A Rumored Engagement Page 2

  Now that David had passed, it fell to him to keep Goodwin Hall and adhere to family traditions and customs as he should have done long ago. And he was certainly not equal to the task, as much as he tried to conceal it.

  “You’re awfully silent company today, Daniel. I suppose I shall see you tomorrow for dinner?” Paul paused at the park gates and leaned against the balustrade.

  “Yes, of course. You’re always welcome, you know. Sorry I haven’t been much company. Got a lot on my mind....” Daniel forced what he hoped was a casual smile.

  “Ah, chuck your cares in the bucket. Come back to London with me when I return next. We shall tear the Town apart, and no debutante’s reputation shall be safe.” Paul chuckled at his small joke with appreciation.

  “I’d like nothing more,” Daniel rejoined with bravado. But even as he spoke the words, the memory of his boyhood promise flitted across his mind. He would never be free of it. Never. They were both pretending at a farce, Paul and he. Paul would never be free of the sorrow of his first love, try as he might to satisfy himself with light skirt after light skirt. And he himself would never be free of the unhappy shadows of his past, try as he might to drown them with scotch.

  He bade goodbye to Paul at the gate and stood, for a long moment, looking at Goodwin Hall and the hills beyond, so green that they looked black. The way the hills rolled beyond the horizon was like the waves undulating on the sea. They called out to him in a way that the sea had once lured him, beckoning with promise.

  If only he could feel that way about Goodwin Hall and all it represented. But it remained a prison, reminding him of what a shambles his life had been and become, beneath his swagger.

  Alone at last, he allowed his mind to drift toward Susannah. Her auburn hair was as lovely as ever. He’d caught his breath when he saw the length of it tumble from beneath her bonnet. And those eyes—the sea had that same caste when a storm was brewing. She was as lovely as the day he’d become engaged to her. How long ago was that? Three years now?

  She’d asked for his help once, and he’d promised her all he could offer—his name. They were no longer children then, and yet at that age, time seemed infinite, unending. There was no definite promise between them, just an agreement that she would marry him when he returned. And then he ran away to sea, to follow his dream. Together, they’d given each other the most precious gift they could think of at that time. Freedom. For Susannah, that meant freedom from her tyrannical uncle. And for him, it meant the freedom to forget his familial duties and run away from his dismal past.

  The gift they’d given each other had proved hollow over the years. Here he was, back in Tansley, trying to ignore a home he hated. And here Susannah was, toiling away at building a poky little shop. Well, there was no repairing his own life, or changing his own wretched fate. But he could maybe make life easier for Susannah.

  He clenched his jaw. As a matter of fact, he would find a way to help Susannah Siddons.

  She was, after all, his betrothed. ’Twas the least a fiancé could do.

  Chapter Two

  Susannah’s new building, which the solicitor had described in such glowing terms, was not much better on the inside than on the outside. The three sisters had slept in the upstairs quarters, squeezed together on the humble mattresses. Susannah awoke with a stiff neck and sharp hunger pains gnawing at her belly. ’Twas time to assume control of her pitiful situation, no matter how difficult it was.

  Careful not to disturb Nan and Becky, who still slept, she crept into her serviceable lilac gown and her sturdy boots. Then she descended the back staircase and struck out for the shops at the other end of the main road. Surely there was something to eat in one of the shops. She was famished.

  The street was empty, and a hush had settled over the dewy moor-grass. Even her footsteps on the gravel path were silent, for the road was also damp with dew. She paused a moment, gazing up at the pale sun as it climbed over the rolling hills. Tansley was such a beautiful place. Was it this wild and picturesque when she was a girl here? If it was, she’d been too unobservant to note. They’d moved to Matlock when she was fifteen, and it had become home to her, not Tansley Village.

  She turned and scanned the cluster of shops before her. A boot maker, a dry-goods store—a bakery. Oh, how lovely—a bakery. She darted forward and opened the door, causing the bell to swing merrily. She breathed deeply of the scents of flour and yeast. She hadn’t eaten a bite since luncheon yesterday. Hungrily, she devoured the case of sweets and breads with her eyes until a plump, rosy-cheeked woman with graying hair stepped up to the counter.

  “Well, then? And what can I get for you today?” She smiled and dusted her hands on her apron, sending clouds of flour dust into the air.

  “Oh, I’d love one of everything. It all looks so delicious.” Scones...muffins...biscuits... She heaved a sigh. “But my slender purse must dictate my purchase. So I shall take a loaf of the cinnamon bread and three of the scones, if you please.”

  The baker chuckled and tucked the sweets into brown-paper wrapping, tying the packages with a bit of string. “Here, try this marble cake. I made it this morning and I cannot tell if it’s any good. You’d be doing me a favor if you gave your honest opinion.”

  Was this charity? She shouldn’t have mentioned her lack of funds. She didn’t want to beg for food, but...the kindly baker pressed the warm slice into her outstretched hand. At this point, it would be beyond rude if she said no. So she took a small bite. Oh...it was delightful—chocolate and vanilla swirled together. She finished the rest in two large bites.

  The baker laughed. “I suppose it passes your test.”

  Susannah nodded, wiping the crumbs from her gloves. “By far the best I’ve had anywhere.”

  The baker nodded. “Good to hear that I have most of the kingdom beat.” She handed the parcels over to Susannah. “Are you new to the village? You look a little familiar.”

  “My sisters and I bought the building down on the corner. I’m setting up shop as a milliner. But my family was here for a while before that. We’ve just moved back from Matlock Bath.”

  “Three girls on their own? That’s worthy of applause. When I started this bake shop, I was only sixteen. I’d lost my mama and papa within a year of each other and had to support my brothers.” She extended her hand, grasping Susannah’s in a warm grip. “My name’s Bess. So happy to welcome you back to Tansley.”

  “Thank you, Bess. My name is Susannah—Susannah Siddons.” It had been years since they’d lived here, of course, but still—perhaps the name would ring a bell.

  “Siddons? I thought you looked familiar. You must be part of that Siddons family that used to live here. A gentleman and his wife.” The baker tilted her head, drawing her brows together. “Your mama and papa?”

  “Yes. We moved away five years ago.” She hugged the brown-paper parcels against her chest.

  Bess nodded, the confused look still clouding her eyes. Susannah took a deep inward breath. That was enough reminiscing and chatting for the moment. No need to explain why the gentleman’s daughter had returned home to work for her living. Another moment and she would be howling her woes onto Bess’s ample floury chest. “I had better be going. My sisters are as hungry as I am, I’m sure.”

  “Well, come again anytime. You’re as welcome to this village as sunshine and rain. We need a good milliner. I’ve been making my own hats for years, and they look like a burlap bag tied with twine.” If Bess was still puzzling through the mystery of the Siddons family downfall, she had the grace to hide it with a brisk nod.

  Susannah managed her first genuine smile since their arrival. “Thank you. I shall look to you as my first customer.” She waved and exited the shop. She made it through her second encounter in the village, and this time she hadn’t made a fool of herself. In fact, she might have made a friend. She certainly made a customer
. Funny how a slice of marble cake and a simple conversation could make everything seem warmer...less bleak, at any rate.

  She tucked her chin down, fighting happy tears. Maybe everything would work out, after all. One could hope, anyway.

  “Susannah.” A tall form stood before her on the path, blotting out the sunlight. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  She glanced up at Daniel Hale as he stood before her, his smile as mischievous as ever, emanating power and self-assurance. Did he ever have a moment’s doubt? Did he ever see merely the sober side of any situation? ’Twas unlikely. As long as she’d known him, he’d been as brazen and carefree as a wild creature. That’s why she’d come to him so long ago when she needed help, for he always found a way to escape any scrapes of his own making. “Of course.”

  He took her parcels and offered her his arm. “Been to Bess’s? I can tell just by the aroma. The cinnamon bread she makes is a poem. You made an excellent choice.”

  She managed a tight smile. She was in no mood for politesse. If only he would start the conversation. The unbearably difficult conversation, which she was too stubborn to broach. Let Daniel bring up the subject. After all, her difficult position could very well be laid at his threshold.

  “I confess I was amazed to see you yesterday.” He cleared his throat. “I knew right away who you were. Your eyes...and that hair...”

  Susannah placed a defensive hand on the back of her neck. Her hair was still neatly coiled beneath her bonnet, though. She hated her hair. Ever since she was a child and had been called “Carrots.” Of course, it was redder then. As she grew up, it darkened into auburn. But even so, any mention of her hair still rankled.

  “Why are you here?” he continued, his voice softening. “Why didn’t you write and tell me you were coming to Tansley?”

  Did he actually care? And was he serious? Surely not. “I didn’t know you were here. Or else—” she blurted, and then froze.

  “Or else you wouldn’t have come?” he finished, his voice oddly strained.

  She glanced sideways up at him. His mouth was turned down, his face slightly reddened. Was he angry? Certainly not. If anyone had earned the right to be angry, it was she. The old frustration welled in her chest, and the desire to throw the parcels in the street and stomp them flat assailed her. She must control her rage. Here she was in Tansley for less than a day, and already her temper had nearly gotten the best of her twice.

  She sighed and slowly counted to ten. “I didn’t know you were here. The last I’d heard of you, you were on that merchant vessel. And I was trying not to ask for anyone’s help again.” ’Twas better to stick to the facts of the situation—if she did so, perhaps she could keep her emotions in check. He had never written to her, and the knowledge that he had forgotten her so carelessly burned deep embarrassment and anger into her very soul.

  “The last I heard of you, you were still living in Matlock. Why did you leave?”

  “My aunt and uncle died in a carriage accident, two years after my parents passed away. While I stayed with them that last year, I became an apprentice milliner.” She paused, unsure if she should tell him the whole truth. It was rather a ridiculous, sad little history. “My father left us a small inheritance. I bought this building with it so we could start a milliner’s shop of our own.” Thank the good Lord above, they were nearing the shop now. Her sisters would be awake and hungry, and the time for living in the past was over. “I hope all is well at Goodwin Hall.”

  “My brother died,” he responded briefly. “I am master of Goodwin now.” His face was still turned away from her, but the slight catch in his voice spoke of misery.

  “I’m so sorry.” And she was. Daniel and his brother had never got on very well, but his brother’s death must have been a shock to him all the same. He’d certainly fled from his father as often as he could, and his brother, too. It would be difficult indeed to be called home to assume control of everything he’d cast aside. After all, Daniel had always lived as though there would never be any consequences to any of his actions.

  And that was precisely why she was in her current position. Daniel simply couldn’t be trusted to live up to his promises. So while she could sympathize with the loss of his brother, she could never let herself forget that she must earn her own way in the world. She must never trust anyone again—certainly not Daniel.

  His expression had not changed, but he clenched his jaw at her words. “Thank you.”

  “Well, I should be going.” She extricated her arm from his clasp and reached up to get her parcels. The time for reminiscing was over, and she must move on with her life.

  He held on to the packages, looking down at her with eyes so green they took her breath away. “What are we going to do about this other little matter? You are my betrothed, after all.”

  * * *

  As soon as Daniel said the words, he was ready to take them back. Susannah’s face paled, and the freckles that marched across the bridge of her nose stood out in bold relief. He never meant to anger her. But dash it all, his head pounded like a big bass drum from last night’s drinking bout, and thinking of the delicate way to phrase things had simply fled.

  ’Twas easy enough to ignore their engagement when an ocean separated them. But now they lived in the same village. He must acknowledge the truth now.

  Susannah trembled, and he fought the urge to steady her. This was not maidenly fear—Susannah was in the grip of her formidable temper. Her hazel eyes had darkened to a deep grayish green hue, a sure sign of the storm to come. “There’s no need to do anything about our engagement. Only my uncle and aunt knew.”

  “Even so...” He hesitated. A smart man would leave now. Susannah would likely throw something at him in a moment. But he rather enjoyed tangling with her; she always put up a jolly good fight. “Can’t I do anything to help you? Anything at all?”

  “No.” She made another grab for her parcels, but he grasped them tight. As long as he had the bread, he held her there with him. He wasn’t ready to let go. “You helped me escape Uncle Arthur by proposing to me. A letter every now and then would have been nice, since I thought we would marry some day, but I suppose you were too busy.” She spat out the words as though they left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  “What about you? You never wrote to me.” He took a step backward, putting more distance between them. Would she follow? She took a step forward, still intent on retrieving her parcels. “Perhaps you were the one who jilted me first, Susannah. Is it better to be making bonnets for a pittance?”

  She raised her chin in a defiant manner, a flush stealing across her cheeks. “There is dignity in all work, so I’ll thank you not to mock me. And besides, I did write to you. You never wrote back. I should thank you, Daniel. You taught me the value of independence well. I shan’t ask anyone else for help again.”

  What a hash he’d made of that.

  But at least they were starting to speak, to discuss the problems that had plagued their engagement for these three years. He’d ignore the letter-writing for the moment—’twas ancient history, after all. And he must stop riding roughshod over her pride. He might try reason instead. “But surely, as the daughter of a gentleman, you’re ashamed to live in such a place, and to earn your living by your hands.” He looked down at her—how could he soften her temper? If only they could speak to each other without anger, as they did when they were children. “And your sisters? What of them?”

  She drew herself up, throwing her shoulders back. “My sisters will do quite well, thank you. In fact, we are all doing splendidly, so long as we are together.”

  He nodded. “I must confess I am jealous of your closeness with your sisters. Never really understood the closeness of other families.” His mouth quirked with bitterness. His dour, domineering father and staid, lethargic brother certainly held no charms for him.

  His admission
helped. Her eyes had lost some of their hard, glittering light. “I truly am sorry, Daniel. And I appreciate your offers to help. But I just can’t prevail upon you for assistance the rest of my life. Independence is everything to me now. I must find my own way.”

  Behind her, the door opened and one of her sisters poked her head out. “Is everything all right, Sue?” she called.

  “Yes, I’ll be in momentarily. Start brewing some tea, will you, please?” Susannah tossed the words over her shoulder.

  He handed the parcels back. Their interview was now over, and he must surrender with as good grace as he could. Once he rid himself of this wretched headache, he might be able to think more clearly. Susannah spoke as though she released him from any obligation, but was that really the best thing for both of them? And did she really mean it?

  “Come to Goodwin Hall for tea sometime,” he offered. “You and your sisters are always welcome.” It was a mere social gesture but all he could think of at the moment.

  “Thank you.” She glanced up at him uncertainly. The fire had gone out of her, and when it left, the traces of her fatigue remained. “You were always a charmer, Daniel.”

  Something in her tone made him pause—allure of any kind was apparently not high on the lady’s list of male virtues. One auburn curl had pulled loose from under her bonnet, and he resisted the mischievous urge to reach out and grasp it. He shook his head. “No. I’m not as charming as you think me.”

  He touched the brim of his hat and walked away. He refused to look back at the ridiculously run-down cottage that was her stab at independence or at her trim, lovely silhouette as he continued his stroll. Three years he had been engaged to Susannah. Three years. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he had planned for it all to work out. But after hearing nothing from Susannah, he’d pushed the thought of marriage further aside. And it wasn’t until he’d received word that his brother died that he’d had to bow to obligation and come home. The thought of marriage to Susannah was rather daunting; he hated the thought of becoming as violent and grim as his father had been. Or as dreary and drab as his brother had been. Why not avoid the inevitable as long as possible?