Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Ambrose arrived late for dinner.
Anxious to look his best, he had taken a bath, tried two different coats, and retied his cravat three times. When he entered the drawing room, his gaze eagerly swept over the occupants, but Susanna was not there. Instinctively, he glanced back, but there was nobody in the hall.
Brydges announced dinner and everyone began moving.
“Miss Susanna is not here,” Ambrose said a little louder than necessary.
“She is not joining us,” Grace replied.
“Seems your little adventure gave her a cold,” William teased.
Ambrose wanted to ask more questions, but it was impossible when everyone was moving to the dining room.
Blessedly, Henry came beside him and explained.
“She is sleeping. Grace left orders with the servants not to wake her.”
Ambrose nodded. He was relieved she was not sick but dismayed that he might not see her all evening. He desperately needed to speak with her. Try as he might, he could think of nothing but their kiss.
He had thought of it as he struggled out of the lake and as he returned muddy and cold to the house. He had thought of it as he drank three cups of tea and paced his room.
In all his thinking, he had reached no conclusions. He could not even decide how he felt about all that had passed between them. He had been angry, pleased, confused, and frustrated, but primarily he was ashamed.
He was ashamed of his conduct in the temple. He was ashamed of kissing Susanna and of wishing to do it again. He had insulted her with his words and his actions. And he needed to make amends. Was she truly resting, or was she avoiding him?
Once they were seated, William began asking questions.
“Well, Rosie, it seems it falls to you to tell us what happened. The servants have been almost no help.”
Ambrose held in a sigh. He had expected a quizzing but had thought Susanna would be there to help with answers.
“There is not much to tell,” Ambrose said. “Miss Fenton wished to return through the pleasure gardens. Unfortunately, when we started down a hill, the wheel cracked.”
“I’d wager Miss Susie was driving,” William said in an undertone.
Ambrose ignored him and continued his story. He did not mention the temple or falling into the lake. It was too great a risk to Susanna’s reputation. He blamed the mud and his separation from Susanna on the horse and its harness.
“How horrible,” Miss Colley said.
“It is fortunate that you did not catch cold,” Miss Witworth said. “It would have been prudent to shelter in one of the buildings.”
“Yes, I suppose, but we did not want to worry anyone with our absence.”
“Very thoughtful,” William said with a smirk. “And tell me, why did the wheel crack?”
“Because we did not properly maintain our carriage,” Grace answered quickly. “Really, I am ashamed at our negligence.”
William chuckled but did not press his point. Grace turned the conversation to the food, and Ambrose gratefully turned his attention to his plate. Soon his mind wandered to the side of the lake, the feel of Susanna in his arms, her lips against his.
Why had she kissed him? Why had she told him to add the kiss to his list? Which list? Was a passionate kiss a reason he could not marry Susanna or a requirement for his future wife?
He needed answers or he would remain in torment. He needed a private word with Susanna, but he could hardly barge into her room. He held out hope that she would join the group later in the evening.
The dinner passed slowly as Ambrose struggled to participate in the conversation. When the ladies stood to leave, he was hopeful for a reprieve from inanity—Miss Witworth had spoken at length on the horrors of a runny nose. But as soon as the footmen departed, William commenced his teasing.
“Now that we are alone, do you wish to share any more information about this afternoon?”
Ambrose glowered at his brother. “No.”
Mr. Scott chuckled. “It seems not all Hartleys boast of their exploits.”
“There were no exploits,” Ambrose said firmly.
“No, of course not.” Mr. Scott nodded and lifted his glass in a mock toast.
William laughed, and Henry shook his head.
Ambrose did not want a breath of scandal to touch Susanna. What had occurred was not like William’s meaningless assignations. It was something more, something important. But Ambrose didn’t want to think about why.
Shaking his head, he concentrated on his drink. Further denials would only fuel their speculation. Henry began to talk of what the rain would do to the roads, a topic that only made Ambrose think of Susanna.
Despite having read about the new road building methods, Ambrose contributed very little to the discussion. His mind was far away and concerned with weightier matters. He rarely raised his glass to his lips. He was confused enough without alcohol clouding his senses.
Eventually Henry spoke of joining the ladies. Ambrose was quick to stand, but William and Mr. Scott stayed seated—they were not yet ready to leave. Ambrose followed Henry out of the dining room. Grace was waiting for them only a few steps away.
She fixed Ambrose with a cold stare.
“I know that look,” Henry muttered.
Ambrose was also familiar with the look. Grace was about to scold him. What had Susanna told her?
“Henry, dear, please see to our guests while I talk to my brother.”
Henry gave a small bow of acknowledgement before dropping a kiss to his wife’s cheek, clapping Ambrose on the back, and striding to the drawing room door.
When they were alone, Grace rounded on him. “Ambrose Hartley, you absolute scoundrel. You have imposed on my dear friend.”
“That is not what—” Ambrose spluttered. “She was the one—what did she tell you?”
“She did not tell me anything.” Grace crossed her arms. “She returned to the house alone, clearly upset, and nearly weeping.”
“Truly?” Ambrose could hardly credit it, but Grace had no reason to lie.
“Yes. I have never seen her so overset, and I suspect that you are to blame.”
He glanced at the stairs and rubbed the back of his neck. How much had she cried? Was it because of the kiss or what happened before?
“I should speak to her,” he said.
“Absolutely not.” Grace pulled at his elbow as if to anchor him in place.
“But I must—”
“No.” Grace cut in. “Let her rest. Take the evening to examine your behavior and compose your apology.”
Ambrose nodded reluctantly. “Very well.”
“Tomorrow, I will ensure you have the opportunity to speak privately with her.”
“Thank you.” Ambrose patted her hand on his elbow.
“There is no guarantee she will forgive you.” Grace sighed. “Her stubbornness will ruin my plan.”
“What?” Ambrose furrowed his brows.
Grace waved her hand. “Nothing. I have neglected my guests long enough. Let us go.”
Though he wished for time with his thoughts, Ambrose nodded and allowed his sister to pull him toward the drawing room.
The evening consisted of conversation, cards, and music, and it all felt like torture. He had no interest in Miss Colley’s piano playing or Miss Witworth’s whist hand. Indeed, he would not care if both ladies left Brentmere Park the next day, if it afforded him the peace to think properly.
When he finally returned to his room, he closed the door and sagged against it. What was he to do? He could not sit down and make a plan because he did not know what goal he wished to pursue.
If she accepted his apology, would all return to normal, or would things between them be forever changed? And how would they change? What did he want to change?
His fingertips brushed his lips as his mind wandered to their kiss, their dance, their numerous enjoyable and frustrating conversations.
With a groan, he pushed away from the door. This was madness. It was Susanna Fenton! In desperation he went to the small table where his locked desk sat and retrieved his notebook.
He flipped past his list of requirements for a wife, beyond the details of the women he had courted, and stopped on his list about Susanna. It was shorter than he remembered, the items less compelling.
1. Drives recklessly
2. That dimple
3. Forever mocking me
4. Known her since I was a child
5. Confusing to be in her presence
6. Free and easy manners
7. Favors William, flirts with him
8. Calls me Rosie
A dimple and a nickname were not valid reasons to reject a woman. Surely knowing her for most of his life was a point in her favor? Knowing a person’s character so fully was rare and should be valued.
The kiss was not on the list, and he would never add it. That experience did not count against her. In the temple she had told him to write a new list. What would a list of reasons to court Susanna contain?
He snapped the notebook closed.
Such thoughts were better left unwritten.
Tonight, he would focus on his apology. Tomorrow, he would let her conduct be his guide. He could not plan beyond that.