19
It seemed to Peter as they approached Laura Place, the diamond-shaped street at the bridge end of Great Pulteney Street, that this was the damnedest time to discover that he was not in love with Susanna Osbourne after all.
Helovedher instead.
And there was a world of difference between the two types of love.
He loved her, yet much of the time she disliked him and even despised him.
If therewasa God, then that deity must be a joker indeed. At the risk of appearing vain in his own eyes, he would have to say that almost every other young lady he had ever met—and he had met a large number just in the five years since reaching his majority—both liked and admired him and would even be prepared to love him if he set himself to wooing them.
He was going to leave Bath early tomorrow morning, and nothing was going to stop him this time. He could hardly wait to be on his way, in fact. If he had not committed himself to this afternoon call, he would start his journey now, this afternoon.
They had walked all the way from Sydney Gardens in silence.
“This is the house,” he said at last after keeping his eyes on the numbers. And he stepped up to the door and rapped the knocker against it.
He would have taken Susanna’s arm again, knowing how nervous she must be feeling, how reluctant she was to make this call, but he did not do so. His mother and his sisters had overprotected him, and it seemed that without realizing it he had learned to do the same with other people—especially the woman he loved. She did not want his support or protection. She did not need them either, dash it.
The ladies had just returned from shopping, the manservant who opened the door informed them. He would see if they were receiving visitors. He glanced at the card Peter handed him and raised his eyebrows before turning away.
Two minutes later, they were being ushered into a small drawing room abovestairs, and Edith was introducing a thin, fair-haired, bespectacled young man to Peter as Lawrence Morley, her husband. Then she turned to Susanna, two spots of color high in her cheeks.
“YouareSusanna,” she said. “Oh, of course you are. I could not mistake that hair or those eyes anywhere. You have grown up but really you have not changed at all. I was convinced itwasyou in the Abbey with Peter last evening.” She stretched out both her hands. “Oh, justlookat you. Lawrence, dearest, this is the Susanna Osbourne we were telling you about at breakfast.”
Susanna hesitated before placing her hands in Edith’s, but then Edith pulled her into a tight hug.
Lady Markham, meanwhile, was standing quietly farther back in the room. She had nodded to Peter, but now her eyes were fixed upon Susanna.
“All these years,” she said when Edith stepped back, her eyes shining with unshed tears, “I have feared that you were dead, Susanna.”
“No,” Susanna said, “I did not die.”
“Miss Osbourne, Lord Whitleaf,” Mr. Morley said, “do come and have a seat closer to the fire. You must have walked here—I have not heard a carriage in the street.”
“We have been strolling in Sydney Gardens,” Peter explained as they all sat. “It is a beautiful day.”
“For November, yes,” Morley agreed, “though it is a little nippy even so, I daresay. You were dressed warmly, I trust, Miss Osbourne? You left your outdoor garments downstairs?”
“I did, sir.” She smiled. “My cloak and gloves are warm enough for even the coldest day.”
“You were wise to wear them today, then,” he said. “Edith sees sunshine and wants to step outside even before the servants have ascertained that it is warm enough and that no strong wind is blowing and no dark clouds are looming. I daresay the Abbey was drafty last evening, but shewouldinsist upon going to the concert. I was relieved that my mama-in-law went with her to insist that she keep her cloak about her shoulders. Edith is recovering from a recent confinement, as you may know.”
“No, I did not,” Susanna said, looking at Edith. “How lovely for you.”
“We have a son,” Edith said with a smile. “He is quite adorable, is he not, dearest? He looks like his papa.”
Polite chatter followed while a tea tray was carried in and Lady Markham poured and handed around the cups and saucers and offered them all a slice of fruitcake.
“Susanna,” Edith said at last, “do youlivein Bath?Whereis your house?”
“I teach and live at Miss Martin’s School for Girls on Daniel Street,” Susanna said. “I teach writing and penmanship and games among other things.”
“Games?” Morley said. “I hope nothing too strenuous, Miss Osbourne. Vigorous exercise is unhealthy for young ladies, I have heard, and I readily believe it. I daresay they would be better employed with a needle or a paintbrush. Vigorous games are excluded from most academies for young lades, and rightly so.”
“Youteach,” Lady Markham said before Susanna could reply—and while Peter was still entertaining amused memories of her rowing and flushed and laughing in the boat races at Barclay Court. “However did that come about, Susanna?”
“I went to London,” she explained, “and registered at an employment agency. But I was fortunate enough to be singled out and sent as a charity pupil to Miss Martin’s school here. I was a pupil until I was eighteen, and then I was offered a position as junior teacher.”
