Nine Buck's Row (31 page)

November arrived, stripping more leaves from the trees, the ground a crackling, multicolored carpet underfoot. I received another letter from Millie, also a long, chatty letter from Maggie. She had a new boarder, a retired colonel who was fussy about linen. Nine Buck's Row didn't seem the same without me and “that rascal, Nicky.” She hoped to come visit us soon, but there was so much work to be done. The price of velvet had soared astronomically, she added, and as for ostrich feathers, not to be had, my dear, at
any
price! As Nicholas received all the London newspapers, albeit a day late, I was also able to keep informed on other matters.

Now that a full month had passed without any more murders, the furor over Jack The Ripper had subsided somewhat. Several of the vigilance committees had disbanded, enthusiasm gone for lack of excitement. Some of the extra policemen who had been assigned to the East End were taken off their beats and assigned elsewhere. There were rumors that the fiend had committed suicide. A prostitute who claimed to have been assaulted by the fiend, narrowly escaping with her life, identified a body fished out of the Thames as that of her assailant. Sanity was beginning to prevail, and the fallen blossoms of society began to bloom again in doorways and backstreets in the East End, red lamps glowing brightly through the fog.

Although I had intended to shun him, I was soon seeing Ted Elliot almost every day. Whenever I went out riding he was sure to be waiting for me, a persistent cavalier on his strong black stallion. After the first few days I no longer tried to avoid him. He was bright, amusing, a perfect companion on those long rides. He showed me over the tenant farms, and I was surprised at the authority in his voice as he explained various aspects of farming. He might be a fop in the drawing room, but here on home ground he took on an altogether different character. He was serious, dedicated, energetic, determined to make his tenant farms the best in the country. I saw him in a new light, and I couldn't help but admire him for what he was trying to achieve.

He insisted that I come to tea at Roseclay. There was no way I could avoid it without quarreling, and I gave in. Lady Lucille was delighted. I was soon joining them in the rose and gray parlor twice a week, enjoying it tremendously. Boredom was gone. The weeks were no longer dreary. Ted and his mother made me feel very special, and it was a delightful sensation, one I had never known before. I felt no guilt in these secret meetings. Nicholas didn't know about them, true, but then he hadn't bothered to inquire about my activities.

One day early in November I came back after a particularly invigorating ride with Ted. My hair was windblown, my cheeks flushed, and I was smiling to myself, remembering some of Ted's more outlandish comments. I removed my long gray riding cloak and hung it on a stand in the hall, pausing in front of the mirror to brush a strand of hair from my temple. The country air and vigorous exercise had worked wonders, and I seemed to glow with health. Was it that, or was it Ted's rugged courtship that caused me to glow?

“Pleased with yourself?” Nicholas inquired.

I turned around, startled. He was standing in the doorway of the library, watching me with flat dark eyes. A caustic smile played on his lips as he stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. He came toward me, those eyes missing nothing.

“You have, indeed, taken on a new glow,” he said in a dry voice, almost as though he had been reading my mind. “Romance seems to suit you,” he continued. “You look radiant. I hope young Elliot appreciates it.”

“How—”

“How did I find out? My dear Susannah, I've known from the beginning. Do you think I'm so dense that I can't see what's going on right under my eyes? You've been seeing Elliot for four weeks now.”

“I won't deny that,” I said coldly.

“You needn't be so grand. If I had objected, I would have put a stop to it long ago. Young Elliot is a prize catch. He'll inherit everything from his father. Even if that weren't the case, he's the sort of lad who'd succeed on his own steam.”

“You—you don't care?”

“I'm quite pleased. You couldn't do better. I only hope you have the sense to realize your good fortune. Young men like Ted Elliot aren't to be had every day. He seems to be genuinely interested in you, and you've made a good impression on his mother as well. From all reports, he's yours for the taking.”

“You wouldn't object?”

“Nothing would please me more. Not only would I get you off my hands, but I'd be assured of your future well-being. As Ted Elliot's wife you'd never want for anything.”

“I—I see.”

I was thoroughly crushed. I wanted to burst into tears, but pride prevented it. Nicholas Craig had made his position quite clear. Ever since that passionate kiss in the moonlit hallway I had harbored a secret hope, a thing so tenuous I had almost been afraid to acknowledge it. That hope was gone now. I had been wildly foolish to cherish it in the first place. I looked into his eyes, affecting a calm I was far from feeling.

“I trust that your conduct with him has been uncompromising,” he said casually. “I'd hate to see you lose this opportunity because of a momentary weakness. Young men can be quite persuasive, but once a conquest is made they lose all interest, I assure you. A maidenhead has no intrinsic value in itself, but as part of a marriage settlement—”

I slapped his face with such force that my palm stung. Nicholas caught my wrist, bending it back, hurting me. His cheek burned bright red with the imprint of my hand, but his eyes were impassive. He released me, the corners of his mouth turning up in a wry smile. I trembled, so weak that I feared my knees would give way.

“Your moral indignation is most reassuring,” he said calmly. “I assume you've resisted temptation. Continue to do so. Ted Elliot is too good a catch to let him slip through your fingers. I trust he'll be calling on me soon to ask for your hand. He'll be quite pleased with my answer.”

He turned and strolled down the hall with infuriating nonchalance. It was several minutes before I had enough strength to go up to my room, and I remained there the rest of the evening, knowing it would be impossible to face him over the dinner table. It rained that night, and all during the next two days. Pretending a migraine, I had Mrs. Stern send my meals up on a tray, and Nicholas made no objections.

On the morning of November tenth, I rose early and was out in the stables before eight o'clock. Vic was surprised to see me. Sleepy eyed, he peered up at the wet gray sky and suggested I wait a spell for my ride, certain it was going to rain again. I shook my head and ordered him to saddle the mare. I had to get out. Two days of self-imposed confinement had only made me feel worse, and I needed to be out in the open, in motion, the wind in my hair. A few minutes later I was riding furiously down the road, urging the horse to go even faster.

I rode for over an hour, until the poor mare was exhausted. Climbing down, I took a lump of sugar from my pocket and gave it to her, speaking gentle words as I stroked her neck. Leading her to a grove of trees on the edge of a field, I tied the reins on a low branch, deciding to walk a while. The sky was threatening, wet gray silk hanging low, and thunder rumbled in the distance. I had been so eager to get out that I had forgotten a wrap, but I hardly noticed the chill.

Far away on the horizon stood a weathered barn, once bright red, now a faded rose-gray. The warped wooden doors sagged open dejectedly, revealing a dim interior, and ancient hay hung from the loft. I walked toward it, stumbling on the pebbles, heedless of the wind that tore at my hair and caused the skirt of my dress to billow over vigorously whipping petticoats. I found the raging elements a comfort, so closely did they resemble the emotions inside. I almost welcomed the first drops of rain that fell on my burning cheeks.

The stallion raced over the horizon, muscular black legs flying, the rider crouched low, his cloak rising behind him like flapping wings. It was a beautiful sight, man and horse one in their urgency, and I stopped to watch. They had almost reached the door of the barn when the horse reared, turned, came charging toward me. Trancelike I watched, pellets of rain staining my dress.

“Have you gone mad?” Ted cried, jerking the horse to a sudden halt. “What in
hell
are you doing here?”

“Walking,” I said calmly.

“Quick! Get up in front of me. We'll head for the barn. It's going to pour any minute now!”

“I don't mind the rain.”

“Christ! I've fallen in love with an idiot! Here.”

Leaning out of the saddle, seizing my arms, he swung me up in front of him with no effort at all. I was surprised at his strength. One arm wrapped around my waist, he snapped the reins, urging the horse on. The rain began in earnest just as we reached the barn. Ted swung me down, climbed down himself and, palms resting lightly on thighs, stared at me in complete dismay. The long black cloak completely enveloped him, hem brushing the heels of his boots.

“What mad folly is this?” he said impatiently. “Didn't you know it was going to rain?”

“I had to get out. I—I needed to think—not to think, to keep from thinking—”

“Where's your horse?”

“Under that grove of trees,” I said, pointing.

“She'll be all right. Lord—” He shook his head and smiled for the first time. “This is an unexpected pleasure. You're a bewildering girl, Susannah. I'll never understand you, and I expect to spend the rest of my life trying. Your hair is damp, your dress spotted. You'll catch cold.” He removed the long black cloak and wrapped it around me, his hands resting on my shoulders. “You
are
a funny creature,” he said tenderly.

“I've been cooped up for the past two days. I had to get out.”

“I understand,” he replied. “Well, here we are, in a moldy old barn, isolated from the rest of the world by sheets of lashing rain. Quite a romantic situation.”

Ted took the reins and led the horse away from the opened doors, rubbing his hands affectionately over the animal's neck. The interior of the barn was dim, but there was enough light to reveal the rusted plows leaning against the wall, the withered leather harnesses hanging from pegs. A stack of coarse jute bags of grain stood in one corner, several of them ripped open, leaking grain in golden brown heaps on the hard dirt floor. A rickety ladder led up to the hayloft, and there was an odor of mildew and old hay. Outside the rain poured savagely, pounding on the roof, gusts of wind blowing it through the doors. I stepped back, folding the cloak more closely around me. I was shivering.

I felt much better, my earlier desolation vanished. It was snug and cozy here in the barn, curiously pleasant to peer through the sagging doors and watch the rain streaking down in agitated fury, turning the field into an expanse of splattering brown mud, and it was nice to be with Ted. He exuded a warmth, an amiable charm that was comforting. In his work clothes, brick-red hair plastered down in flat wet locks, he looked like an aristocrat in disguise. He had found an old blanket in one corner and was rubbing the horse down, temporarily ignoring me. I watched, really appreciating him for perhaps the first time.

His full white shirt was damp, clinging to his broad shoulders, and the damp gray trousers were molded against his well-turned legs. He rubbed the stallion briskly, intent on the job, and I was touched by his concern for the animal. Ted Elliot was all that a girl could hope for, and I wished it were possible for me to feel something stronger than the friendly affection I presently felt. It was an ironic situation, and I fully appreciated the irony. Could I learn to love him? I wondered.

“There,” he said, draping the blanket over the horse. “You'll be fine, fellow.”

“You're wet yourself,” I remarked.

“No danger,” he replied. “I have the constitution of an oak. Never had a cold in my life. Never even been sick, in fact. Clean living. That's the secret.”

Standing a few feet apart, we looked at each other and listened to the rain. There was a splattering patter as rain leaked through the roof. Both of us were suddenly aware of the intimacy of our circumstances. Ted looked slightly discomfited, and I realized that he was far more conventional than his conduct would lead one to believe. He smiled a nervous smile and wiped a lock of wet hair from his forehead.

“It should let up shortly,” he said. “These downpours never last very long.”

“You were inspecting a field?”

He nodded. “I plan to grow asparagus next year. People say I'm mad, but the soil is right and with the proper care—oh, hell! We're not going to stand here making chitchat like polite strangers. I'm in love with you, Susannah.”

“I find that hard to believe. You hardly know me.”

“Susannah—”

“Don't, Ted. Please. You don't mean any of this.”

“But I
do
,” he insisted. “All right, I'll confess. At Aunt Cordelia's ball you were just a charming stranger I flirted with outrageously. I said some preposterous things and made an ass of myself. It was amusing, and you were, after all, far more interesting than the overdressed old crocks my aunt wanted me to entertain. I played the young gallant, enjoying it thoroughly. When I came back to Surrey, there was nothing on my mind but the farms. I had no time to waste in thinking about charming young women.”

“At least you're honest.”

“But I
did
think about you. I couldn't get you out of my mind. I was ready to chuck everything here and go to London, and if you hadn't turned up when you did—”

He smashed his fist into his palm, glaring at me. He looked very young in his boyish agitation. I knew he was speaking the truth. I looked away from him, not knowing what to say.

“Do you believe me, Susannah?”

“Yes,” I said quietly.

“I want to marry you. I've already told Mother, and she's delighted. My father will be returning from Liverpool day after tomorrow. He'll adore you. Susannah, are you
listening
to me?”