“Yes, do tell us the news from Barnstaple, Mr. Lowden,” Mrs. Parrish urged. “I don’t get there as often as I should like.”
James surveyed their expectant faces. “Very well, if you insist. But only if you promise not to delay courses on my account. I don’t want Mrs. Turrill’s excellent cooking to go cold. You proceed and I shall join you in a few minutes.”
He returned a short while later, having changed and combed his windblown hair. He sat down in time for the main course—croquettes of chicken, boiled tongue, and vegetables.
He picked up his table napkin and smiled at the cook-housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Turrill. Looks delicious.”
“And what took you to Barnstaple, Mr. Lowden?” Mrs. Parrishasked from across the table, forking an asparagus spear into her mouth.
He answered pleasantly, “Just some business for Sir John.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Parrish leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. “What sort of business? Must have been important for you to undertake another journey so soon.”
He glanced at his employer, then away. “Not especially. Just banking and the like—too tedious for dinner conversation.”
“If you say so.” The doctor’s wife lifted a heaping spoonful from her saltcellar and sprinkled it liberally over her entire plate. Then she glanced at Mrs. Turrill, quietly directing the footmen near the sideboard. “Mr. Turrill’s business often took him to Barnstaple as well, I believe. Did it not, Mrs. Turrill?”
Hannah looked over and saw the housekeeper’s face grow rigid—it was the first time Hannah had heard aMr.Turrill mentioned.
“Yes,” the housekeeper agreed with a brittle smile. “As well you know.”
Mrs. Parrish returned her focus to the solicitor. “At least you returned from Barnstaple, Mr. Lowden. Not all men do.”
The doctor’s mouth fell ajar. “Mrs. Parrish...” he breathed with a concerned look at his cousin.
“I am only making conversation,” she insisted, sending a veiled glance toward her hostess. “It is the polite thing to do. And what was the news in Barnstaple, Mr. Lowden?” she went on, unaffected by her husband’s tone or the tension in the room.
“Nothing much,” James replied. “High prices bemoaned, the summer fair anticipated. The usual sort of talk.” He turned to George Parrish. “I brought those things you wanted from the apothecary, Doctor. Don’t let me forget to give them to you after dinner.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lowden. Saved me a trip.”
Mrs. Parrish sawed at a slice of boiled tongue with exaggerated effort and then chewed it laboriously. She said with aphilosophic air, “Tongue that is boiled too long always tends to be tough. So difficult to time it correctly.”
Sir John regarded the woman evenly. When he spoke, the glint in his eye belied his pleasant voice. “One can learn to bite any tongue, Mrs. Parrish, no matter how tough or bitter, if one tries.”
James bit back a grin and lifted a forkful of meat in salute. “Better a boiled tongue than a loose one, I always say.”
Mrs. Parrish formed a feline smile and countered, “And either one is preferable to a forked tongue.” She sent Hannah a pointed glance.
Around the table, uneasy looks were shared—or avoided.
From the sideboard, Mrs. Turrill abruptly announced, “Who is ready for dessert?”
The dinner continued, and with it, the stilted conversation. Hannah sat there, barely tasting Mrs. Turrill’s lovely strawberry tartlets or orange jelly. The evening had clearly demonstrated to Hannah what life would be like if they allowed the deception to go on. It would mean continuing to lie to dear souls like Dr. Parrish and Mrs. Turrill. And increasing her chances of discovery by people like Mrs. Parrish.
No. James was right; it could not be borne. Or risked.
She would have to gather her courage and talk to Sir John about ending the ruse. Danny didn’t need to be his heir. His protection, and hopefully someday his love, would be enough. Would Sir John bear the scandal and offer to marry her as herself? If not, would James still want her? She doubted it.
With a heavy heart, she realized she would probably lose them both.
The next day, Hannah prayed for courage and took herself to Sir John’s bedchamber to discuss the matter.
Mrs. Turrill was just coming out, men’s shaving kit in hand,and greeted her warmly. “Ah, my lady. Just in time. Sir John asked me to find you.”
“Did he? Well ... good,” Hannah murmured, even as her palms perspired.
Mrs. Turrill’s eyes twinkled. “Wait ’til you see him—some of my best work, if I do say so myself.” She grinned and walked away.
