by Jane Lark
Susan’s mother shook her head, but her lips twisted in a wry smile. “There is always an answer from you. Your sister should be more grateful.”
Susan did not mean to argue but if there was sense and reason to be spoken or a fact to be taken into account, she would say it, that was all.
Susan gave her mother an amused smile, mimicking the humour her mother had spoken with. “I shall go up to my room and fetch my bonnet and cloak.” She bobbed a very quick curtsy before turning to leave, to prepare for their arduous journey of a few moments.
“Enjoy your day, dear! Give my regards to Jane and Robert!” Her mother called after her.
She did not mind visiting Farnborough really, she liked her aunt and uncle, and Sarah and Christine, Henry’s sisters. And Uncle Robert’s huge library, which was three times the size of her father’s was a strong persuader.
When she walked down the shallow steps to the hall after collecting her things, Alethea awaited her.
“There you are. Hurry!”
Susan smiled. She was as different to her sister as it was possible to be, both in looks and character, and yet they were close. But it was just the two of them, they did not have a large family like Henry’s, or his cousins’. Henry and his cousins had the opportunity to choose the brother or sister who most suited them as their closest confidant, she and Alethea had each other and that was all. Susan was happy for it to be so, though, there was a bond between them that might not exist in a large family.
A footman opened the door. Alethea turned and walked out, at her usual hasty pace.
Alethea was forever in a hurry to experience and enjoy every single moment of life. Susan preferred not to hurry, to dwell on things, to look at them for a length of time and study them in detail, not rush past. She had often stopped Alethea to point out a beautiful view or a wild flower, a butterfly or a bird in a tree. There were so many things that Alethea missed.
Susan smiled at the thought as she stepped off the last stair.
Alethea’s nature was not hers, but it was infectious. She did love her sister no matter that they were so different. Alethea’s enthusiasm could not be ignored.
Susan quickened her pace and hastened out of the door in pursuit.
Alethea was climbing the step into the carriage, her fingers clasping the hand of a footman.
A second footman stood on the plate at the back of the carriage holding the iron bar and an additional groom sat beside the coachman on the box. Susan’s mother had instigated a larger escort for her precious daughters regardless.
Susan took the footman’s hand, climbed the step into the carriage and sat beside Alethea.
“Do you think he may have changed?” Alethea asked when the door shut.
The carriage jolted forward into motion and rocked to the side as the footman who had helped them jumped on to the second perch at the rear.
“It has been less than a year.” Yet it had been nearly a year.
“I know, but he writes of such larks in town, do you think he will think me dull now?”
“He will not think you dull. No one that we know has ever thought you dull.” No one could accuse Alethea of that, she was constantly in motion or conversing.
“But he has the women in London to compare me to and he describes London society as such an improvement on our quiet, country life.”
“Yet the moment he is home he has sent for you. He cannot dislike the idea of your company.”
Alethea looked at Susan and bit her lip for a moment. It was a very slight gesture but Susan noticed the sign of self-consciousness and uncertainty. It was unlike Alethea.
“He did not.” Alethea clarified. “Sarah sent the letter. I asked her to.”
Oh. That redeemed him a little in Susan’s current ill-judgement, if he had not sent for Alethea to come and play nursemaid. “He will love you still,” she reassured. “Merely look at his expression when he sees you and it will show you.”
His brown eyes, the rich colour of sweet chestnuts at the moment their green pods split open, had always lit up with the warmth of an appreciative smile whenever he looked at Alethea. Even when they’d been young he’d thrown glinting looks at Alethea and challenged her to a race or the solving of a conundrum or the telling of the best joke.
But then Alethea had always been the pretty and the vibrant one and Henry the handsomest and wildest. They were well matched.
Susan pressed the tip of her finger on to the bridge of her spectacles and slid them a little farther up her nose. Alethea had golden hair and eyes the colour of forget-me-not petals. She was often called a remarkable beauty in Susan’s hearing. So why would Henry not admire her no matter how pretty the women were in London.
Susan had mousey-brown hair and eyes that were steel-grey not blue. She had never received the same accolade—people did not use the word beautiful to describe her.
It was fortunate, really, that she was not like her sister in character as much as they were unlike in looks, because if she had Alethea’s nature she would be jealous. As it was she was as much in awe of her sister’s beauty as others and she thanked heaven that neither jealousy nor vanity were emotions she was afflicted with. She was quite content to be herself, the less amusing, less charming and less attractive sister. Susan could stand in a room and very easily disappear by simply not speaking, which meant that if she did disappear and leave a room, no one noticed her slip away.
“What should I say to him, when I see him?”
“Hello, perhaps…”
“Do not tease me. Tell me. My stomach is all upside down. I wish it had not been so long. Do you think he will look different?”
Alethea’s questions and her stream of concerns continued as the carriage gently rocked and creaked, navigating the rutted road leading to the Barrington’s estate.
Chapter Two
Alethea clasped the footman’s hand and descended from the carriage into the courtyard at Farnborough.
When Alethea had let go Susan held his hand and climbed down.
The air was full of the sound of the splashing water pouring from the fountain.
The front door opened. Davis the Barrington’s elderly butler stood there, ready to welcome them.
Alethea immediately said, “I wish to see Lord Henry.”
“He is in the family drawing room, Miss Forth, do come in. Shall I introduce you?”
Alethea was already stepping in as he spoke, she had not awaited his invitation. Davis was used to her ways, though. “There’s no need, Davis. Sarah sent for me. They are expecting us, and we know where it is of course.”
Susan stepped into the hall. Davis bowed to her.
They’d spent many hours here as girls, because their parents were such close friends. The Barringtons were like an extension of Susan’s family, she thought of Lord and Lady Barrington as an aunt and uncle, and called them so, and Christine and Sarah were as good as cousins to her. She had known the boys less, though, because they’d spent so many years away from home, at school.
Alethea led the way again, full of energy, excitement and concern for Henry.
The door to the smaller family drawing room, in one of the older parts of the house, stood open. Alethea did not knock but walked straight in. Then exclaimed, “Henry!” and rushed on.
“Sarah sent me word you were home…” Alethea said as Susan followed her into the Barringtons’ homely drawing room.
The walls and ceiling were covered in wooden panelling, making the room dark, but it had a sense of being frequently used. The walls were full of past and present tales.
“Oh dear you poor thing,” Alethea declared, pulling out a cushion from behind Henry. He sat forward to allow it and looked up at her with a smile of welcome and humour.
He had one arm in a sling, and his feet up on a footstool where Samson rested his head, and his sisters and his mother were seated about him, all sitting forward on their chairs their postures expressing concern, while Henry had been laying back against his b
ed of cushions looking perfectly content.
There was nothing poor about him, he was busy enjoying every moment of the attention his injury had brought him. A frown pulled at Susan’s forehead. She had a natural empathy for wounded things and people, she could never abide to see anything in pain. She was forever rescuing and nursing injured creatures, to the upset of her mother, who was even concerned about her visiting the sick in case she came into contact with some dangerous illness. Yet her father understood. Twice she had spent the night in the stables with him watching over a foal, encouraging it to take a bottle when it had lost its mother.
Henry’s pretence annoyed her. He did not deserve pity for his foolishness.
When Alethea set the cushion back down, to Henry’s credit, he lifted his feet off the stool and stood to welcome her properly. Samson stirred and rose too. “Alethea.” He nodded his head in greeting, but he did not attempt a bow with his injured shoulder so wrapped up. He did however clasp Alethea’s hand with his free hand and lift it to kiss the back of her fingers. “It is my extreme pleasure to see you again and perhaps the good in the bad of my accident.”
Alethea gave him her flirtatious smile—the smile that made her look her prettiest. A smile Susan had watched practiced before a mirror to achieve its perfection.
Henry’s smile lifted in return, becoming something more personal and his eyes filled with the twinkle they only sparkled with when he looked at Alethea. Alethea had had no need to worry. Henry might wander away but something would always bring him back, and when he came back his eyes said he remembered why he liked Alethea.
For as long as Susan could recall whenever the two of them had come together within half an hour they were whispering conspiratorially and laughing at something shared between them and no one else.
Henry passed his smile on to Susan. His eyes lost their glimmer and his smile twisted slightly giving it an edge of sarcasm. None of his looks were practiced. Henry did not deploy guile or artifice. He was naturally full of rakish charm. Only for Alethea that charm shone, for Susan it mocked.
She gave him a closed lip smile and bobbed a scant curtsy. “Good day, Henry.” Samson slipped his head beneath her hand, encouraging her to greet him.
Henry nodded. That was all.
While he and Alethea had always had an exclusive friendship, he and Susan had shared an undercurrent of hostility—or perhaps on his part it was indifference.
“Good day, Susan.” He still held Alethea’s hand. He looked back at her. “Sit with me.” Then he looked at Susan. “Before you sit would you call for a maid? We’ll have another cup of tea now you are both here.”
She wished to make a face at him for his arrogance but she did not.
“Do not worry, Susan, I shall do it.” His mother rose, “I presume you will both stay to dine with us, so I will need to speak with cook anyway.” She approached Susan and squeezed her hand gently. “Hello, dear.” Then she walked on to call for tea and arrange for them to join the family for dinner.
Alethea sat beside Henry, regaling him with some tale about local society as she undid the ribbons of her bonnet, then took it off and set it down beside her. She stripped off her gloves too, before looking at Susan. “Would you take them for me?”
Without even acknowledging the request Susan moved forward and picked them up then turned and took them out into the hall to find a footman to take care of them. When she did find a man she took off her own bonnet, cloak and gloves.
Alethea had not worn her cloak for fear Henry would be awaiting them in the courtyard and not then be able to observe her figure at its best advantage as she descended from the carriage.
When Susan returned to the room Henry and Alethea were laughing. Susan sat beside Christine, who was also avidly listening to Henry’s conversation. But Henry was her brother, and he had been away for a long time.
The other dogs, Goliath, Hercules and Zeus rose from the hearth rug, and came over to her for a pet, their tails wagging their welcome. Samson had returned to his position by Henry’s feet. He had always had a penchant for Henry over anyone else. Strange dog.
When they drank their tea Susan spoke with Aunt Jane, as the dogs settled back down by the hearth. But afterwards she decided it was time to remove herself. She was not a member of the Henry Marlow Appreciation Society and as the conversation orientated entirely around him she was neither involved nor interested in it. “May I look at the books in the library, Aunt Jane?”
“Of course, dear.”
Susan rose without taking her leave of anyone else, the others were intently absorbed in some droll story Henry was telling about his friends in town. She opened the door and then shut it quietly, wondering whether either Alethea or Henry ever noticed her leave.
She did not care, though, it had always been like that when Alethea and Henry were together. When they’d been young she and Alethea had often played with Henry and Percy, the brother next to Henry in age, when the boys were home from school, and Susan had always trailed behind, forgotten.
In the library, she looked along the spines of the books. She loved Uncle Robert’s library. It had been her sanctuary at Farnborough for years. She came here to be alone. When she had been forgotten, and then finally remembered, this was where people found her.
All four walls were lined with books, floor to ceiling.
Her fingers ran over the bound leather and gilded titles, as reverence swept through her heart.
At the end of the row, on the middle shelf, she came across one of her favourite books, The Native Orchids of the British Isles. She smiled and lifted it out. It was bound in light brown leather, more than a dozen inches tall and a couple more inches wide, and it smelled wonderful. It smelled of the things which made her feel better, security and comfort.
Security and comfort, then, could be found within aged leather and dust.
She smiled more broadly as she carried it over to Uncle Robert’s desk and set it down, then opened it on a random page. Her fingers touched the image, Platanthera bifolia; the Lesser Butterfly-orchid. It looked so dainty, and the illustrator had brought it to life beautifully with lighter colours and deeper shading.
Susan had longed, ever since she was a little girl, to make her own book of painted flowers, the desire for such skill as this illustrator was an ache in her chest. This book had been her inspiration. She had sat in the window seat here and stared at every page for hours.
She sat down in the chair before the desk and turned the pages. The longing to paint like this flourished in her chest again as she considered every minor stroke of the brush.
The images were so beautiful.
To be able to create something that beautiful…
~
It was damned awkward trying to eat one handed, especially with Alethea sitting on one side of him. Christine sat in the chair on his other side, Susan and Sarah were seated across the dinner table and his mother and father at either end.
The soup had been the only simple course, for everything else he’d needed to use a bloody knife and fork, and trying to cut something then spear it was not proving successful.
“Here, let me, Henry,” Alethea pulled his plate over to cut up his food for the third time. “I do not mind…”
He damned-well minded! It was uncomfortable. He did not like the need to be reliant on her in such a way. He hated the need to be reliant on anyone. Yet he bore it gallantly—even though the pain in his shoulder and the rest of his body cast him into a very ill-mood.
Alethea’s lips pouted delicately as she focused on the task.
She’d grown into a very pretty woman. Although he had known prettier in town.
Some of her blond hair had become loose from the knot secured on top of her head. It fell in tiny curls on to the back of her neck. The curls slipped forward as she cut up his food. The back of a woman’s neck was one of the places on a woman’s body he’d always thought the most appealing—he liked the delicate curve.
When Alethea
had finished she looked up and slid his plate back towards him. “There.” She sounded as though she spoke to a child, but she said it with a smile. There was no ill-meaning. She was simply being kind.
When Henry’s gaze lifted as Alethea focused on her own food, he caught his father’s eye. There was a look of expectation. He’d seen Henry admiring Alethea. Henry was perfectly happy to oblige their parents and fulfil their wish—but for God sake not yet.
He looked at his plate and pierced a piece of the mutton with his fork. Then looked across the table, to avoid catching his father’s eye again. Susan was speaking with Sarah. He doubted Susan had looked across the table once. Certainly she would not seek to engage him in conversation.
She made him smile, and laugh, in private. She was so different to her sister. Her fingers lifted and pushed her spectacles a little farther up her nose. His smile rose; it was just one of her quirky little habits.
“Where did you go to this afternoon, Susan? You disappeared.”
Her grey eyes turned to him. Her eyes were a little magnified by the prescription of her spectacles, but not overly so, and her spectacles did not make her look awkward, merely intelligent and perhaps distinguished—
“Withdrawing to the library is hardly disappearing. I walked out of the drawing room. I did not vanish.”
It was a harsh whip from the lash of her quick wit and sharp tongue. Henry laughed. He equally laughed at the thought of her being distinguished, though, she’d never been that—rebellious yes, angry often, and independent always. But distinguished—never. “The library is the answer then. What did you find there? Did you enjoy it?” Of course he was teasing her, it had been one of his favourite pastimes as a boy, mocking her sharp retorts. She was clever, but he was clever too and he liked spurring her. She had always disliked him and perhaps it was his own fault for teasing her, yet he’d always liked her oddness, it amused him.
She was forever stopping to pick a tiny flower in a field, or point out a butterfly or beetle. Alethea, though, was impatient in nature, and so they had often left her sister and her odd observations behind.
