aI trust,a Miss Martin said, athat Lady Potford and Miss Thompson are awaiting you in your carriage, Lord Whitleaf?a aThey are awaiting me at Lady Potfordas house, maaam,a he a.s.sured her. aA mere five-minute drive from here.a She inclined her head and turned her attention to her fellow teacher.
aDo have a lovely time, Susanna,a she said, her voice softening, aand give my regards to the other ladies.a aI will,a Susanna said and stepped forward so that he could cup her elbow in his palm and escort her out onto the pavement.
He took her hand in his to help her up the steps into his carriage. She sat with her back to the horses, he noticed, in order to leave the better seat for the other ladies. He vaulted in after her and sat beside her.
It was only after his coachman had shut the door, climbed up to the box, and set the carriage in motion that the door of the school closed.
aMiss Martin cares about you,a he said. aSo does the male dragon.a aMr. Keeble?a She laughed. aHe cares about us all, girls and teachers alike. He would guard us all from the wicked world beyond the school doors if he could.a aAnd I am the big, bad wolf?a he asked as the carriage turned onto Sutton Street.
aYou are a man,a she said, and laughed, awhich in his eyes is probably far worse. I may be only a schoolteacher, Lord Whitleaf, but to Claudia and to Mr. Keeble I am also a lady and must be protected from any possibility of harm.a aYou are first and foremost a lady,a he said as the carriage made its big turn onto Great Pulteney Street, awho happens also to be a schoolteacher.a She turned her head and their eyes met in the dim light cast by the carriage lamps that burned outside.
And we both know what sort of harm can come to a lady who is not properly protected.
He did not say the words aloud. He did not need to.
He was not in the habit of recalling s.e.xual experiences from the past. They were something for present enjoyment and future antic.i.p.ation. He rarely even thought of former mistresses. Yet he had a sudden, vivid memory of lying with Susanna Osbourne on the hill above the river at Barclay Court. He could remember the feel of her warm womanas body beneath his, ofa Well.
Why did one always remember the very things one would prefer to forget?
aHas Miss Thompson decided to take a teaching position at the school?a he asked.
aShe spent all of yesterday afternoon with us,a she said, aand seemed to enjoy herself. I believe she very well may decide to stay. I hope so. We all like her exceedingly well. Claudia believes it is simply her misfortune to be a sister-in-law of the Duke of Bewcastle and does not hold it against her. Claudia is not kindly disposed to any of the Bedwyns, particularly Lady Hallmere and the duke.a They both laughed. But there was no time for further conversation. The carriage stopped outside Lady Potfordas house and he descended in order to rap on the door and then hand in the ladies for the drive to the Abbey at the other side of the river.
Bath Abbey was an impressive building, as most great Gothic churches were. This one was more lovely than most, with its pointed arched windows so large that one wondered how there could be enough solid wall left to support the great height and weight of the building. Tall pillars along the nave stretched upward until they spread into a fan-vaulted ceiling far overhead, drawing the eyes and the mind and the spirit heavenward. It was a magnificent setting for a concert, Peter thought as he escorted the ladies inside. As soon as they stepped through the door, Lady Potford moved ahead with Miss Thompson while Peter took Susanna on his arm and followed them.
aOh,a she said, aI have brought cla.s.ses here on sightseeing walks. I have even attended church here a few times. I have always been in awe of its splendor. But I have never before seen it lit up at night. It is absolutelyamagical.a aMagical.a He smiled down at her. aYou had better not let any clergyman hear you describe it with that word.a She laughed softly.
aMystical, then,a she said. aOh, look, there must be a thousand candles burning, and the light is shivering in the drafts of air. Have you ever seen anything moreaa aMagical?a he said. aNo, never.a He loved her innocent enthusiasm, something the typical young lady of the ton soon learned to disguise beneath a fashionable veneer of ennui. And yet there was nothing childlike about Susanna Osbourne. She was all vivid womanhood.
Her attention soon moved, though, from their surroundings to the people who occupied it, and she looked immediately apprehensive.
The audience was impressively large. Its nature was much as Peter had expected, though. Most people were elderly or at least past the first blush of youth. Except for Susanna and Miss Thompson, there was no one here he had known longer than a couple of days. It was the wrong time of year for there to be many visitors. These people would be almost exclusively residents of Bath.
He had met a number of them at the Pump Room this morning during the daily promenade, which he had joined for lack of anything else to doa"and because he genuinely liked people no matter what their age or social status. He had aroused a great deal of interest, partly because he was a stranger and partly, he suspected, because he was below the age of forty.
Several of those people greeted him now as he moved along the central aisle closer to the front of the church with his party. Several others looked at him and Miss...o...b..urne with interest. Others greeted Lady Potford, and she stopped a few times to exchange greetings with acquaintances.
aOh, there is Mr. Blake,a Susanna said, and smiled more broadly as she raised a hand in greeting, aand Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds.a aDo you wish to speak with them?a he asked.
aMaybe later,a she said. aMr. Blake is the physician who attends the school when anyone is ill. Betsy Reynolds is a day pupil at the school.a She was holding firmly to his arm, but he suspected that she was enjoying herself.
She was a lady, he thought. Her father had been William Osbourne. A mere n.o.body did not generally rise to the exalted position of secretary to a government minister or take up residence in that ministeras country home.
But William Osbourne, for some unknown reason, had put a bullet through his brain.
Peter took a seat next to the aisle. Susanna sat beside him with Miss Thompson beyond her and then Lady Potford. It was a little chilly, but even so he helped Susanna off with her cloak, which he draped over the back of her chair while she arranged her paisley shawl about her shoulders. She was wearing the same green gown she had worn to the a.s.sembly, he could see. It was trimmed with the ribbon she had bought at the village shop to which he had escorted her.
For a few moments he was a.s.saulted by nostalgic memories of that fortnight, during which she had so unexpectedly become his frienda"before he had spoiled it all by becoming her lover. He could vividly remember her laughing in his curricle and thus revealing the fact that as well as being terrified she was also exhilarated.
She had been so full of surprises during those two weeks. He had come very close to falling in love with her in earnesta"something he had not admitted to himself until very recently.
Perhaps fortunately for his peace of mind, the concert began soon after they had seated themselves. There was a full orchestra. More important, there was the great pipe organ, which played several solos and inundated every light-filled s.p.a.ce and every shadowed alcove of the Abbey with the music of Handel and Bach.
aYou were quite right about the organ,a he said, moving his head closer to Susannaas at the end of one of the pieces.
Her eyes were glowing with happiness.
aThis is like a little piece of heaven,a she said.
This. What did she include in the word? he wondered. But she was quite right. This was easily the best evening he had spent sinceaWell, since he did not know when. His mind scanned all the evenings he had spent in London before going to Alvesley Park and then slipped back beyond them to a certain evening in Somerset when he had waltzed at a mere country a.s.sembly and then taken a stroll along the village street.
Perhaps he really had fallen a little in love with her. He hoped not. But he did not know quite how else to describe his relationship with Susanna Osbourne or his feelings for her. It was not just friendship, was it? It was a little deeper than that. And it was not quite being in love either. It was less frivolous than that.
He realized that the orchestra was in the middle of Handelas Water Music, but he had no recollection at all of the first half of the performance. He focused his mind on the rest of it.
There were several small interludes during the course of the evening, when the audience could relax for a minute or two and exchange comments on the program. At the end, Peter knew, everyone would be reluctant to go home. Everyone would stand about in groups, talking, for perhaps half an hour before drifting off home. He looked forward to that half hour or so even though he would not wish away the rest of the evening.
But as it happened he was almost the first to leave.
Susanna had turned her head several times during the evening and had sometimes tipped it back to look upward. She was unabashedly admiring her surroundings and looking at her fellow audience members, Peter knew. He supposed that she was storing memories to take back to school with her. She turned her head away from him just before the final organ piece and looked back over her shoulder. It seemed to him that she turned to face the front again in great haste, and he noticed that she gripped the edges of her shawl very tightly with both hands.
He looked back himself, but a large, broad man two rows back was just straightening up after talking with someone next but one to him, and he effectively blocked the view of most of the audience farther back.
Peter turned his attention to a triumphant organ rendition of Bachas Jesu, Joy of Manas Desiring.
He turned, smiling, to Susanna after the last notes had echoed through the high vaults. She was shivering.
aAre you cold?a he asked, setting a hand over one of her clenched onesa"and it was indeed like ice.
aI must leave now,a she said, her teeth chattering. aThe concert has gone on longer than I expected. Claudia will be wonderingaa She turned her head, and Peter could hear her speaking to Lady Potford above the hubbub of voices that followed the ending of the recital. aI must leave now, maaam. I am expected back at school. I do thank you for inviting mea"and you for suggesting me, Miss Thompson.a aOh, but you must not rush away, my dear,a Lady Potford said. aMiss Martin will certainly understand, and I daresay there are no cla.s.ses tomorrow. I was hoping you and Viscount Whitleaf would come back for some tea.a But Susanna did not even wait for her to finish speaking. She was drawing her cloak about her and getting to her feet, though her shoulders were hunched over as she did so. She stepped past Peter and hurried along the aisle, her head down.
aOh, dear,a Miss Thompson said, awhatever has happened to upset her? She appeared to be enja"a aPardon me, maaam,a Peter said, getting to his feet. aI will follow and make sure she gets home safely. Lady Potford, please do take my carriage and instruct my coachman not to wait for me.a He did not hear her reply. Susanna was already almost out of the Abbey. He hurried after her.
He caught up with her at the outer doors and took her by the elbow.
aSomething has happened to upset you,a he said.
aNo.a She lifted a smiling face to his. aBut I am always anxious when I have been away from the school for any length of time. It does not seem fair. Do not let me take you away early, Lord Whitleaf. I shall walk back alone. I am used to doing so.a aAt night? You most certainly will not walk alone on this night,a he said. aWill you not wait for my carriage? It should be here soon.a She shook her head.
aI must go back,a she said.
aThen I will escort you.a He drew her arm firmly through his.
aThank you.a It was all she said for a few minutes as they walked. Actually, he discovered, it was not a cold night, and what little wind there was was behind them.
He wondered what had happened to rob her of her joy in the eveningas entertainment. Perhaps, he thought as he walked beside her and looked down at her bowed head, she had started rememberinga"as he had earlier. For him the memories were uncomfortable and touched upon his honor. For her they must be far worse even than that.
He set one gloved hand over hers on his arm.
aSusanna,a he said, aI must ask you, much as it might be better to let sleeping dogs lie. Did Iahurt you in any way at Barclay Court? Not just physically, I mean, though that too, I suppose. Did I?a Foolish question. Could the answer be anything but yes? And could he expect her to say anything but no?
aNo,a she said. aNo, you did not.a aI have felt dashed guilty,a he told her. aI have never done anything to compare with it in infamy either before or since, I swear. I am not a seducera"or was not.a aYou did not seduce me,a she said firmly as they turned to walk across the Pulteney Bridge. aWhat happened was by mutual consent.a They were rea.s.suring words, and of course he knew there was truth in them. But they were essentially meaningless words, nonetheless. What else could she say? He sighed aloud.
aBut it is not good enough,a he said. aDash it all, it just is not. Will you marry me, Susanna? Will you do me the great honor of marrying me?a The words seemed to come out of their own volition. And yet he felt an enormous relief that he had spoken them. They should have been spoken up on that hill. They should have been spoken the next daya"he should have hurried over to Barclay Court before she left. He should have followed her to Bath instead of going first to London and then home and then to Alvesley. He should have spoken the words the day before yesterday in the Upper a.s.sembly Rooms.
Will you marry me?
He knew suddenly that he had done the right thing at last, that he had wanted to say those words for a long time. He knew that finally he had done the honorable thing, and the thing he wished to doa"he wished to protect this woman, who had somehow become his very dear friend, perhaps his dearest friend. The fact that she was not with child did not lessen his obligation to her.
She continued walking at his side, their footsteps echoing along the deserted Great Pulteney Street. He began to think she would not answer at all. He even began to wonder if he had asked the question out loud or only in his thoughts.
aNo,a she said at last. aNo, of course I will not.a aWhy not?a he asked after another short silence while they continued on past Lady Potfordas house.
aA better question might be why,a she said. aYou cannot marry someone simply because you feel guilty.a Was that his reason? If he had not dishonored her at Barclay Court, would the idea of marrying her ever have crossed his mind? It was a foolish question, of course. The point was that he had dishonored her. And it was surely more than guilt that had impelled him to ask the question.
As they turned into Sutton Street, she laughed softly.
aWhen you say your prayers tonight, Lord Whitleaf,a she said, ayou must give special thanks for the narrow escape you have just had.a aYou still believe, then,a he said, curling his fingers around hers, athat I am incapable of any deep emotion?a aI know you are not,a she said. aBut I know that kindness is one of your most dominant attributesa"that and gallantry to ladies. You cannota"or ought not toa"contract a marriage on such things alone. You need to look deeper into your own heart. You need to learn to like yourself too.a Her words smote him deeply. Despite her denials she had looked at him and seen a man incapable of any deeper feeling than kindness. She did not believe that the offer of his heart was a significant enough gift. But did he believe it? He had not offered his heart, had he?
He had lost all confidence in love several years ago. He had given all the love of his eager young heart to Bertha Grantham and had made a prize idiot of himself as a result.
Was the real problem that he had lost confidence in himself? In his ability to love or be loved? Had he stopped liking himself? He had felt like an idiota"a gullible, nave fool. But did that mean he had stopped liking himself?
It was such a novela"and disturbinga"thought that he said nothing as they approached the school and their footsteps slowed.
aYou must not think you owe me marriage,a she said, her voice gentle now, as if he were the one who needed consolation, ajust because you believe I was hurt in the summer and imagine that I am lonely and unhappy with my life as it is. Even if all those things were truea"which they are nota"they are no reason for a marriage. Not on either side. You owe me nothing.a aI see,a he said as they stopped walking. His mind was paralyzed. He could think of nothing else to say to her. It was actually a relief when the door opened even before he could knock upon it, and the ever-present porter peered out at them.
But he could not let her go this way. He could not say good-bye like this.
aTomorrow is Sat.u.r.day,a he said. aThere are no cla.s.ses, are there?a aExcept the usual games cla.s.s in the morning,a she said. aI always supervise it out in the meadows unless it is raining.a aMay I see you tomorrow afternoon, then?a he asked her. aWe can go walkinga"perhaps in Sydney Gardens if the weather permits. And perhaps we can go somewhere for tea afterwarda"somewhere public, of course, so that the proprieties may be observed.a It would be altogether better, he thoughta"for both of thema"if she said no. But he willed her not to refuse him. He did not want this to be good-bye. He wanted the chance to laugh with her once again before they went their separate ways forever.
She had drawn her hand free of his arm. She took him completely by surprise now when she drew off one of her gloves and set her fingertips gently against his cheek.
aYes,a she said. aI would like that.a He swallowed and turned his head to brush his lips against her palm. But only for a moment. That porter had not moved back out of sight. Peter half expected that he would growl at any momenta"or open his mouth and spew out a stream of fire.
aI shall see you tomorrow, then,a he said, stepping back. aGood night.a aGood night. And thank you for walking back with me,a she said, before turning and hurrying inside.
The door closed with a click behind her.
ayou must give special thanks for the narrow escape you have just had.
He ought to agree with her. He tried to imagine his motheras reaction and his sistersa if he had proceeded to present Susanna Osbourne to them as his chosen bride. They would not be happy.
But dash it all, he could not agree.
And devil take it, if this was what being in love felt like, he had been wise to guard his heart for the past several years.
With a deep sigh he turned to begin the long walk back to his hotel.
17.
aI am glad you are not too late home,a Mr. Keeble said, just as if he were her father. aI worry when one of you ladies is out after dark. Miss Martin wants you to join her in her sitting room.a aThank you,a Susanna said as he pa.s.sed her in the hallway in order to lead the way upstairs.
She would give anything in the world, she thought as she followed him up, to be able to go straight to her room, to dive beneath the covers of her bed, to hide from the world and herself there forever and ever. And yet contrarily she could not wait to reach the calming comfort of Claudiaas presence.
Oh, how she missed her mother! Ridiculous thought, but really, how she missed her.
aMiss...o...b..urne, maaam,a Mr. Keeble said after knocking at the door of Claudiaas sitting room and then opening it, announcing Susanna formally as he always did when given the chance.
It was an enormous relief as she entered the room to see that Lila was not there, fond as she was of her fellow teacher. Claudia was sitting beside a cozy fire, a book in her lap, looking rather weary. But she looked sharply enough at her friend and cast the book aside in order to get to her feet as Mr. Keeble shut the door.
And then quite inexplicably Susanna was in her arms, her head on Claudiaas shoulder. Nothing like it had ever happened before. She relaxed into the sheer comfort of the embrace for several silent moments before stepping back, biting her lip, embarra.s.sed.
aI am so sorry,a she said.
aSit down,a Claudia said, drawing the other armchair a little closer to the fire, aand I will pour you a cup of tea. It is fresh.a It had always been Susannaas self-appointed job to pour the tea, but on this occasion she did not argue. She sank into the offered chair after setting aside her cloak and gloves with the shawl laid carefully on top of them. She welcomed the warmth of the fire against her chilled body.
aNow,a Claudia said after Susanna had taken her first sip of the blessedly hot tea, awhat do you wish to tell me, if anything?a They had never intruded into each otheras lives. It was remarkable that they had been such good friends for years without knowing very much about each otheras pasta"though, of course, Susanna had been only twelve when she came to the school.
aI saw someone in the Abbey,a she said. aTwo people, actually, though I was not sure of the ident.i.ty of the other person.a aTwo people you knew?a Claudia asked.
aA long time ago.a Susanna took a long drink from her cup and then set it in the saucer and put both on the table beside her. aI grew up in their home until the age of twelve, until my father died. He was secretary there.a Claudia said nothing.
aHe took his own life,a Susanna blurted. aHe killed himself, Claudia. He shot himself in the head.a aAh, you poor dear,a Claudia said softly. aI did not know that.a aI suppose my existence was not enough to make him want to live,a Susanna said. aHe did not even make any provision for me.a She was grateful that Claudia said nothing for a while. She had not even fully realized how much she had pitied herself all these years, how much she had resented the fact that her father had chosen death rather than her, even though she thought she understood at least part of his reason for doing what he had done. He had always been an affectionate father, though he had been content to let her grow up in the nursery with Edith and not see her for more than a few minutes in a day and sometimes not at all.
aAnd the person you saw this evening, the owner of the house, would make no provision for you either?a Claudia asked at last. aThat is why you ran away, Susanna?a aLady Markham,a Susanna said, spreading her hands in her lap and looking down at them. aAnd I believe it was Edith with her. I shared a childhood with her though she was more than a year younger than I and the daughter of the house. We were very close even though I was really only a servantas daughter. But my father was a gentleman.a She had become defensive on that issue lately.
aOf course he was,a Claudia said. aI knew from the moment of your arrival in Bath that you were a lady, Susanna. You needed no elocution or deportment lessons, and you could already read. I have always thought that was why Mr. Hatchard noticed you and wrote to ask if I would take you here.a aI was on my way from my bedchamber to the nursery,a Susanna said, pressing her palms harder into her lap and stiffening her fingers as she recounted the memories that had rushed at her earlier in the Abbey. aI was desperately seeking for some comfort, I suppose, even though there is no real comfort to be found when oneas papa has just blown his head off and one has not been allowed to see him despite oneas tears and screams. I wanted Edith. But I never got inside the nursery. I could hear Lady Markham speaking in there, though I have never known whom she was addressing. It could not have been Edith, who was barely eleven.a She paused and drew a deep breath, which she expelled on a sigh.
aI believe I can still remember her exact words,a she said. aThey are burned into my memory. The church has washed its hands of him, of course, she said. He committed a mortal sin when he took his own life. He will have to be buried in unconsecrated ground. And whatever are we to do with Susanna? This is such a burden for us to bear. She can hardly remain here.a She had fleda"from the nursery and from the house.
aMy father was not buried in the churchyard,a she said, aand I did not even stay to see what they actually did with him. I left him as he had left me and somehow found my way to London.a aAnd now Lady Markham is in Bath,a Claudia said.
aYes.a Susanna curled her fingers into her palms and lifted her head to stare into the fire. aAnd I am almost sure the young lady beside her was Edith. It is foolish to have been so discomposed. I was just looking around between pieces close to the end of the program, as I had been doing all evening. A large man a few rows behind me had moved out of my line of vision, and there they were. I suppose they had been there all the time. But I am fine now.a She smiled. aHow was your evening with the senior girls?a But Claudia ignored her question. She also was gazing into the fire.
aThere is nothing worse, is there,a she said, athan a past that has never been fully dealt with. One can convince oneself that it is all safely in the past and forgotten about, but the very fact that we can tell ourselves that it is forgotten proves that it is not.a Susanna swallowed. aBut remembering is pointless,a she said, awhen nothing can be done to change the past. I am fine, Claudia. Tomorrow I shall be my usual cheerful self, I promise.a But she did wonder about Claudia. Was there something unresolved in her past? Was there something unresolved in everyoneas past? Was memory always as much of a burden as it could sometimes be a blessing?
Claudia looked up and smiled.
aWhen I saw your face as you stepped into the room,a she said, aI was convinced that Viscount Whitleaf must have put that look there. I was quite prepared to march down to the kitchen, avail myself of Cookas rolling pin, and stride off in pursuit of him.a aOh, Claudia,a Susanna said before she could stop herself, ahe asked me to marry him.a Claudia went very still.
aAnd?aa she said.