Susan fairly vibrated with anger. It had taken all her self-control not to throw William Blake at him. Despicable man. Boorish, self-important—
She stomped down the row to replace poor William Blake and his poetry back on the shelf. She needed to leave the library. She needed to walk and breathe and not think about what had happened. A walk in the park at Cantwell Hall would be just the thing. A nice, brisk walk where the breeze might blow the thoughts of the horrible man, whoever he was, out of her mind.
She opened the door of the library and looked both ways down the corridor to make sure no one was about, then she returned to the ballroom, her eyes searching to make sure she didn’t have a repeat encounter with the man. Fortunately, she didn’t see him.
She did spy her brother Lucas, though, and made her way through the ballroom to his side.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you. Lavinia is tired and would like to return to Ashworth Park. Does that suit you?”
Susan suspected she could walk the entire way to Ashworth Park, rather than ride in the carriage, and it still wouldn’t be enough to settle her tumultuous feelings. She smiled at her brother instead. “It does suit me—once I ask Lord Cantwell if I may borrow this book.”
Lucas chuckled. “I should have known you of all people would disappear into the library. I could have saved myself a great deal of time if I had searched there first. Well, come on; let’s go find the groom and beg his indulgence on your behalf so I may take Lavinia back to Ashworth Park. We husbands and soon-to-be fathers must see to the needs of our wives, and I will not have her overexert herself.”
They eventually spotted Lord Cantwell, who, Susan observed, was in such great spirits and so enamored of his bride that she could have asked to take the chandelier in the entrance hall and he would have readily agreed.
Lavinia, on the other hand, was too tired for conversation during the carriage ride home, and Lucas was too busy fretting about her to say much of anything, which was entirely fine with Susan. She herself was so preoccupied with her encounter in the library that she stared out the window all the way back to Ashworth Park, the detestable man’s words repeating over and over in her mind:
You, ma’am, should have made your presence known, had you any manners at all.
I am greatly relieved that we are not acquainted, ma’am, and that there is no one present to make the proper introductions. For you have shown yourself to be utterly without decorum.
Boorish, self-important, loathsome man, whose dark hair had glinted with burgundy when the light from the window had struck it. Whose intense, dark eyes had stared deeply into her own from their lofty height. Who’d made her shiver when he’d taken in his fill of her. Who’d said such terrible, hurtful words to her. She hated him.
Even worse, she hated that she’d found him attractive even while he’d torn her to bits.
She hoped she never learned who he was.
Chapter 2
April 1814
Susan sat by helplessly and watched as her youngest sister, Rebecca, cried buckets of tears. “It is so unfair,” Rebecca sobbed, repeatedly dabbing at her overflowing eyes with her handkerchief. “I’ve climbed that silly fence stile hundreds—thousands—of times! Why must I fall this time, and not only that but break my leg when we are to leave for London in only two days!”
This morning, Rebecca had been carried home by a kind, young stranger, her lower left leg slightly askew. Mama had sent for the surgeon, who had arrived not long thereafter and had set and splinted Rebecca’s broken bone. Now it was afternoon, and a few minutes ago, Mama had given her another dose of laudanum.
“Never mind that,” Susan said. “We are only grateful that someone discovered you lying there and brought you safely home. Otherwise, who knows how long you would have been there.” Mr. Arnold, the neighbor whose land was adjacent to their father’s property, had died not long ago, and the new owner hadn’t arrived to take possession of it yet. “You shouldn’t have been attempting to cross a stranger’s property anyway.”
“I don’t see why not. Mr. Arnold always let us.” She sniffed and dabbed at her nose again.
“The new owner is not Mr. Arnold, though, is he?” Susan said.
“But it saves so much time when walking to the village.” Rebecca sighed. “I know, I know. It was wrong of me. And now I’m being divinely punished for my trespass, and I cannot imagine a worse punishment when all the news says the French are nearly defeated and the war may end at last. The excitement of being in London at such a time if it all comes to pass! The colors and spectacle of it all! The grand ladies and gentlemen! It was to be rollicking good fun, and now I cannot go!” Her sobbing began anew.
Susan was certainly glad the war might be coming to an end, and she completely understood the English population’s desire to celebrate. She was even willing to admit that personally witnessing the historic events unfold was an intriguing prospect. But the bowing and scraping and fanning oneself and holding back one’s opinion and smiling demurely in London Society was not something she was particularly looking forward to.
Nor was going to London on her own now at the expense of Rebecca’s well-being.
Susan had primarily agreed to Lady Walmsley’s invitation to join her in London for the Season because Lady Walmsley had offered to sponsor Rebecca’s belated come-out, and for that, Susan had been willing to tolerate Society for a few months.
London held bad memories for her—memories that had nearly broken her heart. Not that she had ever cared to admit such a thing to anyone.
“I have discovered that I adore the company of young people,” Lady Walmsley had written in her original letter of invitation. “And when I learned of your brother Lucas’s heroic efforts in Spain that saved the life of my dear great-nephew-in-law, I decided I must do something to repay his generosity of spirit.”
Both Rebecca and Susan had been invited. Susan suspected that her own inclusion in the invitation had been so that Lady Walmsley could reassure their mother, who would undoubtedly have been more agreeable to giving her consent if Rebecca were to be in London with a family member present. They did have a brother currently residing in London, Simon, but as he was sowing quite a few wild oats, he was not a candidate for the job of responsible familial chaperone.
On the off chance that Mama had not been leaning toward giving her permission, she had been entirely convinced after Lady Walmsley’s aforementioned great-nephew-in-law himself, the Earl of Halford, had written to vouch for Lady Walmsley and encourage Mama and Papa to give their permission. “Dear Great-Aunt Margaret” thrived when she had lively young people to keep her company, he’d said. So Mama had written to James, Susan and Rebecca’s older brother who was a solicitor in the city of Lincoln, to see if he would escort the two of them to London and into the safe hands of Lady Walmsley. James had written back promptly, agreeing to accompany them, and would be arriving later today.