Chapter 23 #3
This was the end, Susanna thought, her shoulder pressed to Peter’s, drawing some warmth from him as the curricle turned onto the driveway leading to Fincham Manor.
Oh, she would quite possibly see him again after today.
It was even probable that she would have to go to the ball at Sidley that he had mentioned earlier, though she would not even think about that yet.
But really today was the end. The end of an affair of the heart that could have no future. Now was the end.
It was also the beginning of something else. She wondered if her grandparents had arrived yet.
Her grandparents.
She still felt partly numbed at the unfamiliar thought.
Today she was going to meet three people who were closely connected to her by blood after believing for eleven years that she was all alone in the world.
But they were strangers.
Would they even like her?
Would they hold it against her that she was the product of a marriage that ought never to have been?
But they were coming here, were they not?
Would she like them?
How would she even greet them?
“It looks,” Peter said, “as if the visitors have arrived.”
And sure enough, there was a large old carriage standing outside the stable block. Her heart sank.
“Afraid?” he asked, turning his head to look down at her.
“Very.” She drew her cloak more tightly about her.
“Is it not strange,” he said, “how life can plod along placidly for years and then, for no clear reason, can be suddenly filled with one turmoil after another? And it has happened for us both in differing ways—and began for both of us at the same moment, when we arrived together at the fork in a narrow lane in the quiet Somerset countryside one summer afternoon. Such a seemingly innocent encounter! And here we are as a result of it all, and you are facing an ordeal that has nothing really to do with me. May I come in with you?”
“Please do,” she said as he drew the curricle to a halt before the doors into the house and jumped down to assist her.
She thought as she entered the house a few moments later that perhaps she ought to have said no.
Perhaps her grandparents would recognize the name Whitleaf as she had during the summer.
But it was too late now. Besides, she could not bear to say good-bye to him and then have to go upstairs to the drawing room alone.
The newly arrived visitors were there and expecting her, the butler informed her as he took her cloak and bonnet from her and she fluffed up her curls and brushed her hands over her dress. He turned to lead the way.
She did not take Peter’s arm. If she did, she might cling. This was something she must do herself, even if she had chosen to have him accompany her for moral support.
Lady Markham, Edith, Mr. Morley, Theodore—they were all in the drawing room, Susanna saw as soon as she had crossed the threshold. So were three strangers, all of whom got to their feet at sight of her. Theodore came striding toward her.
“Susanna,” he said, taking her hand in both of his and squeezing it before letting it go, “you must come and meet Colonel and Mrs. Osbourne and the Reverend Clapton, your grandparents.”
The lady was slender almost to the point of thinness, with white, carefully coiffed hair, a lined face, and a sweet mouth.
The colonel was broad-chested and tall and very upright in bearing.
He was bald and had a thick white mustache, which drooped past the corners of his mouth almost to his chin.
He looked very distinguished. He looked like an older version of Susanna’s father.
The clergyman was shorter and thinner. He had fine gray hair and eyeglasses and supported himself with a cane.
Her grandparents, Susanna thought, gazing one at a time at the three strangers.
She dipped into a curtsy.
And then the lady came hurrying toward her, both hands outstretched, and Susanna set her own in them.
“Susanna,” the lady said. “Oh, my dear, I believe I would have known you anywhere. You look just like your mother, though surely you have something of the look of my son too. Oh, my dearest, dearest girl. I knew you were not dead. All these years I have said it, and now I know that I was right.”
Her chin wobbled and her eyes filled with tears.
“Please do not cry, ma’am,” Susanna said, hearing a gurgle in her own throat. “Please do not.”
“Grandmama,” the lady said. “Call me Grandmama. Please do.”
“Grandmama,” Susanna said.
And then of course, there was no way of stopping the tears of either of them from flowing—and somehow they had their arms about each other, Susanna and this stranger who was not a stranger at all but Papa’s mother.
Peter was clearing his throat, though not in an attention-seeking way. So was the Reverend Clapton, who was leaning on his cane with both hands. Lady Markham and Edith were smiling with happiness. Mr. Morley looked as if he were in raptures. Theodore was beaming genially.
The colonel withdrew a large white handkerchief from a pocket of his coat, blessing his soul rather fiercely as he did so, held the handkerchief to his nose, and blew into it loudly enough to wake the dead.