They— Well, they overwhelmed her, truth be told. As he took the hairpin from her palm, his fingertips brushed against her glove. She suppressed any reaction to his touch. He probably didn’t even recognize her. Better not to let on that she knew all too well who he was.
He turned his attention toward the lock, straightening the hairpin. Kneeling in the moor-grass, he leaned forward, working the lock with the bit of wire until a click sounded. “There,” he exclaimed, and twisted the latch until the door eked open. “Of course, you’ll have to have the locksmith come out and assist you with finding a new key. But I wouldn’t worry. Tansley’s a safe place. No need, really, for a locked door.”
“Thank you.” They had no money left for a new key. They’d just have to leave the door unlocked until she could write to the solicitor and beg for the old key back.
“You’re welcome...?” He paused, midbow. Of course. Where were her manners?
“Sus—I mean, Miss Siddons.” Gracious, what a blunder. ’Twas mere habit, but still—her face heated to the roots of her hair. He would never want to know who she was. He’d merely helped her out once.
He peered at her with hooded eyes. Did he remember, after all? “Mr. Daniel Hale.” He finished his bow and indicated his friend, who tipped his hat. “This is Paul Holmes, my friend.” He turned back toward her. “Is there anyone here who can help you? Your father...your uncle, perhaps?”
Was there a heavier emphasis on those last words? No, she must have imagined it. “No one. We are on our own. But I do thank you for your help.” She waved her hands at Becky and Nan, beckoning them inside the building. Better to cut this interview short. It had rattled her more than she cared to admit. She was ready to be safe behind those walls, where she could breathe again.
“Ah, then, I shall check on you in a day or so.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her short with a shrug of his powerful shoulders. “No, really. I don’t like the idea of three women living alone without any male protection. I have a place not too far from here, Goodwin Hall. I come to the village often and shall stop by.”
With that, he touched the brim of his hat. He gesturing to his friend, and the two men strolled down the path as it narrowed and was overrun by long grasses and wildflowers. She pressed her back against the stone facade of the building, watching the two men as they grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Wiping her clammy hands on the worn fabric of her faded gown, she glanced down at her boot, discarded in the grass. Looking both vulnerable and ridiculous. Just like Susannah Siddons.
Once again, a desire both to laugh and cry seized hold, threatening her with madness.
She’d run away from the past. And here it was, claiming her once more as she ventured out on her own.
* * *
“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
