Выбрать главу

“Oh, Susanna,” Claudia said, “Viscountess Whitleaf of all people? You poor dear.”

“You can see now why I want nothing to do with any of it,” Susanna said. “Or with him.”

Claudia sighed. “Why do we persist in believing that we can control our lives provided we work hard and live decently and mind our own business?” she said. “You really do not deserve any of this now. You did not deserve any of it when you were twelve either. But here you are stuck with it.”

“No, I am not,” Susanna said. “It is all history. The present is what matters. And I have my life and my friends here in the present and am quite happy, Claudia. I am.”

“Except,” Claudia said, “that the sunshine has gone out of you, Susanna.”

They stared at each other.

“Perhaps no one else has even noticed,” Claudia continued. “You are as energetic and as cheerful and as busy as ever. You smile and laugh as much as you ever did. But I have known you a long time, and I love you as if you were my younger sister-and I know that the sun has stopped shining in your life.”

Susanna closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again.

“All I need is time,” she said. “I will prove that a broken heart can mend, Claudia, and that life is always worth living. I need a little more time, that is all.”

It was pointless, she supposed, to deny to Claudia-or herself-that her heart was broken. Sometimes she found herself wondering if she would find the strength to refuse that marriage offer if it were made now. It was a good thing there was no danger of any such thing happening. All other considerations aside-and there were many of them-she could never marry the son of Viscountess Whitleaf.

“I am about to offer some unwanted advice,” Claudia said, “something schoolteachers excel at, alas. Accept your invitation. Go to Fincham Manor for Christmas. Hear what Sir Theodore Markham has to say. Read your letter-and the other one too if he renews his offer to show it to you. Know the truth in your father’s own words-know it from Sir Theodore’s point of view. You already believe you know the worst, and so nothing can come as a terrible shock to you. See the place you fled eleven years ago and lay some ghosts to rest. As for Viscount Whitleaf and his mother-see them too if you will and if the opportunity presents itself, or avoid seeing them if you so choose. But deal with it all, Susanna. Deal with it and move on so that the sun can shine in you again.”

“I feel,” Susanna said, “as if a wound had been ripped open during the summer and then other wounds inflicted on top of it. A few times since then it has seemed that they have filmed over only to be torn open again. They have been healing now, Claudia. They really have. I do not want…I cannot bear…”

“But your letter this morning exposed the wound again,” Claudia pointed out. “For how long will it fester, Susanna, now that you know your father spoke to you before he died-but you refuse to listen? And when will the hurt be renewed yet again if you ignore it now?”

“I could have Theodore send the letter here,” Susanna said.

“You could, yes,” Claudia agreed. It seemed that she would say more, but she closed her mouth.

“It is late,” Susanna said, glancing at the clock on the mantel, “and I am so weary. You must be too.”

“I am indeed,” Claudia said, getting to her feet. “And now I suspect I have doomed you to a sleepless night, Susanna. But I believe you would have had one anyway after receiving that letter. It is strange, is it not, how one event can be the innocent cause of another quite unrelated to it? We were both elated when Anne arrived back from Wales in August just in time for you to go to Barclay Court with Frances and the earl. If she had been even one day later, none of all this would have happened. But then, perhaps it would have found a way to happen anyway. Perhaps it is impossible to avoid our own fate. I must be tired. I am talking nonsense.”

Susanna left the room after saying good night, and climbed the stairs to her own room. She was in bed a few minutes later, huddled beneath the bedcovers against the chill of the night. But sleep did indeed evade her for a long time.

If only Anne had not come home until a day later. If only the Duchess of Bewcastle and Viscountess Ravensberg had not planned a wedding breakfast for Anne and Mr. Butler here in Bath. If only she had not gone to Bath Abbey for that evening concert and so seen Lady Markham and Edith again. If only she had never known that her father had written her a letter.

And if only Claudia had agreed with her decision to write back to Theodore tomorrow refusing his invitation and even declining his offer to send her father’s letter.

Why did she not want to read that letter? The question woke her up fully again just when she was starting to feel drowsy.

Did she want to turn her back on her father as he had turned his on her? Was it a type of revenge for the suffering he had caused her? Did she want to hurt him even though he was not alive to feel the pain?

Papa,she thought, turning her face into her pillow.

She had not even thought of him by that name for years and years.

And finally, just before she fell asleep at last, she realized that in truth she had no choice. Having Theodore send the letter here might satisfy an empty craving within her, though she doubted even that. But there were other things to know, places to see, people to talk with.

She had to go back.

She had to hear it all, see it all, read it all.

Perhaps it could all be done without her ever having to set eyes upon Viscount Whitleaf. She had seen him only once during her childhood, after all.

And if she did by some chance see him again, well then…But her mind could not cope with that possibility. One thing at a time.

Tonight it was enough to know that she was going to go back. Enough to fill her with dread.

And yet, the decision made, she slept.

21

Susanna arrived at Fincham Manor very late in the afternoon three days before Christmas, having traveled post. She had left Bath early on the morning following the Christmas concert and all the other busy activities that came with the end of term. She was tired even before she started the journey. She was exhausted by the time it ended.

The fact that she had dreaded coming did not help, of course.

She had wondered how it would feel to step into the house again after all these years. When she had left it eleven years ago, her father had just killed himself and she had just heard Lady Markham describe her as a burden. She had been running away.

But though it all looked startlingly familiar, it also seemed like a place she must have visited during another lifetime. She felt no great emotional connection with it.

This time, of course, she was staying in a guest chamber in the main part of the house rather than in the pretty little attic room next to her father’s. She was a guest of the family.

Edith and Mr. Morley had already arrived for Christmas, and a few other guests were expected. The whole family gave Susanna a warm welcome-Theodore even shook her hand warmly after she had curtsied to him, and then held it in both his own while he assured her that she had grown into a rare beauty. He had grown into a great bear of a man himself, with wild, unruly dark hair and a genial face. She had worshipped him as a child and still instinctively liked him.

“You will want to freshen up and change for dinner, Susanna,” he said. “I may still call you Susanna?”