by Georgie Lee
‘I grew up with him. He’s like a brother to me.’
She released Justin’s arm as he stepped forward to open the French doors. The night air poured in, the heady scent of the roses mixing with the mist of the evening to cover the more pungent smells from the surrounding streets. The dark green leaves of the rose bushes shimmered with the orange light spilling out from the house. Susanna moved past Justin to the nearest rose bush. Taking one full flower in her hand, she dipped her nose down to the centre to inhale its sweet fragrance.
‘They remind me of my grandmother’s garden behind the shop in Oxfordshire.’ Her voice caught in her throat. Too many memories danced in the scent.
Justin said nothing, but stood close beside her listening, the faint moonlight playing along the edges of his shoulders.
‘Wildflowers used to bloom there, too, in the spring and she tended them as lovingly as she did her roses, until she died.’ She let go of the flower and it bobbed back up to join the others, knocking a few petals off the fading bloom above it. ‘Afterwards, I tried to maintain the bushes and the pretty little blossoms, but the work of the wine shop and my grandfather’s demands took up most of my time. Eventually the plants withered. The last time I saw the garden there was nothing but weeds and dandelions.’
Tears stung the corners of her eyes. It’d been years since she’d spoken to anyone of her grandmother, or even her mother.
‘My mother loved roses, too. When she was alive, she used to help Philip’s mother in this garden since she didn’t have one of her own.’ Justin took her hand, offering her a comfort the painful memories and years of loneliness had denied her. She stroked the back of his hand with her fingers. Like her, he’d experienced the sharp edge of loss. Unlike her, it hadn’t stolen his humour. ‘She would have liked you—you have her spirited nature.’
‘My mother would have liked you, too. She enjoyed laughing as much as you do. It was the only merriment I ever enjoyed in my grandfather’s dour house.’
‘My mother and Mrs Rathbone used to get up to all sorts of things here. They might have married serious men, but they both had a wicked sense of humour.’
She offered him a wry smile, thankful he wasn’t allowing her to wallow in her grief. ‘It explains a great deal about you.’
‘And probably Philip.’
‘If Mr Rathbone is such a great friend, why do you wish to leave his employment?’ Susanna asked, eager to change the subject. Justin was her future and she didn’t want the past to drag at her or sour her happiness.
Justin plucked a petal off the bloom and turned it over to examine the slight darkness on the underside. ‘If I was content to remain a humble man like my father, to stick to the station in life I was born to as he thinks I should, I’d gladly spend the rest of my days in Philip’s employment. But I want to be something more than a hired man and achieve my own success.’
‘Your father doesn’t approve of your efforts?’
‘He hasn’t been my most ardent supporter.’ He flung the petal away, darkness clouding his eyes at the mention of his father, just as it had yesterday in the curricle.
It made her realise why he insisted she see herself in a better light than everyone else did He was forced to do it, too. They weren’t so very different from one another and he, more than anyone else, might understand what she’d struggled against all her life.
‘I’m glad you’re defying him and I envy you. I’ve only ever been the disgraced daughter of a disgraced daughter, someone who belongs neither in a merchant’s shop nor a duke’s home. They’ve never seen me, who I am, what I’m capable of. I want to prove to all those people who thought I was nothing better than a little whore, destined to follow her mother into ruin, that I’m so much more.’
‘You will.’ He brought her hand up to his chest, his fingers entwining with hers. ‘We both will.’
With a small tug he drew her closer, then let go of her hands to allow them to lie on the fine wool covering his shoulders. The heat of him wasn’t lessened by his clothes or hers and her tender breasts tingled under the pressure of his chest against hers. Lower down, the firmness of him sent a primal shiver racing through her as his large hand touched the small of her back and pressed her closer. She tilted her head and closed her eyes as he brought his face near to hers. The tang of his breath mixing with the heady aroma of the roses made her knees weak and she parted her lips, waiting, wanting and wondering why he hadn’t kissed her.
She opened her eyes to see his head tilted to one side, his eyes fixed on the upper storey of the house as though he were listening for something. She followed his gaze, catching a small shadow at one of the windows overlooking the garden.
‘The curious Miss Rathbone is watching us.’ Releasing her, he caught her hand and pulled her under the small portico off the office.
They slipped into the deep shadow in the corner, where the privacy was made more complete by the large bushes growing in front of this dark, tucked-away spot. Justin turned her, placing himself between her and any curious eyes from the garden or the house. Slight panic welled up inside her. She’d been alone like this with Lord Howsham and the thrill had quickly turned to anxiety and then regret. She shifted on her feet, unsure if she should stay or flee.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his voice a near whisper in the darkness as his hand on her back eased, placing a slight distance between them. ‘We can go back inside, if you’d like.’
In the comfort of Justin’s embrace, the tenderness with which he held her close banished her fears. He wouldn’t treat her so roughly, not tonight or any of the many to follow. ‘No, I’m fine.’
She laced her fingers behind his neck and drew him down to her. He caught her lips with his, the moist heat of his mouth against hers making her quiver. Beyond the walls of the garden, a horse whinnied in the mews and the roll of carriage wheels and the call of a driver carried over the house from the street at the front. The sounds faded beneath the beat of her heart in her ears as Justin savoured her mouth. There was more in his kiss than simple lust for their coming wedding night. There was understanding, as deep as the caresses of his tongue, as firm as the press of his fingers against her back. In the brief time she’d been with him he’d shown her a glimpse of her future with him and she was eager to rush to it, though he asked no more of her tonight than kisses. In his restraint, this son of a simple man was proving himself more of a gentleman than Lord Howsham had ever been.
Twining her hands in his hair, she longed to convey to him not only her gratitude but her belief in him and their future together. With him she would enjoy true affection and the companionship of someone more like her than anyone she’d ever known before. The lonely days which had marked her life would end and she’d at last be with someone who cared.
The soft whisper of slippers over the portico stone slid in beneath the rapid beating of her heart. The subtle sound warned her to pull away, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to be separated from Justin, to leave this bliss and return to the uncertain world waiting for her, the one where promises were easily broken, affection withheld instead of given and almost anything might come to snatch away her future.
‘Mr Connor, are you out here?’ Mrs Rathbone’s clear voice carried over the night, but there was no missing the note of anxiety in her words.
Was she worried she and Justin were setting a bad example for Miss Rathbone? Had she come here to chastise them for acting like a common street whore and her client? Susanna’s heart fluttered with worry. She wanted these people’s respect and friendship, not their contempt. If Justin was concerned he didn’t show it as he dropped a quick kiss on the tip of her nose, then released her and turned around, his wide body shielding her from Mrs Rathbone’s sight.
‘Yes, Mrs Rathbone?’ he asked with more amusement than embarrassment, making the effortless transition from ardent suitor to deferential employee faster than lightning.
Susanna remained behind him, glad for the shadows, for they hid the blu
sh singeing her cheeks. Here she was wishing for people to think more of her and she was acting like a tart.
‘I don’t mean to interrupt you,’ Mrs Rathbone said with strained amusement, ‘but your father is here.’
* * *
Justin marched with Susanna to the sitting room, opening and closing his free hand in frustration as he prepared to exchange her soft sighs for the old man’s tiresome insults. Mr Green offered him an apologetic nod from where he stood just outside the sitting room. Inside, Justin’s father paced back and forth across the carpet, his hands trembling at his sides, his grey hair in disarray, his hat having been discarded on a chair near the fireplace. The felt appeared as rumpled and worn as the old man.
Shaking off the last of the desire which had been doused by his father’s arrival, Justin entered the room, his hand tightening over Susanna’s when she tried to remove it. Despite what he’d told her of his father yesterday, there was no preparing her for what was sure to be an uncomfortable encounter. Perhaps in the presence of a stranger his father might show some restraint, though he doubted it. The old man would snarl and bite like a badger no matter what Justin did. Susanna had said she was used to dealing with difficult relations—it was time to test her skill, and Justin’s.
‘Good evening, Father.’
Mr Connor jerked to a halt and turned hard eyes on Justin. ‘About time you showed up. Do you enjoy making me crawl and bow before you like some kind of prince?’
Justin exchanged a ‘See what I mean?’ look with Susanna. ‘Father, allow me to introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Susanna Lambert.’
She stiffened beside him and he offered her a slight apologetic shrug. It was best to do this quickly. There was no way to ease her gently into an acquaintance with her future father-in-law.
His father’s rheumy eyes jerked up and down Susanna before his lip curled with the usual look of disgust he always wore when it came to anything concerning Justin. It hadn’t always been like this. Justin could still remember a time when his father had smiled at him, then thumped him on the back in proud congratulations.
‘Mrs Gammon would’ve been more use to you than this hothouse flower. Though I suppose this one brought you money. Not sure what else she could do except warm yer bed.’
Justin moved to respond, refusing to let his father insult Susanna, but her restraining hand on his chest kept him still, for the moment.
‘This hothouse flower has spent a great deal of time behind a counter, keeping accounts and managing inventory. I assure you I won’t wilt under work,’ Susanna shot back, refusing to shrink from Mr Connor’s frank appraisal.
Justin was impressed, but not surprised. Judging from all she’d told him of the Rocklands and her childhood, this wasn’t the first time she’d faced a grouchy old man with a few insults on his tongue.
Mr Connor’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise and his lips worked to answer, but no response seemed to come to him. Frustrated in his efforts to insult Susanna, he turned his wrath on his favourite subject, his son.
‘I’ve come for me money,’ he snapped, then held out his hands to Susanna as though pleading with her for sympathy. ‘Look at me, forced by my son to beg like some kind of common street urchin. Would you allow such a thing, Miss Lambert?’
‘If it were in a gentleman’s best interest for someone else to handle his affairs, then, yes, I would.’ Her polite but firm opinion of the situation impressed Justin, but not his father.
‘Well, look at the bastard putting on airs,’ the old man mocked and no feminine hand could restrain Justin this time.
He grabbed his father by the arm and pulled him into the hall. ‘You’ll mind your tongue in my soon-to-be wife’s presence.’
‘Don’t you dare order me about.’ His father shook out of his grasp, remarkably strong for someone who took no more exercise than walking to the pub.
‘Take your money and be gone.’ Justin dug a few coins from his pocket and held them out, his hand shaking with rage. ‘I have no patience for you tonight.’
With rough fingers, his father plucked the money from his palm, ignoring the coin which fell to the floor as he stuffed the rest in his greasy coat pocket.
‘You and your charity can go to hell.’ He stomped to the door. Chesterton rushed to open it, but Justin’s father shoved him aside. ‘Get out of my way. I don’t need your help.’
The stench of the misty streets wafted in and with it the faint, sweet scent of gin clinging to his father’s coat.
‘Mr Connor.’ Susanna’s patient voice carried over the tense silence in the entrance hall.
Justin’s father paused, peering back at her from over his shoulder with one squinty eye. ‘What?’
‘You almost forgot your hat.’ She approached him, holding the hat as though it were a fine Wellington and not a battered old cap. Her stride wasn’t clipped or insulting, as though she intended to throw the thing at him so he’d be gone. Neither was her expression condemning, but she smiled, charming him as Justin had charmed many a tradesman’s neighbour’s wife to ferret out a potential client’s situation or solvency. ‘Here you are.’
Mr Connor cautiously turned, eyeing her and the hat as if she would strike him if he dared to touch it, his insults seeming to flee from him in the face of her manners. Then at last he took the battered thing, more gingerly than he’d plucked the coins out of Justin’s hands.
‘Thank you,’ he offered grudgingly.
‘Our wedding is set for Monday. I’d very much like for you to attend,’ she announced to Justin’s astonishment.
The white whiskers on the end of his father’s chin rose and fell with the way he chewed as he considered Susanna’s invitation. Then he pointed his hat at Justin. ‘He don’t want me there.’
There was certainly truth in that, but Justin held his tongue, refusing to display any lack of solidarity with Susanna and give his father more musket balls for his continued attacks. He intended for Monday to be a memorable day for Susanna, but not for the wrong reasons.
‘Then consider yourself my guest,’ Susanna offered with all the poise of a duchess.
Mr Connor turned the hat over in his hands, pondering her request. In the gesture, Justin caught for the first time in years something of the thoughtful, intelligent man his father had once been before Justin’s mother’s death and the gin had done their damage. Then the image was gone, like a shadow chased away by lamplight and the grizzled, mean old man was before him again.
‘Ain’t making no promises. Never been one for the likes of church.’ He narrowed his eyes at Justin. ‘Unlike some, I don’t give myself airs, or try and look down on others.’
He smashed the hat on his head and stomped out, with poor Mr Green following on his heels.
Chesterton rushed to close the door behind him, his long face expressionless. This wasn’t the first row he’d witnessed between Justin and his father, and by far not the most unusual scene he’d been privy to in this house. With the politeness of a deferential servant he slipped away, leaving Justin and Susanna alone.
‘What a memorable first meeting,’ Susanna observed drily, her humour failing to raise Justin’s downcast mood.
‘I can’t promise it’ll be the last.’ At least not until his father’s taste for gin finally killed his body. It’d already destroyed his personality.
‘You needn’t apologise. My grandfather was somewhat like him. He and my uncle used to get into terrible rows when my uncle tried to help him. Some people can’t be protected from themselves, or laugh over misfortunes such as a broken bottle of wine. They don’t face trials with your happy attitude.’
‘I’m not always optimistic.’ Justin plucked the fumbled coin from the floor, turning it over in his fingers. This wasn’t the image he’d intended to leave her with, of father and son fighting like a couple of cocks in a pit. He wanted the man he’d been on the front steps, the determined, confident one bent on success to be the memory she carried home tonight, but the buoyancy he’d experie
nced when the duke’s carriage had rolled to a stop in front of the Rathbones’ house was gone.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’
He slipped her hand off his shoulder and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the slender fingers. If they weren’t standing in the Rathbones’ entrance hall, with Jane no doubt listening at the top of the stairs, he’d wrap his arms around her and forget himself in the delight of her kisses. Instead he did as he always did and shoved down the frustration and torment of his father to flash Susanna a smile as dazzling as a row of lamps along a Drury Lane stage.
‘With you beside me, nothing can be wrong.’ He wasn’t going to wail in her embrace or admit how deeply his father’s insults really struck.
The slight disbelieving arch of her eyebrow matched the disapproving curve of her lips. He wasn’t fooling her with all his smiles and wit because she knew exactly what this hurt was like.
‘Some day you’ll tell me what’s troubling you instead of hiding it away.’
‘Some day, but not tonight.’ He took her arm and led her out to the waiting carriage, stopping before the impressive vehicle to embrace her.
She glanced at the driver, who fixated on the reins before Justin turned her face to meet his. He didn’t care what the man thought or what he might say to his employer. The only thing concerning him was their last few moments together. He laid a tender kiss on her lips, the promise of something more than merely physical whispering in the soft caress. In three days, he’d savour every curve and supple mound of her. Tonight, he needed her understanding and compassion as much as she’d needed his in the garden.
The bells of St Bride’s began to toll the late hour and Susanna broke away from his kiss, her reluctance to leave as strong in her expression as it was in his chest.
‘Goodnight,’ she whispered, backing out of his embrace to step into the carriage, her eyes never leaving his.
He closed the door, watching her through the open window, reluctantly moving away when the driver flicked the horses into motion. He wished he could keep her here, but he refrained from calling her back. When she’d stood beside him with his father, the man’s insults hadn’t cut so deep. She recognised the pain he endured and instead of wanting to dismiss it with a laugh, he’d wanted to take her back to the garden and unburden himself of years of torment. It wasn’t like him to complain, but realising how much she wanted to soothe his suffering had almost made him reveal it, and the nagging doubt creeping along in the back of his mind.