by Shana Galen
Southey pulled back. He didn’t release her mother. He kept hold of her shoulders, but he held her at arm’s length and studied her eyes. “Is it true, Dorrie? Is she mine?”
Susanna shook her head, even as her mother’s mouth worked to form a response. It couldn’t be true. She was the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Dane. She was not the child of a horticulturist.
Her mother looked at her, and Susanna saw tears sparkling in her brown eyes.
“No,” Susanna whispered. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m so sorry, Susanna. I should have told you. I feared something like this would happen. It’s why I kept you away—”
Now Southey did release her, and her mother almost stumbled. To Susanna’s shock, Gideon caught her arm. Instead of thanking him, her mother snatched her arm away.
“Allow me to explain.” Lady Dane held a hand out to her daughter.
“Oh, I think I understand well enough,” Southey—her father—said. “You didn’t want me to know. You were embarrassed you’d birthed the child of a lowly second son.”
“No!” Susanna’s mother turned to him, then back to Susanna. She seemed not to know which foe to take on first. “That wasn’t it at all. I didn’t want to hurt you.” Her gaze was on Susanna, but she glanced at Southey, seeming to encompass him. “She could never acknowledge you. You could never be part of her life.”
“That was my decision to make!” Susanna cried out, surprised at her own vehemence. “Mine, Mother!”
Lady Dane’s eyes widened, but she clamped her lips shut without objection.
“Susanna.” Brook put a restraining hand on her arm.
Susanna rounded on him. “Don’t tell me to calm down, or I swear I will punch you.”
“I think she’d do it too,” Gideon said. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, looking very much like he enjoyed the drama unfolding. She nodded at him in silent thanks, then looked back at Brook.
“All my life I wondered why I was different. Why did my father ignore me? Why did Mother watch me like a hawk? I thought it was because I was a girl and you and Dane were boys. But that wasn’t it at all.” She glanced at her mother. “It’s because I wasn’t one of you. I’m not a Derring.” Her voice rose shrilly. It seemed almost out of her control—along with everything else in her life at the moment.
“I only wanted to protect you.” Her mother’s voice broke, but she held her head high.
“This changes nothing, Susanna,” Brook said. “You’re still a Derring. And you will come home with me now.”
Lady Dane cleared her throat and straightened her thin shoulders. “That’s Susanna’s choice, Brook. I’m done protecting her now.”
Susanna’s jaw dropped. Never once had her mother used the words Susanna and choice in the same sentence.
“Do what you want with this knowledge, Susanna. I would ask you to think of your family and your future and to act discreetly. I protected you too much. I see that now. It was only one of my many, many mistakes.”
Southey put a hand to his heart, as though she’d mortally wounded him. Susanna watched in astonishment as her mother took Southey’s hands and pressed them to her heart.
“My mistake was letting you go. I never should have listened to my parents, feared the censure of the ton. I’m so sorry, Robert. Can you forgive me?”
He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her lips. “I can forgive you anything.”
Susanna wanted to look away, but the sight was too strange. Her mother was kissing a man. Her mother was smiling, crying, acting almost human!
“Please tell me we can start again. Please tell me you still want me after all these years.”
Brook made a sound of disgust and pulled Susanna aside. “I don’t know what this is all about, but I’m taking you home. I told Harrow if he didn’t have you home by noon, I’d come for you.”
“Harrow?” She peered back at Gideon, still reclining against the tree as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Gideon? When did you speak to Gideon?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you? I had a conversation with him last night at the Three Ducks. I could have searched the place and ruined you in one fell swoop, but I wanted to give you the chance to return quietly. That looks to be all but impossible now.” He spared a glance at their mother, whose head was close to Southey’s as they whispered.
Susanna couldn’t take her gaze from Gideon. His own eyes met hers, and he raised his brows in question. Susanna swallowed. Her mother had told her to make her own decisions, her own mistakes.
“I don’t know if I want to go home with you,” she said. “Do I even belong there?”
Brook grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze from Gideon’s. “What nonsense is this? Dane is there. He arrived late last night, and he’ll tell you what I told you. You’re a Derring.”
“But I’m not. Not really. I don’t know where I belong anymore.”
Brook snorted. “Do you think you belong with him? Think of your family and the scandal, Susanna.” He jerked a thumb at Gideon. “Do you think he’ll marry you? Take care of you? He can’t even take care of himself.”
Susanna looked at Gideon, searched his face for some indication of his emotions. Dane would help her—help them—if she asked. He’d never allow her to starve, but Gideon had to want her.
Gideon pushed off the tree and sauntered toward them. “Sir Brook is right. You’re a Derring, Strawberry,” he said. “All I want is what’s mine. Then I’ll leave you in peace.”
“What’s yours?” Brook’s hand rose, but he clenched it before clutching Gideon’s throat. “I think you took more than what’s yours.”
“Stop,” Susanna said, as much to herself as the two men. Tears threatened to fall, but she wouldn’t allow it. She forced them back, took a deep breath. “He comes with us, Brook. I owe him an item, and then we’ll never see him again.”
She started away, Beauty at her side. She didn’t want to look at Gideon. She wanted to remember the man she’d known last night—the man with the light of exploding fireworks limning his handsome face. She didn’t want to see the arrogant man who smiled as though he were the cat who’d run away with the cream.
* * *
The carriage ride back was interminable. Brook had forced Gideon to ride with the coachman, while her mother and Mr. Southey—she could not think of him as her father yet—shared one side of the coach, and she and Brook the other. Beauty had ridden in the coachman’s seat with Gideon.
Southey asked her dozens of questions. He seemed inordinately pleased to know he had a daughter, which was truly very sweet. He seemed a sweet, kind man. Susanna tried to answer him, but she couldn’t think. Her words echoed in her ears, doubling back on themselves until the sound of her voice was magnified a hundredfold.
When she entered Derring House, nothing looked as she remembered it. The chairs, the vases, the paintings were in the same spots, but it didn’t seem like home to her anymore. It was the home of the girl she’d been. She’d never be that innocent girl again. She’d never truly belong here again.
Had she ever?
Dane and Marlowe rushed to greet her. Marlowe embraced her, then drew back.
“What is it, Susanna?”
“I…”
“Sit down.” Marlowe tried to lead her to a chair in the parlor, concern etched into her pretty features. Susanna still wasn’t used to seeing Marlowe dressed in silks and muslins, her hair coiffed high on her head. She wondered—if Gideon had chosen her—whether she’d have become used to seeing him in a cravat and coat.
Brook pulled Dane aside, and Susanna pushed past Marlowe. “I’m fine,” she said when Marlowe protested.
“You don’t look fine. You look half gone to Peg Trantums.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I assure you I’m well enough to walk upstairs.
” Her feet moved until she was in the vestibule at the base of the stairs. “Do you remember our wager, Marlowe?”
Marlowe gave her a puzzled look. “I’m not certain.”
“You owed me an adventure.”
A smile turned up the corners of Marlowe’s lips. “Ah, yes. I should say you’ve had one.”
“More than one.” Susanna lifted her skirts and looked up the daunting stairwell.
Marlowe put a hand on the banister. “I’ll go with you. You should lie down.”
Susanna nodded and started up the stairs. “I will. First I have to fetch something and give it to Gideon.”
“Gideon!” Marlowe raced after her, thundering up the stairs in a most unladylike fashion. If her mother had not been so preoccupied with Mr. Southey, she would have chastised Marlowe.
“What are you doing with Gideon? Where is he?”
Susanna turned and stared at the vestibule. Only Crawford peered up at her.
Where was her mother and Southey? Oh dear. Did she really want to know the answer to that?
Crawford cleared his throat. “The young man was sent to the servants’ entrance. He’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”
Susanna gave a brittle laugh. “Why would we treat him any differently?”
“I’ll see to him,” Marlowe said, starting down the stairs. “He won’t wait long otherwise.”
“He’ll wait,” Susanna said. “I have the one thing he cares about.”
She continued upstairs, opened her bedroom door, and stared at the small, feminine room. It was a child’s room, full of frilly pillows and pink upholstery. Her sketchbook and watercolors lay on the desk where she’d left them. She peered at the drawing she’d been working on—a horse with flowers in its mane. A child’s drawing.
Her jewelry box sat on her dressing table, untouched. She opened it, lifted the pretty baubles she’d once cherished, and drew out the velvet bag containing the diamond-and-emerald necklace. She could feel it, heavy and thick inside the velvet. She closed her hand around it and started for the kitchens.
* * *
“I thought you’d put yourself out of twig, but you look as much a filching cove as always.”
Gideon turned from the bread and cheese he’d been stuffing in his mouth and peered up at a beautiful woman standing near the steps to the house—stairs he’d been warned not to even look at. He wasn’t worthy. It took a moment before he knew her. In the end, it was her smile that gave her away.
Gideon let out a holler and pulled Marlowe into his arms, twirling her around. She laughed and threw back her head, and for a moment it was like old times. Beauty raised her head curiously, then went back to the scraps in her bowl on the floor. The cook made a sound of wonder and politely excused herself. Gideon barely noticed. He set Marlowe down and made her twirl.
“Look at you,” he said. “You look like a real lady.”
“I am a real lady,” she protested, hands on her hips in a very unladylike stance. “I have the title to prove it.”
“You never needed the title,” he said. “I always knew you were too good for Satin and his cubs.”
She took his hand, led him back to the food. She must have known how hungry he was. “And I always thought the same about you. What are you doing here, Gideon? Why does Lady Susanna look so Friday-faced?”
He stuffed bread into his mouth, telling her the story of Southey and Lady Dane between mouthfuls. She poured him more tea, then leaned a hip on the table and crossed her arms. “Is that the whole reason? It’s a shock, but Susanna isn’t one to care about titles.”
He jerked a shoulder up and gulped the tea, scalding his mouth. “You’ll have to ask her.”
“I’m asking you.”
She leveled her intense blue-eyed gaze on him, and Gideon felt the heat from the too-hot tea rise to his face.
“Gideon Harrow.” She grabbed his wrist and slammed the teacup on the table. “What did you do?”
He glared at her. The words nothing she didn’t want came to mind, but he’d be damned if he said them again.
“It was a mistake,” he said instead. “The last few days were a big fucking mistake. I just want what’s mine.”
Beauty raised her head and woofed. Gideon’s gaze jumped to the stairs, and his heart seized in his chest.
No.
Susanna notched her chin high, but not before he saw the flash of raw pain all but crumple her face. She looked like she’d just taken a punch in the bread-basket. Her cheeks colored, and her eyes turned glassy, but she raised her head high as she descended the last steps. She looked like a queen.
“Then take it and go.” She held the velvet bag with the necklace toward him.
Marlowe spun around. She glanced between Susanna and him, then backed away. “I’ll wait at the top of the steps in case you need me, Susanna.”
Susanna gave one regal nod. Marlowe hugged Gideon hard and whispered, “We’re birds of a feather. No matter what you’ve done. But she’s my family now. Don’t hurt her again.”
The dog shouldered her way past Gideon, but for the first time, Susanna ignored the buffer’s whines and nuzzles. She shoved the bag at Gideon. “Take it and go.”
He stared at the bag. This was what he’d wanted. This was what he’d cared for. In her hands was his freedom.
Why didn’t he snatch it away?
Her lips trembled. She tried so hard to be strong, and he was the one who made that a necessity. “Strawberry—”
“Don’t call me that. I’m Lady Susanna.”
His jaw tightened. “Fine.” He snatched the bag, felt the heavy necklace inside. The anticipated relief didn’t wash over him.
“You have what you wanted. Go now.”
“That’s it?” he blurted.
She raised one haughty brow. “Did you expect a good-bye kiss? You have what’s yours—what you stole, at any rate. I won’t draw out this mistake any longer.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. You weren’t a mistake.”
“You were. I already informed Marlowe our wager was met. She promised me an adventure. I’ve had one, and you were quite diverting. Thank you, and good-bye.”
Gideon’s heart pounded, his blood hot with fury. He knew he’d hurt her, but the dismissal hit a raw nerve. That was what she wanted. To hurt him like he’d hurt her.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt her.
She pointed to the door. “Have a good life, Mr. Harrow.”
He gave her a mock bow, opened the door, and stepped into the bright sunshine. He squinted, surprised it was still day. He felt more like a thief than he ever had in his life. He should be slinking away under cover of darkness.
He pulled the bag open and dumped the necklace into his palm. The stones glittered in the sunlight, but they didn’t hold any beauty for him now. Cold, hard diamonds would bring him a cold, hard future.
He set off toward Field Lane and the dolly shops.
* * *
Susanna bit the inside of her cheek. She would not cry. She’d learned composure at all costs from her mother. She must at all times exhibit good ton.
“Come on, Beauty.”
Marlowe wasn’t waiting at the top of the stairs, but when Susanna returned to her room, a gold necklace and a note lay on her bed.
You lent me this when I needed a friend. I return it with the same sentiment.
Susanna clutched the necklace in her hand. One necklace in exchange for another.
Beauty trotted to the bedroom door just as someone rapped quietly. Susanna opened it and fell, weeping, into Marlowe’s waiting arms.
At some point Marlowe tucked her into bed, closed the drapes, and told her to close her eyes. Susanna obliged, though she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep. When she opened her eyes again, her room was dark, and the fire in the hearth burned low.
> Something heavy lay across her feet, and she sat just as Beauty rose and licked her face. At least she assumed the hairy animal that smelled of roses was Beauty.
“Did they give you a bath?” she asked, stroking the dog’s head. “Brushed you too. Mama will have a fit when she realizes you’ve been sleeping on my bed.”
“Mama knows.”
Susanna jumped and whipped toward a cream-colored chair near the side of the bed. Her mother sat in it, her face flickering red in the firelight. Hands folded in her lap and back straight, she looked as stiff and unyielding as any oak tree.
And yet, Susanna had seen her all but melt into a man’s arms just that morning. She could hardly reconcile the two women.
Her mother rose, and the bed dipped when she sat on the edge. Susanna stared at her, waited for the lecture.
Instead, her mother smoothed Susanna’s hair back from her face.
“I used to watch you sleep when you were a small child,” she said finally. “Your little mouth would turn up in a smile, your eyelids would flicker, your hands clench. I always wondered what you could be dreaming about.”
Susanna shook her head, words eluding her.
“I made a mistake,” her mother said, still stroking Susanna’s hair.
“You too?” Susanna muttered. It seemed to be the theme of the day.
“Oh, I’ve made many,” her mother admitted. “I protected you too much. I thought I could keep you safe, keep you from ever being hurt. Instead, I was the one who hurt you.” She leaned close, cupping Susanna’s face.
Susanna stilled, staring at her mother in shock. Lady Dane had never shown her any tenderness.
“I was afraid you would make the same mistakes I made, but when I saw Robert yesterday, I realized my biggest mistake was in letting him go. I was too hard on you because I was angry at myself. I just loved you so much, Susanna. I knew if I showed it, your father—the earl—would send you away. He always knew you weren’t his, but he tolerated you as long as I favored the boys. If I couldn’t show you love, I wouldn’t show it to anyone. I forgot what it was to feel love. Robert reminded me.”