“Yes. A gamble that could cost her dearly if she ends up being tried in a criminal court. Bigamy is a serious offense, punishable by fines, imprisonment, or transportation.”
“Surely it won’t come to that.”
“Women often receive lighter sentences, but it is possible.”
Hannah felt as though someone had let the air from her lungs like a punctured balloon. She weakly lowered herself onto a chair. The warmth of their kiss evaporated into a chill.
She closed her eyes and murmured a mournful, “Oh, Sir John...”
James rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. Even I feel sorry for him.”
“What does he plan to do?”
“He is first seeking an annulment through the ecclesiastical court on the grounds of fraud.”
“Will he succeed?”
Mouth tight, James turned away. “With both Fontaine and the coachman willing to testify, I think it a foregone conclusion.”
She looked at his tense profile, his averted eyes, and said quietly, “No wonder you didn’t wish to tell me....”
“I did try—”
She held up a placating palm. “I know you did. I don’t blame you for ... anything.” She forced a feeble chuckle. “I am rather surprised you told me at all.”
“I admit I was tempted to wait. Perhaps even to suggest anelopement of our own, before you heard the news from someone else. But I—”
“You are too honorable for that,” she finished for him.
“Am I?” He took her hand. “In any case, I am still tempted to press my suit. But I will give you time to absorb the news first. May I call again?”
“Yes, of course.”
Yet long after James left the house, Hannah remained in that chair. Revisiting scenes from the past through the lens of this new revelation.
She recalled little things Lady Mayfield had said, things Hannah had attributed to Marianna’s general disappointment with Sir John, like,“I wish Anthony would do something—end this farce of a marriage once and for all.”
It had never crossed Hannah’s mind that Marianna’s marriage to Sir John really was a farce—and worse—a fraud. No wonder Mr. Fontaine had been devastated by news of Marianna’s “death.” She was his wife.
Other little snippets of their conversations came back to her. The teasing. The double entendres. Marianna coyly asking,“And how is Mrs. Fontaine tonight?”And his suggestive replies that had always made Hannah feel left out of some private joke:“You tell me.”Or,“My dear wife is at home and plans to go to bed early....”
The two of them had slyly referred to Marianna as “Mrs. Fontaine” right in front of Hannah, and she had never guessed. Whowouldguess such a detestable thing possible?
Finally, Hannah rose wearily and went back upstairs to her room, her heart aching for Sir John Mayfield all over again.
The next day, Hannah paced her small bedchamber, walking a fussy Danny back and forth across its length, rocking and shushing him. Becky had already tried and given up. Still Hannahkept trying, because Mrs. Hurst did not approve of crying babies. Perhaps Hannah ought to have accepted her father’s offer to move home, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. Nor was she eager to flaunt her illegitimate child before his congregation.
A knock sounded on her bedchamber door and Hannah stiffened. She crossed the room to answer it, anticipating a reprimand.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Hurst. Danny—”
The woman interrupted her. “There’s a gentleman to see you.”
Hannah’s heart skipped a beat. Was it Sir John? She told herself to stop being foolish. Danny, she noticed, popped a fist into his mouth and silently stared at Mrs. Hurst, tears still clinging to his long lashes. He didn’t like the woman either.
“Here’s his card,” Mrs. Hurst said, extending it toward her. “A solicitor. You’re not in any trouble, I trust?”
“Oh.” She glanced at James’s card. “No.”
