Chapter 4
Four
In the weeks since the vexing walk from Hyde Park, Susanna had tried to put Mr. Ambrose Hartley from her mind—a task made difficult by his continual presence at every London social event. At least once a week, fate had decreed she would see him across a ballroom or in the crush at the theatre.
In the past, Susanna would have sought him out, but now she would only return his nod or avoid meeting his eye altogether.
It was fortunate they were never in a party small enough to require conversation.
He gave no sign of noticing or caring about her coldness.
He was likely too busy determining if the ladies he accompanied met his exacting standards.
That evening when Susanna arrived at Ackermann’s brightly lit shop, she had no expectations of seeing Rosie.
Aunt Blackwall and Susanna almost never missed the weekly salons at Ackermann’s Repository of Arts on the Strand.
However, not once this Season had Rosie been in attendance at the gathering of intelligent Londoners.
Susanna was happily sitting on a velvet sofa, sipping her tea, and discussing the latest gossip about Lord Byron—they were saying he would soon leave his wife—when she caught sight of familiar golden brown hair. Anxious, she turned her head to get a better look.
There he was, across the room, turned away from her. Dozens of people and a mahogany table filled with new prints for visitors to view and enjoy lay between them, but she could not mistake the set of his shoulders. Standing by his side was a tall, elegantly dressed woman with white blonde hair.
Susanna’s stomach did a strange flip. She moved her attention back to her tea and tried to listen as Aunt Blackwall and Mrs. White began discussing Princess Charlotte’s impending wedding.
Usually Susanna would eagerly share her thoughts on the royal nuptials, but she was finding it difficult to concentrate.
Her mind kept straying to Rosie and what she would say if forced to speak to him. What she most wanted to do was address his unkind comments. She had thought of many replies about why she was a spinster or why he was wrong about them being friends.
Naturally, that sort of conversation was not proper for a crowded gathering meant to discuss the news of the day. She should have shared her opinions on Oxford Street, but overwhelming anger and sadness prevented her from speaking rationally.
Perhaps the best course of action was to continue avoiding him. She frowned at the thought.
“I see you agree with me,” Mrs. White said from her perch beside Aunt. Well-known to Susanna, the lady was as wide as she was opinionated.
“Hmm?” Susanna tried not to show her confusion.
“Of course she agrees,” Aunt said. “There can be no other correct opinion about the sculptures.”
Understanding dawned. They were talking of Lord Elgin’s collection, marble sculptures he had removed from the Parthenon in Athens.
The government was deciding if they would purchase them from Lord Elgin for an exorbitant sum.
Though Aunt spoke confidently, her opinion was far from the majority.
Indeed, Susanna suspected nearly half the room felt differently.
“I agree with my aunt,” Susanna said. “They should not have removed the sculptures. As Byron wrote, it is a defacement of the ancient shrines.”
“Just so,” Aunt said. “When I visited Athens, I had the privilege of seeing them—marvelous things. I shudder to think of returning and seeing nothing but blank marble where there was once such beauty.”
There was little chance of Aunt ever returning to Greece, but Susanna wished they might go. She would love to see the Parthenon for herself, even with its elegant sculptures missing. Rosie had been to Athens; what might he say about the matter? She would likely never know.
That she did not feel comfortable approaching him or speaking to him was disconcerting.
For as long as she could remember, being with Rosie was as natural as being with her own siblings.
Indeed, she had always enjoyed his company more than Mark’s or Frank’s, because he was less prone to tease and scold her.
Although as an adult, it seemed all he did was scold.
When she was thirteen and Rosie almost twelve, she had attempted to leap over a brook.
She could not recall why she had done it, but it was likely for the thrill and the desire to boast. The attempt was a failure.
Susanna was left half drowned and with a twisted ankle.
Grace had grown mildly hysterical and had run off to get help.
Rosie had stayed, helped her to stand, and patiently acted as a human crutch.
As she limped across the field, her arm over his shoulder, he had told her stories of the scrapes his friends got into at school. The wild tales had distracted her from her pain and embarrassment. It was not the first or last time Rosie had calmed and comforted her.
That kind, entertaining boy and the peace he brought was in the past. Now he was Mr. Ambrose Hartley, important secretary to an earl, who claimed they were not friends and called her vulgar and impossible. Ambrose made her feel unsettled and silly. Was it any wonder she wished to avoid him?
Aunt Blackwall nudged Susanna, and she realized she had lost the thread of conversation once again.
“Yes?” Susanna asked.
“I was telling Mrs. White that you had news from Mrs. Grace Arden,” Aunt Blackwall said patiently.
This was a topic Susanna could talk on for hours.
“I received a letter this morning,” Susanna said. “They christened their daughter on Sunday.”
“Oh, I did not realize the baby was a girl,” Mrs. White said with a smile.
“Grace says she is the most darling baby. And they have named her Alice,” Susanna said.
“Alice Susanna,” Aunt added. “Is not that lovely? I am biased, but I think it a superior name.”
Mrs. White nodded. “It is a wonderful name, and very thoughtful of them to honor you both.”
“I do not believe they thought of me at all,” Aunt said gaily.
Susanna was then called upon to provide details about the birth and christening. She answered every question with a smile.
Talking of Grace made Susanna’s heart ache. The Season was not the same without her dear friend. She wondered how long before Henry would allow visitors and Susanna could meet her namesake.
Perhaps Susanna and baby Alice might grow to be close like her and Aunt Blackwall. When her parents had named Susanna after her aunt, they could not have foreseen the bond that would develop between them.
Shortly after Susanna’s third birthday, Uncle Blackwall died, and Aunt Blackwall began regular long stays at the Fenton country home. In those first years of mourning, it was said little Susie was the only person who could coax a smile from Susanna Blackwall.
Year by year, their easy affection grew. When it came time to enter Society, Aunt Blackwall had sponsored Susanna’s Seasons in London. When Susanna failed to make a grand match, or any match, in her first few years, Aunt Blackwall had reassured her that all would be well.
At twenty, Susanna became Aunt’s permanent companion and heir to the small fortune she inherited after her husband’s death.
When Susanna finished telling all about the newest Arden, she glanced across the room. Rosie had moved. Her heart bumped uncomfortably as she scanned the room. He and his female companion were now only a few feet away, on the other side of the table covered in prints, looking at one of them.
Susanna and Aunt had already admired the prints with Mrs. White. If Rosie continued examining them, he would be led farther down the table, directly opposite from where she sat.
All too soon it would be impossible to ignore him. At the very least, Susanna would have to nod and smile when he finally noticed her. While she did not wish to speak to him, the cold informality of a polite nod seemed worse. Better to avoid any interaction.
Susanna turned to her aunt.
“I am quite hot.” She fanned herself with one hand. “I think I will take some air.”
Aunt narrowed her eyes. “Very well. But do not stray from the front of the shop.”
“Yes, Aunt.”
Though it had not occurred to Susanna to walk alone, in the dark, on a busy London street, it gratified her that Aunt thought her bold enough to attempt it.
She stood swiftly, careful not to look in Rosie’s direction, and made her way through the crowd to the front door.
The bell rang as she opened the door, and cold air rushed upon her.
It was March and the city was still in the grip of winter.
Bright blue-white light spilled out the windows, illuminating the pavement around Susanna.
Ackermann had equipped his shop with new gas lights, which made it the brightest thing on the Strand, a beacon drawing in the evening visitors.
She stood shivering and breathing in the chilly night air. The clack and jingle of carriages on the street mingled with the rumble of indistinct conversations behind her.
How long should she wait?
She turned and spied through the window. There was little to see; a tall, rotund man stood blocking her view. She took a few steps to the side, but the room was too full to see deeply into it. She managed to catch a flash of Mrs. White and her green dress through the crowd.
Belatedly, Susanna realized the foolishness of running out of the shop.
Without her there, it was possible Aunt Blackwall would engage Rosie in conversation.
Susanna would return only to be ensnared.
And even if he did not talk to Aunt, his path around the table would draw him closer to the door.
She could easily run into him when she reentered the shop.
Susanna pulled up her long white gloves and wrapped her arms around herself. She would rather freeze than go back inside.