“I imagine to exclude you from it. To eliminate any benefit to you were he to suddenly perish throughaccidentalmeans.”
“You are not suggesting I would do anything to harm Sir John?”
“Can you deny you have hurt him gravely already?”
“Not physically. Never that. You cannot believe ... anyone ... would do such a thing.”
“I think he believed it possible. Perhaps even feared that very thing. That you or Mr. Fontaine would be tempted to rid the world of the only man who stood between you.”
She stared at him, thinking of Mr. Fontaine’s threatening letter. Was it possible? Had Mr. Fontaine and Marianna contemplated such a thing? Surely no one could have manipulated that carriage crash.
“I don’t believe it,” she murmured.
“Here. Read Sir John’s letter yourself.”
Curious, she accepted the letter, carrying it to the window to read in better light.
Dear Mr. Lowden,
Allow me to express my deepest condolences on your father’s passing. He was the best of men, and it was my privilege to call him advisor and friend these many years.You and I are not well acquainted, but your father had every confidence in your abilities, and therefore, so have I. I hope you will carry on as my solicitor in his stead.
There are a few matters I wish to discuss with you. Unfortunately, circumstances are such that I have decided we must quit Bath immediately and cannot come to your offices before we depart. I hope you will do me the honor of traveling to meet me at your convenience once your own affairs—and your father’s—are settled and your deepest mourning past. I have told no one else where we are going and of course Lady Mayfield does not know for reasons that should be evident if your father apprised you of my situation. If he has not, suffice it to say, my wife has carried on a relationship with a Mr. Anthony Fontaine, a bad connection which was, to my grief, not severed at our marriage nor when we moved from Bristol to Bath. The man has followed, and I know full well, will try to follow again. To complicate matters, Lady Mayfield is expecting a child.
For the time being, we shall relocate to Clifton, a house I inherited but have never before occupied. I’m sure all the details are in your father’s records, but in simple terms, the property is located in Devonshire, 12 miles west of Porlock, between Countisbury and the twin villages of Lynton & Lynmouth. The house is just south of the Cliff Road before the descent into Lynmouth. If you have any trouble, note that we are neighbors to a well-known physician, Dr. George Parrish. Inquiring of his residence will lead you to ours.
To keep our destination quiet, I have decided not to bring along any of our present servants, who might understandably wish to allow relatives and friends to know where they were going. We shall hire new staff in Devonshire. The property manager, our neighbor’s grown son, will engage minimal staff to sufficiently ready the house for our arrival.
When you come, I wish to revise my will, among other things, so please bring along whatever documents are necessary to accomplish this. Of course, I will compensate you for your time and reimburse your traveling expenses. Do not consider lodging. The house has several spare rooms and you are more than welcome to stay with us during your visit.
Until then, I depend upon your discretion and remain,
Sir John Mayfield, KCB
“He says nothing about fearing for his life,” Hannah observed. “What a vile imagination you have.”
Though what Sir John had written was condemning enough, Hannah secretly allowed. No wonder James Lowden looked at her the way he did. She had to remind herself he did not seeher, he saw or thought he saw Marianna—unfaithful, manipulative, selfish Marianna. The woman who broke his client’s heart and, perhaps, intended to do him some fatal harm, though Hannah doubted the woman capable of such evil. Mr. Fontaine? She did not know him well enough to judge. Yet, had not desire and jealousy driven men to violent acts throughout history? Oh yes.
She detested the thought of Mr. Lowden holding such a low opinion of her. But what could she do? Was the truth of who she was and what she had done any better?
Mrs. Turrill came down the stairs, Danny in her arms and a doting smile on her face.
“Here’s your mamma, little man.”
Handing the letter back to Mr. Lowden, Hannah crossed the room to take Danny. The housekeeper settled the child in the crook of her good arm.
Mrs. Turrill whispered, “Hope you don’t mind. Becky is not herself this morning. Has awful cramps. I’ve got her bundled up in bed with a hot-water bottle.”
“No trouble at all, Mrs. Turrill. I never mind having Danny with me.”
“That’s what I thought. You’re a good mother you are, my lady.” She said this with a pointed glance at the solicitor, before retreating belowstairs.
Mr. Lowden rose and took a few steps nearer. “This is your son?”
“Yes. This is Daniel.”
He studied the little face with a critical eye. “He looks like you.” Mr. Lowden sent her a sidelong glance. “Does he also look like his father?”
She weighed the implications of the question, but thought it wisest to say nothing.
