Marianna’s mouth twisted. “I miscarried the child. Are you saying that was my fault? Had I stayed, I would not have lost her?”
Hannah was taken aback by the bitter anguish in her voice. “No. I’m not saying that. I’m sorry. I am only saying that Sir John would have stood by you either way.”
Marianna regarded her through narrowed eyes. “How highly you esteem him. Almost as if you had fallen in love with him.”
Hannah made no answer.
Lady Mayfield looked about the room, then asked, “Where is this supposed child of mine? Yours, I assume. You left us to bear a child in secret, is that it? I thought you were gaining weight but was too polite to mention it. I hope the father was not Mr. Ward.” She shuddered. “I saw the way the odious man looked at you. Oh, I know! That young man I saw pursuing you the day we left Bath.” She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “And here I thought you so innocent. Sitting in judgment of me and Mr. Fontaine.”
“I never said a word about the two of you. Never.”
“Oh, but your face did. Like a wan Madonna in a dreary oil painting—such long-suffering disappointment. What a hypocrite you are.”
Marianna leaned back in the chair, putting a hand on each of its arms as though a queen on her throne. “And so here you are,” she said, “trying to pass off your baseborn child as Sir John’s son and rightful heir? That’s incredible. Is John out of his mind? Still insensible that you’ve got away with it this long?”
Hannah’s ire rose. “Why should you care? Do you mean to return, to be his wife?”
“In name, at least.”
Hannah stood. “If you are in earnest, then you have come to the wrong place. Sir John has returned to Bristol. And I plan to leave this house this very day.”
Marianna slowly shook her head, brown eyes glinting. “Oh no, my dear Hannah. You shall not get off so easily. I want to see you explain all of this to your neighbors and to the servants and to Mr. Lowden. I want to see you squirm, and then I want to see you pay. They do have magistrates in this godforsaken place, I take it?”
Mrs. Turrill breezed in, wiping her hands on her apron. “Here I am. Pardon my delay.” She eyed their visitor warily before returning her gaze to Hannah. “May I bring the two of you some refreshment, my lady?”
Hannah felt the final two words pierce her like arrows, and fleetingly wondered how Marianna must feel to hear the woman address her by the title.
She hesitated to reply, but Marianna showed no such reluctance. A feline smile curved her features as she looked from Hannah to the housekeeper. “Yes, I think refreshments would be lovely, thank you. Mrs....?”
The housekeeper stared at Marianna. “Turrill.”
“Hannah, my dear friend,” Marianna said, “won’t you introduce me?”
Hannah felt sick but complied, lifting a limp hand toward Marianna. “Mrs. Turrill, this is Lady Mayfield. Sir John’s wife.”
Hannah risked a glance at Mrs. Turrill. The woman stared at Marianna, eyes wide, mouth slack. She shifted an uncertain glance toward Hannah, and Hannah nodded, her mouth downturned in apology.
For a moment, no one moved or spoke. The pendulum clock punctuated the silence. Tick, tick, tick.
Finally, Marianna prompted, “The refreshments, Mrs. Turrill?”
“Oh. Right.”
The housekeeper turned, but at that moment, another knock sounded at the side door. The familiar double knock of Dr. Parrish. Hannah’s heart fell. Dear Dr. Parrish! How she hated to hurt him. But it was inevitable now. Perhaps it always had been.
“Shall I let him in?” The housekeeper directed the question to Hannah.
“Yes,” she sighed, resigned. It was all over now.
Marianna turned to her, brows high. “Who?”
“Our neighbor, Dr. Parrish.”
Marianna’s face became more animated yet. “Yes, by all means, invite him in. The party is just beginning.”
Or the funeral, Hannah grimly thought.
She sat stiffly and listened as Mrs. Turrill’s half boots clicked over the polished floor. She heard the door latch open and then, horror of horrors, Mrs. Parrish’s voice as well as the doctor’s.Oh no.... Not her. Not now.
