Hannah and the Mayfields often gathered there in the evenings after dinner. Marianna in an armchair or dreamily playing the pianoforte, her mind far away, while Hannah sat inthe corner, quietly sewing or reading by candlelight. Sir John standing near the fire as he was now, lost in his own thoughts, or perhaps sitting on the sofa, reading. Now and again, Lady Mayfield would engage him in a game of draughts or cards. If he was unwilling, she would turn to Hannah and urge her to play in his stead. Hannah complied because she was paid to do so, not because she cared for either game. When she was in one of her restless moods, Lady Mayfield might call for wine and two glasses and insist Hannah play cards with her into the wee hours.
But Hannah was unaccustomed to being alone with Sir John.
She had never before remained long in the room when only Sir John was present. He’d never showed any interest in her company and it would be awkward to attempt polite conversation with him—pretend that they were both unaware of the missing person, and where she likely was and in whose company.
“Lady Mayfield has gone out,” he announced, unnecessarily.
“On such a night...” Hannah murmured. She stood there awkwardly, reluctant to sit down.
“She would rather face foul weather than her foul husband, it seems.” He picked up a fire iron and began poking at a log, causing the languishing fire to smoke.
“Well. I think I shall turn in early. Good-night, Sir John.” She turned to go.
“Please stay, Miss Rogers. I find I cannot bear the solitude tonight.”
She turned back. His eyes were still on the dying fire.
“Very well,” she said quietly, and stepped toward her customary chair in the corner.
“It is cold tonight,” he said. “Come and sit by the fire, if you will. I do not bite, no matter what my wife may have told you.”
Hannah hesitated, then complied, walking over to sit on the sofa near the fire, but on the end farthest from him. “She has never said such a thing, I assure you,” Hannah said, not sure if she was defending her mistress or him.
The Mayfields had been married a year and a half at that point. Still in their honeymoon period—or they should have been. And Lady Mayfield was not discreet in her little jabs about her husband’s futile attempts to woo her, confessing she could not stand him touching her. In fact, she had confided to Hannah that she had not allowed him to share her bed since their first wedding anniversary. Hannah had thought perhaps Lady Mayfield was exaggerating the matter, boasting to her companion as though it were something to be proud of. But judging by her husband’s defeated expression, it was all too true.
He asked, “Has she told you what I have done to so offend her?”
Hannah shifted, feeling uncomfortable. She should not be having this conversation with Marianna’s husband. He must be tormented indeed over his marriage to ask his wife’s paid companion for advice. A companion he had not wished to engage in the first place.
When she made no reply, he stepped to the sideboard, poured two glasses of port, and carried one to her.
Murmuring her thanks, Hannah accepted the glass and sipped the ruby liquid. She thought again of Anthony Fontaine sitting on this very sofa with Marianna, kissing her ear and stroking her knee. Her sparkling eyes and eager smile in response... Marianna was certainly interested in intimate relations, just not with Sir John.
He downed his drink. “If she found me disgusting before our marriage, she certainly hid it well. What am I to do?” he asked, still not looking at her. Was he asking her, the fire, or God?
He continued, “I could bring a suit against her lover. But I have no desire to expose her or myself to scandal. Nor do I want a ruinous divorce. What I want is a wife who will be faithful to me. Is that too much to ask?”
“No. It shouldn’t be,” she quietly agreed.
“I don’t suppose there is anything I can do to win back her affection?”
What could he do? Lady Mayfield didn’t seem to worry about the rumors, his threats did not affect her, nor did his pleading and wooing. Knowing Marianna, the only thing that might move her was another woman’s interest in her husband—ideally someone more beautiful and more bewitching to turn his head, if such a woman existed.
ShouldSir John make a pretense of flirting with another woman? Begin an immoral affair of his own? Sink to her level? No. He was a married man who wished to live honorably. Perhaps Marianna would respond if he simply stopped trying so hard. Hannah wasn’t sure if neglect would have much effect on spoiled Marianna, but it might be worth a try.
When Hannah did not answer, he glanced at her. “A lost cause, is it? I am too old and too serious, as she never tires of telling me.”
You are not old, Hannah thought,although serious and reserved? Yes.He would never be accused of being the life of the party—that had always been Marianna’s role. Yet he was well-respected and gentlemanlike and attractive.... Inwardly, she reprimanded herself,Stop it, stop it,you foolish girl.
She cleared her throat and said, “Perhaps you ought not try so hard. Ignore her for a time. Make her come to you. That might gain her attention.”
“And watch six months of alienation turn into six years? If I left her alone, I think her only reaction would be one of relief.”
Very likely, Hannah thought, but did not say such an injurious thing aloud.
“I was engaged to be married once before,” he said. “But the young lady broke things off. Apparently I am quite repulsive.”
She glanced up and found his gaze on her. What vulnerability etched that face. A handsome face, in her view. Sir John might be fifteen years her senior but to her he had always seemedyounger. He was tall, his shoulders broad, his body lean. Fine lines crinkled the corners of his eyes and scored the space between his brows, but otherwise his skin was smooth and taut. He kept himself well-read, well-groomed, and well-dressed. Sir John Mayfield was also a wealthy man, knighted by the king. Personally, Hannah didn’t understand why Marianna found him unattractive ... or at least, not as attractive as Anthony Fontaine.
