The duchess’s lips drew back across her teeth. ‘Oh, you’ll come crawling back eventually. Men of Mr Connor’s class never forget where they can obtain money, but you’ve both got all you’re going to get out of Lord Rockland. I’ll see to it you don’t get a shilling more.’
Her imperious dictate given, Lady Rockland gathered up the hem of her skirt and swept from the room.
Susanna let out a low, frustrated sigh. If she could pack up her things and make for Scotland tonight. she would, but Mr Connor had been guaranteed her father’s help and she’d make sure the duke kept his word. Then she’d do everything she could to help Mr Connor succeed and prove Lady Rockland’s nasty prediction wrong. She only needed to bear this a little while longer, then she’d be free of the woman for good.
‘Congratulations on your engagement,’ Mrs Fairley offered as she rose. ‘Did Lady Rockland say you were to marry a Mr Connor?’
‘I am.’
‘Is he the associate of Mr Rathbone, the moneylender?’
‘I believe so.’ They hadn’t discussed many details of their lives and, in fact, she knew very little about him except for his ambition in the wine trade and his willingness to accept a deal on which both of their futures hinged.
‘I’m familiar with the man and his employer and they’re both very honourable gentlemen.’ She picked up her case, holding it in front of her. ‘You’ll be very happy with him.’
‘Thank you. I’d like to retain your services, if I can, when I leave here.’
‘I should like that.’ With a polite curtsy which made her light-gold curls bob, Mrs Fairley took her leave.
Susanna slipped on her banyan and began to pace. It boded well that Mrs Fairley thought highly of Mr Connor. During the fittings in which Lady Rockland had been absent, Susanna had shared many confidences with the young woman who understood as well as Susanna what it was like to be looked down on by a duchess. The modiste was the closest person to a friend Susanna possessed. Lady Rockland had seen to it there were no other people on whom Susanna could hang the title.
Despite the fact she’d lived with the Rocklands since her mother’s death, they’d only grudgingly treated her as a member of the family within their home. Outside of it, she was virtually ignored. At the few teas or country parties she’d been allowed to attend, the duchess had always given her strict instructions to keep her mouth shut and make herself as invisible as possible. It wasn’t the most ideal way to forge friendships with other young ladies, though most daughters of the other country families didn’t deign to talk to her. They were too afraid the taint of bastard would rub off on them to attempt so much as a discussion of the weather with Susanna.
She went to the wardrobe and began to rifle through her dresses, looking for one to wear for tonight’s ride, as eager to see Mr Connor as she was to escape this house for an hour or two. She’d thought of little besides him since he’d taken his leave this morning, and had eaten even less at nuncheon than she’d been able to choke down over the last two weeks. It wasn’t just his commanding presence or the deep roll of his voice, which was both powerful and playful, but what the agreement they’d entered into meant. She’d be his wife, his property as much as a helpmate in his business.
Her body would be his, though she doubted he’d fall on her as Lord Howsham had done in the forest at Rockland Place. There’d been something distasteful in Lord Howsham’s pressing need for intimacy and the speed with which he’d slaked his lust and left her confused and wanting. Mr Connor wouldn’t rush through the bedding; she’d felt it in the smooth slide of his hand beneath hers, the gentle pause when his lips had met the back of her hand and the drawing humour in his eyes which had invited her, instead of forcing her, to think of what was to come.
She clutched the dress to her chest, shivering at the idea of his broad chest and flat stomach against her skin, wondering what it would be like to linger with him in the dark, the sheets tangled around them as their bodies melded together. Though there was more to a marriage than the bedchamber to consider. The hours between rising and sleep were long ones in which a man could ignore his wife, much as Lord Rockland did to his, giving rise to a bitterness of spirit Susanna had felt the brunt of many times.
She sagged down onto the edge of her bed, releasing her tight grip on the muslin. With any luck, the isolation she’d known at Lady Rockland’s hands and the indifference of her father were about to end, assuming Susanna hadn’t made a grave mistake. Even if she’d chosen poorly and Mr Connor turned into a monster, she’d have to stand beside him at the altar or find herself penniless on the London streets.
Rising, she rang the bell for her lady’s maid, ready to dress and face her intended. This wasn’t a poor choice, but the best she could make. She’d have a home of her own and a respectable husband and at last a station in society where people couldn’t look down on her or whisper behind her back. She’d already proven to Mr Connor she could be useful to him and had gained something of his admiration. If he never grew to love her, or even cherish her, she’d at least earn his respect. It was the most a bastard like her could hope for in a marriage. If something more came of their union, it would be a gift of providence, although providence had never been so generous to her before.
‘I believe you have no more business here with the family, sir.’ The balding butler looked down his crooked nose at Justin as though he’d been discovered sleeping on the Duke of Rockland’s front step. Apparently, between this morning and this afternoon, the family had failed to inform the man of Justin’s change in status or his appointment to ride with Miss Lambert.
‘Miss Lambert is expecting me.’ He tried to step around the lanky man who shuffled to stay in front of him. This wasn’t the first time a servant had tried to rebuff him at the front door. Usually it meant their master was slipping out the back with the best of his goods, where Justin’s men were sure to be waiting for him.
‘Let him in, Netley. Mr Connor and Miss Lambert are engaged.’ Lady Rockland’s voice slid out from behind her dedicated servant, the announcement made with as much enthusiasm as if Justin had arrived to clean the chimneys.
Netley offered no congratulations, but grudgingly stepped aside to allow Justin entrance.
Justin dismissed the overly pompous fop whose pedigree was probably no better than his and approached the duchess. She stood on the landing in the middle of the grand marble staircase like a crow on a gable, her dark dress as thin as the risers were high. ‘Your Grace.’
He swept off his hat and bent into a deep, well-executed bow. When he straightened, she arched one eyebrow at him, betraying her surprise at his manners. More than likely she’d expected to find a lout with the grease of his cart and the smell of fish clinging to his coat. Ah, the better sort were such a charming lot. ‘I’ve come to take Miss Lambert for a drive.’
The woman’s gaze shifted from Justin to the large windows on either side of the door. Outside sat Philip’s curricle with the hood down, the chestnut horse pulling it held by a well-tipped boy. There was nothing about the vehicle to bring down the tone of the house or the occupants. Again Lady Rockland’s eyebrow twitched and Justin wondered if she’d swoon from the shock of having her lowered expectations so utterly confounded. An examination of the tall woman with the rigid back, square chin set in a long face and hair arranged in tight rows of curls against the front of her head told him she wasn’t a swooner, but a silent striker. Like a snake, this lady would take a quick bite, then slither off to let her wounded victim suffer a slow death. A most charming woman.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Connor.’ A more melodious voice carried over the crow’s stony silence as Miss Lambert came down the stairs. The pale blue muslin swung about her thighs as she moved and the pastel colour heightened the subtle hue kissing her cheeks. Pert breasts gave shape to the fitted bodice of a matching