“He has never said so, no.”
“You don’t think he would marry you?” James heard the derision in his voice. The incredulity.
She lifted her chin. “Am I so far beneath him? Would that be out of the question?”
“If I have anything to say about it, yes. Especially after this whole charade of yours.”
She paled. “Meaning you will advise him against it?”
Meaning I want you for myself, James thought, stifling the illogical words. After what he’d found out, he ought to despise her. He could not seriously contemplate marriage to a woman like her. It could only lead to scandal, which would in no way help his struggling law practice.
But all he said was, “Yes. I will advise him against it.”
She screwed up her face. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he lied. “But my duty is to protect my client’s interests.”
“By protecting him from me?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well. Thank you for being honest with me.”
He held her gaze. “You ought to try it sometime.”
She looked away first, but he felt little victory. For he hadn’t been fully truthful with her, either.
Mrs. Parrish and the vicar’s wife were due to call again that afternoon. Hannah forced a smile when Mrs. Turrill reminded her of the engagement, and fastened an overdress of embroidered lawn over her plain muslin, in which to receive callers. But inwardly, Hannah dreaded it. How could she face them,pretendfor them, especially with Mr. Lowden there under the same roof?
Mrs. Parrish arrived first. Hannah waited until Mrs. Turrill had shown the woman into the drawing room and stepped out again.
Then she took a deep breath and began, “Mrs. Parrish, I am glad for a moment to speak with you alone. I know you saw an old friend of mine who stopped by last week—just to greet me as he passed through the area, and I wouldn’t want you to think—”
“Old friend?” the woman interrupted with a sly smile. “Very friendly indeed from the looks of it.”
“It isn’t what you think, Mrs. Parrish. It was only a brief social call. Perfectly innocent.”
“If you say so. But then ... why hide in the garden like secret lovers?”
Hannah forced herself to hold the woman’s challenging gaze. Yet what could she say to that?
Nothing.
Mrs. Parrish’s eyes gleamed in triumph.
A moment later, Mrs. Turrill showed the vicar’s wife into the room. Greetings were exchanged and the conversation turned light and bright while Mrs. Turrill served refreshments.
Personally, Hannah thought Mrs. Parrish paid calls at Clifton not because she enjoyed her company, but because the proud physician’s wife enjoyed having her husband’s cousin wait on her hand and foot.
Mrs. Parrish had brought with her a copy of theBath Chronicle, mailed to her by one of her friends who lived there. Mrs. Parrish took pleasure in reading about the comings and goings of thetonin Bath, the little sister city to London. She also brought the Bristol newspaper, with its accounts of runaway apprentices, ships into port, obituaries, and notices.
“Listen to this,” Mrs. Parrish said, sipping noisily at her teacup before returning it with a clink to its saucer. “‘On Monday died Mr. Robert Meyers Jr., a wealthy butcher. He dined last Friday with some friends at a tavern, on mock turtle, when two of the company wantonly put a quantity of jalap in his plate, which operated so violently as to occasion his death.’”
“No!” responded the timid little vicar’s wife, looking suitably shocked.
Mrs. Parrish nodded somberly. “I could have predicted such an outcome. Jalap is a known cathartic, which of course I know, being Dr. Parrish’s helpmeet all these years.”
“Ahh...” the vicar’s wife murmured, clearly impressed. “If only you had been there to warn them.”
