“No, my Lord. This has been our home; it would be too difficult for us to leave.”
Michael smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Bailey. Miss Newland and I will be staying indefinitely while the estate is sorted out.” The idea of an unmarried woman staying without a chaperone did not seem to make much of an impression on Mrs. Bailey. She showed neither shock, nor judgment. “She did not bring a maid with her,” he went on, “If Amelia could assist her while she’s here, I would greatly appreciate that.”
“Yes, my Lord. Will there be anything else?”
“No; just the coffee.” And like that, Michael went from being on the same footing as the servants to in charge, if in name only. It was as Mrs. Bailey preferred.
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Amelia woke Susanne with a tray of tea and scones. The day was sunny and as she bathed and dressed, Susanne chatted with Amelia, who was pleased to be bumped up from housemaid to lady’s maid.
Michael was still in the office when she came downstairs. The light in the room suddenly seemed to brighten and any fatigue he’d felt before disappeared.
“Working already?” she asked.
“Snooping mostly. It’s been years since I was in his office; he left it a rotten mess.”
Susanne came around to the window behind the desk. “It’s lovely outside. I thought that you might like to take me on a walk this morning.”
Michael chuckled. “Yes, I believe that I would like that.”
Susanne was correct. The gloom and cold of the previous days was gone. It was unseasonably warm and spring seemed suddenly to have burst open. Michael played tour guide, showing her Elysian Fields as he remembered it, not as it was.
“When was the orangery last used?” she asked, as they walked into the building.
Michael’s eyes swept across what remained of the building; there were no plant remnants only tables and broken glass from the missing panes. “I don’t remember how long ago; before I left for Harrow. I suppose my father didn’t have much use for exotic plants.”
“I am sure his gardeners were needed elsewhere. Rebecca has such plans for the orangery at St. Clare’s.”
“I’m sure Rebecca has plans for all of St. Clare’s,” he retorted.
Susanne laughed. “I suppose. But Rebecca has always known what she wanted.”
They walked arm-in-arm toward a pond. “And what did you want?” Michael asked.
“To be happy,” she sighed.
“Were you happy as a child?”
Susanne thought a moment. “I was. And I wasn’t. I wanted everyone to love me and if someone were cross with me…I believe that Tristan has been cross with me for a long time.”
“Do you know why?”
Susanne was uncomfortable, but she had shared so much with Michael that she believed he could see into her. “Yes, at least I think so. Partly, it was our father. He seemed to enjoy pitting Tristan and Rebecca against me. He favored me. I am ashamed to say, I enjoyed it, his attention. I never thought about how it must have hurt them.” She paused.
To know one’s faults is one thing; to admit them, though, to someone she believed loved her unconditionally-well, even the most patient and tolerant person has their limits. Susanne knew how fragile men’s egos were when it came to women and she was still naïve enough to believe that Michael did not know of her past. Michael waited patiently for her to continue. “I destroyed any trust Tristan might have had in me,” she managed to say. “I haven’t been the most virtuous woman. That’s why Lt. Wilborn--“
“Insulted you?” Michael interrupted angrily. They stopped walking and she dropped his arm. “Because that is what Lt. Wilborn did,” he continued. “Susanne, no one of us is truly virtuous. Some choose to act on their impulses and some just wallow in their judgment of others too cowardly to live their own lives.”
“Of course you know,” she whispered. “You were in school with Tristan.”
He put his hands on her cheeks. “Yes, I know about a lovely young girl with a beautiful heart who was taken advantage of by a miserable weasel. You have been blaming yourself all this time, thinking you were at fault when the only thing you were wrong about was in trusting the wrong men.” He kissed her on the forehead and pulled her into an embrace.
“You are a strange, strange man,” she said, as she wiped her tears on his coat.
He laughed. “Yes, Susanne, I am.”
She did not move, afraid that if she did he would let her go. After a while, she said, “When I was a little girl, I used to play in the stream with the local boys. We would catch salamanders and frogs and whatever else was in there. My mother would get so mad at me because I came home all wet and muddy and stinking of salamander.”
“Well, we have a stream here somewhere. I promise not to get angry if you would like to play in the water.” She giggled. And Michael kissed her.
************************
In the afternoon, Susanne sat in the office with Michael, sketching him while he worked. He had sorted most of the papers, tossing into the fire what little personal correspondence he came across. Anything he thought would be important for settling the estate, he put aside. As the sun faded, he stretched and came to sit by Susanne.
“I didn’t know you drew,” he said, looking at her sketch, which was quite good.
“I haven’t in a long time. I suppose I’m inspired.” She smiled and looked up from the drawing to him. She felt her chest tighten at a sudden wave of desire that made her flush in embarrassment. He seemed to know what she was thinking.
“Susanne,” he began, taking her hand. She pulled him into a kiss.
“Yes,” she whispered in his ear.
**************************
Michael undressed her and laid her in his bed. He then undressed and settled in beside her. He touched her face gently. She felt his pulse of his hand as his heart raced. She kissed him first as her consent and he took it eagerly. “I’ve waited for you my whole life,” he heard her say.
There was none of the awkwardness of new lovers. They knew each other’s minds so well that their bodies were in sync. Michael explored the softness of Susanne with the carefulness of a man seeing a woman for the first time. He was gentle until she urged him with her soft moans. The pleasure he gave her made him hard, but he waited until she came, her body trembling underneath his touch as the warmth came over her. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her. She kissed him again, wrapped her legs around and pulled him deep into her. As he came, he felt a joy that he had never known, as though feeling the first breath of life. They lay together wrapped in each other’s arms.
Their sunny day had changed to a windy, snowy night. Michael got up to stoke the fire. As he jumped back into bed and nestled beside her, he said, “I suppose I shall have to marry you now.”
Susanne laughed and replied, “I suppose you shall.”
He took her left hand and placed on her finger the ring he had found in his father’s dressing room. “This was my grandmother’s. I don’t know if my mother ever wore it. It may be cursed. But if you will have me, maybe, together, we can break the curse.”
“Yes, I will,” she said as tears of happiness moistened her eyes. “Always yes for you.”
*************************
There was the matter if the servants. Neither Susanne nor Michael wanted to dress for dinner. But Mrs. Bailey would expect them so Michael took it upon himself to go downstairs and tell her that Susanne had taken a chill on her walk and that he would take something up to her. Then he gave them the rest of the evening off and took a tray up to his room.
In the very early hours of the morning, she put on a robe of Michael’s and slipped back into her room.
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If they could have gone to the vicar to be married, Michael and Susanne would have. But Susanne required her mother’s permission to marry, and while the vicar would have liked to oblige, he could not even read the banns.
She wanted to go imme
diately to Tundle, but would not go without Michael. Unfortunately, a week after the Earl’s death, the new manager hired by the banker Cavanaugh arrived. At the same time, the commissioner of the courts came to complete the inventory and Michael realized just how much value the estate had lost since his father had inherited. Not only had thousands of acres and farms with their potential rent been sold, but pieces of jewelry, art and furnishings were also missing. Whether they were sold or stolen could never be proved since the paperwork from Vaughn had disappeared with him.
Michael and Susanne kept up the pretense of sleeping in their own rooms, though the servants knew they were lovers. Susanne loved the house and estate, because of its beauty, but also because of its connection to Michael’s childhood. Knowing they would only be living at Elysian Fields until the estate was settled tempered her enthusiasm when she was around Michael.
But Michael himself felt a fresh wistfulness for the home. Maybe because of Susanne or maybe because it would never be his, he didn’t know. Not that it mattered. He didn’t want to think of the future, where they would live before and after they married. As always, he wanted to live in the here and now.
Chapter Twelve
The letter from Rebecca to Susanne was as vague as Tristan’s had been. Rebecca said only that their mother was ill, not how serious or any other specifics. Although it was not convenient for the new manager, Michael insisted he accompany Susanne to her home.
When they reached Tundle, they checked into an inn and hired a carriage to take Susanne to the house. Michael stayed behind at the inn at Susanne’s insistence; she wanted to speak with her mother alone, believing that she had a better chance of persuading her for permission if she were alone. She was also concerned about Tristan; he had never seemed to care for Michael.
She felt like a stranger in the home where she had lived for most of her life. Since she had left months before to help Rebecca with her wedding so much had happened to make her a changed and more mature young woman. The staff noticed it immediately; whether Tristan or Rebecca did remained to be seen. She was led to the library where they gathered.
“Well, well, the prodigal daughter returns,” Tristan greeted her caustically.
Any warmth Susanne felt disappeared at Tristan’s chilly greeting. She hoped that her smile was friendly, though she feared it was strained.
“Tristan, don’t be so obnoxious,” Rebecca admonished sharply. “This is not the time.”
“How is Mama,” Susanne asked anxiously.
Tristan and Rebecca traded looks. “There is no sense in minimizing it, Susanne,” Rebecca said. “The doctor tells us that she has cancer of the breast.”
Susanne sat down, the better to absorb the news. It was not what she had expected. Rebecca sat next to her and put her arm around her; Tristan remained standing.
“What--“ Susanne began trying and failing to find something to articulate.
“That’s all we know for now. She’s upstairs resting, darling.”
“How long?” How long does she have, how long has she known, how long have you known? But Susanne couldn’t speak.
“I would have told you sooner,” Tristan said, “But you weren’t at Martha’s as I expected.” Although it was still early in the day, Tristan was drinking whisky and had been doing so long enough to be slurring his words slightly. Susanne looked at the glass in his hand, then at him, her sight blurred by her tears, but still clear enough to read his disdain for her.
“Tristan, be civil,” Rebecca warned him again.
“I was going to come last week anyway. I wanted to talk to Mama.” Susanne’s voice was flat.
“Whatever you wanted to say can be said to me,” Tristan demanded aggressively.
Rebecca, the peacemaker, stood and placed herself between the two. “Please, Tristan, Susanne. We need to be a family right now.”
“A family? When have we ever been a family?” Tristan shouted, sarcastically stressing ‘family’ and stinging Susanne who was weeping softly. She had expected a difficult visit, but it was now too painful. “Enlighten us, Rebecca-when has Susanne acted like a member of the family.”
Rebecca came to Tristan and touched his arm. “Tristan, you are upset and you have been drinking. I know you are hurting, but we need to be one for Mother.” Rebecca’s voice was firm and tender and would have calmed him but for Susanne’s next words.
“Michael loves me and wants to marry me.” Rebecca and Tristan turned to Susanne in shock. “I need Mama’s permission,” she finished.
The two were silent for a moment, absorbing her words. “Is that what he told you to get you into bed,” Tristan finally spat out.
Rebecca was horrified and turned sharply back to her brother. “Tristan, stop right now!” she said.
But Tristan could not be stopped. The rest of her life, Susanne would remember this moment as the delineation of her life-this was who she was before and who she became after. “You are a whore, just like your mother!” he shouted.
“How can you say that about Mama?” Susanne shot back.
“She is not your mother, Susanne. Your mother was some barroom wench our father impregnated. He pawned you off on my mother to rear!” Tristan’s cruel words hit their mark and in his drunkenness he felt strangely satisfied to watch Susanne’s face crumble. Her body went cold as she stared at him in shock.
Rebecca’s hand fumbled for the arm of the chair nearest to her and she fell into it, her mind trying to comprehend what Tristan had said.
“You are just being cruel, Tristan,” Susanne accused.
“No, Susanne. I am finally telling the truth.”
While his sisters absorbed the contempt in Tristan’s voice, he refilled his glass calmly. No one heard the door of the library open.
“Look who I found on his way here,” Davis said brightly as he led Michael into the room. They felt the weight of the emotion in the room immediately and while Davis looked to Rebecca, Michael’s eyes went from Susanne to Tristan. Before he could speak, Susanne jumped up from the sofa, brushing past Davis and went to Michael.
“I need to go,” she whispered hoarsely, unable to keep the tears back. She held his arm and said in a shaky voice, “Now. Please.”
Michael took her arm and started to walk out with her, then turned so swiftly no one, least of all Tristan, had time to react. “You sanctimonious prick!” he yelled as he flew into Tristan, slamming him against the wall. The glass shattered on the floor, splashing whisky and crystal onto Rebecca’s dress. “What did you say to her?” Michael screamed. “What did you say to her?”
Davis pulled Michael off, but Michael tried to shake him and go after Tristan again. Rebecca stood up and put out her arms to separate Michael and Tristan. “Don’t Michael,” she warned.
“I remember you, Tristan Newland.” Michael said with a look so frightening that Davis wouldn’t release him. “I remember you from Trinity. You give yourself such airs about what a gentleman you are. But I remember the women you fucked and threw away like yesterday’s trash. They weren’t trash, were they, Tristan? Just unfortunate girls who wanted to believe every word that came out of your mouth even as you were tossing them aside.”
Even as she cringed from Michael’s words, Rebecca stayed between the two. “Please stop, Michael,” she pleaded.
He looked at her, suddenly aware of her presence. “I’m finished.” He looked around, but Susanne was gone. No one had seen her slip out. “Go find her,” Davis said and Michael left.
It was the church steward who found Susanne. He sent his son to the Newland home to let them know where she was. He told no one but his wife that he had found her at her father’s grave, sobbing and tearing at the grass in a rage. He led her to his cottage where his wife wrapped her in a shawl and held her until Michael came. Michael took her back to their room at the inn. He took her shoes off, laid her down and enveloped her in the safety of his arms where she cried until she finally fell asleep.
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Tristan’s face was a combination of shock and remorse. “I am no different from him,” he answered, stumbling out of the room.
They watched him leave, still unsure of how to react. “Rebecca, you need to change your dress,” Davis finally said and led her to their room where she told him what had happened before he and Michael arrived.
“She had just said that Michael wanted to marry her,” she started, “And Tristan…he called Susanne a whore like her mother, then told her that—“ Rebecca struggled for the words. “He told her that our mother was not her mother. I thought he was just being cruel, but he wasn’t. I don’t know how he could know. But he was telling the truth.” Rebecca sat down and rubbed her temples. “Where did you find Michael?” she asked, looking up suddenly.
“He was on the road coming up here. I saw him while I was walking the grounds.”
“Well why didn’t he come with her in the first place?”
“He said Susanne wanted to speak to her mother alone. She could never have known what she was walking into.”
“How could she? I certainly didn’t expect this.” Rebecca chewed on a fingernail as she thought. “All these years, she raised another woman’s child. Her husband’s mistress’ child!”
“It was rather generous of your mother, given that Susanne’s mother was dead.” Davis only realized the significance of what he had said when he saw Rebecca’s face.
“How did you know that?” she asked suspiciously.
It was one of the few times that Davis was careless with a statement. “Tristan told me,” he finally answered. “Months ago, at our wedding party.”
Laura Carroll Butler Page 12
