Chapter 10
Ten
Susanna looked out onto Wimpole Street in a daze. William stood beside her.
“Are you quite sure? It is no trouble,” he said with a charming smile.
Susanna nodded. “I have my footman. There is no need for you to accompany me. Go back to your sister.”
It was the third time she had reassured him she could walk alone. If she had had her wits about her, she would never have let him follow her from the drawing room.
This time he did not argue. After a friendly goodbye, he charged her footman with her safety and then Susanna was finally alone with her thoughts.
Why was William Hartley suddenly so solicitous? And why was it not Ambrose offering to walk her home?
But no, she did not wish to walk with Ambrose. She was too muddled and would likely say something embarrassing. In the drawing room, she had nearly spoken her mind. That would never do. At least not until she better understood herself.
Oh, how had she been such a stranger to her own heart?
And what was to be done about it?
A cough from her footman reminded Susanna that she was standing, staring at the Arden town house. She turned away and began to walk down the street.
The clouds had retreated and the air was warmer. Blessedly, Wimpole Street was nearly empty, and she was not required to nod or greet anyone. The exercise helped to ease some of her nerves but did not stop her racing thoughts.
What was the nature of her change in feelings toward Ambrose Hartley? Was it a mere fancy? And when had her feelings altered?
Since January, when he held her close in the garden, he had often been in her thoughts. His constant parade of potential partners had made him difficult to ignore. She had thought each lady unworthy of him in some way. Her objections had seemed reasonable and well-founded. Was she merely jealous?
Did she wish Ambrose to court her instead?
Her stomach fluttered at the thought.
For many years, Susanna had considered herself happily past the anxieties of courtships. Being a spinster was infinitely more enjoyable than being on the hunt for a husband. When every social function was an opportunity to impress or offend a potential suitor, they became a chore.
When Susanna first entered Society, Mother and Charlotte, her older sister, had impressed upon her the importance of proper behavior. While they never outright said the words, the message was clear—Susanna could not be herself and be accepted.
Those years had been miserable. She was forever failing Society’s standards—laughing at the wrong moments or expressing the wrong opinions.
Often silence had seemed best. Susanna became a hollow echo of a person.
If not for Grace and Aunt Blackwall, she might have lost herself entirely.
It was only when she became Aunt Blackwall’s companion and was assured of lifelong financial security that she stopped worrying and began to be her genuine self.
She preferred not fretting if she was smiling too much or expressing the right opinions.
She preferred freedom to crying in her room because a man had suddenly decided she was unworthy of his attentions.
Did she really want to open herself up to Ambrose’s judgment?
Would it be different because Ambrose already knew her?
All too soon Susanna arrived at the familiar white door on Henrietta Street.
With a sigh she entered. If she were at her father’s estate in Shropshire she would have walked until she was too tired to think or taken a wild carriage ride.
That kind of freedom was the only advantage the country had on London.
Lost in thought, she trudged up the stairs.
“Is that you, Susanna?” Aunt Blackwall’s voice called to her.
“Yes, Aunt,” Susanna replied and turned her steps toward Aunt’s room, grateful for some distraction.
Aunt Blackwall’s chamber was on the larger side and done up in pale lavender paper.
The bed was big enough for two and at the fireplace, with its ornate mantel, sat two armchairs.
Susanna had always assumed the brown armchairs had belonged to Uncle Blackwall, but she had never asked.
Aunt did not relish talking about her late husband.
On the bed lay two dresses, one a deep blue and the other a pale yellow. Aunt stood nearby, considering them, her greying blonde hair in a loose braid.
“What do you think?” she asked as Susanna joined her near the bed.
“The blue,” Susanna replied without much thought. Aunt was always trying to wear the yellow dress, and Susanna was forever urging her against it.
“Really? I thought the yellow might be best.”
“The yellow makes you appear sickly.”
“Very well, the blue,” Aunt said curtly. “Can’t look ill at the card table.”
Susanna sighed. “My apologies for being so blunt. I was not thinking.”
She swallowed back a wave of emotion and dashed at her cheeks, mortified at her swimming eyes. What was wrong with her? She was not prone to tears, even in terrible circumstances.
“My dear girl, whatever is the matter?” Aunt turned from the dresses and reached for her hand.
Susanna shook her head. “Nothing has happened. Truly. It is only that I have realized—and I don’t know precisely . . .” She trailed off to brush away another tear.
“Come and sit. You must tell me what is troubling you.” Aunt gently pulled Susanna to the armchairs and settled her in one before sending the maid for tea.
Would it help to unburden herself to Aunt Blackwall?
Even if her tongue was sharp, Aunt was wise and kind.
Though she had negative opinions about marriage, she better understood the institution than Susanna.
Her aunt’s practicality could be just what she needed to combat the alarming rise of sentimentality.
“Speak,” Aunt Blackwall demanded as she sank her tall frame into the opposite armchair.
Susanna opened and then closed her mouth. Where might she begin? How might she describe her predicament?
“Is it Mr. Hartley? Is he betrothed to Miss Bullocke?” Aunt shook her head. “I knew he would cause trouble, but I did not think he had imposed so far as to cause tears. Close your mouth, Susanna, it is undignified.”
Instead of obeying, Susanna spoke. “But, Aunt, how did you know?”
“I would be a poor chaperone if I could not spot the marks of love in a young lady.” Aunt raised her pointed chin. “Though you chose not to make me your confidante. It was clear your affections were engaged.”
“There was nothing to confide.” Susanna reached for her aunt’s hand. “Truly I had no notion that I cared for him.”
Aunt gave a bark of laughter and then paused and cocked her head. “Oh, my dear child, were you truly so blind? Why, ever since your walk together in Hyde Park, I had assumed some affection.”
Susanna laughed. “I suppose I did care for him. But it was without my knowledge. For it was only this afternoon while his siblings made plans for his marriage that my heart became known to me.”
“Well, then I am sorry.” Aunt squeezed her hand and patted it. “For I am sure if you had attempted to catch the man, he might have been yours. But now that he is betrothed, there is nothing for it but to endure your heartache.”
A thrill ran through Susanna at her aunt’s words. “Oh, do you really think he could care for me?” She shifted forward in the chair until she was nearly on the edge.
“I have already said too much. The man is to marry Miss Bullocke, heaven help him, and so we should speak no more on what might have been.”
“He is not betrothed,” Susanna burst out.
“But you said—”
“He was refused.” Unable to stay seated, Susanna jumped to her feet and began to pace. Aunt believed Ambrose might be hers!
“Oh, what shall I do?” Susanna asked.
“You must sit down and explain precisely what has happened. I can hardly advise you until I know all.”
Susanna nodded but did not sit down. Instead she paced as she rehearsed what had transpired in Grace’s drawing room. Aunt Blackwall listened, allowing Susanna to unburden herself before asking questions. When the questions came, they were difficult to answer.
“Before we proceed, I must know one thing,” Aunt said. She looked severe as she gestured for Susanna to sit and join her. The tea had been delivered, but Susanna could not recall the maid entering. “What is the nature of your feelings? Is it a mere inclination, or do you love Mr. Hartley?”
Susanna sank into the chair. “I hardly know.”
The problem was that Susanna had no name for what she was feeling. She had never been properly in love. She had experienced infatuations and fancies but never, she suspected, the kind of love that Grace felt for Henry.
“What do you know?” Aunt gestured to the laden tea tray.
Susanna shook her head. “Oh, I could not eat.” She sighed. “I know that I care for him and that the thought of him marrying another distresses me.”
She did not add that his nearness sent her heart racing and her cheeks burning or that she often imagined what it would be like to be held in his arms or kiss him. That seemed too intimate a thing to share, even with Aunt Blackwall.
“Then you wish to marry him?” Aunt asked.
“I don’t know.”
Susanna wrung her hands. It was a fair question and seemed far more important than putting a definition on her feelings. Marriage was something she had considered more thoroughly than being in love.
She had observed the marriages of her parents, siblings, and friends.
She knew happiness in the institution was not guaranteed.
She had entertained some serious suitors in her early years—a well-established but older man, an eager vicar, an overconfident dandy.
She had liked them well enough, but they had known the false version of her.
She had not wanted to spend her life pretending to be someone else.
Perhaps if she had been older and more desperate, she would have accepted an offer. Aunt had saved her from having to marry by offering companionship and an inheritance.
“For several years I have assumed that I would not marry,” Susanna said slowly. “My life is full and I am happy. A husband might ruin that. I like my independence. Marriage would change everything I imagine for my life.”
“Yes, it would change everything,” Aunt said and sipped her tea.
Susanna waited for something more, but the older woman kept silent.
“I know you think ill of marriage,” Susanna added.
Aunt raised her eyebrows and lowered her cup. “I think nothing of the sort. I object to marriages that are unequal or mercenary. But a union built on love and mutual respect will always be something to admire and aspire to.”
“Then why have you not tried to marry again?”
“I know nothing could compare to the joy of my years with Fredrick,” Aunt said, her voice trembling.
Susanna’s chest tightened. She had not meant to bring Aunt pain. All these years she had thought that Aunt Blackwall saw marriage as a prison, when in truth she was unwilling to accept anything less than the love of her first marriage.
That kind of love is what Susanna wanted. Was it possible such love could grow between her and Ambrose Hartley? She did not know. And she would never know if he married someone else.
“I must attend the house party,” Susanna declared.
Aunt smiled and leaned back into her armchair. “And what will that accomplish?”
“I can determine my feelings and his.”
“And it will allow you to thwart the other ladies.”
Susanna didn’t hide her smirk. “That is an added incentive.”
“I thought as much.” Aunt sipped her tea. “Very well, I suppose I can do without you for a few weeks.”
“Thank you, Aunt.”
“I would accompany you, but I am engaged to host my friends. You remember Mrs. Hanway and Miss Millbanke?”
Susanna nodded. The two sisters often visited in late July.
That they would prevent Aunt Blackwall from joining the party was lamentable.
Her observations and counsel would have been useful.
Susanna would have to do it alone, for on no account would she tell Grace about the change in her sentiments.
She did not want Grace’s feelings, be they irritation or enthusiasm, to influence her decision. She certainly did not want Grace to matchmake. If Ambrose chose to marry her, it should not be because of his sister’s manipulations.
Would he choose her?
She had seen his stipulations for a wife, and she fell short of several items—though many of the things on his list were ridiculous requirements. Would he truly disqualify her because of her age or reading preferences?
He might.
Her heart sank, her body going cold.
Susanna slumped into her chair. It was overwhelming. How would she ever manage to understand her own heart and capture his?
If she discovered that she loved him, it did not follow that he would return her feelings. Indeed, it was likely he would never see her as anything but a teasing older sister. She must take pains to help him see her differently, to show him she was a young lady worthy of his esteem.
How fortunate that she had his list of requirements to guide her behavior.
She might need to imitate Ambrose and make a plan.