by Jody Hedlund
Cranch wiped away his grin, but his twinkling eyes laughed at her.
Ben gave a muted cough, unable to resist the temptation to goad her.
Her gaze shifted to him, and her eyes widened with surprise that was rapidly chased away by embarrassment when he made a point of looking directly upon her bare feet and her slim ankles that her mother’s fussing had revealed.
She jerked away from her mother and yanked her petticoats down, tucking her feet and ankles out of sight.
Had she remembered her childhood declaration, that she’d much rather stay stuck in a tree than show him her ankles?
He couldn’t contain his grin.
She glanced away, but not before he caught sight of the mortification rounding her features.
“Susanna, I’m speechless,” Mrs. Smith said. “Absolutely speechless.”
“I can explain—”
“There is no excuse for appearing in this condition.”
Susanna swept aside the waves of hair that fell about her head in abandon, revealing her flushed cheeks and windswept beauty.
Ben’s heart gave an unexpected thump. There was no denying Susanna Smith was indeed an attractive woman, from her wildly flowing hair all the way to her lovely, dainty toes.
“However, to show up in this . . . this deplorable condition? When we have company?” Mrs. Smith continued, her tone rising a notch. “This is completely unacceptable behavior.”
“I agree.” Susanna straightened her shoulders. “If I had known Mr. Cranch was arriving so early—and bringing a guest with him—I would have made a point of returning much sooner.”
“You knew I didn’t want you lingering out of doors.”
Susanna pressed her lips together, having the grace not to disagree further with her mother in front of everyone, even though her eyes flashed with a rebuttal Ben would have enjoyed hearing.
“And exactly where are your boots?” Mrs. Smith asked.
For a long moment, Susanna didn’t say anything. The clink of dishes in the dining room where the slave was preparing their table seemed to grow louder. The thick aroma of roasted veal and cabbage had already penetrated the parlor, stirring Ben’s stomach with hunger.
Finally Susanna lifted her chin. “I’ve given my boots to a poor beggar woman who had much more need of them than I did.”
“You did what?” Mrs. Smith sputtered the words.
“I gave them away.”
“That was very generous of you, Susanna,” Reverend Smith said. “I’m sure your dear mother would have done the same thing had she been in your situation.”
Ben couldn’t imagine Mrs. Smith ever doing something such as that. She seemed too proper and sophisticated to bare her feet. But then again, he never would have expected spoiled Susie to take off her boots either.
Maybe she had changed more than he’d believed possible.
“We shall have a new pair of boots cobbled for Susanna to reward her benevolence.” Reverend Smith smiled at his daughter. “I’m sure she’s due for a new pair anyway.”
Susanna returned her father’s smile. “Thank you, Father. But I have plenty of shoes—”
“No, Susanna. That was your only pair of buskins.” Mrs. Smith stood with the regality of a dowager queen. “We shall have to have new ones made. Perhaps Mr. Ross can take Susanna’s measurements tonight.”
Her words slapped him in the face.
“You’re still living with your parents, aren’t you, Mr. Ross?”
“That’s correct.” At twenty-eight he wasn’t exactly proud he’d taken up residence with his father and mother. But he wasn’t a freeholder and didn’t have the means to buy any property of his own. Ben had been grateful his father had offered him the back room of the house for his law office.
“Your father still is a cordwainer, is he not?”
From the gleam in her eyes, he could tell they both knew what she was doing. She was attempting to put him in his place. He forced a cold calmness to his tone. “If you’d like to send your daughter’s foot measurements with me, I’ll be sure to pass them along to my father.”
“Very well. I give you permission to take Susanna’s measurements before you leave,” Mrs. Smith said. “And I do hope your father will appreciate our solicitation as we will be neglecting the cordwainer here in Weymouth.”
Ben wanted to tell her his father wouldn’t want to make Susanna’s buskins, that they could take their business to the Weymouth shoemaker. But even as the words pushed for release, he held them back. The truth was, he could use another excuse to return to Weymouth for a future Caucus meeting. Delivering the buskins for his father would give him the cover he needed without arousing suspicion.
“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” he said stiffly. “As long as your daughter is willing to allow me access to her foot . . .”
Susanna’s gaze snagged his. “Since you’ve already taken the liberty of viewing my feet, I don’t see any reason to guard my modesty further.”
Framed in the doorway, with her long hair swirling about her elegant face in wild waves and her eyes flashing, she was a sight to behold. He had an urge to stand, stride across the room, yank her body against his, and show her . . .
Show her what?
He swallowed the swift desire that rose at the thought of holding her.
She lifted her nose just slightly with a pride that challenged him and stirred his blood.
Yes, he’d show her . . .
Show her that she wasn’t better than him anymore.
If only the evening would come to an end.
Susanna twisted her spoon next to the uneaten plum pudding left at her spot from the first course. The molasses and butter had melted and formed a river around the mound.
But neither of the two courses at dinner had tempted her, not when she couldn’t stop thinking about the young woman she’d met in the orchard.
Of course, her lack of appetite had nothing to do with Mr. Ross and his presence across the wide dining room table.
She’d avoided looking at him during the meal. And she’d had the distinct impression he’d done the same. Except for glancing at her as she’d made a grand entrance into the dining room earlier, after she’d returned properly attired, he avoided her as if she’d contracted smallpox.
Susanna had prayed that in her elegant silver evening gown the guests would forget how uncivilized she appeared when she’d arrived home without boots. From the gentle easing of the strained lines on Mother’s face, Susanna could only hope the diversion had worked.
She twisted her spoon again, this time clinking it against the fine porcelain plate. With her father on one side and her brother William on the other, she’d had altogether too little conversation and too much time to brood.
Mr. Cranch’s lively voice rose, followed by Mary’s delighted laughter.
He’d arrived much too early. And why had he brought the impossible Mr. Ross with him?
She tried to conjure grievousness toward Mr. Ross for his earlier impudence toward her. She wanted to be offended at him for the impropriety of brazenly staring at her bare feet. After all, any gentleman would have averted his attention or at the very least pretended not to notice.
But inexplicably she couldn’t maintain her feelings of insult, not with the memory of the past evening and the way his blue eyes hadn’t been able to let go of hers, or the way his fingers had skimmed her cheek.
She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, at the strong square line of his jaw and the seriousness with which he held himself. She couldn’t deny that he’d turned into a fine-looking man.
Mr. Cranch swung his new watch by a silver chain, having amused them with the story of how a street urchin had stolen his previous watch right out of his pocket and how he’d been forced to buy this new one. “And to think I could have purchased this beauty for half the price in London.”
“I’m sure you could have purchased it for half here too,” Mr. Ross said, tossing out another of his cantankerous comments. “If o
nly you were less gullible and had more business sense about you.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Cranch flashed a winsome smile. “Mr. Ross is correct. The shopkeepers love to see me because they know they’ll make a hefty profit whenever I visit.”
Mary laughed and she leaned closer to Mr. Cranch. Her pale face was flushed, and her eyes had a lovesick droop to them. From the smile that graced Mother’s lips, Susanna decided Mary need not worry about Mother disapproving of the match.
Susanna stifled a smile of her own, knowing later in bed Mary would keep her up again whispering about the wonderful Mr. Cranch.
“The British have continued to raise the prices of their imported goods,” Mr. Ross said, “and there’s no use pretending otherwise.”
“’Twould seem only natural to me that they do so.” Father sat back in his chair and took a sip of his Madeira. “Considering the enormous cost of the war with France.”
“But raising prices and subsequently demanding the colonists purchase all their goods only from England will create trouble.” Mr. Ross’s retort was decisive. “The king is a fool to make more demands without first consulting us for input and cooperation.”
The conversation grew suddenly silent. The crackling of the logs burning in the wide fireplace and the distant clank of pans in the kitchen sifted through the awkward silence.
Mr. Ross’s words bordered on seditious, and they all knew it.
“Erelong,” he continued, apparently undaunted by the controversial topic, “the British will be adding taxes to everything.”
She squirmed, waiting for one of the other men to speak.
But Father only sipped his wine, and Mr. Cranch was whispering something to Mary.
If no one else would challenge Mr. Ross’s rebellious thoughts, then they left her little choice but to speak up. “Why shouldn’t the British add taxes? Our mother country has incurred a staggering debt as a result of the war—a war they fought on our behalf.”
“Oh, you can be sure the war was not entirely for our benefit,” he countered.
She toyed with the edge of her napkin. “Why should the people of England be held responsible and suffer for the cost of our war? Surely we can abide a few extra taxes to alleviate the burden that should rightly be ours?”
In the glow of the candelabras on either side of the long table, Mr. Ross’s eyes turned into smoldering embers.
“That’s easy for you to say, Miss Smith.” His voice was taut. “You and your family can easily bear the burden of higher prices and taxes. But what of those who cannot?”
“The British army in the colonies benefits us all, poor and wealthy alike.”
“I’m not entirely sure having ten thousand Redcoats upon our shores is beneficial to anybody.”
Mother peered at her over the edge of her glass. She leveled a frown at Susanna, one that said she’d overstepped the bounds of propriety again.
But Susanna couldn’t seem to stop herself from expressing her thoughts as Mr. Ross sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin, and watched her, inviting—even anticipating—her rebuttal.
“Should we not be grateful for the protection of so fine an army?” she asked.
“The requirement to quarter them only adds to the burden of the colonists, especially during a time of peace. I’m beginning to think the soldiers are here not so much for keeping peace as they are for enforcing the king’s unpopular policies.”
His responses were as quick and intelligent as they’d been at the trial—and entirely stimulating. She pretended not to see Mother’s deepening frown. “God has meant for men to obey their kings. Do you really think you know better than the king and the learned men of parliament?”
“How can men three thousand miles away know our needs better than we do?”
“And just how can God up in heaven know what’s best for us? Surely we must trust He has our best interests in mind even when we don’t understand His ways.”
Mr. Cranch gave a soft whistle. “Ben, my stuffy old friend, I do believe you’ve finally met your equal in Miss Smith’s convincing tongue.”
“I’ve always thought Susanna overly forthright,” Mother said, rising from the table, signaling the end of their meal and conversation.
But Mr. Ross didn’t move. Instead he held Susanna’s gaze, and a slow, satisfied smile crept across his lips, one that spread into his eyes, one that seemed meant for her alone.
For the first time since their encounter yesterday, a small blossom of hope unfurled inside her. Was it possible they didn’t have to be enemies anymore? Could he find the charity within himself to forgive her for her past mistakes?
Tentatively she offered him a smile in return. She might not agree with his seditious leanings, but she could appreciate a fine mind when she encountered one.
As they exited the dining room and congregated in the front parlor, she caught herself watching him on more than one occasion. Mary played the spinet and sang. Then Father concluded their evening by reading a passage of Scripture. When he was done, he managed to convince Mother and William to accompany him to his study.
Susanna concealed a smile behind her hand at Father’s clever maneuvering to allow Mary some time alone with Mr. Cranch. Of course, Mother hadn’t protested too loudly, another sign that perhaps Mary had finally captured the attention of a man that lived up to Mother’s high standards.
After they were gone, Mr. Cranch wasted no time in pulling his chair next to Mary’s.
Mr. Ross rose from his seat by the fireplace and glanced first to the window, then to the door. From his caged expression, she guessed he’d rather be anywhere but there.
Susanna shifted against the hard seat of her chair, wishing she could sneak off to the warm kitchen hearth and read. But she was a prisoner in the room too. Although her parents hadn’t said the words, she knew they expected her to remain with Mary and act as her chaperone.
Mr. Ross glanced in her direction.
Quickly she pretended to be busy tucking a stray hair back into the smooth coiffure Phoebe had managed to help her arrange in spite of the earlier tangles. The slave had even added a white rosette to the coif, a larger version of the striped ribbon rosettes sewn among the pleated robings of her sleeve.
When he stared at her again, this time longer, her heart sputtered. She ought to stare right back at him to show him he wasn’t having any effect on her. But she had the impression he’d see through her façade.
Instead she focused on the embroidered edge of her gown, which opened in the front to reveal her silky petticoat beneath.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see him crossing the room. When he stopped in front of her, she couldn’t resist lifting her gaze to meet his keen one.
“Alas, Miss Smith,” he said, “it appears we’ve been relegated to act as chaperones to our enamored companions. Hence we may as well make the most of it.”
“They are enamored, aren’t they?” Although she was happy for her sister, a twinge of jealousy tugged at her nonetheless. Young men paying court to Mary had always been as plentiful as herrings. And since Mary must wed first, Susanna had conceded her beautiful fair-haired sister to the suitors. None had appealed to her anyway. None had what really mattered—justice, honesty, prudence—among other virtues. Instead they were governed by self-interest.
“Have you read any Milton today?” He lowered himself into the chair next to her.
She shook her head, testing the sincerity of his words. Was he planning to belittle her again for reading? Or perhaps he would snub her as so many men did when they learned of her love of books. Most men didn’t want a wife who was an independent thinker or more knowledgeable than them.
“Are you planning to condemn me, Mr. Ross, like so many of your sex?”
“That depends.”
“And what exactly is so wrong about a woman learning to read something other than the Bible? Isn’t a woman’s mind equal to that of a man?”
“I can see that yours is.”<
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“The intellectual capabilities of all women are no less than those of men,” she insisted. “If we weren’t denied the same opportunities of education, then we would at last have the chance to prove it.”
“So what are you saying, Miss Smith? That girls should be able to attend school alongside the boys? Perhaps even Harvard?” His voice held the hint of laughter. “What next? Women opening law practices or becoming ministers?”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Then what reason could women possibly have for higher learning?”
“Education has the capability of making women better wives and mothers. Since families are the cornerstone of our society, we should strengthen women’s abilities to teach their children because then we strengthen our society as a whole.”
He sat forward and studied her, the humor fading from his countenance.
She held her breath, waiting for his response, wondering how he could possibly argue with her further.
“Go on. Perhaps you’ll convince me yet.”
“Very well.” Her heart quavered. Never had a man cared what she had to say on anything, let alone when it came to providing girls with educational opportunities. “In youth the mind is like a tender twig, which you may bend as you please, but in age it’s like a sturdy oak and hard to move.”
He nodded, the earnestness of his expression spurring her on.
“Therewith young girls ought to sit alongside their brothers and gain the same knowledge while they are in their youth. Why are they any less deserving?”
“Am I to surmise you’ve been denied this very thing?”
She pushed down the bitter disappointment that surfaced whenever she thought about the education her parents had given to William but refused her. “My father has always been lenient about my use of his library. And Grandmother Eve has done her best to take me under her limited tutelage.”
“But that hasn’t been enough, has it?” he finished for her softly, his expression almost tender.
The question echoed the pain in her heart and sent a lump into her throat.