Good heavens. She realized she had said, “with Lady Mayfield gone.” Was this the first he was hearing of his wife’s fate? This was not the way to break the news, bound up in her own confession. But it was too late now. And who else besides her would tell him his wife was dead?
“Yes. I am sorry to have to tell you—Lady Mayfield perished in the accident. Dr. Parrish doesn’t think she suffered.” Lacking the courage to meet his gaze, she closed the book and arose. “Well. Again, I am sorry. Sorry for your loss. For everything.”
She turned and quit the room, knowing it was only a matter of time until he regained the power of speech and ordered her to leave. Or worse.
Mr. Lowden would surely return to Bristol soon. He couldn’t abandon his practice for long. And when he did, she would depart as well. If she left now, the solicitor might suspect what she had done and send someone after her. She thought again of the two women they had seen in the village stocks and shivered, knowing she would pay a high price for her deceit.
The next day, James Lowden entered Sir John Mayfield’s bedchamber, closing the door behind him. He stepped towardhis employer’s bed, not feeling as charitable toward the man as he should.
Sir John watched him approach, recognition flickering in his eyes. Evidently he was more sensible than during James’s earlier visits to his bedside.
“Good morning, Sir John. How are you feeling today?”
The man lifted a limp hand in a weak, so-so gesture.
James said, “As you are not yet able to discuss your wishes regarding your will, I think I ought to return to Bristol for a few days and take care of things there. But if you wish me to remain, I shall.”
Again the man lifted his hand, this time in a wave of dismissal.
“You are ... comfortable ... being alone here—well, not alone exactly, but without me to watch out for you and your affairs?”
Sir John nodded.
“Of course, Dr. Parrish is here daily, as is Mrs. Turrill. An excellent woman,” James said. “I have asked the good doctor to send word as soon as you regain the ability to speak or write your wishes. I will return by week’s end either way.”
Again, the slight nod.
James gave a cursory bow and turned to go. Hand on the door latch, he looked back over his shoulder. “I wish you a speedy recovery.”
It wasn’t completely true.
James had nothing against his employer, but a part of him wanted a little more time alone with Lady Mayfield. He had enjoyed their conversations in relative privacy, which would evaporate if and when her husband regained his mobility. The woman intrigued him, though she was clearly hiding something. And he wanted to puzzle her out, like a complicated legal case. Like a mystery.
James Lowden had never felt this way about a marriedwoman before and didn’t like himself very much because of it. He was attracted to Lady Mayfield, even as he reminded himself again and again that she was another man’s wife—although not a faithful one. He wasn’t even sure what drew him. He had met women more beautiful, more skilled in flirtation, more tempting. Was it the challenge she presented? Did he not want to be the one man she didnotflirt with? He hoped he was not so shallow.
Did he see mutual attraction mirrored in her blue-green eyes, or did he fool himself? She probably had this effect on many men, Anthony Fontaine most of all. Probably engendered such feelings to suit her ends. Yet she didn’t seem like that sort of woman, for all he’d heard about her.
Yes, he had some business to attend to in Bristol. But he also knew he ought to remove himself from Lady Mayfield’s presence before he said or did something stupid—something they might both regret. He also wished to find the family of the lady’s companion, Hannah Rogers. There were several nagging questions and loose ends he wished to lay to rest with her. While he was there, he might also inquire into the whereabouts of Anthony Fontaine.
James packed his things and carried them down to the dining parlor where Lady Mayfield sat near the window finishing her breakfast. Sunlight shone on her, bringing out the coppery highlights in her red hair.
She looked up when he approached. “Good morning, Mr. Lowden.” Her gaze fell to his valise and her eyes widened. “You are leaving us?”
“For a week or so. I am leaving my horse and traveling by stage. I have asked Dr. Parrish to send word if Sir John speaks and asks for me sooner.”
“I see. Apparently you don’t trust me to do so.”
He hesitated. “Not completely, no. Even so, I regret my rudeness to you and I apologize.”
She rose and stepped around the table. “I understand, Mr. Lowden. No hard feelings. And thank you again for your help in finding Danny and Becky that day.”
“I was happy to be of service.” Still he hesitated, gripping his hat brim.
Abruptly, she held out her hand to him. One of his hands immediately abandoned his hat to capture the delicate fingers in his.
“Farewell, Mr. Lowden, and safe journey,” she said. “I hope your practice thrives and many new clients realize your competence and skill despite your youth. I wish you a long and happy life.”
How earnest, how sober her expression.
