A Rumored Engagement

by Lily George

  She must stop this foolishness now. Reliving that moment in time would lead to nothing but heartbreak and frustration.

  “He shared the chapel with us and prayed with us for a reason. I don’t know why. I’m not a romantic, like Becky.” Nan played with her long curls, twisting one around and around her forefinger. “But I do think he’s trying to make amends for the way he lived.”

  “What do you know about the way he lived?” Susannah’s voice sharpened. What she and Becky had talked about was shared in confidence. Nan was too young to understand what a wastrel like Daniel could do when given free rein. Though Becky had a provoking tendency to think of real life in terms of the latest novel or poem she’d read, she did have a good two years on Nan.

  “No one’s told me much. But I could tell, this morning, that he’d probably had too much to drink. He had the same look about him, like when Uncle Arthur would come in from gambling.”

  Susannah sank back against the seat, defeated. Her baby sister was growing up and making her own observations about the world. Susannah would not be able to shelter her much longer. “He had been drinking and was quite sick. But I don’t wish to talk about it.” The gates of Kelwedge Hall flashed by the carriage window. “Look. We’ve arrived. And we must be calm and collected if we are to gain Miss Glaspell’s trust—and her business. I can’t be reminiscing about the past as we walk up to the door. We’ll be too—” she cast about for the right word “—emotional.”

  “Very well.” Nan dusted off her apron with the flat of her palms. “But I do think you’re being rather hard on Daniel, Sue. He seems a sincere sort of person. I do wish, no matter what harm he did you, that you could find it in your heart to forgive him.”

  Being lectured by her baby sister was the very last straw. Susannah stiffened her spine and smoothed her coiffure with a hand that trembled only slightly. “That’s quite enough, Nan. What happened between Daniel and myself is a private matter, and as much as I love you, I shan’t talk about it anymore.”

  Nan turned her lips down, in a frown or in a pout. ’Twas difficult to tell, for her sister turned at once to the window, as though Kelwedge Hall’s façade was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

  And it was. Susannah caught her breath as they drew to a halt. Kelwedge was an impressive manor home, built of dark gray stone, its solid front faced with at least two dozen windows. Ivy crept over the sides and wound its way up to the second story; a formal clipped hedge formed a complicated knot before the front steps.

  And this was her new client’s home? Even Goodwin, as fine as it was, wasn’t as large a home as this. She’d felt comfortable at Goodwin, but here? She was as insignificant as a dormouse.

  The carriage passed by the front of the house and curved around behind, drawing to a stop near the back porch. Ah, yes, of course. They couldn’t go in through the front. Funny, but this moment made manifest the path she’d chosen in life. In opening her own shop, she’d become part of a different class.

  The class of women who went in the back door.

  * * *

  “I must say, it’s a marvel to find such a brilliantly talented milliner in poky old Tansley,” Miss Glaspell said, glancing over Susannah’s sketches. “How ever did you wind up in a country village? You should have a shop in Town, you know.”

  “Tansley was our home for most of our childhood,” Susannah replied with a modest air. “When my uncle passed, we came back here. I think it’s a lovely place to live.”

  “It is, but with a talent like yours, you could be making a sizable fortune running your own shop in the Burlington Arcade.” Miss Glaspell cast the drawings aside. “Oh, well. London’s loss is my gain. Now, we have several gowns planned for the autumn and winter months. Anne, do show her the fabrics.”

  Anne, Miss Glaspell’s seamstress, nodded and pulled several swatches out of an embroidered bag. “We have been looking at the fashion plates and trying to decide which ones would work to Miss Glaspell’s best advantage. I think this worsted would look quite fetching for a riding habit.”

  Susannah peered at the scrap of dark gray wool, rubbing its roughness between her fingers. “Yes. I should think a black silk top hat would set this off beautifully.”

  Nan leaned forward, staring at the wool intently. “But have the top hat swathed in black netting, or a veil. To soften the severity, wouldn’t you think?”

  Miss Glaspell clapped her hands merrily. “Perfect. I do love the idea of a severe riding costume, rather tailored, but with a slightly more feminine topper.”

  Susannah glanced over at Nan with approval. That would look quite stunning. How smart of Nan to think of it. The style wasn’t anything like what country ladies would wear to go out riding, and so it would set Miss Glaspell apart from the rest. When and how had Nan come to possess such a strong sense of fashion?

  “And this silk—I think it would do quite well as a walking dress. With a spencer made from a darker shade of velvet.” Anne passed over two swatches of fabric, one lavender silk and another of plum velvet so soft that Susannah’s mouth watered a little as she rubbed her fingers over the nap. Oh, what she could do with fine velvet like that! ’Twas as soft as a kitten.

  “I should think a poke bonnet, covered in the silk but lined in the velvet, should do quite well,” Susannah pronounced, reluctantly surrendering the swatches to Nan. “Would you not agree, Nan? The darker color would shade the brim and set off the color of Miss Glaspell’s eyes to perfection.”

  “Yes,” Nan agreed. “And I could create some fabric flowers to rest on the crown of the bonnet, just to one side. Two violets would look quite fine, I should think.”

  And so they spent the afternoon, Susannah making quick sketches and notes on her scraps of foolscap while Nan contributed her own thoughts to the process—giving smart little details to each piece that turned it from a mundane hat to a small masterpiece. They would have their work cut out for them in the coming weeks—but what work! Beautiful bonnets, toppers, tams, hats—all of them made from the finest materials.

  Susannah’s fingers fairly itched to get started.

  When at length the last sketch had been finished, the last fashion plate pored over and the last bits of fabric exclaimed over, Miss Glaspell sat back with a satisfied grin. “Splendid. This shall be my most fashionable winter wardrobe yet. I cannot wait to see the fruits of your labors. And I do want to claim you well in advance for the start of the Season next year.”

  Susannah smiled warmly. “Of course, Miss Glaspell. With the three of us working, we should have your order ready within the next two months. I can send them one by one, or have them all sent at the same time, when every last one is completed.”

  “Oh, I cannot bear to wait for them all at once. I was never any good at waiting for a gift, you know. I would always sneak a peek inside, even as a child.” She rose and walked over to the elaborately embroidered bellpull. “Would you like some refreshment before you take your leave?”

  Susannah darted a quick glance at the mantel clock. They had been working for nearly two hours. The time, so pleasantly spent, had simply flown by. “Oh, dear, no. We left Becky in charge of the shop while we were gone. The poor thing must think we’ve abandoned her.”

  Miss Glaspell gave Susannah a sweet smile. “Of course—and you both must be tired yourselves. I shall order the carriage for you, then.”

  Her butler arrived, and as Miss Glaspell gave him his orders, Nan and Susannah began tying their parcels together. They had so much work to do—and interesting, stimulating work it was, too—but she hadn’t dared to broach the subject of payment yet. How was one to handle such a delicate topic? Uncle Arthur had always been late with his bills, to the point that the duns would come pounding on the door at least once a fortnight.

  Miss Glaspell didn’t strike one as that kind of a person and yet—Susannah’s usual common
sense failed her. Though she rummaged about in her mind for the right manner in which to say it, she had no idea of how to say it.

  And yet, one’s dinner did rest on the matter.

  Whatever should she say?

  Miss Glaspell dismissed her butler and turned to them both. “Oh, don’t bother with those parcels. I shall have my servants bring them to you when I have them bring your payment. You don’t mind if I send everything to you tomorrow, do you?”

  At least she had mentioned making a payment. And ʼtwould be a relief indeed not to have to carry all those parcels again.

  “That would be quite fine,” Susannah agreed. Then she gathered all her courage. “We do ask for you to pay half of the balance when the orders are placed.”

  “Of course,” Miss Glaspell replied, nodding. She strolled over to the pile of sketches. “There’s about a dozen hats here. What do you charge for each?”

  Susannah hesitated. The sisters had agreed, in advance, that the price per bonnet would be at least six shillings. Would Miss Glaspell agree to such an amount?

  She cleared her throat. “Each bonnet costs...six shillings, Miss Glaspell.”

  Miss Glaspell smiled. “For the beautiful work I know you will do, that shall be a bargain indeed. I shall send my servants by tomorrow, then?”

  She hadn’t said no. She didn’t seem angered by the price at all. In fact, she seemed quite delighted.

  “That will do quite well. Thank you.” Susannah bobbed a curtsy.

  They couldn’t give vent to their delight. Not then, not when Miss Glaspell and her seamstress paid them their goodbyes. Not later, as the butler marched them solemnly out the hall and to the waiting carriage drawn up alongside the back porch. Not even as they rolled out across the countryside, for who knew whether the driver would hear their raised voices and ecstatic laughter?

  No. They sat on their glee as though it were a cushion on a settee, giving each other excited glances as they endured the fifteen-minute ride back to the shop. A polite goodbye to the driver, and Susannah and Nan rushed inside the shop, knocking against each other in their haste.

  Becky rose from her seat, her needlework falling to the floor. “And?” Her eyes grew larger as she surveyed her sisters. Susannah felt the heat rising in her cheeks and could suppress her mirth no more.

  She let out a loud whoop that echoed throughout the tiny shop. “A dozen bonnets at six shillings apiece!” She spun around, flinging her own bonnet onto the floor. “This means a warm winter for us, sisters! Upon my word, I never expected this.”

  Independence was drawing ever closer. If she reached out her fingertips ever so slowly, she might grasp it, as gossamer as the muslin curtains at the shop when they were fanned by the late-autumn breeze. Once she attained her freedom, she would never have to ask anyone for help again.

  Not even Daniel.

  Chapter Ten

  Working on Mother’s chapel was the only thing vaguely interesting about the estate. There was much satisfaction in supervising the cleaning and repair of the tumbledown little building. Why, Daniel spent most of the morning working on repairing the archway over the door, which had become cracked and worn with age. His skills in repairing the ship’s decking, acquired over the course of many voyages over many seas, was actually standing him in good stead now. One could hardly see the join where the repair mended the split wood.

  He ran his palm over the oak panels, testing for other telltale cracks. No, it was good enough for now. The maids would be out this afternoon to give the place a proper scrubbing, floor to ceiling. And then after they’d finished, he’d see about the pew bench and the altar. Those items seemed a bit wobbly, but perhaps the floor had just settled beneath them.

  He had never spent as much time in the tiny chapel as he had over the past few days. After Mother died, Father had given up all interest in maintaining the little building, and David was far too staid to care about something that brought absolutely no value to the estate. In fact, it was rather difficult to think of the last time anyone actually prayed here. Susannah’s simple prayer was the first in ages.

  Daniel sank onto a pew, setting his rough leather gloves aside. His hands flexed together and a momentary urge to bow his head surged through his being. And then, quick as a flash, the moment passed. How ridiculous to think of asking the Lord for anything. He’d never needed faith of any kind before, not even when he was buffeted around on the seas by a massive typhoon.

  He must be hungry. That was all.

  He’d take a break, have a little lunch, and then get back to work.

  He entered Goodwin by the side entrance, the one that led past the kitchens toward the back of the Hall. He paused in the side entry. Time to remove these mucky boots. If he left a trail of dirt down the back hallway, he’d be sure to hear about it from Baxter. And a scolding from the butler was never a pleasant—or wanted—thing.

  Daniel removed one boot and then the other with a satisfying thump, leaving them beside the threshold. Then he strolled over to the basin and pitcher to wash his hands. Mother had set the washbasin back here a long time ago so that she could wash up and tidy herself after working in the gardens or being out at her chapel. He gave a lopsided grin as he soaped his hands. How many times had she emerged from the back of the house to receive guests, looking as fresh as a rose? And she’d been mucking about in the garden for hours, though you’d never know it.

  Funny, he hadn’t thought about Mother for years now. After all, she’d died when he was just a lad. So young he could only remember bits and pieces about her life—like keeping the basin by the side door. Strange that working in her chapel was, in a way, bringing him closer to her once more. Even though he’d been in Goodwin Hall for all these months, he’d never felt a kinship with it until now.

  Daniel flung the towel on the floor—a servant would be by to pick it up later. Whistling, he headed down the back passage to the study. He could have a little drink—just one—before time for his meal.

  Rounding the corner, he ran smack into his butler. “Dash it all, man, I didn’t see you,” he muttered, taking a step back. “You’re as silent as a footpad, you know.”

  Baxter straightened his jacket and resumed his usual air of dignity. “A rider delivered this message while you were working in the chapel, sir.” He held an envelope out to Daniel. “Since it was a hasty delivery, I thought I should give it to you now.”

  “Yes, of course.” Daniel took the envelope and scanned the handwriting. It had to be Paul’s. No one else had such untidy penmanship, all loops and scrawls. He tore it open and headed for his study. No telling what kind of mischief Paul had been up to that required a messenger to break the news to Daniel.

  “I’ll have my lunch on a tray,” he said over his shoulder. “Bring it in about half an hour.”

  “Very good, sir.” Daniel just caught Baxter’s reply before shutting the door.

  So what kind of scrape had Paul gotten himself into? A week’s debauchery in London certainly afforded many opportunities for disaster....

  Daniel unfolded the foolscap and sought the comfort of the worn velvet chair, resting his feet—clad only in his socks—on the hearth.

  My dear old chap—

  I do fear there’s been rather a dustup. I was in my cups at the club, and made a wager that you and Susannah Siddons would be wed within a year.

  Daniel paused, his mouth going dry. He never suspected that Paul’s trouble had anything to do with him. And certainly nothing at all to do with Susannah.

  If it was a wager, perhaps no one would think anything of it.

  One could hope it would pass over, ignored. After all, he and Susannah were hardly of the ton. Now that everyone had settled in the countryside, there was very little chance anyone would care what they did.

  The thing of it is, I was playing faro and you kn
ow how that loosens my tongue. That, of course, and the liquor. At any rate, I told everyone about your secret engagement to Susannah. Since it happened so long ago, I suppose I thought it more amusing than anything.

  Daniel scrubbed his palm across his face. Paul had told everyone about Susannah. The tender secret between them—the source of hurt and the source of misunderstanding—was now laid bare for the entire world to comment on and to gossip about.

  How on earth could he break the news to Susannah? She would be furious.

  Come to think of it, so was he. He should never have told Paul about the secret engagement. Paul was notorious for sharing confidences when drunk, and he should have foreseen that Paul would announce it to the world at some point.

  I thought at first my mention of it would blow over—after all, not everything that is mentioned in a club becomes common knowledge. But I do fear that this has become quite a little scandal among our peers and I feel I should warn you—and offer my apologies. Everyone is abuzz with the story of a boy who ran to sea and the girl he jilted.

  He hadn’t jilted Susannah. Not really.

  Had he?

  Daniel flung the letter aside and headed straight for the decanter of scotch. His hands shook with fury, but he could not honestly tell if the anger was for Paul or for himself.

  Liquor sloshed over the glass, forming a pool on the satiny finish of the mahogany table. He swiped the mess with his cuff and drank deeply, polishing it off in a few burning swallows. Then he poured another.

  Susannah had always been the strong one. She was a lass who always knew what she wanted and how to get what she desired. Her will was strong as iron. Where Daniel concealed and hid, Susannah flung open the windows and let the sunshine stream in. There was never a doubt in his mind that she would find a way out of her uncle’s home.