* * *
“I had no idea you were so deft with a hairpin, old fellow,” Paul remarked as they strolled across the pasturelands toward Goodwin Hall. “Something you picked up during your days as a pirate, no doubt.”
“I wasn’t a pirate.” Daniel rolled his eyes. “I was on a merchant vessel. Any man worth his salt knows how to help a lady in distress. I was merely following my instincts.” He kept his tone light and bantering. He didn’t want to talk about meeting Susannah again. She must remember him. But pushing her recognition with his best friend and her sisters standing there, watching with avid interest—no, thank you. He would hate any display like that, and so—if he remembered the lady correctly—would Susannah. But the unanswered questions would gnaw away at him until he finally was able to satisfy his curiosity.
“She’s very decorative, that Siddons gel.” Paul slashed his riding crop at a particularly large clump of moor-grass. “But I thought the sisters were pretty, too. Should have asked them to tea.”
“Well, since they’ve moved into the village, I am sure you shall have a chance to be formally introduced.” Daniel scanned the horizon, willing his heart to resume its normal pace. He didn’t like hearing Susannah referred to as a “gel” and he certainly didn’t care for the admiring tone in Paul’s voice. ’Twas all well and good for Paul to behave the way he did around women Daniel didn’t know. This was a different matter altogether.
“You sound rather prim, like an old schoolmaster,” Paul said with a laugh. “I can tell, after all, that you found Miss Siddons rather attractive yourself. Didn’t you help her right away? Never even asked to see a deed for the building. You just took it on faith that she was telling the truth. She could have been burgling the place, for all we knew.”
“It’s highly unlikely that a young lady would set about burgling a vacant building in broad daylight. Have some sense, my good man.” There, perhaps now Paul would cease his constant babbling, if he knew he couldn’t draw Daniel out.
Paul looked up, scanning Daniel’s face. “All right, all right. I know when I am invading on precious turf. I shan’t say another word about the lovely Miss Siddons.”
They strolled the rest of the way to Goodwin Hall, as the late-summer sunshine gilded the hilltops. Daniel breathed deeply of the scent of the grass as it swayed in the wind. He stifled the feeling of dread that crept up his spine as he looked out over the moors. Soon they would be mowing the hay at Goodwin, and like his father and brother before him, he would be expected to supervise—or at least pretend an interest in the matter. He swallowed convulsively. He was no master, not really. In fact, he had run from any hint of obligation or duty since he was a lad. ’Twas mere fate that brought him back, not a desire to settle down. Some fellows might call it the hand of God that brought him here, or took him anywhere, for that matter. But he’d relinquished his faith long ago. And pretending he was a happy, fulfilled master merely brought on that insatiable thirst, the kind that would only be quelled with a few stout scotches.
He just glimpsed the Hall on the horizon, the sunlight turning it a bright shade of slate. The turrets that flanked the main hall were squat and modest compared to some of the grander homes of Derbyshire. David kept the Hall just as it should be while Daniel was off gallivanting on the high seas, and after Father’s death he hadn’t helped David as he should.
Now that David had passed, it fell to him to keep Goodwin Hall and adhere to family traditions and customs as he should have done long ago. And he was certainly not equal to the task, as much as he tried to conceal it.
“You’re awfully silent company today, Daniel. I suppose I shall see you tomorrow for dinner?” Paul paused at the park gates and leaned against the balustrade.
“Yes, of course. You’re always welcome, you know. Sorry I haven’t been much company. Got a lot on my mind....” Daniel forced what he hoped was a casual smile.
“Ah, chuck your cares in the bucket. Come back to London with me when I return next. We shall tear the Town apart, and no debutante’s reputation shall be safe.” Paul chuckled at his small joke with appreciation.
“I’d like nothing more,” Daniel rejoined with bravado. But even as he spoke the words, the memory of his boyhood promise flitted across his mind. He would never be free of it. Never. They were both pretending at a farce, Paul and he. Paul would never be free of the sorrow of his first love, try as he might to satisfy himself with light skirt after light skirt. And he himself would never be free of the unhappy shadows of his past, try as he might to drown them with scotch.
He bade goodbye to Paul at the gate and stood, for a long moment, looking at Goodwin Hall and the hills beyond, so green that they looked black. The way the hills rolled beyond the horizon was like the waves undulating on the sea. They called out to him in a way that the sea had once lured him, beckoning with promise.
If only he could feel that way about Goodwin Hall and all it represented. But it remained a prison, reminding him of what a shambles his life had been and become, beneath his swagger.
Alone at last, he allowed his mind to drift toward Susannah. Her auburn hair was as lovely as ever. He’d caught his breath when he saw the length of it tumble from beneath her bonnet. And those eyes—the sea had that same caste when a storm was brewing. She was as lovely as the day he’d become engaged to her. How long ago was that? Three years now?
She’d asked for his help once, and he’d promised her all he could offer—his name. They were no longer children then, and yet at that age, time seemed infinite, unending. There was no definite promise between them, just an agreement that she would marry him when he returned. And then he ran away to sea, to follow his dream. Together, they’d given each other the most precious gift they could think of at that time. Freedom. For Susannah, that meant freedom from her tyrannical uncle. And for him, it meant the freedom to forget his familial duties and run away from his dismal past.
The gift they’d given each other had proved hollow over the years. Here he was, back in Tansley, trying to ignore a home he hated. And here Susannah was, toiling away at building a poky little shop. Well, there was no repairing his own life, or changing his own wretched fate. But he could maybe make life easier for Susannah.
He clenched his jaw. As a matter of fact, he would find a way to help Susannah Siddons.
She was, after all, his betrothed. ’Twas the least a fiancé could do.
Chapter Two
Susannah’s new building, which the solicitor had described in such glowing terms, was not much better on the inside than on the outside. The three sisters had slept in the upstairs quarters, squeezed together on the humble mattresses. Susannah awoke with a stiff neck and sharp hunger pains gnawing at her belly. ’Twas time to assume control of her pitiful situation, no matter how difficult it was.
Careful not to disturb Nan and Becky, who still slept, she crept into her serviceable lilac gown and her sturdy boots. Then she descended the back staircase and struck out for the shops at the other end of the main road. Surely there was something to eat in one of the shops. She was famished.
The street was empty, and a hush had settled over the dewy moor-grass. Even her footsteps on the gravel path were silent, for the road was also damp with dew. She paused a moment, gazing up at the pale sun as it climbed over the rolling hills. Tansley was such a beautiful place. Was it this wild and picturesque when she was a girl here? If it was, she’d been too unobservant to note. They’d moved to Matlock when she was fifteen, and it had become home to her, not Tansley Village.
She turned and scanned the cluster of shops before her. A boot maker, a dry-goods store—a bakery. Oh, how lovely—a bakery. She darted forward and opened the door, causing the bell to swing merrily. She breathed deeply of the scents of flour and yeast. She hadn’t eaten a bite since luncheon yesterday. Hungrily, she devoured the case of sweets and breads with her eyes until a plump, rosy-cheeked woman with graying hair stepped up to the counter.
“Well, then? And what