Someone knocked sharply at her door. She jumped and quickly hid the letter under the blotter.
“Lady Mayfield?” Dr. Parrish’s voice. “It’s Sir John. His eyes are open again. He seems more responsive.”
Dread snaked down her spine and pooled in her stomach. Why had she not confessed to Dr. Parrish before? She stood on shaky legs and opened her door. “He’s awake?”
“Come and see.”
He gestured for her to precede him across the passage with such hope in his eyes. Every instinct told her to flee, to turn and run the other way. To gather Danny and Becky and leave Clifton that very moment before Sir John could denounce her. Instead, she numbly allowed Dr. Parrish to usher her into the sickroom. To her unveiling.
Again, the chamber nurse excused herself. Much as before, Sir John’s eyes were open and vaguely focused.
“Good. His eyes are still open,” the physician began. “I am not certain if he is fully sensible or not. He has yet to speak, but he did seem agitated when I first arrived.”
Hannah fisted her good hand, nails pricking her palm. She would have remained several feet from the bed had Dr. Parrish not gently urged her forward.
“Here she is, Sir John. Here is your wife. You see she is well. Nothing to worry about save getting better yourself.”
Hannah’s throat tightened. Sir John’s gaze shifted to her, and her heart pounded. She pressed a damp hand to her abdomen and told herself to breathe.
She would try to explain. Not to excuse herself, but to apologize.
He stared at her with eyes a changeable silvery blue, like a deep, cold lake. A flicker of a frown tinged his brow, then passed as quickly as it had come. Displeasure, confusion, or both?
She held herself stiffly, every muscle tense, waiting for him to scowl and say, “She is not my wife.”
“Come, my lady,” Dr. Parrish urged. “Come and speak to him.”
She faltered. “I ... I don’t know what to say. Why does he not speak?”
“Perhaps he cannot. His brain is not yet fully recovered. Perhaps he is still fighting to regain his memory as you did. Encourage him. Remind him who he is. Who you are.”
What different words she would have spoken had Dr. Parrish not been standing there—confession, begging forgiveness, for secrecy until she might steal away ...
“You are Sir John Mayfield,” she began instead. “Lately of Bath and before that Bristol. Do you remember Bath? The lovely house in Camden Place? And Bristol—the house on Great George Street? That was where I first became acquainted with your ... household.”
He only stared at her dully.
“Remind him who you are,” Dr. Parrish whispered.
She hesitated. “And of course you know me,” she uttered feebly. The words “I am your wife” or “I am Marianna, Lady Mayfield,” refused to come. She felt that if she forced out those words, she would lose her breakfast in the bargain.
Dr. Parrish leaned nearer Sir John. “And of course you know this is Lady Mayfield, your wife.”
Sir John’s eyes moved slowly from her face to the doctor’s without change in expression.
The doctor turned back to her. “Tell him about Danny, how he fares, that he is here....”
“Oh.” She swallowed. Must she? Sir John didn’t even know of the child. “Y-yes. You see, I have returned to Bath and collected little Daniel and his nurse. I was so relieved to find him.”
Feeling Dr. Parrish’s stunned gaze on her profile, she hastened to add, “In good health. To find him in good health and faring well. I am so thankful he is here with me, with us, once again. Mrs. Turrill has taken quite a liking to him, but then, you are not yet acquainted with our housekeeper, so I will say no more of her for now.”
How inane she was! Her mind felt as unfocused as Sir John’s glassy stare.
“Perhaps we should bring in wee Danny to see his father?”
She hesitated once more. “Um ... he is napping at present. Perhaps another time.”
“Ah, yes. I’m afraid we have tired Sir John as it is.” He patted the man’s arm. “You rest now, sir. And don’t worry. The human brain is a marvelous thing, and you will no doubt be right as a trivet in no time. And when you are, your wife and son will be here to welcome you back.”
