Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
As Susanna raced away from Ambrose, the rain began to slow.
The pathway was muddy and littered with puddles; she was heedless of both as she fled.
She could hardly do more damage to her boots or dress.
It was fortunate she knew the path, for her mind was not on her steps.
It was still at the edge of the lake with a wet, half-dressed Ambrose Hartley.
For the fifth time, her hand went to her lips.
What madness had seized her? What madness was still coursing through her veins?
For there was a not-small part of her that wished to return to his arms. Only the knowledge that he did not love her and would not marry her kept her from turning around.
To have him look at her so tenderly after listing her faults was unjust.
It was his staunch denials that had driven her to kiss him.
Standing on the lakeshore, they had been drawn together, and at any moment he would have stepped away and pretended to be unaffected.
Kissing him had been essential to prove that his interest was not imagined, that he was not indifferent.
A kiss was something he could not ignore, something he would have to add to his cursed list. Unfortunately, it had revealed far more than she expected.
The eager heat of his arms, the delicious sensation of his lips, the thrill of his hand cradling her cheek—it was all more than she had ever dreamed.
How could it feel that wonderful after his harsh words?
Was that the curse of love? To be heartbroken but still long for him?
Aunt had warned her that love was complicated, but surely she had not meant this.
Susanna’s steps slowed, and she turned around, half hoping he was following her. The path was empty, the lake no longer visible through the trees and bushes. Was he stuck again? Did she truly want him to chase after her?
She touched her lips, sighed, and shook her head. Only a deranged woman would long for the touch of a man that did not care for her. For heaven’s sake, her tears over his rejection were still fresh on her face. With a scoff she wiped at her cheeks and resumed walking.
She must conquer this desire to be in his arms.
A kiss could not erase his list of reasons or rewrite his plan.
Months ago she had learned his requirements and known she did not fit his idea of a proper wife.
To him she was defective, like a doll that one didn’t play with because the hair was pulled out and an arm missing.
It was only her foolish passion that had led her to believe he cared.
That he might be able to love every ridiculous part of her.
The path turned and Brentmere came into view.
Its pale yellow stone stood out in the gloom of the storm.
Like a lighthouse it beckoned her to a safe harbor.
The rain had slowed, but she could feel the squish of every step and the bruises from her fall.
Susanna increased her pace. Once she arrived, there would be fussing and questions.
She looked down at her dress. It was soaked through and splashed with mud.
How would she explain arriving alone in such a state?
It would be impossible to prevent the servants and guests from gossiping.
In general Susanna ignored tittle-tattle, but in this instance there would be truth to the rumors.
The idea of people whispering about her and Ambrose was distasteful.
It would require diligence to stop any gossip from spreading.
She would need to act as if nothing untoward had occurred.
If only that were true, if only she could forget the entire afternoon.
As Susanna began to cross the broad lawn behind the house, a door opened and Grace came rushing out to her, heedless of the soaked ground and lingering rain.
Grace opened her arms, but Susanna held up a hand.
“You’ll ruin your dress,” Susanna said.
“Nonsense.” Grace embraced her quickly and stepped back. “You look a fright but unharmed. Was there any permanent damage?”
Only her heart was damaged, but she could not admit that. Susanna’s eyes swam. “I broke the wheel,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.
Grace grabbed her hand. “I expected as much. Do not fret. Wheels can be replaced, but best friends are in short supply.” She squeezed her hand. “I only care that you are safe.”
Susanna nodded, unable to speak around the sudden lump in her throat.
“Is Rosie with the horse?” Grace asked.
Susanna shook her head. “No, we let the horse go. He is walking. We, um . . .”
All her emotions were suddenly rushing to the surface, forcing themselves to be made known. So much for concealing what had happened. Susanna blinked back tears, and Grace’s face blurred. Ignoring the mud and wet, Grace pulled her into an embrace.
“Oh, Susie, what did my addlebrained brother do?”
“How do you know that it wasn’t my fault?” Susanna said into her shoulder.
“I am sure you did something.” Grace pulled back slightly to look at her. “And I am sure he deserved it.”
A bark of laughter escaped Susanna.
“I want to hear everything, but first let us get you dry and in your room.” Grace smiled before releasing her and leading her toward the house.
This was real, honest love. Not constant judgment and feeling unworthy, but a warm hug, a deep trust, and the reassurance that one is valued beyond things or appearances. That was the kind of love Susanna wanted with the man she married.
They made their way to her room without encountering anyone else. Tea, a hot bath, and a change of clothes awaited her. While Susanna’s maid helped in removing her wet clothes, Grace made sure all was in order.
Grace returned to Susanna and grabbed her hand. “You look exhausted. I will let you rest,” she said.
Susanna nodded.
“You may miss dinner. I am sure everyone will understand.”
“No, I will attend.”
Grace inclined her head, her dark eyes thoughtful. “Very well.” She pressed Susanna’s hand. “I know you are in no state to speak now, but I put you on notice that I expect a full account of what happened.”
“Yes, of course.”
Susanna had anticipated her friend demanding an explanation. As girls, Grace had always been impatient for gossip and stories. Either she had matured or Susanna looked too fragile for the conversation. Whatever the reason, the reprieve was appreciated.
Dinner was only a few hours away and Susanna wanted to appear untouched by the events of the day.
While her heart might never mend, she must start now to appear indifferent.
Attending was the only way to stem gossip and the only way to convince Ambrose that she was not pining for him. It was a matter of pride.
It was her turn to pretend aloofness. She hoped that after she had hot tea, dry clothes, and a short nap, she would be able to meet him with some degree of equanimity.