She crossed the room to him. “It is not your personal business. He knew it would affect me if she is alive. You know it as well. But don’t do it, Sir John. Do not try to divorce Marianna—especially on my account. I have enough strikes against me already.”
“If I do pursue this course,” he replied. “It would not be your fault, Hannah. Not everything is your fault. And surely not Marianna faking her death so she might live in peace with her paramour.”
“We don’t even know yet that it is true. And perhaps if she is alive, she has been unable to return, or at least to get word to you. . . .”
He shot her a withering look. “Oh please, Hannah. You cannot be so naïve. You know her too well to believe that.”
No, she did not fully believe it. “But . . . divorce? So much time and expense and scandal, with no guarantee of success. And for what? To compound our sins?”
His eyes roamed her face, then held her troubled gaze. “For our freedom.”
“If your wife is alive, then I cannot in good conscience remain any longer.” She turned. “We shall leave on the morrow.”
He reached out and grasped her arm. “Hannah, please. Stay with me. You know Marianna has never been a real a wife to me. Should I be condemned to live married yet alone all my days? Is that what I deserve?”
“No, Sir John. This is not your punishment. Perhaps it is mine, but not yours. You deserve better. And I will hope and pray that Marianna will see the error of her ways and come back to you. Be the wife you deserve.”
“You know that will never happen.” His hand on her arm trembled. “Look, I know I cannot marry you here, not now. But this needn’t be the end of us. We can go to another of my properties. Live together as man and wife.” His eyes blazed. “Why do you shake your head?”
Hannah took a shuddering breath, and said as resolutely as she could, “Sir John. I cannot be your mistress. I cannot! I know I have made mistakes. But that doesn’t mean I have no sense of right and wrong, no self-respect.”
“I know that, Hannah. And I do respect you.”
She mustered a small smile. “I am afraid I have been spoiled by my time here. I’m no longer satisfied with pretending to be your wife. I want a husband of my own. I want my son to grow up in a real family.”
He nodded and his voice grew hoarse. “That’s what I want, too.”
Tears brightened his eyes, but he stoically blinked them away. It was nearly her undoing.
Before her resolve weakened, she turned to the door, but he snagged her hand once more.
“Hannah, I won’t press you. But don’t leave. Not yet. You are right that we don’t yet know if these rumors are true. It’s only that I can so easily believe it of her. But did not Edgar and Dr. Parrish witness her drowning? We, neither of us, ought to make decisions based on one sighting. At a masquerade, no less. Stay. Please. At least until we hear from Mr. Lowden.”
She hesitated. “Very well. Though I’m not promising to stay after that regardless. And if he finds evidence that she is alive, I will have no choice but to leave immediately.”
—
They spent the days that followed in a tenuous truce—living as polite acquaintances but no more. Only with Danny did Sir John demonstrate care and affection, as though he knew or feared that every day with his son might be his last.
A week later, a letter arrived for Sir John. With lurching heart, Hannah recognized the handwriting and carried it up to Sir John herself. Seated at his desk, he looked from it, up to her, perhaps tempted to ask her to leave, to read it in private and then decide whether or not to share its contents. Hannah stood before the desk and folded her arms, daring him to protest.
Instead, he uttered a humph and pried open the seal.
He read the brief letter, then exhaled deeply. “He has not found her. Nor discovered solid evidence of her presence in either Bath or London. He is returning to Bristol and will continue his inquiries there.”
He handed her the letter, and she read the words herself. Was it so wrong of her to be relieved? Then the last paragraph caught her attention:
Mr. Fontaine has been seen in London, but rumor has it that he has recently become engaged to marry a Miss Fox-Garwood, an heiress. I will write again when I have more to report.
Hannah recalled how grieved Anthony Fontaine had been when he’d come there and learned Marianna had drowned. Apparently his grief had not lasted long. Surely if Marianna were still alive, he would not become engaged to another woman. But then again, Lady Mayfield’s marriage had not hindered their affair. . . .
“Now will you stay?” Sir John asked.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Took a deep breath. “No. I’ve stayed far too long as it is. Until all this is settled, I think it best we part ways.”
He laid a hand on her arm. She was tempted to lay hers atop his, but resisted.
“Then you stay—I’ll leave,” he said briskly, releasing her, and rising with effort. “I’ve been thinking about returning to Bristol anyway.”
“Have you—why?” Hannah asked in surprise. Was he returning to help Mr. Lowden in his search, she wondered. Or to keep her from going off with his solicitor?
“Dr. Parrish recommends a great deal of physical exercise to increase my strength. I have a friend in Bristol who owns a gymnasium and fencing academy. . . .”
Yes, Hannah vividly recalled.
“He has replied to my letter and promises to put me through my paces,” Sir John went on. “If I am to face Marianna and Fontaine again—I want to be whole and strong when I do so.”
“I see.” She hesitated. “But even so, I cannot remain here. I have no right. We shall make other arrangements. I’m sure Mrs. Turrill will help us.”
“You have every right, in my view. But if you must leave, keep us informed of your direction. I have instructed Mr. Lowden to send money—”
“Sir John, I already told you I don’t want any.”
“Hear me out. You needn’t use it for yourself if you prefer not to accept anything from me. But you cannot deny me the right to provide for my son. Please . . . don’t deny me that.”
She hesitated, stilled by his earnest appeal. “Very well.”
“And take my copy of Sir Charles Grandison, since yours was lost. I insist.”
“Thank you, I should like that. When will you depart?”
“On the morrow. But no need to hurry. Take your time packing your things and making arrangements. Even stay on if you change your mind. Just promise me you’ll let Mr. Lowden know of any changes in your residence so he will know where to send the monthly stipend for Daniel’s upkeep.”
She said, “I don’t know that I will be seeing Mr. Lowden.”
“Oh . . .” He drew out the syllable, eyes glinting. “Somehow I think you will.”
CHAPTER 23
Sir John, with Ben’s eager help, made quick work of packing a valise of clothing and another of his books and papers. Hannah took a respite from her own packing and went down to bid him farewell. She stood near the door, Danny in her arms, as he descended the stairs, his cane in one hand, holding carefully to the handrail with the other. Seeing them, Sir John hesitated, grimacing, as though the sight of them disappointed or embarrassed him, and she regretted her decision to see him off.
He slowly crossed the vestibule, disguising his limp as best he could, his eyes trained on her face all the while. She held her breath. What did he intend to do? His stiff mouth and intense gaze revealed little—did he mean to deliver some sharp warning, or a passionate kiss? He stepped closer, then nearer yet, too close for formality or to offer a polite bow. She felt torn between backing up a step or leaning in. He looked into her eyes, then leaned down, farther and farther. Past her lips, her neck, her chest. Only then, did she realize his intention. He pressed a kiss not to her face, but to Danny’s. Then, with a gentle finger, he wiped it away.
He turned and left the house without a word. Throat tight, she turned to the window, and watched him walk toward the hired chaise, leaning heavily on his cane.
Hannah returned to her packing, and found herself surprisingly ill at ease to be in the house now that Sir John had left it. She took her few belongings and only those things of Marianna’s she had altered to fit her or couldn’t do without. She finished with her own room an hour or so later, and then went downstairs to collect the book and her needlework from the drawing room. When a knock sounded at the front door, she started, a heavy sense of foreboding falling over her. A triple knock—rap, rap, rap—at a leisurely pace. Hannah’s heart knocked against her ribs in reply.
“I’ll answer it, Mrs. Turrill,” Hannah called, setting aside her things and going to the door.
Hand on the latch, Hannah shut her eyes and silently prayed, Dear God in heaven. I deserve whatever happens to me, but please protect my son. She opened the door.
There she stood. Marianna Spencer Mayfield. In the flesh, and very much alive. At first glance, she looked as bright and beautiful as ever, gaily dressed in a purple cape and glimmering golden-yellow gown beneath.
Marianna smiled archly. “Surprise.”
Hannah felt as though she faced a firing squad. Her throat was impossibly dry. “Hel-lo.”
“Come now, Hannah. You’re not going to pretend you don’t recognize me?” One penciled brow rose in part amusement, part challenge.
“Won’t you come in?” Hannah asked woodenly, and stepped back from the door.
Marianna hesitated, her smile fading. “Is he here?”
Hannah shook her head. “He just left.”
She sighed. “Good. I’ll need a drink before I face him.”
For some reason Hannah didn’t correct her misapprehension that Sir John had merely stepped out and would return soon.
Marianna strode into the drawing room and flopped down on the sofa. Hannah sat on the edge of a chair nearby. At closer inspection, she saw that Marianna had applied cosmetics with a heavy hand, her skin beneath lacking its former brilliancy and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes appeared deeper than she recalled. Her teeth were duller, stained from perhaps tea or tobacco. Her dress where the cape gapped was creased and showed signs of wear. The shoes peeping out from beneath were scuffed. The last two months had clearly been hard on her.
Marianna asked, “Are you surprised to see me?”
Hannah swallowed her panic and murmured, “Uh . . . yes.”
“And not happy about it apparently. No joyful reunion for your old friend, back from the dead?”
Hannah faltered, “But your body . . . your cloak. Dr. Parrish and his son saw you. . . .”
“No. They saw my red cape tied around a piece of wooden wreckage and shoved out to sea. It worked quite well I thought. I hid behind the rocks and then made my way north after nightfall. Very clever of me, was it not?”
Hannah slowly shook her head. “We heard a rumor you’d been seen in London. But we didn’t think you’d return here.”
Again, one brow arched. “Hoped I would not, I think you mean.” Marianna leaned back. “Might I have that drink now?”
“Oh. Of course.” Hannah rose and stepped to the decanter on the side table, removing the stopper and pouring a glass of Madeira with unsteady hands.
While her back was turned, Hannah said, “Mr. Fontaine came here looking for you, soon after the accident. He was distraught.”
“Yes. We had quite a passionate reunion, I can tell you. For a few days, a week. But not a fortnight had passed before things changed between us.”
Hannah turned and carried the glass to her. “And where is he now?”
Marianna waved a dismissive hand, then accepted the glass. “You know how it is with men. Once they can have a woman anytime they want, all the mystery is gone. The thrill of the chase disappears and then, so does he.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“Are you? Yes, I imagine you are.” Marianna took a long drink. “After Anthony joined me, he and I hid away in Wales for a time. Expecting any moment for Sir John or a constable to come knocking, looking for us. But no one ever came. I think Anthony liked the excitement and adventure of living on the run. But that feeling didn’t last.”
She looked down at her ragged fingernails. “He liked being with me when it was forbidden. Stolen moments. Secrets. Not a nagging wife, day after day, with a child on the way. It turns out he had little interest in becoming a father.” She drained her glass.
Hannah glanced at Marianna’s flat abdomen and concluded she had lost the child, but was afraid to ask.
Marianna glanced up, eyes flinty. “I assumed I had been declared dead. That my plot had worked and that was why no one came looking for me. Anthony was angry with me. He thought I should have stayed in case Sir John did not recover. He derided me for giving up my widow’s jointure. Money we could have lived on quite well. I told him no matter. If Sir John died, I would simply declare I had been lost at sea, lost my memory, and only recently realized who I was and return the grieving widow to reclaim what was rightfully mine. Though I reminded Anthony that Sir John had threatened to change his will and cut me off with only my jointure. But Anthony assured me it was all bluster. Another maneuver meant to force me into submission. In the end it did not matter, for Sir John did recover. Lived to spite me, no doubt.”
She lifted her glass, and Hannah rose to refill it.
“Anthony and I got bored in the rustics and decided to try life in London—big anonymous London. Of course by the time we arrived, the season was all but over. Thankfully, some not enamored with country life remained in town and we were able to find some amusement. We stayed away from the finest places I had frequented in the past. We found lodgings in an unfashionable area to be safe. But that soon lost its appeal as well.
“Finally we became brazen and decided to attend a masquerade being held by a casual acquaintance. Where we might enjoy all the fine food, wine, and company we were missing, without fear of exposure. It took me ages to get ready with no proper lady’s maid to assist me. Anthony lost patience and said he was going to his club and would find me at the ball later. We would meet like two masked strangers and flirt and seduce one another as though for the first time. So I arrived at the ball alone. I did enjoy myself for a while. Such august company. Such charming costumes and happy music. I began to look for Anthony, expecting any moment for him to appear at my elbow, declare me the most intriguing creature in the room and beg to dance with me, or to take my hand and lead me into some shadowy corner to steal a kiss. . . . But he did not find me. I began to fear he did not recognize me, for he had left before I had donned my mask. So, in desperation or boredom, I became more brazen yet and lifted my mask, hoping he would glimpse my face and rush to my side. Someone did come to greet me, but it was not Anthony. It was a blond officer I vaguely recognized though I could not have said from where or what his name might be. I slipped my mask back into place, fearing I had been caught. Fearing everyone would now know Marianna Mayfield was alive after all.
“Instead he said, quite merrily, ‘Why, Lady Mayfield, I believe. I am surprised to see you here.’
“I panicked for a moment, then reminded myself it was a masquerade ball. He could not prove who I was by one glimpse of my face. So I decided to brush him off. Still I was surprised that he did not seem shocked I was alive, only that I was in attendance. Anthony had told me there had been no announcement of my death in the papers, but until that moment I hadn’t believed him.
“I said to the man, ‘I don’t know whom you are referring to, my good sir.’
“But he surprised me. He did not make a scene or go on about my being alive and did I not know everyone thought I was dead? Instead he smiled and said, ‘Never fear, my lady. I shall not let on you are here. I imagine life in Devonshire must be tires
ome. An acquaintance of mine, Mr. Lowden, has spent time there with Sir John and says it’s a remote place. Very rustic. Nothing as civilized as this.’
“Mr. Lowden—that name I did recall. My husband’s solicitor. An older gentleman who thought the world of me, I can tell you. Probably summoned to revise John’s will.”
Marianna swirled the golden liquid in her glass. “My mind was quite in a whirl, as you can imagine. Had he not heard about the crash? That I was missing if not assumed dead? I wondered if someone had seen me leaving the scene of the accident. I said casually, ‘Oh? Does Mr. Lowden not care for Devonshire?’
“The man replied, ‘I don’t say that. He was loath to go in the first place. And leave his practice. But I think he was impressed. I know he was impressed with you, Lady Mayfield.’
“What was this? Mr. Lowden had seen me in Devonshire? I was not believed missing or dead, but was rather alive and living in the West Country? I felt quite shocked, I can tell you. I tried to laugh it off and figure out how such a misunderstanding had happened. I said, ‘Come, you must tell me what Mr. Lowden said about me. I’m afraid I was . . . not very . . . kind to him?’
“The officer chuckled and replied, ‘Lowden admitted you were not what he was expecting. But he said nothing critical, I assure you. In fact, he said you were secretive, but charming, and had the most darling little boy.’”
Marianna widened her eyes. “Imagine my surprise. Not only was I not dead or even missing, but I was charming and had a darling boy in Devonshire.”
She ran her gaze over Hannah. “I did not think of you—not at first. For surely my most loyal companion would not be party to such a hoax. Even so, I asked him how my companion fared. He looked at me strangely and said, ‘Do you jest? Or did I hear it wrong? I am sure Lowden mentioned that your lady’s companion drowned in the accident.’”
Marianna held up her pointer finger. “Ah . . . then I realized. I was not missing and assumed dead. You were.” She clicked her tongue. “I must say, Hannah, I am impressed. Quite a little plot you’ve pulled off here in my absence. I guess your years with me taught you something after all.”