Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
And her king was rewarded for his answer to the concubine’s riddle with numerous acts of debauchery.
— The Concubine and Her King. Unpublished MS.
With the marchioness, her secretary, and Mr. Crompton all safely back to London, Susannah had finally taken up her pen again in the large library.
Henry put a warm hand between her shoulder blades, and she knew if she looked up, he would kiss her. She did, and he did.
“How goes Willa?” he asked.
“Willa wanders, like my mind.” Susannah nodded towards the open door that led out to one of the gardens. Shouts and laughter had been her music all morning, the accompaniment to her words. “The sound of play has made me imagine all kinds of horsey adventures for Willa.”
Charles and Mina were galloping amongst the flower borders as if they were on racehorses instead of hobbyhorses.
“I did not know such happiness was possible,” Henry said.
“I didn’t either. My heart is full.”
“My lord. Miss Beasley.” Eakins stood at the door. “Miss D’Oyly has come to call.”
Susannah suddenly discovered her heart wasn’t entirely full. There was room for more, and whether it was more joy or more heartache and longing, she didn’t know.
Henry squeezed her shoulder and looked down at her. Do you want to see her or should I see her alone? he was asking.
She nodded. Yes, I want to see her.
“Show Miss D’Oyly into the library, Eakins,” Henry said.
Susannah tried to ready herself. She stood, she tucked her hair behind her ears, she wrung her hands as if that might remove the ink stains from her fingers.
“Beautiful,” Henry murmured and kissed her temple. “Steady now.”
“Lord Ashthorpe, Miss Beasley. Miss D’Oyly,” Eakins intoned and retreated.
Emma was still the most beautiful girl in the world in Susannah’s estimation. And now Susannah could really take her in. The pink in her cheeks. Her eyes, hazel in color and shaped like Ned’s. But her little nose and how her face rounded? Susannah saw herself there.
“My lord. Miss Beasley.” Emma curtsied.
“Miss D’Oyly, welcome,” Henry said. “Are you and your mother and sister still visitors at Lady Newland’s?”
“Father has come, and we are to travel back home with him tomorrow.”
“Please tell Sir John I passed on his message to the marchioness.”
“You mean his move in their correspondence chess game? She has already answered and put him in check. He is most despondent.”
Henry laughed.
“I came to apologize for any distress my mother might have caused you.” Emma looked at Susannah. “Either of you.”
“You need not apologize, Miss D’Oyly,” Henry said. “It is very kind of you to take the trouble to do so, but neither of us is distressed.”
“Good. Mama is well-meaning, but her imagination leads her astray. I have, I think, at last convinced her that you are to be let alone. I wish happiness for both of you.”
Susannah finally spoke. “Thank you.”
“Will you stay for some lemonade, Miss D’Oyly?” Henry smiled. “No jam tarts, I promise.”
What a wag her earl had become.
“No, I—”
Charles and Mina came in the garden door, both flushed and disarrayed and joyous.
“I won the race!” Mina crowed. “I am to have a prize!” She ran to Henry and hugged his legs.
“And what is the prize?” Henry asked, using his fingertips to brush away the curls that clung to her glowing forehead.
“Uncle is going to let me watch him race up and down the drive on a real horse from the stables, and I am to hold his pocket watch and measure how long it takes him to go four times. I am to be the timekeeper, he says. And I’ve decided my doll’s name is to be Louisa.”
That name had not been on the list of possible beautiful names for the doll, but Susannah knew it was Mina’s mother’s name.
Mina caught sight of Emma and curtsied. “How do you do?”
“Yes,” Henry said. “You have met before. But, here, my son, Lord Delamere, this is Miss D’Oyly.”
Charles’ jaw had been hanging open, and now his hands were busy smoothing his waistcoat, his cravat, his blond locks.
“My lord,” Emma said and curtsied.
Charles walked forward. “Miss D’Oyly.” He bowed.
“Shall I call for some tea?” Henry said, and Susannah thought she saw the hint of a smirk on his face.
“Please forgive me, but I must away,” Emma said. “I walked over, and Mama and Papa don’t know I’m gone, so I must hurry back to Lady Newland’s.”
“Please, Miss D’Oyly,” Charles said. “Please allow me to drive you back in comfort.”
“No, I—”
“It would be no trouble. No trouble at all. The phaeton can be ready almost immediately. It would save you a good deal of time.”
“No, I, well . . .” Emma seemed flustered. “Yes, thank you. But I must warn you that my mother might see you and descend on you like a plague.”
“I look forward to meeting any mother of yours,” Charles said and came next to Emma.
Emma bade farewell to Henry, Susannah, and Mina and left on Charles’ arm. Then Mina ran off to find Louisa and tell her her name.
Susannah and Henry were alone again.
“Did you see?” Henry asked, putting his arms around her.
“The beginning of a friendship?”
“He’s taken with her.”
“He’s one and twenty. She’s twenty-nine,” she said.
“Stranger things have happened. And Lady D’Oyly would be very happy to nab the future Ashthorpe since she can’t get her hands on the present one.”
“No, she can’t,” Susannah said, preening and giving Henry’s buttocks a good, possessive grope.
“I like Miss D’Oyly very much. We must help Charles grow into his manhood so he becomes a good match for her.”
Susannah sighed and leaned her cheek against Henry’s chest.
“Will you ever tell her?” he asked.
“No. What would it do for her? If she had no one . . . but she does. She has a family.”
“You can live without her knowing?”
“I lived twenty-nine years not knowing where she was. I didn’t know if she lived. I didn’t know if she suffered. It’s a blessing to find out the worst she has suffered is a mother who perhaps cares too much. So I can live knowing she’s alive and beautiful and good and clever.”
“Like the woman who gave birth to her.”
She rested her chin on his breastbone and gazed up at him, her love. “You compliment me too much.”
Henry looked down at her and said, “I’ve been pondering a title for this chapter of my life, and I’d like to hear a writer’s opinion.”
“And what have you come up with?”
“How Susannah melted the earl’s icy heart.”
She considered. “Shouldn’t it be How Henry’s heart something, something? Then there would be all that delicious alliteration. And it should have your name. I shouldn’t be the hero of your story.”
He tightened his arms around her. “Yes, you should, love. You already are.”