Chapter 19
Nineteen
Totterhill was a small village laid out on a strip along the main road. It contained an old Norman church, a few shops, and two taverns. Despite its size, Grace insisted on leading their group on a short tour.
Ambrose walked at the back of the group, Miss Witworth on his arm. The lady was vocally admiring the Norman church. Ordinarily Ambrose would happily discuss architecture, but he was too absorbed in his thoughts and frustrations to properly converse.
Behind Henry and Grace, Susanna and William were engaged in a disgusting display of affection.
Smiling, laughing, and playfully touching as if nobody in the world could see.
Something had clearly changed between them.
Had William said something on their drive to Totterhill?
Had he made some kind of declaration or promise?
When Ambrose made his plan to avoid Susanna, he had not considered that William would swoop in and pursue her.
He hated seeing them together. He hated watching them laughing with Jamie in the rowboat.
He hated listening to them tease each other in the evenings.
He especially hated watching them ride away in the gig.
“Have you?” Miss Witworth’s question pulled Ambrose’s attention from William and Susanna.
He struggled to remember what she had been saying.
That was the other difficulty. His distraction over Susanna was preventing him from making a favorable impression on the other ladies.
He was saved from answering by his sister. They had reached the churchyard, and Grace halted the group to share some information on the church and village. As Grace talked, William whispered in Susanna’s ear.
Ambrose gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and made himself look away.
When Grace had finished her speech, Miss Colley turned to Mr. Scott. “I do hope we will have time to visit the haberdashery shop.”
Desperate for escape, Ambrose seized on the idea. “Miss Colley,” he said. “I have seen the church many times. Allow me to accompany you to the haberdashery.”
He resisted the urge to see what others thought of his offer. Miss Colley smiled brightly and readily agreed to leave the group.
Gratefully Ambrose led her to the small shop. Anywhere was better than near William and Susanna. Though the shop’s supply was meager, the young lady eagerly began examining some ribbons. Ambrose trailed after her, grateful to be away from Susanna.
But being away from her did not keep him from thinking of her.
This was a difficulty he had noticed the last few days.
Being out of Susanna’s presence had not kept her from haunting his thoughts.
Instead of complimenting Miss Colley on her choice of ribbon, Ambrose was brooding over Susanna.
He wanted to speak with her and he wanted to avoid speaking to her.
He wanted to see her and he hated seeing her.
He did not know what he could do to combat his feelings. Recalling his list sometimes helped. He had considered leaving Brentmere Park, but that would result in no wife and an angry sister.
The situation was untenable.
“What do you say, Mr. Hartley?” Miss Colley asked.
“I agree with you,” he said reflexively, not really sure what the question had been. He had learned that Miss Colley liked when he agreed with her.
She nodded and turned to the clerk to finalize her purchases. Ambrose had no notion how long they had been in the shop.
Glancing out the window he saw Grace, Henry, and Susanna just outside.
That William was absent was a relief. Ambrose tried to avoid looking at Susanna but failed.
Blonde wisps of hair had escaped her bonnet, her cheeks were bright, and her hazel eyes seemed to glow.
Why must she always be the picture of health?
Once Miss Colley gave delivery instructions, he escorted her to the door. They exited as Miss Witworth and Mr. Scott joined the group.
“I think we should return home,” Grace said without preamble. “The sky is looking a fright.”
“I am sure there will be rain,” Miss Witworth said. “Did not I say so, Miss Fenton?”
“Yes, you did,” Susanna replied with a smirk.
“William is having the grooms bring round the carriages,” Henry said.
Ambrose nodded. He inspected the sky and the line of angry clouds on the horizon. They appeared to be moving quickly. There might be no avoiding getting wet.
As they waited for the carriages to arrive, they shared their experiences of the village. Miss Witworth had much to say about the charm of the church while Miss Colley could not wait to show off her new gloves. Susanna was quiet, glancing around frequently.
Was she looking for William?
Was she excited to ride back with him?
Ambrose had no clear plan, but he knew that he did not want Susanna and William riding together again.
The landau arrived first. There was a breaking up of the group as they moved to climb in. Susanna stepped to the side and Ambrose followed her.
“I am riding in the gig with you.” It came out like a command.
Her lips quirked. “You’re what?”
“Riding in the gig.”
“What’s this?” William asked as he walked up.
“I’m riding in the gig,” Ambrose repeated like some menagerie parrot.
“It will be rather close with us all together,” William teased.
“Which is why you will ride in the landau,” Susanna replied.
William’s eyebrows rose.
The corner of Ambrose’s lips turned up. Had they quarreled?
“Don’t keep them waiting,” she said and gestured to the landau.
For a moment Ambrose thought that William would argue. His eyes bounced between Susanna and Ambrose and then he shrugged.
“Very well, then. Do not spill Rosie all over the road.”
Susanna scoffed.
William laughed before bowing elaborately.
Ambrose hated that his stomach twisted at their familiarity.
As William strode to the others, the gig arrived.
“Just hold her there,” Ambrose said to the young groom. Then he offered his hand to Susanna.
Her dimple flashed as their hands met.
Warmth shot straight down his spine. He swallowed thickly as she stepped up. How had he forgotten the lightning of her touch? Perhaps because for most of his life, being near Susanna Fenton had not affected him. Too late he realized his mistake. This ride would be torture.
Once Susanna was settled, Ambrose was forced to join her. He took his seat beside her. Their shoulders touched and knees brushed. He inhaled sharply.
She turned to him and smiled. “Do not fret, I will keep you safe.”
Her dimples belied her words and chipped at his resolve.
He nodded and looked away. The landau was already pulling away and he almost wished he was in it.
This was a terrible idea. To help rebuild his defenses, he went over his list of reasons that Susanna was an unsuitable match.
Her reckless driving was on the top of the list. And then there was something about her teasing and her manners. It was difficult to remember them with her warmth by his side.
Just beyond the village, she turned left onto a small lane.
“This way will take longer,” he said.
“True, but it will be more enjoyable,” she returned merrily.
“But the rain.” He gestured to the clouds.
“I’m not afraid of a little water. Are you?”
“No.”
It wasn’t the water he was afraid of, it was being alone with her. Despite his efforts, he was struggling to ignore the scent of roses and the jolts of warmth each time their knees touched. If he turned to look at her, would his gaze go to her lips?
He clenched his hands into fists. He reminded himself of his list. She flirts with William. She calls me Rosie. What else?
What had possessed him to ride with her?
They entered a small wood and the world grew even darker. She slowed the horse. Its grey ears flickered as if it could sense the coming storm.
“Do you have something you wish to say to me?” Susanna asked.
“Do I have?” He blinked rapidly. “What could I possibly wish to say?”
She shrugged, her shoulder rubbing distractingly against his.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“I do not know what you want to say.” Susanna turned to him.
“I only know that you demanded to ride with me. When a gentleman makes such a particular demand, there is usually a reason. You would be surprised how many proposals have taken place in a gig or phaeton.” She giggled nervously and looked back at the road.
His worries from before reemerged, and he found himself asking the most improper of questions.
“Is that why you rode with William? So you could enter into an understanding?” His words came a little too fast.
She laughed.
“This is not a subject for merriment.” He wanted to shake her.
The shadow of the woods receded as the road ambled south. Her face was lit by the sun, highlighting both dimples as she smiled. Was she smiling because of William?
A panic seized his heart.
“Susanna! You must tell me, do you have an understanding with my brother?”
She looked at him, that dratted dimple flashing. “And if I did? What would you say?”
He could not tell if this was an admission or a deflection.
“I would say that you are a fool. For William is not to be trusted. He will not marry you. He can’t.”
“And why not?” she asked lightly.
She spoke as if she were sure that Ambrose was wrong, as if she were already in possession of a proposal.
They passed through the small gate that marked the far edge of Brentmere Park and began to climb the hill. Their speed slowed as the horse leaned forward in the reins.
He should stop talking. The proper thing would be to leave off the conversation. If she were to become his sister, no good could come from a heated exchange. But his entire being revolted at the notion that Susanna Fenton would marry William. It simply could not be allowed to happen.
“You shan’t marry him,” Ambrose said like a spoiled child.
She glanced at him, as if he had said something wonderful and not rude.
“I should not find your jealousy so appealing.”
“I, jealous?” Ambrose threw up his hands. “I am not jealous.”
She tipped her head in disbelief.
“I’m not!”
“If we are going to move forward, you must be honest with yourself and with me.”
Ambrose shook his head. What could she possibly mean?
“Move forward?” he asked.
“Yes, that is what I said.”
They crested the top of the hill. The lake and its surrounding buildings came into view. The Temple of Venus was just beyond them, a little farther down the hill. In the distance, dark clouds gathered over the house. A flash of lightning was quickly followed by thunder, but Ambrose hardly noticed.
What did she mean by “move forward”? Why did she find jealousy appealing? Why could she never make any sense?
“Hold on,” she said, the only warning before she snapped the reins and they went barreling down the slight slope toward the Temple of Venus.
“Are you mad?” he cried.
“Sometimes,” she called back as she urged the horse faster.
Their speed was more than the springs could manage, and he found himself bouncing so much he had to cling to the side to keep from being thrown out.
At one bump, they both left their seats and he threw an arm around her waist, afraid she would tumble away.
No sooner had he pressed her to his side than a loud crack sounded.
They came to an abrupt, jerky halt that almost threw them forward. The horse strained in the harness for a moment before settling. Ambrose did not need to look to see the wheel was cracked.
Thunder boomed.
Susanna laughed.
But Ambrose could not join her. She was pressed too close to him, her body soft as it shook with giggles. The smell of roses and rain invaded his mind.
She was mad and she was driving him mad too.