She slipped from the room, quietly closing the door behindher. She tiptoed toward her own room at the far end of the corridor and had nearly reached it when a shadowy figure carrying a candle appeared from around the corner. She stifled a gasp.
It was Mr. Ward. Mr. Ward, who often looked at her in a manner that made her uncomfortable, now glanced significantly from her, down the dark corridor. Had he any idea which room she had come from? She prayed not.
He looked at her with suspicion in his small eyes, or something even less flattering.
“Miss Rogers ... What are you doing wandering about in the dark?”
She hoped he did not notice the few buttons at the back of her frock were not fastened. Hopefully her unbound hair covered the omission. “I ... I thought I heard a door shut,” she faltered, trying in vain to keep her voice steady. “Is ... Lady Mayfield home at last?”
He studied her expression by the light of his candle. “Yes, which you would know if you had been to her room.”
“I did not go in. I did not wish to wake her.”
“I doubt she is asleep. Her poor lady’s maid has just been called from her bed to undress her. For the second time this evening no doubt.”
She despised the man’s leering innuendo, though he was probably right.
“Then she is in good hands.” Hannah attempted a casual tone and reached for her door latch. Suddenly his hand shot out and descended over hers like a claw. She looked up at him in alarm.
He stared boldly into her face, as if daring her to protest. “Miss Rogers. Hannah. Perhaps we should ... talk. In private.”
Did he think he held some power over her? Was he threatening her, or simply hoping to take advantage of this unexpected encounter in the middle of the night?
“It is late, Mr. Ward,” she said coolly. “Anything you have tosay to me can wait until morning. Now I must bid you good-night.”
She wrenched the door open, stepped inside, and quickly shut it behind her, turning the key in the lock. She pressed her ear to the wood, hearing nothing over the loud beating of her heart. One minute ... two ... Finally, she heard his footsteps retreat.
Hannah blew out a breath, fearing she had not suffered the last of his advances. A moment later, another fear rose in its place.Oh God, what have I done?
She did not see Sir John until the next afternoon. One of Marianna’s female friends called, and while they were ensconced over tea and gossip in Marianna’s boudoir, Sir John discreetly sought out Hannah in the library. Her stomach tensed at the sight of him. What would he say?
He closed the door behind them and began quietly, “Miss Rogers, I am deeply sorry about last night.”
She ducked her head, ears burning. “As am I.”
“I should have found the strength to stop myself. But I acted selfishly, and I apologize.”
She managed a wooden nod. What was she supposed to say? What could she say? The more he regretted it, the more her own regret mounted. For she was now ruined—a fallen woman. Oh! What would her father say if he knew?
He stepped closer. “I have never done the like before. You are a gentleman’s daughter—a clergyman’s daughter—which makes it all the more reprehensible. Were it in my power, were I not a married man, I would do the honorable thing. Since that is not possible, I am at a loss as to what to do. If there is anything you need. Mon—”
She cut him off. “Do not offer me money, I beg of you. That would make me feel even worse. Like a payment for services rendered.”
“Oh...” His Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Forgive me. I did not intend it that way.”
A single knock sounded, and the door was opened before Sir John could reply. Mr. Ward stuck his head in, like a jack-in-the-box. It might have been comical, save for the timing and his suspicious expression as he looked from one to the other.
Sir John said evenly, “Miss Rogers and I are discussing a few things, Mr. Ward, but is there something you needed?”
“Ah... No, sir. That is, I can wait. If you are in the middle of something... pressing?” His brows lifted in expectation.
A weasel, Hannah decided. The man looked like a long-necked weasel.
“Not at all.” Sir John crossed his arms. “What is it?”
Hannah spoke up, forcing a polite formality. “Thank you, Sir John. I shall make a note of it. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall leave the two of you to your business.”
Hannah didn’t know if companions in most houses ate dinner with their mistress and her husband, but Lady Mayfield insisted upon it. It gave her someone to talk to, she said. And the presence of a third party forced her stern husband to remain civil and dissuaded him from engaging in serious conversation, like asking her where she had been and with whom, or confronting her behavior. Then again, it was not very common for a married woman to hire a companion at all. But there was little common about this marriage.
