Hannah wistfully shook her head. “He probably wants nothing to do with me, now that he’s free and clear of Marianna and the whole rotten scandal. I will likely deliver Becky and return empty-handed.”
“I doubt that.”
“I don’t know. But if there is any chance with Sir John, I have to try.”
“No, you don’t.”
“James, please...” She reached for him, but then thought the better of touching him. Of playing with fire. The embers were still there, just beneath the ashes.
She said, “I saw you at the stocks. Your expression. Your distance. And I understood. You must avoid scandal, and that’s what I am. A child born out of wedlock. Impersonation. Bigamy.”
“You had nothing to do with that—”
“I know. But I am a link to all of it. You want to build your practice. Of course you do. And I cannot help you in that. I can only hurt you. If you married me, I would live to see your admiration fade into resentment and regret.”
His face contorted in frustration, and perhaps grief. Though not, she knew, denial.
“But, Hannah,” he protested. “I want to be with you. I could not bear to never touch you again....” He ran his hands up her arms, prickling her skin into gooseflesh. “Don’t go yet. Stay and give me a chance. Give us a chance.”
For one moment, she hesitated. But then Marianna’s duplicitous face appeared in her mind’s eye and her stomach soured.
Drawing a deep breath, she stepped away from him. “No, James. I will not.”
He shook his head, anger flashing in his eyes. “Tell the truth, Hannah. Your concern for my practice, or even for Daniel, is not the real reason you refuse me, is it? You prefer Sir John.”
She allowed her silence to answer for her. She was attracted to James, it was true. But she loved Sir John and had for a long time.
James ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Then what am I to do? Soldier on, and try to pretend there is nothing between us? Carry on as Sir John’s solicitor as though I am not aching to take you in my arms every moment?”
She looked into his eyes, and exhaled a deep breath. “Then perhaps it is time Sir John engaged a new solicitor.”
Chapter30
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. Onlythen 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.
