by Lily George
Susannah resisted the urge to roll her eyes and crush her sister’s romantic visions. Becky had always been the dreamer of the three, the most inclined to moon over Byron. Susannah, with her iron fist of practicality, had learned the difficult way to rein herself in around Becky over the years and not ride roughshod over Becky’s girlish ideals.
“It’s not fate or destiny. Both of our families are from the village. It’s just...common ground.” She rubbed her eyes with a weary hand. What an exhausting day it had been. “I think I’ll rouse Nan enough to help her upstairs.”
“Wait. You never answered my question.” Becky was nothing if not persistent. “Why can’t you depend on him now? Can’t you become Daniel’s wife in truth?”
“Don’t be absurd. He never thought about me in all those years. Why do you persist in making our engagement something it wasn’t?” She rose stiffly, shaking out her skirts. “He helped a long time ago because I asked for his assistance. What kind of woman would I be if, years later, I showed up on his doorstep begging for help again? I must earn my own way in this world. True independence is my only hope for freedom.”
“Hmm.” Becky smothered a yawn with her palm. “All this talk of being alone...I don’t know. He’s awfully handsome, Susy. So tall. So formidable and yet approachable. And he’s your—”
“No, he’s not.” Time to put an end to this. She had no desire to investigate her past any further. She’d already spent far too much of her day on Daniel Hale. Time that should have been spent devoted to her shop. Susannah shook Nan gently and helped her to her feet. “Take Nan upstairs and you two go on to bed. I’ll tidy up down here, and then I will be along.” She needed a few moments to compose herself.
She tucked away the leftover food in the tiny larder adjacent to the kitchen. They’d have enough to eat for a few days at least. She would never accept charity again, but in this case—well, it was certainly going to go to good use.
A sudden chill ran through her body, and she clasped her arms across her chest. She strode over to the hearth to warm herself. She could never prevail upon him for help again. Her words to Becky rang true. She couldn’t very well presume upon a relationship that obviously meant nothing to him. After all, he had never written her. Not once in all his travels around the world.
And there it was. That was the truth. She couldn’t trust him because a tiny, bitter part of her resented the fact that he’d never once checked in on her during those long years. After her first few letters went unanswered, she knew the harsh truth. Daniel was away on the high seas and had simply forgotten her. That was his way. He was as mercurial as quicksilver and would never conform to any sort of stability. Over time, the raw, impotent rage she felt at being left behind had callused over. She would never count on him again, not for anything important.
But...perhaps she could count Daniel merely as a friend. She would never venture to be more than that, and it would behoove her to keep him at arm’s length. But after being alone in this world and taking care of her two sisters for so long, it was nice to have someone one’s own age as an acquaintance. She didn’t feel quite as miserably alone now.
She dusted her hands on her apron and blew out the few beeswax candles that hadn’t burned too low. Lit only by the flickering firelight, the dining room was warm and cozy. She sat on the hearthstone and surveyed her little kingdom with pride.
She said a quick prayer of gratitude.
The trip to Tansley, which had started so poorly, was looking much brighter.
Chapter Four
Some creature was dealing severe hammer blows to his head. Daniel lay with his eyes squeezed shut, willing the pounding to stop. At least for it to lessen enough that a fellow could turn his head. Baxter’s discreet knock on the door was as loud as cannon fire, and his footsteps across the wooden floor might as well have been anvils dropping from the sky.
“Have mercy, man,” Daniel groaned. “Why are you here, anyway? It’s before dawn and you know I don’t wish to be awakened before ten.”
Baxter gave a subtle cough. “It’s nearly noon, sir.”
Daniel opened his eyes, but the sunlight seared them, and he closed them again. “Are you sure, Baxter?”
“Quite sure. I do have your breakfast tray. Cook sent up bacon and eggs.” The mattress squeaked in protest as Baxter set the tray down.
“Oh, all right.” Daniel slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, holding his head as still as he possibly could. Perhaps a little bacon would ease the throbbing of his brain. “Don’t open the curtains, I beg you.”
“As you wish.” Baxter stood at the end of the bed, facing his master expectantly as Daniel pulled the breakfast tray into his lap.
“Well?” Daniel bit into a slice of bacon. The smoky taste of it gave him an uncertain moment. He’d either toss his accounts or be hale and hearty in a few seconds. He chewed carefully, waiting to see which way his body would react.
“Mr. Donaldson is here, waiting in the parlor. Your estate manager.” Baxter coughed again, and Daniel shot him a rueful glance under his brows. That sound was like nails on glass, especially after one had imbibed a bit too much the night before. “I told him that you were having a bit of a late start but that you would meet with him within the hour. He has some account books, which I gave him leave to spread out on the table.”
Account books. Estate managers. Parlors. His head gave another painful throb, and he bit slowly into the bacon once more. He was doing better, but still—the thought of meeting anyone to discuss business right now put him off. “Did I have an appointment with him?”
“You did, sir. I mentioned it to you yesterday, when Mr. Paul was here.”
“I don’t remember much of anything after Paul arrived, Baxter.” There had been a lot of scotch, hilarious conversation and japes, of course. But practical conversations? No, he didn’t recall a word. “Well, let the man cool his heels in the parlor. I’ll have a bit more breakfast and make myself presentable. This bacon is just what I needed.” He sipped at his tea, a potent, bitter brew so strong that the tannin left a film on his tongue. Bracing was not the word for Cook’s tea. No, she boiled it for so long that you could use it to scrub the decks of a ship. Perfect.
“Very good. Mr. Paul is still sleeping in the guest room. Shall I awaken him?”
“Don’t be absurd. That fellow has no responsibilities, no estate agents waiting upon him. Let him sleep it off. I’ll meet him later, at dinner.”
Baxter bowed and quit the room, shutting the door with a decisive snap. Daniel took another burning sip of tea and struggled to remember all that happened after Paul came over. What had they done? They’d spoken of Susannah and her sisters....
The throbbing in his head was easing. Now it just felt like annoying little birds giving his head an occasional peck.
Well, he couldn’t very well sit here forever. Donaldson was downstairs waiting. He’d only communicated with the fellow a few times by letter—never met him in person. Why was Donaldson here, after all? He was the expert on running the place. Daniel knew nothing of managing a farm.
He pushed the tray aside and sat up, every movement a small agony. Baxter had laid his clothes out for him—the typical country squire attire. Breeches, shirt, jacket. Cravat. Bother the cravat; he was not in the mood to be slowly choked by a piece of fabric today. He tugged and pulled, getting dressed to boots but draping his jacket over the chair as he strolled to the washbasin. The thing fit so tightly that it was impossible to properly wash one’s face with it on.
He gazed in the looking glass, running his hand over the rough stubble on his chin. He needed a shave, and the bags under his eyes spoke volumes about last night. When Donaldson left, he’d enjoy a nice hot bath and a shave. That would be his reward for making it through this meeting when he would much rather sleep.
He splashed tepid water in t
he washbasin and lathered his hands with a cake of soap. He paused. This wasn’t his usual soap, the one that smelled of fresh green herbs. What on earth was this?
He paused, breathing deeply for a moment.
Orange blossom.
Just like Susannah.
The certainty of what he’d done yesterday speared through him. Paul had dared him. Dared him to send something nice to his sweetheart. And he’d ordered a huge hamper of food to be delivered to the Siddons girls because Susy had been so hungry when he saw her last.
He groaned, rubbing his damp palms over his eyes—but as he drew them away, he could smell nothing but orange blossoms and could think of nothing but Susannah. Would she be offended by his gift? She would be if she’d known that it was done as a dare.
The sick feeling that had begun to ease over breakfast now hit him, full force, in the gut. He clenched the side of the basin and bowed his head.
When the room stopped spinning a bit, he trusted himself to make it over to the bellpull. In short order, Baxter entered the room. “Yes, sir?”
“Why do I have orange blossom soap?” Daniel jerked his head toward the basin and pitcher.
“The maid must have made a mistake. Usually we have your bay rum.” Baxter crossed over to the basin and picked up the offensive bar. “I’ll have it changed out.”
“See that you do. Orange blossom is far too feminine for a chap.” Daniel rubbed his brow. How best to broach the next subject?
“Donaldson is waiting, sir. Are you on your way down?” Baxter stood, soap tucked discreetly in his fist, beside the basin. “Is there anything else you need?”
Yes. He needed just a little more information—just some insight into how great of a fool he had been last night. “Did I order a hamper of food to be sent to the village?”
“You did. The basket was delivered by Nancy in time for supper.”
Daniel suppressed a groan. There was nothing he could do now. It was too late—the hamper had already made it to the Siddonsesʼ home. The girls had either partaken of its contents or—as was more likely—it was now floating in a nearby stream, chucked there by an angry and proud Susannah.
Fine. He would go meet with Donaldson and then he’d have to think of a way to make amends. He’d have to cut back on his drinking with Paul tonight, and he’d have to watch his friend closely from now on, when it came to accepting dares. After all, Paul thought it was a fantastic joke that he and Susannah had been engaged. But it was no laughing matter.
He shut off his thoughts with a click. After all, if he stood there brooding, he’d need a drink. And once he started drinking he lost all sense of reason. And he needed all his wits about him if he was going to find a way out of this mess. “I’m on my way out now,” he informed his butler, his tone rough and brusque.
He quit the room, striding down the stairs with purposeful steps. When he flung open the parlor door, Donaldson glanced up from a stack of books, an expectant look on his face.
“You must be Mr. Donaldson.” Daniel offered his hand. “Good to meet you in person. I’m afraid I haven’t had time before, but now...” He trailed off. He really had no excuse at the ready for his lack of interest in the Hall. Not when his head was pounding and his wits had flown.
“Yes, sir.” Donaldson shook his hand but then bowed respectfully. “I am grateful for the chance to meet with you at last.”
“Well, then. I see you’ve brought a library with you.” A little joke, but really—they must hasten the interview. He had to see Susannah, see if she was really furious with him—
“Yes, well, I had tried to talk to your brother about this, but he had fallen ill and could not make any decisions. The tenants are in need of some assistance, and there are some improvements that could be made on the farm. Improvements that could better the lives of your people here and can bring in more income. Make the place more prosperous.” Donaldson indicated his account books with a wave of his hand. “If you like, I can show you. I need your approval before I can start.”
Tenants. Improvements. Income. The old stifling feeling of obligation began to well inside Daniel, and he took a step back. By distancing himself from the account books, could he distance himself from his duties? “Yes, well, Goodwin Hall has always been reasonably profitable. We don’t want for much here.”
“I do understand, sir. But if you’ll allow me to speak frankly—I feel I would be remiss if I did not say anything. The tenants’ homes could use some repair, and the back fields could, if they lay fallow for a season, produce even better next summer. Or we could try planting a different crop there, to give the soil a rest...”
Donaldson nattered on, showing him a line of finely scripted numbers in a column in one of the account books. Daniel clenched his jaw and nodded, but even as he feigned interest, his gaze and his mind wandered. He could walk down to the village and try to speak to Susannah. Yes, that was the best plan. Speaking to her directly was the only way to address the matter. She always responded better to directness than to subterfuge.
“...and I believe all these improvements could be implemented over the course of the year.” Donaldson closed the account book and glanced at Daniel, an expectant smile on his face. “Well, sir? What do you think?”
“I...uh...” Daniel cast around for something intelligent to say. “I—I can see you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“Well, it is my duty.” Donaldson stacked the books one on top of the other and shrugged. “So, I should, of course, prefer to have your thoughts on the matters, as well.”
He had no thoughts on any of these matters, beyond the growing feeling of dread that he would be chained to them forever. He had no mind for any of this, and yet these obligations were his. “I don’t know, really. Do I need to reach a decision on any of this today?”
“No, certainly not. I am sure you need time to think things over.” Donaldson stuffed the account ledgers into a worn leather satchel. “However, I would recommend implementing these improvements as quickly as possible, as we are nearing the end of summer. Shall I meet with you again next week?”
“No, not next week.” He needed to shake free of these duties. He was never meant to be the one in charge. That was his brother’s job—and he had been far better suited to the role than Daniel. “I may be out of town then. I shall have to see. I’ll contact you, and we can discuss matters at that point.”
Donaldson nodded, his youthful face wearing the expression of one resigned to the inevitable. “Of course, Mr. Hale. I shall wait to hear from you then.” He grasped the satchel and strode toward the door. “Thank you for your time.” He left without a second glance.
There was no trip out of town, of course. Living out as far as he did, a journey to Bath or London would be a rare excursion indeed. But it was the only way to get the man to stop talking—to leave. Daniel sighed and strolled over to the window, gazing out across the rolling pastures that surrounded Goodwin Hall. These were the pastures he’d played in as a child, the pastures that he’d cantered across on his favorite horse as a youth. And they undulated before him, like waves on a sea.
The sea had called to him, beckoning with promises of adventure. These lands rolled before him, reminding him of all he’d shirked. How he’d left his brother to die alone.
He needed a drink. Or he needed to fix one problem.
A choice, really—to drink oneself into oblivion again or to try to repair one bit of damage.
* * *
“Becky, those curtains are lovely. You’re really outdoing yourself this time.” Susannah glanced over at her sister with a smile as she rubbed at the windowpane. “Once we hang them up, the whole character of this room will change.”
“I’ve never seen this much dust in my life.” Nan gave a hearty sneeze. “When was the last time anyone lived here?”
“I don’t know
,” Susannah admitted, stepping back to admire her handiwork. The panes of glass sparkled in the late-afternoon sunshine.
“Judging by the condition of these floors, I’d say it was at least ten years.” Nan sneezed again.
Susannah turned to her sister, frowning. “Here, let me sweep. You shouldn’t be breathing in all that dirt. I’ve finished the windows, and when I’m done with these floors, we shall stop for a little while.”
“For the day?” Nan asked hopefully, handing the broom to Susannah.
“For a while.” Susannah stressed the last word as she grasped the rough wooden handle.
“But we’ve been working since early this morning.” Nan used her most wheedling tone. “Couldn’t we take the rest of it to enjoy our handiwork?”
Susannah surveyed the room with a critical eye. Things did look remarkably better. It didn’t exactly look like a fashionable millinery store yet, but it no longer reeked of abandonment. The windows, free of grime, allowed the sun to gild their humble furnishings, which Susannah had rubbed with lemon oil. Becky’s curtains, made of fine ivory muslin, would soften the room and grace it with a feminine touch. And Nan’s sweeping, which had started upstairs and worked all the way down to the front entrance, had done wonders to improve the appearance of the worn wooden floors.
She turned her attention to her sisters. Dust smeared Nan head to toe, and Becky’s head drooped tiredly as she worked fine stitches into the hem of the muslin. She didn’t dare to glance at herself in the mirror—she must look a fright—but the grime that collected around her fingernails bore mute testimony to the work she’d done. Her heart lurched and she twisted her mouth ruefully. Once again, she’d worked everyone too hard.
“Yes, of course. We could all do with a nice bit of rest.” She brushed the broom across the floor in broad half circles, gathering the last bits of debris into a pile. “I’ll just brush this out the door and then we can have tea.”
She pulled the latch and the door creaked open. Mustering the last reserves of her energy, she pushed the dust outside with a mighty swoosh.
