In his basket, Danny let out a cry. Glad for the diversion, Hannah reached down for him. “Probably needs to be changed.”
She rose. “Thank you for dinner, Sir John, but I had better take him back up to the nursery.”
Sir John gave her a knowing look. “Making your escape already, Miss Rogers? I knew it would only be a matter of time until you did.”
The next afternoon, Hannah was on her way downstairs after settling Danny for his nap and giving Becky a reading lesson when she heard the door open below and Mrs. Turrill greet a visitor. Hannah tensed. Had Fred returned?
She descended the final pair of stairs on tiptoe and paused on the half landing to survey the vestibule. There, James Lowden handed his hat to Mrs. Turrill. He looked up, and his green eyes locked on hers, his expression difficult to decipher.
Mrs. Turrill turned her head to see what had arrested his attention. “Ah. My lady, look who’s here.”
“You’re back,” Hannah breathed in some surprise.
“Yes. I said I would return in about a week. Do you not recall?”
“Oh. It’s just ... well, the time passed quickly.” And she had not departed as planned.
“You are not ... happy to see me?”
“On the contrary, you are perfectly welcome.”
He studied her face, his brows low in curiosity—or suspicion?
She looked away first and found Mrs. Turrill watching her, worry evident in her soulful dark eyes.
The housekeeper excused herself, leaving the two alone in expectant silence.
Hannah said awkwardly, “Your former room is ready for you. And the morning room is at your disposal. Everything the same as before.”
He tilted his head to the side, eyes glinting. “Not everything.”
She swallowed, unsure of his meaning and afraid to ask. What had he learned about her while he’d been away? She forced a smile. “Well, I shall leave you to get settled. We’re to have roast duck for dinner tonight, I understand. I hope you like duck?”
His mouth quirked. “Domesticated or decoy?”
She blinked. “I ... have no idea.”
“Poor hen,” he said. “Trapped in a decoy snare of her own making.” His cold eyes belied his sympathetic tone.
Hannah was taken aback by the odd exchange, stung by the innuendo. She hoped she was imagining it.
He tugged off his gloves and said, “Well, I shall go up and greet Sir John if you don’t mind. Assuming he is still alive?”
“Of course he is,” she defended. “In fact, you will find him greatly recovered and speaking for himself.”
“Well. Good.” He slapped his gloves onto the sideboard and took himself upstairs.
James Lowden walked up the stairs, irritation coursing through him. He was vexed with himself, with her, and with Sir John. How much should he tell his employer of what he’d learned in Bristol? He paused at the bedchamber door, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“Come,” Sir John called.
His strong reply surprised James. It was the first time he had heard the man’s voice since the accident.
James entered the room, surprised again to find his client sitting upright in bed in a fine burgundy dressing gown, though a counterpane covered his legs. He wore a beard, neatly trimmed. And someone had cut his hair. He looked younger than when James had last seen him.
“Good day, Sir John.”
“Mr. Lowden. Welcome back.”
