A Rumored Engagement

“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?

And that made sense at the time. Unhappy relationships were his lot in life. He had no idea how a couple in love should act. He’d certainly never seen it for himself.

His mother had died when he was still quite young—hounded to death, so village rumor ran, by her sour and cruel husband. By the time Daniel was old enough to think and feel for himself, Father had lapsed from abusive to merely domineering, while his distant brother sat dully about the house. He hated everything about family. Family meant duties and obligations. Family meant silent meals, recriminations over one’s personal foibles, absentminded reminders that he really never had lived up to anything in his father’s estimation.

And falling in love meant marriage. And marriage led to families. And that would merely start the miserable process all over again.

That was precisely why he’d run away.

The Hall loomed in the distance. Its solid presence nothing more than a stark reminder of his family and his failings. Small wonder he shirked his duties to seek fun and adventure. And now, in the bitterest of ironies, he was in charge of everything he’d once cast aside. And Susannah had returned, too, another link to his regretful past. He craved the abyss that drinking a bit more than he should would bring on. Good thing Paul was coming this evening. He would have someone to drink with, and that was decidedly more cheerful than being alone.

He strode up the drive, his boots crunching on the gravel, preparing to at least get a bit of a head start on Paul.

But—of course, there was a slight hitch in his plans. Paul stood on the front steps, his angular face alight with laughter. “What ho, man? Been to the village to check on Miss Siddons? That’s a gentleman for you.”

“I walk to the village every morning,” Daniel responded evenly, refusing to take Paul’s bait. “You know that.” He brushed past his friend, taking the steps two at a time. He opened the front door and removed his hat and coat. “To what do I owe this dubious honor? Come early to steal a march on me?”

“Ah, well. Life at home is most awfully dull. I decided I would head back to London this week, so I thought you might not mind some early company. Is that all right?”

“Certainly, certainly. The earlier the better.” Daniel ushered Paul through the front door.

“So, if you are determined to stay here, what may I bring you from Town to amuse yourself? A new horse, perhaps? Or a new wife?” Paul cast his hat on the hall bench and stripped off his gloves.

Daniel spun around. “What?” Most of the time Paul’s teasing was tolerable, but now—it struck a bit too close to home to be amusing.

“Here you are with a big country home. Plenty of money. It’s positively un-British that you aren’t seeking a wife.” Paul shrugged his shoulders. “Watching you with Miss Siddons yesterday, it occurred to me that the pair of you made quite a picture.”

“You’re as bad as an old maiden aunt, Paul. Why are you so intent on marrying me off? Are you trying to narrow the competition for the ladies?” He slapped his friend on the shoulder and led the way to the library.

“No, of course not. I’m enjoying the bachelor life whilst I can.” Paul fell silent for a rare moment, a moody expression crossing his face as he settled into a leather chair. Perhaps he’d overstepped his teasing with Paul—perhaps Paul was still really upset about Ruth Barclay. But no, in a blink the expression had vanished, and Paul leaned forward, an incorrigible gleam in his eye. “Though, I must say, Miss Siddons does rather make a fellow want to change his mind.”

Paul was never going to stop nattering on about Susannah. He thought her pretty and would likely try to court her if Daniel didn’t put a stop to the silliness. He eyed his friend as Paul settled back against the cushion. Could he be trusted with a secret?

“You can’t have Susannah Siddons,” he replied evenly. “She’s already spoken for.” There, perhaps that would be enough to throw Paul off the scent.

“Really? How fantastic. I shall have to nose about until I find the fellow. Of course, I could always court one of her sisters. They’re quite tolerable, too.”

Nose about? Paul really was like a hound on the trail. There was nothing for it but to confess the truth to his friend. Only then would the matter cease to worry them both.

“I’m the fellow. Congratulate me, Paul. Susannah Siddons has been my betrothed for these past three years.”

Chapter Three

“Indeed?” Paul quirked an eyebrow with amusement. “If it’s true, then why haven’t you married? And why isn’t she here with you, in Goodwin Hall? Why is she staying in a hovel?”

“’Twas meant as a way to keep her uncle Arthur from forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want. We concocted the plan.” Daniel’s fists clenched at the memory. “Her aunt was browbeating her into marrying some fat, doddering fool of a country squire. And the blackguard spent all their money. She went from being a gentleman’s daughter to an apprentice milliner. Her family left Tansley when she was still a young lass. And her parents died soon after. So within a couple of years after their passing, her life turned upside down.” He heaved a deep sigh.

“And you never married?” Paul shrugged his shoulders. “What happened that kept you apart?”

“We never had a formal plan.” There was no excusing it, or even explaining it. “I never received a letter from her, so I assumed she had found another way out. And I was enjoying my life on the sea. It was a passion of mine.”

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, but you were passionate about the wrong thing entirely,” Paul replied in a tone so dry that Daniel winced. “So, if she’s not your fiancée in truth, then she must be fair game.”

“She’s not one of your light skirts, Paul. She may have to work for a living, but she’s not what I will allow you to consider fair game.” He stalked over to the decanters and began pouring out the rich amber liquid.

Paul gave a short bark of laughter. “I don’t think of every woman in that way.”

Daniel slanted his gaze over at his friend as he handed him his drink. “Don’t you, old fellow?”

“I may have been unhappy in love, but I declare that a lady like Susannah could make a chap believe in the theory of marriage again. Those magnificent eyes...that Titian hair...”

“Enough.” He didn’t appreciate Paul cataloging Susy’s physical attributes. He couldn’t suppress the proprietary feeling that arose from deep within. Whether she admitted to it or not, he couldn’t stop thinking of her as his fiancée. And there needed to be a sense of propriety about that fact. “Anything more about her beauty and I’ll be hard pressed not to plant you a facer.”

“Fine, fine. Truce, and all that.” Paul held his palms in the air in supplication. “I shan’t say another word.” The secretive, absorbed expression on his friend’s face showed that, though he would refrain from speaking about Susannah, he’d not cease in thinking about her. “What do you intend to do now?”

“When I spoke to Susannah this morning, I alluded to our problem,” he admitted. “But she indicated that she had no interest in renewing even my friendship, to say nothing of our engagement. She’s proud, Paul. Very proud. I have to step carefully if I am to keep from offending her.”

“How did you broach the subject?” Paul took a long sip of his scotch with nary a shudder.

“Well, I...uh...” How embarrassing to rehash the disastrous conversation. Better to keep it short. “That she could come to tea here at the Hall.”

Paul shook his head gravely, rolling his eyes. “I am sure she leaped at the opportunity,” he mocked, his voice dripping sarcasm.

Daniel shrugged, concealing his annoyance at Paul’s tone. “What? I couldn’t very well profess my undying love for her. She’s got brains and is quite acute, Paul. She’d know it was a lie. I’m not going to insult her intelligence.”

“And so, instead, you invited her to a tea party?” Paul set aside his empty glass and made an impatient movement with his hands. “I quite understand that you couldn’t very well sweep her into your arms. But what of romance? Surely you should woo the lady a bit first.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to start. I don’t love her, you know.” Daniel rubbed a weary hand over his brow. How extraordinary to court one’s own fiancée. Most fellows went about it the other way around. “And I have no knowledge of happy marriages. Or of romance.”

“Plenty of marriages have been built on less.” Paul narrowed his eyes, predatory as a panther. “What do you want from her, anyway?”

“I want to help. When I went to sea, old man, I had much to keep me occupied. I had no idea where Susannah had gone, or what happened to her. I never got any letters from her, you see. So I just—” He broke off a moment, fumbling to find the right words. “I never forgot her. I just let the matter go. As I have with everything else in this blighted village.”

“I know your family life was rather awful.” Paul stood and helped himself to another tumbler of scotch. “I have been unhappy in love, but at least I grew up in a loving home. In fact—if you want my advice—don’t think of her in terms of love. Don’t seize control of anything. Simply be kind to her. It never hurts to have a pretty gel’s favor, you know.”

“Being friends. That sounds rather nice.” He cleared his throat and began anew. “How should I start?”

“Remember what she likes. Poetry, flowers and whatnot. Women like jewels, too, but that could be considered too forward if your intentions are honorable.” Paul settled back in his chair. “And if they aren’t, you certainly don’t need my advice for that.”

Daniel scowled at Paul. “Of course my intentions are honorable.”

Befriending Susannah Siddons would be no ordinary task. She wasn’t like other women, not even when she was a slip of a girl. She was sharp and bright and had a disconcerting habit of laughing at you when she thought you weren’t being sincere. So, giving her jewels and silks would be quite out of the question. He’d have to be more original than that.

“They’re most dreadfully poor, you know. From a gentleman’s daughter, she’s gone into trade,” he muttered. “Rather painful to see that. Perhaps I could help. When I saw her this morning, she was buying food.”

“That’s easy enough to handle. Send her a hamper. Load it with every delicious morsel you can think of.” Paul waved his hands as though the problem had been decisively solved.

“A good idea.” He’d ask Cook to put something together. Susannah would have something to eat. And maybe she would think kindly on him. And they could be friends.

Life wouldn’t seem so bleak then.

“Hear, hear. Go on, then. Ring the bell. And while you’re ordering the Siddons dinner, make sure to ask for something for us, too? I vow, I am feeling my liquor far too quickly, and it’s due to this empty stomach.” Paul slapped his midsection and groaned.

Daniel nodded and headed for the bellpull. Yes, this was a good plan. ’Twas the only way he could begin to bridge the gap of the past.

* * *

“We won’t accept it. Take it back.” Susannah scowled at the maid before her, drawing herself up to her full height—small though that was. “While we appreciate Mr. Hale’s generosity—”

“Sue, please.” Nan popped her head around the door frame and eyed the basket of food hungrily. “It’s a hospitable gesture and nothing more. Don’t be so missish.”

Susannah glared at her younger sister, who responded by widening her already large brown eyes appealingly. Then she swallowed, for the tantalizing smells drifting up from the basket the servant held were almost too good to endure. They’d finished the cinnamon bread at luncheon, and after a hard day of scrubbing and putting the cottage to rights, all three sisters were famished.

“Mr. Hale said he must insist.” The maid shifted her weight from one foot to the other and placed the heavy basket on the front stoop. “I’ll just leave it here and be on me way. I’m late for me own tea as ʼtis.” The maid rubbed her palms on her apron, and with a cheeky wave, set off across the dwindling path toward Goodwin Hall.

Nan scooped up the basket. “Becky, there’s food,” she called indoors. “Oh, ’tis heavy. Susannah, grab hold and help me carry it.”

Susannah unfolded her arms and grabbed one of the basket handles. Oh, gracious, was that chicken she smelled? A roast chicken? Her stomach grumbled in appreciation.