by CJ Archer
It was a cruel twist of fate that the next day was a Sunday. The entire village was at church of course, including Margaret and Walter, Jeffrey and Monk, and even the elegant, foppish stranger was back with his fat servant. Jeffrey spent much of the service admiring the gentleman's lushly embroidered silver and blue doublet. The gentleman didn't appear to notice, his gaze never wavering from the pulpit. Susanna's servants, including Orlando, sat at the back, and she felt exposed without them at her side. It didn't help that many of the parishioners watched her. Margaret, however, wasn't among them. She studiously kept her gaze forward, as did Walter.
Susanna made sure to be among the first to leave after the service. Unfortunately, she still had to wait to give her thanks to the curate. It was doubly unfortunate that waiting brought her near Margaret and her friends. Susanna didn't need to hear them to know they were discussing her—their pointed glares gave them away—but snatches of conversation reached her on the breeze.
"...ought to be married..."
"...shouldn't be allowed near our menfolk."
"...pretty face and wanton ways."
It only stopped when Walter pulled his sister aside.
Margaret's cronies were like her. They had been Susanna's companions when they were younger, but ever since she became of marriageable age, they'd ceased to pay calls and only kept up polite appearances around others. She knew they talked about her, but she could endure it because she had her true friends. Anne the chandler's wife, Joan, and Widow Dawson.
Susanna turned her back and tried to shut out their voices. She would endure this too. Their opinions didn't matter. They were just words. She would rise above them. What she'd shared with Orlando hadn't been dirty or shameful, but beautiful. It had filled her, blocked out past pains, and made her feel whole again. And cherished. Definitely that.
She looked around for him but couldn't see his striking blond head above the other parishioners.
"He left, m'lady," Bessie said without Susanna asking. "Said he would be back soon."
"Left? Where did he go?"
Bessie shrugged.
"He slipped away," Hendricks said, "right after the stranger and his servant disappeared behind those trees." He nodded at a stand of yew. "Holt walked off in the same direction."
Susanna frowned at the copse. He may have fulfilled her in bed and promised to protect her, but he was still a puzzle that needed solving. "Wait here for me." She strode off in the direction of the yew trees.
