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Authors: Julie Anne Long
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finally.
"I'm sure it is, Bullton." Kit was struggling not to laugh. "And that will be all for now, thank you. The stain, Mrs. Davies?"
"Oh!" she dropped as though shot down behind the settee to attend to it, and Kit strode up to his chambers, to see if spiders had knit coverlets over the entire room in his absence.
Susannah didn't stop running until she was at the very threshold of her aunt's garden, and then she stopped to compose herself and get her breath. Something savory was cooking, and the smell was winding its way out of the cottage and out into the yard invitingly. Nothing like fleeing from the naked stranger you'd been spying on to build an appetite .
Feeling tentative and a little embarrassed, she poked her head into the kitchen, which must also be the dining room, as there was no dining room to be seen. Whereas in her old home, the kitchen was an enormous galley beneath the house, and the dining room was a good acre or so away from it. And at her father's town house in London—
"Good morning, Susannah." Aunt Frances turned. "I thought perhaps you'd changed your mind and fled back to London."
Is that an option ? But Aunt Frances seemed so kind, and so prepared to overlook the fact that her niece was wandering into the kitchen from outside the house jus after dawn, that she smiled. "Good morning, Mrs.—Aunt�Frances."
"Do sophisticated young ladies take morning walk alone these days?"
The question seemed innocent enough, though Susannah suspected Aunt Frances was more shrewd than she was naive. "I… well, your garden was so pretty that I—" She was about to say, wanted to sketch it , but she realized with horror she'd dropped her sketchbook. Damn . "That I was drawn to it for the fresh country air."
She would desperately miss her sketchbook, for mort than one reason. She almost squeezed her eyes closed with mortification, remembering: You were bloody quiet . What if he was a neighbor? What if he paid social calls? Would she recognize him clothed ! Would he recognize her !
Her aunt turned then and looked more directly at her gazed for a long disconcerting moment. "Aren't you pretty?" she concluded delightedly, with a tilted head. "And your dress…" The delighted expression supped a little, and then became officially worried, complete with a furrow between her eyes.
"Oh, Susannah," she said impulsively, seizing her by the hands. "I'm terribly concerned you'll find it very dull here, a fashionable young lady like you. Perhaps it was impulsive and selfish of me to invite you to live with me. I just… well, I'm about all the family that James had, and though he seemed to do quite well for himself… well, word does travel, bad news rather more quickly than the good, it seems, the way a storm does. I heard about your… circumstances. And I know a bit about the… ways of the world." The last four words were delicately tart.
Susannah was both touched and a little startled by this effusiveness. "You knew I was engaged to be married," she guessed carefully.
"Yes, that's what I meant, my dear." She patted Susannah's cheek. "And as you came to me straight away, I must assume that you no longer are, which is what I feared might happen to you… well, mamas of marquises-to-be can be so devastatingly practical, can't they?" Again, acerbically delivered.
It was wonderful to have someone so completely, frankly on her side. An entirely new feeling, really. "Yes," Susannah managed, feelingly. " Practical ."
"His loss, my dear," Aunt Frances said briskly. "More fool he. And life does goes on. As does breakfast. There's fried bread, and sausage in honor of your first full day here, and tea. Will you get the plates down for us?"
Susannah welcomed the subject change, but she twirled about, bewildered. She felt a little abashed. It seemed her aunt had actually cooked the meal. No one else was about to set the table, either, or to—
"They're in the cupboard, dear," her aunt said gently.
"Of course," Susannah said
"I'm sure it is, Bullton." Kit was struggling not to laugh. "And that will be all for now, thank you. The stain, Mrs. Davies?"
"Oh!" she dropped as though shot down behind the settee to attend to it, and Kit strode up to his chambers, to see if spiders had knit coverlets over the entire room in his absence.
Susannah didn't stop running until she was at the very threshold of her aunt's garden, and then she stopped to compose herself and get her breath. Something savory was cooking, and the smell was winding its way out of the cottage and out into the yard invitingly. Nothing like fleeing from the naked stranger you'd been spying on to build an appetite .
Feeling tentative and a little embarrassed, she poked her head into the kitchen, which must also be the dining room, as there was no dining room to be seen. Whereas in her old home, the kitchen was an enormous galley beneath the house, and the dining room was a good acre or so away from it. And at her father's town house in London—
"Good morning, Susannah." Aunt Frances turned. "I thought perhaps you'd changed your mind and fled back to London."
Is that an option ? But Aunt Frances seemed so kind, and so prepared to overlook the fact that her niece was wandering into the kitchen from outside the house jus after dawn, that she smiled. "Good morning, Mrs.—Aunt�Frances."
"Do sophisticated young ladies take morning walk alone these days?"
The question seemed innocent enough, though Susannah suspected Aunt Frances was more shrewd than she was naive. "I… well, your garden was so pretty that I—" She was about to say, wanted to sketch it , but she realized with horror she'd dropped her sketchbook. Damn . "That I was drawn to it for the fresh country air."
She would desperately miss her sketchbook, for mort than one reason. She almost squeezed her eyes closed with mortification, remembering: You were bloody quiet . What if he was a neighbor? What if he paid social calls? Would she recognize him clothed ! Would he recognize her !
Her aunt turned then and looked more directly at her gazed for a long disconcerting moment. "Aren't you pretty?" she concluded delightedly, with a tilted head. "And your dress…" The delighted expression supped a little, and then became officially worried, complete with a furrow between her eyes.
"Oh, Susannah," she said impulsively, seizing her by the hands. "I'm terribly concerned you'll find it very dull here, a fashionable young lady like you. Perhaps it was impulsive and selfish of me to invite you to live with me. I just… well, I'm about all the family that James had, and though he seemed to do quite well for himself… well, word does travel, bad news rather more quickly than the good, it seems, the way a storm does. I heard about your… circumstances. And I know a bit about the… ways of the world." The last four words were delicately tart.
Susannah was both touched and a little startled by this effusiveness. "You knew I was engaged to be married," she guessed carefully.
"Yes, that's what I meant, my dear." She patted Susannah's cheek. "And as you came to me straight away, I must assume that you no longer are, which is what I feared might happen to you… well, mamas of marquises-to-be can be so devastatingly practical, can't they?" Again, acerbically delivered.
It was wonderful to have someone so completely, frankly on her side. An entirely new feeling, really. "Yes," Susannah managed, feelingly. " Practical ."
"His loss, my dear," Aunt Frances said briskly. "More fool he. And life does goes on. As does breakfast. There's fried bread, and sausage in honor of your first full day here, and tea. Will you get the plates down for us?"
Susannah welcomed the subject change, but she twirled about, bewildered. She felt a little abashed. It seemed her aunt had actually cooked the meal. No one else was about to set the table, either, or to—
"They're in the cupboard, dear," her aunt said gently.
"Of course," Susannah said
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