Desperately Seeking Suzanna (14 page)

Even the undesirable men in town seemed to be spoken for. And as for a certain handsome gentleman, that wasn’t possible. It was odd that she’d considered marriage when they first met at the masquerade, but since then it hadn’t crossed her mind. He would never marry her. Evangeline? If Mother had her way in things, then yes. But not her. He didn’t want to recognize her. He didn’t want the dream of Suzanna shattered, only to be left with Sue. She couldn’t blame him; she wouldn’t want to be left with her, either.

Pulling the small notebook from her pocket, she sat down on a bench and began to draw. Nothing settled her mind like escaping into a picture for a few minutes. Wouldn’t it be lovely if all problems in life were as easy to navigate as lines on paper? Sue sighed and became lost in her drawing.

She smudged the line of charcoal across the page of her small notebook, watching as the tree in Hyde Park came to life on the parchment. Sue smiled down at the notebook in her lap, pleased with her own cleverness. A piece of pocketed coal from the fire in the parlor and a notebook small enough to fit inside her pelisse pocket, and she was able to sketch when Mother wasn’t around. Brilliant! It wasn’t the same as being able to paint all afternoon, but it was keeping her sane while in town.

Leaning closer, she began to add definition to a few leaves. That was when she felt it—heat running up her spine like fire. Someone was watching her.

Before she could turn her head, she heard the rumble of Holden’s voice as he leaned over her park bench. “You’re breaking the rules.”

Her heart pounded as the warmth of his words swirled around her ear. At the sound of his voice, the remnants of her anger at him from the night before drained away, leaving only the memory of his sinful kisses. She turned and smiled up at him. “You won’t tell on me, will you?”

“Never. May I look?” He came around the park bench and sat beside her.

“It’s only my drawings, notes of this and that…”

He ended her excuses with a glare and an outstretched hand.

“Very well.” She handed him the notebook, trying to act as if she didn’t care if he pried into her thoughts on the world around her. He collected her paintings but these drawings were rough sketches, unfinished. Would he think her talentless now that he saw her work incomplete and in pieces? Her muscles tensed as he slowly flipped through the pages, and she flinched with every blink of his eyes.

“Are these all from the park?”

“No, there are a few random scribbles here and there from elsewhere in town. Anytime my mother wasn’t around. It’s mostly sights that inspire me. Thoughts I have for paintings so I don’t forget. Whatever is on my mind…”

“You have a lovely mind.”

She swallowed the compliment. At least he thought one part of her appealing. “Thank you.” Her voice came out in a whisper.

“No, really. You’re quite talented.” He turned another page, his head tilting to the side in thought. “It’s chocolate cake.”

“Did I draw cake?” She tried to lean close to see what he saw.

He pulled the notebook away from her with a playful smile.

“I can’t say that I’m surprised, but I don’t recall sketching any sweets.”

“No. It’s just…when I was a small boy, our cook would bake chocolate cakes. The smell would flood the house. I always spent the last hour before the cake was cooled enough to eat sitting in the kitchen. Mrs. Cuppings—she was our cook—would tell me stories of knights and castles. Then we would eat cake together. Some of my fondest memories are from that kitchen. Even today, when I bite into a piece of chocolate cake, I think of Mrs. Cuppings and sitting in the kitchen with her.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

“Your drawings are like chocolate cake. They remind me of something I can’t quite place, and yet there’s an element of comfort in these lines of coal.”

“Oh. I thought they only brought me comfort.” Was she imagining it or was there some connection between the two of them?

“No, Sue. It’s not all in your mind.” Although he was speaking of her sketches, she wondered if he could read her thoughts about him, for their relationship seemed to be all in her mind.

He returned his attention to her notebook, flipping to the last page and flinching at what he saw. What had she drawn there? She couldn’t remember.

His voice was rough as he asked in a deliberate tone, “Why do you have a page of your notebook covered in script of the name Suzanna?”

“I…think it’s a pretty name. I’ve never been fond of mine.”
Idiot, idiot, idiot!
When had she scribbled “Suzanna”? She pulled the notebook from his grasp and shut it, trying to ignore the way her hand grazed over his. She also attempted not to think about how close he was sitting to her on the bench. She was failing miserably, but she tried nonetheless.

“So, you practiced writing Suzanna’s name?”

“Yes. Ladies do this sort of thing, if you must know.”

“Practice signing other ladies’ names?” His brows drew together as his emerald gaze sliced through her with a brightness that made her quite wary indeed.

“Yes,” she bluffed.

“Do they? Just when I think I know all there is to know about ladies.” His brow was still furrowed while he clearly considered the truth of her statements.

“Yes, well, I’m happy to impart some information to you today.” Her voice was higher than usual as she smiled to cover her sudden fit of nerves.

“It’s…interesting.” His lips quirked up into a smile. “Thank you for sharing your sketches with me. If I put my finger on what your drawings remind me of, I’ll let you know.”

“No need to put too much thought into it. You shouldn’t dwell on art, I always say.” You shouldn’t dwell on art? Was that the best cover story she could think of?

“That’s an odd thing to always say. I always say, dwell on the pleasing parts of life and pretend the rest don’t exist. Art is pleasing.”

“Is that easy to do?”

“Thinking about art? Yes.”

“Pretending the unfortunate parts of life don’t exist,” she clarified.

“Sometimes more than others, but I endeavor to try.” He looked deep into her eyes for a moment before stating, “I must be going now. Until the next ball.” He rose and gave her a cheerful nod of his head before he began to walk away.

“The next ball where I won’t be dancing with you?” she called after him.

He paused and tossed a smile over his shoulder. “I look forward to your refusal”—he chuckled—“very much indeed. I shall see you there.”

She was still smiling after him as he wound down the path with the long, relaxed stride of a man in complete control of every aspect of his life. His life seemed to be charmed and without even a hint of strife. How did he manage it? How could she attempt the same? Just as the smile started to slip from her mouth, she heard the crunch of footsteps across the grass behind her. Turning, she saw the lady from the ball who’d warned her away from marriage. Henrietta? Had that been her name? And why was she stumbling out of the bushes?

“Miss Green, how nice it is to see you again.”

“Likewise, Lady… I’m terribly sorry. I don’t believe I caught your title when we last chatted.”

“Yes, I do seem to be forgetful like that. Lady Pemberton. You may call me Henrietta, though. I can tell we are going to be fast friends, even if I am twice your age.”

“Oh, surely not. You look quite young,” Sue lied. Henrietta’s gray hair, which was wound into a tight knot on her head, gave away her age more than the wrinkles around her eyes. But even with the social graces of a turnip, Sue knew not to tell the truth in this situation.

“Thank you, dear. Can you stay and chat this afternoon?”

“No, I’m afraid I have to go meet my cousins. I’ve been away too long already.”

“That is a pity. You’ll have to come by for tea with me, then.”

“Yes, that would be…nice. Good afternoon, Henrietta.”

“Good afternoon, dear.”

Sue gathered her skirts and made her way toward Isabelle and Victoria. Something about the woman seemed a bit off. Was it the assumed friendship simply because they’d spoken at a ball? Or the way her eyes pierced through Sue’s skin? Either way, Sue wanted to be away from Henrietta as fast as possible, and if it could at all be helped, she would not be taking tea with Lady Pemberton. What was it that Holden had said? Pretend the bad parts of life don’t exist? Of course with Sue’s life, if she imagined away all the bad, she’d have nothing left.

***

“Holden!” Aunt Penelope’s voice rang out as he stepped into the library. “I’m glad you were able to come to call today.” Her eyes were a bit too bright as she stood from her seat by the fire.

“Sorry for the delay. I was”—he smirked and ran a hand though his hair at the thought of his afternoon—“in the park when your note arrived.” And what a delightful and interesting afternoon it had been. Could he have finally unraveled the mystery of Suzanna? But, Sue? It couldn’t be. His mind refused to accept the conclusion. Why would she have kept it from him all this time? He would have to think about it later when he was not being summoned to tea by his aunt.

He closed the door behind him and moved into the room. Slowing as he took in the desperation in his aunt’s eyes, he asked, “Is something wrong? Is it one of the girls? Do I need to duel some young lad to protect their honor? You know I will, and I’m a far better shot than Uncle Joseph. Who is he?” He sized up an invisible enemy with a playful snarl in an attempt to improve her mood. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work.

“The girls are fine. However, you need to sit.” Aunt Penelope indicated one of the chairs before beginning to wring her hands.

“This can’t be good news if I must sit to hear it,” he offered with a grin as he rounded an armchair in his path.

“Tea?” She perched on the edge of her chair as if she was forcing herself to remain still. She always paced the floor when upset.

He raised one brow as he asked, “And it requires tea? What’s happened to bring us to such a place?”

She blinked at him, her fingers twisting into a knot in her lap. “Last night I saw your mother.”

“Oh, that.” Damn. He hadn’t removed her from the ball fast enough. If only he’d been able to get his mother away when he’d first spied her, but there had been no way to do so. And then he’d received the note from Miss Fairlyn. Damn, damn, damn. He sighed, fell into the chair behind him, and braced for the impact of the verbal lashing he was about to receive.

“
Oh, that
? This is all you have to say? Holden, everyone believes her to be dead. In general, deceased people do
not
attend balls.”

“Did anyone else see her?”

“Not that I’m aware. I saw her leave with you, Holden,” she scolded.

“I’m sorry?”

“What are we to tell people? What if someone did notice her presence last night?” She bit at her lip and shook her head.

Holden leaned forward and lowered his voice. They were alone, but he was always cautious, always. Caution had been the one constant in his life. “I’m handling the situation.”

“How are you handling it, Holden? How? With Henrietta attending balls in town?”

“She…turned up at my home a few days ago.” He gritted his teeth against his aunt’s reaction before adding, “I told her she could stay with me.”

Her mouth fell open as she stared at him. “You can’t allow her to stay under your roof! Are you mad? She could hurt you, Holden. She isn’t well.”

“She had no place to go. What was I to do?”

“I don’t know. Instruct her to leave?” Her words rushed out in an urgent whisper.

“And go where? Back to Brooke House?”

“If it would remove her from your home, then yes, back to Brooke House.”

“In the middle of the night?” He couldn’t do that to his mother, and Aunt Penelope knew it.

She shook her head and searched his face for answers. “How did she escape? Does your father know? Oh, when he hears of this…”

“He won’t be hearing of this.”

Aunt Penelope sighed. “You can’t go the remainder of your life not speaking to your father. At some point you have to…”

“No. I will not have dealings with that man. If he wants to believe I’m gallivanting about France with loose women and plenty of drink, let him think it. Meanwhile, Mother will stay with me while I find a suitable living situation for her. I wouldn’t send my worst enemy back to that place, let alone my family.” Days later and he still couldn’t erase the starved look that had pulled at his mother’s cheekbones when she first arrived at his home. He shook his head. “Father was wrong to keep her there.”

“In his own way, he does care, you know. He claimed she was dead and sent her away because he had to, Holden.” She watched him for a moment before continuing. “Whatever the state of things between you and your father, I know he would want to know of this.”

“He will want nothing but to lock her away once more.”

“She can’t live with you, Holden.”

“I know that.” He ran a hand over his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “I won’t have Father deciding her fate, though.”

She poured a cup of tea and glared at him over the rim in silent disapproval before asking, “Then what will you do?”

“She’s been gone from my life since I was a child. The family had claimed she was dead for so long that I began to believe the lies. And now she’s back.” He looked up from his study of the arm of his chair with a sigh. “Do you have something stronger than tea by chance? I believe I require a beverage for this conversation after all.”

“In the decanter on the table. It’s your uncle’s favorite.” She waved to the crystal container at his side. “Holden, you can’t retrieve a lost lifetime of memories over a few days’ stay. And certainly not with a woman like Henrietta. It isn’t safe.”

“I’m safer now than when I was a child in her presence,” he reasoned as he filled a glass with the brandy.

“I understand that she is your mother. She’s my sister-in-law. But she also ended your brother’s life.”

“I’m well aware. Father has never let me forget it.” He looked into the depths of his glass, mocking, “
Samuel
wouldn’t have acted in such a manner. Samuel would have made good decisions.
” He’d spent his life in the shadow of an older brother he could hardly remember. He wished Samuel had lived as well, but his father had an unfortunate way of grieving—blaming Holden.