Lady Maybe (20 page)

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?” Dr. Parrish winked at Hannah.

“Here, here,” 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 see 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 private 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 come out and took his horse. How furtive and wanton 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. “Hello, 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 her cheek, his breath tickling her ear. “I have been trying to keep my distance from you. Especially here, under Sir John’s roof. But seeing you the other night nearly
did me in. One day, I hope to kiss every single one of your freckles. . . .”

Her breath caught and a flush ran over her body.

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 behind the stair rail 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 above stairs. 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 glance and his smile faded. “Hello, 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 wrong.”

—

After she had dried her face and hung up her damp spencer, Hannah went up to the nursery to check 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 embarrassed 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, wasn’t it? 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 hot. “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 the intimate position fully registered, 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 deepened the kiss.

His ardor overwhelmed her and she was stunned by the desire 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—firm, warm, delicious. Slowly his lips caressed, savoring
this 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. Her thumb fanned up from his chin, to the sensitive corner of his mouth. Then she slid her hand around his neck, splaying it against the back of his head and threading 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.”

T
hrough Mrs. Turrill, Sir John invited Hannah to join him for tea in his bedchamber. Hannah wondered if he wished to continue the previous night’s activities. But sitting across from him that afternoon, the atmosphere was more that of a business meeting—or a courtroom—than a social call.

He sat in his invalid chair pulled up to the small table. A tray of tea things lay between them.

Hannah poured for them, and then sipped. But in her unease, she barely tasted the tea.

Sir John stirred his own tea and began, “You mentioned yesterday that you stayed to rescue Danny. You have done so and yet remain here. May I ask why?”

Hannah set down her cup. “I wish I had some more honorable answer to give you. But the truth is I had nowhere else to go.”

“Could you not return to your father in Bristol?”

“My father believes I am dead. And I doubt he would be relieved to learn I am alive, yet have born a child out of wedlock. You must know what a shameful thing that is, especially to a clergyman like my father.”

She thought, then added, “I don’t intend to make him sound a harsh man. He is not. And perhaps he would be relieved to know I am alive. But that does not mean he would allow his fallen daughter and illegitimate grandson to live with him. He
would likely lose the curacy were it known. And it would break his heart.”

“What about Bath? Where did you go after you left us?”

Hannah took a deep breath and replied, “I went to a maternity home I had seen advertised in the newspaper.”

She paused to collect her thoughts. “The neighborhood was not ideal, but the matron was all warmth and kindness. At least, at first. When she realized I was a gentlewoman, she offered me a reduced rate for lodgings if I would help with sewing and correspondence and the like. I agreed, and the time passed quickly. After Danny was born, and I had recovered, Mrs. Beech offered me two options. I could stay on as a wet nurse. Or, I could leave Danny with her, and for a fee, he would be cared for by one of the nurses in her employ.”

“Is that where you found Becky?” Sir John asked.

“Yes. Poor girl had lost her own child and Mrs. Beech kept her on as wet nurse. Becky is good-hearted and sincerely loves Danny, though I once feared she was not quite sound of mind. But she seems much better since coming here.”

Hannah sighed, then continued. “At all events, as much as I wanted to stay with Danny, I knew that if I was ever to support the two of us, I would need to find a better situation. So, I took a position as a lady’s companion to an elderly dowager, and slipped away when I could to visit Danny. The arrangement worked fairly well for a time, except that Mrs. Beech began raising her fees beyond what I had agreed to, and before I knew it, beyond what I could afford. When I fell behind in my payments, she refused to allow me to have Danny, or even to see him. . . .”

He winced. “I wish you had come to me. I would have helped.”

She shifted uneasily. “I feared you would be obligated to confide my secret to your wife, or even to Mr. Ward, if finances were involved. Both had many connections in Bristol. I doubted a
week would have passed before everyone in my home parish had heard of my fall—my own father among them.”

“That’s why you said nothing. We were concerned when you left so suddenly. I tried to find you, but to no avail.”

She nodded. “Mr. Lowden mentioned that.”

He shook his head in regret. “You were in a terrible situation. When I think of all you’ve gone through . . . I am sorry indeed.”

Hannah paused to relish the sweet salve of that acknowledgement. Then she said, “You should know that Dr. Parrish gave me ten pounds from your purse for the journey to Bath to collect Danny. I used it to pay what I owed, and of course for traveling expenses. But that is all I’ve taken from you, besides food and shelter.”

He held up his hand. “Don’t give it another thought—or try to pay it back.”

“I won’t.” She managed a weak chuckle. “I couldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” He took a sip of tea and avoided her eyes. “May I ask how long you plan to stay here?”

“I planned to stay only until my arm healed and I could find a new position. Who would hire me with my arm in a sling?”

“I see.” He bowed his head, drumming his fingers on the table, before looking up at her once more. “Then why not remain in your . . . present position?”

Hannah felt her mouth fall open. Was he really suggesting they allow the ruse to continue indefinitely? She asked, “What are you saying?”

Sir John tented his fingers and regarded her earnestly. “If you continue on as Lady Mayfield, Danny would be my heir.”

Heir?
She had never considered such a possibility.

Sir John went on, “But if it were known that you and I were not married at the time of his birth, then that would not be possible. Worse yet, you would be exposed as a fraud.”

Hannah cringed. “I will be anyway, as soon as we return to Bristol.”

“Why return then?”

“Even if we don’t, someone will come here eventually. Someone who knows I am not Marianna.”

“Perhaps.” Sir John exhaled and drew his shoulders back. “Well. Leave it with me for now. I will talk to Mr. Lowden about the options and legalities and draw up some sort of plan.”

Talk to Mr. Lowden . . .
Just as she’d feared he’d do.

Sir John sipped, then paused, looking at her over his teacup. “In the meantime, don’t . . . go anywhere, all right?”

Hannah picked up her own cup, noticing her hand tremble. She managed a vague smile but made no promises.

—

Emboldened by Hannah’s recent warmth toward him, James returned to Sir John’s bedchamber that afternoon to talk sense to the man. He was his solicitor, after all. And part of his duty was to counsel his clients, and help them steer clear of ruinous decisions. Though James privately acknowledged that he was no longer an objective party in the situation.

He found Sir John seated in his wheeled chair at a large oak desk, busy over correspondence. James had overheard Edgar Parrish and Ben Jones discussing how they would elevate the man’s desk on blocks, so the arms of his wheeled chair would fit under it, but this was his first time seeing the result of their handiwork.

Sir John was fully dressed, his hair and beard were neatly trimmed, and his eyes held a keen light. He certainly no longer looked like an invalid.

“Hello, Sir John.”

“Mr. Lowden.” Sir John set his quill back into its holder and
regarded him, then nodded toward the armchair in the corner. “Have a seat.”

“No, thank you.” James drew himself up. “Forgive me, but I think it my duty to counsel you against your present course. It can only end in scandal or heartbreak or both.”

Sir John gave him a wry glance. “Your professional powers now extend to matters of the heart?”

The room felt suddenly warm and stifling, but James took a deep breath and reminded himself to remain calm. He said, “Have you asked yourself—or Miss Rogers for that matter—why she has remained?”

“I do not answer to you, Mr. Lowden. Nor does she. But I will tell you that she only planned to wait until her arm healed, and she could find a situation elsewhere.”

“Are you sure that was all she was waiting for? For her arm to heal, so she could find work as someone else’s scullion? When she had tasted the life of a lady?”

Sir John frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“Perhaps she was waiting for you to die, Sir John. I hate to say it so bluntly, but there it is. If you had died, she might have inherited everything, well, she and her son. Why leave for paltry wages elsewhere, when the chance at a great inheritance awaited?”

“I am surprised at you, Mr. Lowden,” Sir John said. “I thought you liked her.”

“I did. I do. But I cannot ignore the possibility.”

Sir John shook his head. “I don’t believe she ever thought of that. Not for herself. If she thought of her son’s future, I cannot blame her.”

“Can you not?” James stared at the man, frustration mounting. “What has happened to you, sir? I begin to doubt you are of sound mind after all. Do you hear yourself? A woman poses as your wife, passes off her by-blow as your son, and you ‘cannot blame her’?”

Sir John’s hand flew out and grabbed James by his cravat, yanking a fistful of linen and jerking his face down to his eye level. “Never say that again, do you hear me? If I ever hear you call the boy such a name again, I will dismiss you instantly, do I make myself clear?”

Stunned, James managed a slight nod and his employer released his grip.

He had overstepped, he knew. And what if Hannah had heard the words he’d just spewed? “Forgive me,” James said. “I ought not to have questioned your competence nor condemned Miss Rogers.” James lowered his voice. “But, sir. Why would you make him your heir? What is he to you? He is not your son.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Lowden. That is exactly what he is. My son. My flesh and blood.
Heir of the body
—my body.”

James Lowden gaped at him, speechless.

Sir John continued, “Why do you think Miss Rogers left our employ in the first place?”

James made no reply. A wave of nausea curdled his stomach and he feared he would be sick.

“It is not something I’m proud of,” Sir John said. “But don’t you see? It is my chance to do something right. To redeem, in a small way, all the wrong I have done.”

James’s mind refused to accept it. “But you said the boy looked nothing like you—you saw no resemblance.”

“To myself, no. But he looks exactly like my brother, Paul.”

“Your brother? Surely you are not suggesting Miss Rogers and your brother—”

Sir John scowled. “Thunder and turf, man. Paul died at sea years ago. I wasn’t suggesting any such thing. Only that when I look at Daniel, I see the picture of my younger brother. Make no mistake, the boy is a Mayfield.”

James shook his head. “Not legally.”

“No, not legally, unless she continues on as Lady Mayfield.”
Sir John crossed his arms over his chest. “You are my solicitor. I’m sure you can find a way to make it work.”

“Not ethically.” James forced out the dreaded question, “Do you mean to marry her?”

“We are already married in the eyes of everyone here.”

James shook his head. “First we must have Marianna declared dead. Then and only then can you marry Miss Rogers legally, if that is what you really intend to do.”

“But then her son could not be my legal heir, if it is known his mother and I were not married at the time of his birth.”

“Not for your entailed property, no. But you have more than sufficient funds should you decide to sponsor him through university or something along those lines.”

“But Miss Rogers would be exposed as a . . . as not being whom others believe she is.”

“Whom she
allowed
others to believe she is,” James clarified. “She may not have started the lie, but she certainly perpetuated it.” Even as he said it, James wondered how he could lash out at the woman who had captured his heart. Was it really only to extricate her from Sir John’s good graces?

His client’s eyes glinted. “How bitter you sound, Mr. Lowden. And here I thought you had feelings for her yourself.”

James made no reply.

“I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” Sir John said, an ironic twist to his mouth. “Women don’t stay with me. No doubt Miss Rogers will prove no different than the rest. She will be looking for her escape any day now and there you will be—ready to rescue her.”

M
ind in turmoil, James went downstairs and found Hannah alone in the drawing room, staring out the window at yet another coastal storm. For a moment he stood there gazing
at her profile, remembering how his heart and body had burned when he’d seen her step from her bath, when she’d touched his face, and when her pupils had darkened and dilated after he’d promised to one day kiss all her freckles. . . . Now his heart cooled and he tasted ashes in his mouth.

He cleared his throat. “Hannah . . . em, Miss Rogers.”

She turned and looked at him. For several ticks of the long-case clock she studied him in silence. His shock and worry must have shown in his expression, because she whispered, “He told you then?”