal. After all they’d been through together.

He laid both hands over the head of his walking stick, propped on the ground before him. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Visiting Mrs. Turrill, I assume?”

“Yes. I’ve returned Becky to her. The dear woman has invited her to share their cottage.”

He nodded his understanding. “How is Danny? He fares well, I trust?”

“Yes. He is napping at Mrs. Turrill’s as we speak.”

“Ah. Good.”

She glanced back toward the stable. “I saw you ride in.” She shook her head in wonder. “How recovered you are. It’s amazing how you’ve regained your strength.”

“I’ve been working at it,” he allowed. “And if you will excuse me, I shall continue my walk.”

His dismissal stung, but she persisted. “You look quite hale,” she blurted before he could turn. “I am pleased to see it.” She felt herself flush at the words.

One brow rose. “Flattery, Miss Rogers? It isn’t like you.”

She recognized it then. The shell of cold indifference he’d adopted when he first suspected her of helping Marianna plot her escape. A way to protect himself.

He touched his hat brim. “And now I shall bid you good day.” He turned smartly and continued on, determined either to take exercise or to keep his distance from her.

Hurrying to keep up with him, Hannah said, “I wonder, Sir John, if you even know what I am really like. You’ve only known me as a hired companion and an impostor.”

“On the contrary,” he retorted. “I once thought I knew you very well.”

This was certainly not the romantic reunion she had hoped for or imagined. She needed to do something to divert the course of this conversation and quickly.

“Will you please slow down, so I may talk with you?”

“You’re young. Keep up.”

Sir John had reached the Cliff Road before she managed to overtake him. Or perhaps he had taken pity on her and slowed down.

Hannah crossed the road and looked out at the channel, struck by the sight. She looked west toward Lynton and Lynmouth, and east toward the Countisbury church tower to gain her bearings. The wind buffeted her, threatening to yank the bonnet from her head.

She walked several yards east, waving Sir John over. “Look.” She pointed. “That’s where the carriage crashed.”

He followed and peered down reluctantly, as though expecting a gruesome sight or perhaps a ghost. But only one carriage wheel and a moldering velvet bench remained to mark the spot.

His expression grew thoughtful. “That’s where my former life ended—and my new life began.”

“Mine too,” she whispered, the words swallowed by the wind.

Keeping his face toward the channel, Sir John said, “Mr. Lowden is not here, if you are looking for him. He is working from his offices in Bristol.” He kept his gaze averted, as though not wishing to see her disappointment.

“I know,” she said. “I am not looking for him.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “But you have seen him.”

“Yes,” she replied. She took a deep breath and added, “I am afraid I dismissed him.”

He turned to stare at her, both brows high. “Dismissed him?”

“Yes. Will it be a terrible inconvenience to engage a new solicitor?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback. “No ... But, may I ask why you felt it necessary to dismiss him?”

With relief she noticed he did not demand to know what gave her the right to do so.

She said, “Do you need to ask why?”

His grey-blue eyes glinted. “You thought it would be awkward to marry him were he still my solicitor?”

She shook her head. “I do not plan to marry your solicitor.”

“No?”

“No. But I do think it would be awkward to be married to you were he still your solicitor.” How forward, she realized, neck heating. Would he rebuff her then and there?

His mouth quirked. “Afraid you’ll be tempted to go astray?”

“Not at all,” she said evenly. “But it would be painful for him to see the two of us happy together.”

He stilled, as though holding his breath. “And will we be happy together?”

“I dearly hope so.”

He studied her closely. “I already told you I will support Danny. You needn’t marry me. James Lowden is younger, good-looking, and clearly in love with you.”

She held his gaze and took a small step closer. “Yes, Sir John, all those things are true.” She looked down and then back up. “But he is not the one I want....”

The sentence was barely out of her mouth before he hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he asked, voice hoarse, his breath warm at her temple.

“I’m trying to ... convince you.”

He eased back just far enough to look her full in the face. With his free hand, he smoothed a lock of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Convince me of what, Miss Rogers?”

His eyes sparked with challenge, as if daring her to say the words he longed to hear.

“That I love you,” she whispered, softly but firmly, placing her hand over his heart.

“And if I were not recovered? If I were still confined to an invalid chair?”

She traced gentle fingers along his jaw. “I was ready to be your wife then, before Marianna returned. Before you could even walk. I admire you, Sir John, whether sitting or standing.”

For several moments he simply stood there, gazing down at her. Then one corner of his mouth quirked. “Miss being Lady Mayfield, do you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

He chuckled. “Lady Maybe, that’s what I shall call you.”

She bit her lip and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I can think of several other endearments I would prefer.”

“Can you?” His arm around her waist tightened. With his other hand he cupped her face, stroking her cheek in feathery caresses. “Shall I call you ... dear friend, desired lover, or ... cherished wife?”

Her heart beat hard, a bubble of hope and joy filling her chest. She smiled and whispered, “Yes, please. All of the above.”

“My sentiments exactly.” He leaned down, his hand gently tilting her face toward his. His lips touched hers softly, sweetly, then again. Her lips parted of their own accord, and he kissed her more firmly, melding his mouth to hers, her body to his, until her legs felt wobbly, her mind languid.

How had she ever doubted her feelings for this man? How foolish she had been. How blind. Sir John was honorable and generous. Handsome and passionate. He loved her and he loved her son—their son. God had redeemed their past and given her the desires of her heart.

So, this is what love feels like , she thought.

She found she liked it very much indeed.

He broke their kiss and dragged warm lips over her cheek, her temple, her ear. In a husky voice, he asked, “Shall we go and see the parson, my love?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “As soon as possible.”