“My lady?” Becky asked some time later. She tugged on Hannah’s arm and repeated more loudly, “My lady?”
“Hm? Oh, sorry.”
“What is it? You seem ... different. Is it that Mr. Lowden? Or are you taking sick? Is everything all right?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, Becky. But thank you for asking.”
A short while later, Hannah left Danny napping peacefully and Becky reading. She glanced through the open door of Sir John’s bedchamber and saw him in the wheeled invalid chair, positioned near the window with a book. Mrs. Turrill was likely busy in the kitchen, and she believed Mr. Lowden was out riding. With everyone seemingly content for the moment, she decided she could take a little time for herself.
She strolled outside and into the garden, drawing in the warm, fragrant air. Many decisions spun through her mind, but for a few moments she didn’t want to think or worry or plan. She only wanted to be, and to breathe.
Mr. Lowden came striding over from the stables. Seeing him, Hannah felt uneasy. What sort of reception could she expect from him after last night? Even so, she could not help but admire his confident bearing, the gleam of his riding boots, the formfitting cut of his coat, and the beaver hat that shadowed his face. He looked up as if sensing her appraisal and lifted a hand in greeting. She liked his face, the deep vertical grooves along either side of his mouth, the straight nose, the full lower lip.
“Good day,mylady.”
Her eyes flashed to his. The sound of his voice, the emphasis on the word “my,” caused her heart to thrum. She had thought he might begin calling her Hannah or Miss Rogers now that he knew the truth. A part of her was relieved he had not. Another part longed to hear him speak her real name.
“Mr. Lowden.” She dipped her head.
He lowered his voice. “I am sorry about last night.”
“It was not your fault.”
“No, but I might have responded in a more gentlemanlike manner.” He cocked his head to one side and gave her a lopsided grin. “Or less of one.”
Embarrassment nipped at her. And perhaps an ounce of pleasure.
She changed the subject. “Good ride?”
“Excellent, thank you.” His moss-green gaze slowly traced her face. “You’re looking lovely, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“So are you,” she replied before she could think the better of it, and felt her cheeks heat.
“Thank you. I think.” He grinned, and the brackets in his cheeks deepened.
Then he squinted off into the distance and said, “Riding—motion—helps me think.”
She nodded. “Walking does the same for me.”
His eyes glinted. “Would you like to know what I was thinking about?”
The look he gave her unsettled her. “No. I don’t believe I would.”
Around them the wind picked up, scattering dandelion seeds and swaying the heavy hydrangea blooms on their stalks. He removed one of his gloves, reached out, and captured a tendril of her hair floating on the breeze. For a moment he looked at it. “All the colors of autumn,” he murmured, grinning again. He hooked the strand behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek.
He was close. So close. His gaze caressed her face, sinking into her eyes, then lowering to her mouth. She held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? Right then and there, in full view of their meddlesome neighbor Mrs. Parrish or anyone who might be looking from the windows? A part of her wished he would. Longed to lean near, to press her lips to his. Then, with a little stab of guilt, she remembered Sir John.
As though guessing her thoughts, Mr. Lowden glanced over her shoulder up at the second level of windows. His grin faded. “We appear to have an audience. So I shall bow and politely bid you good day.”
“Sir John?” she asked.
He nodded, bowed, and left her standing there alone.
Standing in Sir John’s doorway later that day, Hannah looked on as Dr. Parrish addressed his patient, still seated in the wheeled chair.
In his hands, Dr. Parrish held a carved wooden cane. He said, “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing this for you. One of my favorite patients carves them in his spare time. Paid his medical bill with two of these fine specimens. And it would be my privilege to give one to you.”
He angled the handle nearer Sir John. “See the intricate carving?”
