conversation, which she was too stubborn to broach. Let Daniel bring up the subject. After all, her difficult position could very well be laid at his threshold.
“I confess I was amazed to see you yesterday.” He cleared his throat. “I knew right away who you were. Your eyes...and that hair...”
Susannah placed a defensive hand on the back of her neck. Her hair was still neatly coiled beneath her bonnet, though. She hated her hair. Ever since she was a child and had been called “Carrots.” Of course, it was redder then. As she grew up, it darkened into auburn. But even so, any mention of her hair still rankled.
“Why are you here?” he continued, his voice softening. “Why didn’t you write and tell me you were coming to Tansley?”
Did he actually care? And was he serious? Surely not. “I didn’t know you were here. Or else—” she blurted, and then froze.
“Or else you wouldn’t have come?” he finished, his voice oddly strained.
She glanced sideways up at him. His mouth was turned down, his face slightly reddened. Was he angry? Certainly not. If anyone had earned the right to be angry, it was she. The old frustration welled in her chest, and the desire to throw the parcels in the street and stomp them flat assailed her. She must control her rage. Here she was in Tansley for less than a day, and already her temper had nearly gotten the best of her twice.
She sighed and slowly counted to ten. “I didn’t know you were here. The last I’d heard of you, you were on that merchant vessel. And I was trying not to ask for anyone’s help again.” ’Twas better to stick to the facts of the situation—if she did so, perhaps she could keep her emotions in check. He had never written to her, and the knowledge that he had forgotten her so carelessly burned deep embarrassment and anger into her very soul.
“The last I heard of you, you were still living in Matlock. Why did you leave?”
“My aunt and uncle died in a carriage accident, two years after my parents passed away. While I stayed with them that last year, I became an apprentice milliner.” She paused, unsure if she should tell him the whole truth. It was rather a ridiculous, sad little history. “My father left us a small inheritance. I bought this building with it so we could start a milliner’s shop of our own.” Thank the good Lord above, they were nearing the shop now. Her sisters would be awake and hungry, and the time for living in the past was over. “I hope all is well at Goodwin Hall.”
“My brother died,” he responded briefly. “I am master of Goodwin now.” His face was still turned away from her, but the slight catch in his voice spoke of misery.
“I’m so sorry.” And she was. Daniel and his brother had never got on very well, but his brother’s death must have been a shock to him all the same. He’d certainly fled from his father as often as he could, and his brother, too. It would be difficult indeed to be called home to assume control of everything he’d cast aside. After all, Daniel had always lived as though there would never be any consequences to any of his actions.
And that was precisely why she was in her current position. Daniel simply couldn’t be trusted to live up to his promises. So while she could sympathize with the loss of his brother, she could never let herself forget that she must earn her own way in the world. She must never trust anyone again—certainly not Daniel.
His expression had not changed, but he clenched his jaw at her words. “Thank you.”
“Well, I should be going.” She extricated her arm from his clasp and reached up to get her parcels. The time for reminiscing was over, and she must move on with her life.
He held on to the packages, looking down at her with eyes so green they took her breath away. “What are we going to do about this other little matter? You are my betrothed, after all.”
* * *
As soon as Daniel said the words, he was ready to take them back. Susannah’s face paled, and the freckles that marched across the bridge of her nose stood out in bold relief. He never meant to anger her. But dash it all, his head pounded like a big bass drum from last night’s drinking bout, and thinking of the delicate way to phrase things had simply fled.
’Twas easy enough to ignore their engagement when an ocean separated them. But now they lived in the same village. He must acknowledge the truth now.
Susannah trembled, and he fought the urge to steady her. This was not maidenly fear—Susannah was in the grip of her formidable temper. Her hazel eyes had darkened to a deep grayish green hue, a sure sign of the storm to come. “There’s no need to do anything about our engagement. Only my uncle and aunt knew.”
“Even so...” He hesitated. A smart man would leave now. Susannah would likely throw something at him in a moment. But he rather enjoyed tangling with her; she always put up a jolly good fight. “Can’t I do anything to help you? Anything at all?”
“No.” She made another grab for her parcels, but he grasped them tight. As long as he had the bread, he held her there with him. He wasn’t ready to let go. “You helped me escape Uncle Arthur by proposing to me. A letter every now and then would have been nice, since I thought we would marry some day, but I suppose you were too busy.” She spat out the words as though they left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“What about you? You never wrote to me.” He took a step backward, putting more distance between them. Would she follow? She took a step forward, still intent on retrieving her parcels. “Perhaps you were the one who jilted me first, Susannah. Is it better to be making bonnets for a pittance?”
She raised her chin in a defiant manner, a flush stealing across her cheeks. “There is dignity in all work, so I’ll thank you not to mock me. And besides, I did write to you. You never wrote back. I should thank you, Daniel. You taught me the value of independence well. I shan’t ask anyone else for help again.”
What a hash he’d made of that.
But at least they were starting to speak, to discuss the problems that had plagued their engagement for these three years. He’d ignore the letter-writing for the moment—’twas ancient history, after all. And he must stop riding roughshod over her pride. He might try reason instead. “But surely, as the daughter of a gentleman, you’re ashamed to live in such a place, and to earn your living by your hands.” He looked down at her—how could he soften her temper? If only they could speak to each other without anger, as they did when they were children. “And your sisters? What of them?”
She drew herself up, throwing her shoulders back. “My sisters will do quite well, thank you. In fact, we are all doing splendidly, so long as we are together.”
He nodded. “I must confess I am jealous of your closeness with your sisters. Never really understood the closeness of other families.” His mouth quirked with bitterness. His dour, domineering father and staid, lethargic brother certainly held no charms for him.
His admission helped. Her eyes had lost some of their hard, glittering light. “I truly am sorry, Daniel. And I appreciate your offers to help. But I just can’t prevail upon you for assistance the rest of my life. Independence is everything to me now. I must find my own way.”
Behind her, the door opened and one of her sisters poked her head out. “Is everything all right, Sue?” she called.
“Yes, I’ll be in momentarily. Start brewing some tea, will you, please?” Susannah tossed the words over her shoulder.
He
