Chapter 20
Twenty
The sky was dark, and flecks of rain dusted Susanna’s cheeks. She stood beside the broken wheel, sobered and confused. When Ambrose had pushed her away and crawled out of the carriage, she had ceased laughing. He did not share her amusement. Indeed, she suspected he was angry with her.
She supposed it was foolish to race down the hill, but a joyful ride had seemed a fitting way to celebrate her happiness. She had driven down that hill many times without incident. It was merely ill luck that the wheel had cracked. Or maybe it was fortuitous?
With the rain imminent, they would need to shelter in one of the buildings and have ample time to be alone.
When Ambrose realized this, his frustration would disappear.
Once they took shelter, he would have the opportunity to properly declare himself.
Unless he was concerned about the propriety of the situation?
“I am sure everyone will understand we had to seek shelter when we do not return,” she said.
“I am not sure how, when I do not even understand.”
She frowned at his harsh tone. He was definitely upset with her. “I am sorry about the wheel.”
He did not reply but busied himself with removing the last of the harness and leading the horse forward. His competence and thoughtfulness for the horse only increased her affections.
“I will pay for the repairs,” she said.
“If we are to have any hope of staying dry, we should start walking,” he replied stiffly.
Susanna looked at the sky. It was likely too late to avoid the rain, but she refrained from pointing that out and moved to his side.
He did not offer his arm, and she was not bold enough to take it.
The lightheartedness she had felt in the gig had disappeared, chased away by his frowns and silences.
They walked without speaking. The only sound was the jangle of the horse’s harness and thump of its hooves.
The birds were all quiet in anticipation of the storm.
With each step she felt more and more like a disobedient child.
It was uncomfortable and, she felt, completely unwarranted.
How had they gone from almost speaking of marriage to this stony silence?
“It was an accident,” she murmured more to herself than to him.
“You deliberately drove too fast,” he replied.
“I have taken that hill much faster.”
“Then you are fortunate you are not dead,” he spat back. He stopped and turned to her. “You could have killed us.”
He was being ridiculous, it was only a broken wheel. His anger was disproportionate to the situation. What was he truly upset about?
She put her hands on her hips. “That is not why you are cross.”
“Of course it is,” he flung at her.
The wind began to blow, and the small drops of rain came more frequently.
“Blast,” he muttered. He glanced at the horse.
“She can find her way back to the stables,” Susanna said.
He nodded and released the reins. The mare needed little urging to leave them behind and began to canter away. Hopefully she would reach the stables without getting drenched. As thunder rolled above them, they took hurried steps after the horse.
The Temple of Venus was not the best of shelters—the open rotunda would not protect them from wind—but it was the closest. Susanna rather liked the idea of sheltering in a place dedicated to the goddess of love.
The faster the rain fell, the faster they moved.
Susanna slipped a little on the path, and suddenly Ambrose was holding her hand and supporting her elbow.
She smiled up at him gratefully before he tugged her forward.
They reached the steps of the temple slightly damp, a little winded, and holding hands.
Once under the dome, they paused and caught their breath.
He turned to face her. His bright green eyes darted to their hands and then to her eyes.
His gaze was soft, no longer frustrated.
Rain dripped off his lashes. If she swayed forward, they would splash her cheeks.
Every part of her wished to close the distance between them.
Her tongue swept across her lips in anticipation. His eyes darted down.
He was about to kiss her.
“Madness,” he murmured.
She smiled up at him reassuringly, willing him to stop talking and take action. “The poets say love is a kind of madness,” she said.
“Love!” He started backward, releasing her hand. “We do not—that is, I certainly don’t—love?”
She frowned. “In the gig you said—”
“I said nothing of love.” He took another step away from her.
A cold wind blew between them.
What had he said precisely? They had spoken of proposals and William and jealousy.
“I suppose we have skipped a few steps. You did say I can’t marry William.”
“Yes, but—”
“Because you wish to marry me instead.”
His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. “Marry you?”
The word echoed off the marble, bouncing around the columns. His shock and vexation hit her like a physical blow. He paced away from her, his hands running through his damp hair. When had he lost his hat?
The rain began to pour, pounding on the roof and surrounding them in a curtain of water.
It seemed impossible that she had misunderstood his intentions. Perhaps he was only upset that she had spoiled his proposal with her presumptions and impulsive driving. He did so adore his precious plans.
She stepped toward him. “I know this is not how you planned to make your offer, and for that I am sorry.”
“I had no plans.” He threw up his hands and turned to her. “How could you possibly think such a thing?”
“What do you mean? You are looking for a wife and you have given me ample evidence of affection. You—”
“What evidence?”
“Do you want me to make a list?” She could not keep the sarcasm and frustration from her voice.
“That might be helpful. For I confess I am all at sea.”
Was he truly claiming ignorance of everything that had happened between them?
“Ambrose Hartley, do not stand there and pretend that you were not about to kiss me.” She put her hands on her hips.
He colored and swallowed thickly. “That is not—rather, I—” He shook his head. “If only I had my list,” he muttered.
“You forget I have seen your list of requirements for a wife. And though much of it is nonsense, I believe I fulfill the most important items.”
“Not that list. Wait, nonsense?”
“Yes, nonsense. Why should the woman’s age matter or if she reads novels? And you don’t truly want a wife that never argues. How will you know when you are wrong? Really, I don’t know why you made the list in the first place.”
“Because I must marry.” He stalked to the center of the building. The statue of Venus loomed over him, beautiful but cold.
Susanna followed, unwilling to let him evade her.
“Why must you marry?” she asked.
“Because of a blasted wager. Because if I am the last of my friends to marry, I forfeit six hundred pounds.”
“That is a stupid wager.”
“I know!” He spun around to face her. “The nature of the wager is irrelevant. I am honor bound to it. It was meant to be simple.” He began to pace again, his footsteps beating in time with the rain.
“I made my lists, I had a plan. I should have been married before June. But Miss Bullocke. And so off to this house party. But you!” He pointed at her, shaking his finger as if she were a disobedient child. “You were never part of the plan.”
She tried to suppress her grin. Really she should not find his agitation appealing, but it was proof of the strength of his feelings. Perchance his thinking had not yet moved to marriage. But he was not indifferent to her, he only needed help to understand his heart.
“Perhaps you should form a new plan? Write a new list?” She smirked.
“No! Don’t smile.” He paused his pacing and glowered at her. “I already made a new list. A list of all the reasons I could not marry you.”
“I do not believe you,” she said, not as confident as she sounded.
Why would he make such a list?
“What reason have I to lie?” He held up his fingers as he began to list her faults.
“You are a reckless driver. We have known each other most of our lives. Your dimple is infuriating. You do not respect me, mocking me at every turn. You tie me up in knots until I can’t think straight.
You are so free and easy that it is impossible to tell who has your regard.
And you have spent most of your visit flirting with my older brother!
” With each item his voice had climbed till he was nearly shouting.
As he spoke, Susanna’s heart pounded and her cheeks flamed. This was his opinion of her? How had she been so mistaken?
She raised her hand to silence him.
“Enough. I perfectly understand you.”
Suddenly she felt the cold and damp of her clothes, and her eyes swam. She crossed her arms as if that would keep her emotions from spilling out. He could never know how deeply he had wounded her.
She turned and faced the statue. If only Venus were real and could aid her by taking away her love for Ambrose. It would be so much easier if she did not care for him.
The rain relented slightly, the sound reduced to patters. Footsteps echoed behind her as he paced. The world around them was dripping and blurred. How strange that only a few days ago she stood near this spot, sure that Ambrose was contemplating marriage to her.
The footsteps paused.
“I did not intend—that is, I should not have spoken so,” he said gently.
She did not want pity, soft voices, or apologies. She swallowed back the tears that wanted to fall and lifted her chin before turning to face him.
He was watching her anxiously.
She forced a light smile. “No, you should not have spoken so, but I did provoke you. And it was a rather illuminating list.” She laughed a little too loudly. “To think I was expecting a—” She shook her head. “’Tis no matter.”
He stepped forward as if he might speak.
Susanna was done speaking. She stepped back. “The rain has nearly stopped,” she said with forced brightness.
“No, it hasn’t.”
“I think I shall start back. Please be so good as to not follow me.” Her voice nearly betrayed her. She made an elaborate curtsey to cover her emotions. “Good day, Mr. Hartley.”
She spun away and walked determinedly to the steps. She could not stay another moment in his company. Her vision blurred with tears, but she continued walking. She would not allow him to know how she had dreamed of becoming his wife. She reached the steps and left the protection of the temple.
Rain pelted her, mingling with her now freely flowing tears.
Water dripped from her bonnet, obscuring her vision.
She pulled it off and tipped her head to the sky.
At least when she arrived at the house with wet cheeks, nobody would question why.
They would only chastise her for foolishly walking in the storm.
But a wet walk was the least of her foolish actions.
It was mortifying the time she had devoted to showing Ambrose her worth. She had learned about road building! To what purpose? He saw all of her flaws and none of her merits.
She had been so sure of his regard, so sure he wanted to marry her, when in fact he thought her an outrageous, mocking flirt.
Unworthy to even talk to his brother, let alone bear the name of Hartley.
His objections were not jealousy but fear that William was in earnest, fear that he would have a disgraceful sister-in-law.
But that thought did not ring true. She was no moonstruck girl.
She had not imagined his smiles or praise.
When she declared he was about to kiss her, he looked abashed but had not denied it.
He was not indifferent to her, but his feelings—whatever they may be—could not overcome his list of objections.
Somehow that made it worse. For despite her anger, hurt, and frustration, despite his obvious failings, she still cared for him. With every step she hoped to hear him calling out and pleading forgiveness as he chased her down.
He did not race after her.
There was nothing but the rain and her beating heart. She began to walk faster. The movement eased her agitation. She increased her pace and soon she was practically running down the hill, toward the lake.
She did not care if he was watching, judging her for her recklessness. From now on, she refused to care what Ambrose Hartley thought of her.