Hannah faltered, “How did you...?”
“When I returned to Bristol, I unearthed a letter Sir John wrote to my father from Bath, asking him to look into the matter of his wife’s missing companion. As you yourself told me, Hannah Rogers left abruptly, which concerned Sir John, as she had always been a steady, reliable sort before. According to my father’s notes, Sir John feared some harm may have befallen her, or that someone in his household had done something to offend her, or to make her fear for her safety—something significant to cause a dependable person to act in such an uncharacteristic manner.”
Hannah’s mind whirled. Sir John had worried about her? Who in his household did he think had done something to offend or frighten her—Mr. Ward, Marianna and Mr. Fontaine, or he himself?
Mr. Lowden continued, “My father asked Sir John if this Miss Rogers had stolen something or if anything had gone missing. He assured my father it was nothing like that. He seemed to trust her thoroughly.”
“Did he?” she murmured, surprised and pleased to hear it.
“Yes. I reviewed what little correspondence I could find pertaining to Miss Rogers. My father did not pursue the matter very far, so I decided to do so myself. First, I went to her father’s house, but Mr. Rogers had not seen his daughter since she’d moved with the Mayfields to Bath. I also met a friend of hers, a Fred Bonner. He seemed quite reticent to speak with me. It was obvious the young man had been fond of Miss Rogers, perhaps even loved her, and mourned her loss. It was also clear he was hiding something about her past. It made me wonder if Hannah had got herself into trouble with this young man. If she had left the Mayfields’ employ to conceal a certain ... condition.”
Hannah’s throat tightened. “Why would you think that?”
“Just a guess. A suspicion. Did no one notice anything unusual about her? Had Miss Rogers confided anything about a young man, or her future plans? Had she been ill in the mornings? Gained weight?”
Hannah felt her neck heat. “These are not things spoken of in polite company.”
A spoon clanked and she glanced over, only then realizing Mrs. Turrill was still in the room. Hannah pressed her lips together. “That will be all, Mrs. Turrill. Thank you so much.”
“Yes, an excellent dinner,” Mr. Lowden added. “Thank you.”
With a concerned look at one and then the other, Mrs. Turrill backed from the room and closed the door behind her.
Mr. Lowden continued, “I asked for a description of Hannah Rogers.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flipped past several pages. “Would you like to hear how she was described?”
“No.”
He read from his notes as if she had not spoken. “‘Slender. Red hair. Fair eyes. Modest in dress and comportment.’ That was from Mr. Rogers. And this one from Fred Bonner. ‘A pretty girl with ginger hair and freckles. A lovely smile.’”
Tears bit her eyes, but panic burned them away. She had no idea what to say.
He looked up at her. “Is it an accurate description?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Have you shared this information with Sir John?”
“Not yet. Do you think he will find it interesting?”
“I have no idea.” Very little of it would surprise him, Hannah thought. Then why was she so frightened?
James Lowden leaned back in his chair and surprised her by changing tack. “Sir John is in good spirits. He tells me you’ve been ‘ministering to him body and soul.’ What did he mean by that?”
She licked her dry lips. “I ... suppose he means that I have undertaken a regimen Dr. Parrish ordered to help him strengthen his limbs after lying in bed so long. Simple stretches and the kneading of muscles. That’s all.”
“Is that all?”
She blinked away images of Sir John holding her hand. Brushing the hair from her brow. Touching her waist.
Mr. Lowden watched her face. “Very ... wifely,” he allowed. “Very intimate. I must say I am surprised.”
“It isn’tintimate,” she defended. “Not in that way.”
The housemaid knocked once and poked her head into the room. “Excuse me, my lady. But Sir John wishes to know if you will be visiting his bedchamber again tonight?”
Heat suffused her neck and face. She could not meet Mr. Lowden’s startled gaze.
Hannah did go to Sir John’s bedchamber that night, but she went earlier, before she had changed into her nightclothes—determined not to stay long. Mr. Lowden’s return had been a cold splash of reality, making her tenuous situation seem less hopeful and more tawdry. She knew he had gone up to see SirJohn again after dinner. She wondered if he had confided any of his findings—his visit to her father, or his theories about Fred Bonner and Hannah. Should she?
She once again found Sir John sitting up in bed with a portable writing desk in his lap and quill in hand. He looked up at her with a ready smile. Then his gaze flicked to the mantel clock before returning to her, sweeping over the emerald green evening dress—one of Marianna’s older ones she’d altered to fit her slighter figure.
