“Not ever, if I have my way.” She gave a little giggle.
“Becky, be careful. The Parrishes have been very kind to us.”
“What has that to say to anything? Mrs. Parrish don’t approve of Nancy. It’s plain as day she don’t. So who’s to say they’ll marry?”
Mrs. Parrish doesn’t approve of anyone, Hannah thought. But she said only, “Becky, we shall not be staying here much longer. Don’t go forming attachments that cannot last.”
Perhaps she ought to take her own advice, Hannah thought, for she was already fond of Dr. Parrish and Mrs. Turrill, and knew both of them doted on her. She hated the fact that she would soon disillusion them, disappoint them, and sink in their estimations. Yet would it not become only more difficult the longer she allowed this act to go on? Oh, if only her arm would heal so she could leave. But Dr. Parrish thought it might take six weeks to heal fully and two had barely passed. Even then, would she really just steal away with Danny and Becky without a word of explanation to anyone? How Dr. Parrish and dear Mrs. Turrill would worry. Probably even gather a search party. No. At the very least she would need to leave behind a letter, explaining. Apologizing. And hope they might understand and somehow forgive her.
Yet a letter seemed so cowardly. How much better to come out with it, to explain, to admit she had been wrong, and hope they could see that her motive had not been self-gain, but the preservation of her child. How Mrs. Parrish would gloat and rail. Edgar would be hurt, as would his father. Mrs. Turrill? She had no idea how the kindly woman might react, but somehow Hannah thought she would be the most understanding of them all. At least she hoped she would be.
After wrestling with her thoughts all morning, Hannah madeher decision. She would confess all to Dr. Parrish. She hoped to catch him in the hall, but by the time she gathered her courage, she heard the door to Sir John’s bedchamber open and close. Taking a deep breath, she left her room and walked across the landing. She knocked and let herself in.
Dr. Parrish was bent low, ear pressed to Sir John’s chest, listening. He glanced up when she entered.
Hannah grimaced in apology and waited near the door. From there, Sir John looked much the same as he had before, his eyes still closed.
A few moments later, Dr. Parrish lifted his head and straightened. “Good day, my lady. Come to see how Sir John fares this afternoon?” He turned to search for something in his medical bag. When she made no reply, nor moved to join him at the bedside, he looked at her over his shoulder. “Did you need something?”
She licked dry lips, heart pounding.
He turned to face her, expression concerned, clearly sensing her anxiety. “Is everything all right?”
“No.” She swallowed and shook her head. “Dr. Parrish, I need to tell you something.”
He tucked his chin. “Oh?”
She clasped her hands tightly. “Do you remember finding us—Sir John and me—in the overturned carriage? Rescuing us?”
“Of course I remember. Far better than you do, I imagine.” He smiled.
“Yes, of course. But do you remember when you first called me ‘Lady Mayfield’?”
His brow puckered in thought. “I don’t recall exactly. Though I know I did call down to you to let you know Edgar and I were there to help.”
“Yes. You see, you kindly assumed that I was Lady Mayfield, when I...”
Her words fell away. Her breath hitched. She stared past Dr. Parrish into the eyes of Sir John Mayfield.
“When you were ... what?” Dr. Parrish prompted kindly.
But Hannah could not remove her gaze from Sir John’s. She grasped the doctor’s arm. “His eyes are open.”
He whirled toward the bed.
“My goodness. You’re right! Welcome back, Sir John.” Dr. Parrish stepped forward, then turned his head. “My lady, I wonder if you would be so good as to introduce us?”
“Oh.” Hannah hesitated. “Of course. Sir John, may I present Dr. George Parrish, who has been caring for you since the accident. Dr. Parrish, Sir John Mayfield.”
“How do you do, sir?” Dr. Parrish smiled, but she noticed how his eyes roved his patient’s face, gauging his reaction. There wasn’t one, at least nothing she could see.
“If I may, Sir John, I am going to take your hand.” The doctor did so. “If you are able, please squeeze my hand in return.”
Sir John’s eyes did not move to follow the doctor’s movements. They seemed fixed on her—or was he merely staring blindly in her direction? She wanted to move away from that disconcerting, blank gaze, but felt rooted to the spot.
Apparently Sir John did not perform the doctor’s request.
“That’s all right. There’s plenty of time for that later. We are very happy to see you open your eyes. You have been, shall we say, asleep, for nearly a fortnight.”
