Legacy Redeemed (Redeemed, Restored, Reclaimed Book 1)

by Aubrey Grayson

  She heard a shout from the driver, and Amy stirred. Susannah looked out the window to see a squat little medieval church tower rising above the trees. Wildflowers tumbled in the wind, filling the meadow in front of the church. Their sweetness rose to mingle with the sea breeze. A rhythmic distant rumble resolved into the sound of waves crashing against the shore, and she realized how very near the ocean they must be. Susannah’s blood thrummed with excitement and even hope. What an excellent place to determine one’s next adventure.

  But even as she felt the hope rising in her chest, she reminded herself to stay practical. She’d have to watch herself to keep from falling in love with this town. Because whatever happened here, she couldn’t stay long.

  “Is this it, then?” Amy said, having woken enough to take her own peek at their surroundings. “It’s lovely. If you’re not careful, I might just have to find myself a position here.” Amy’s grin suggested a jest, but her words echoed Susannah’s own thoughts so perfectly, she knew that she had best take them seriously.

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t blame you,” she said in her most lighthearted tone, raising her eyebrows a bit and pursing her lips over a smile, hoping that Amy didn’t see her true feelings on the matter.

  The carriage pulled near the church, but the driver indicated they should wait for him. And that was wise, since of course the church was empty this weekday afternoon. It lay on the outskirts of town, an island to itself, so they headed farther down the road toward town. They had only just resumed the road when they passed a farm cart and were directed westward to the vicarage.

  Within a few minutes, they arrived at their destination. The vicarage was a simple manor house, not enormous, but not small. Susannah thought it slightly larger than the home she grew up in. The lawn was more manicured than that of the church. Elegant, but missing the cheerful blooms of the churchyard. Fruit trees bloomed along the drive. The sea was more distant here, and but for the seabirds passing in the sky, one would not know how near it was.

  As they pulled up the drive, anxiety warred with the hope. What if he turned her away? Where then would she go? She had precious few funds to waste traveling all the way back to London. Or to one of her perhaps less-than-welcoming sisters. No, she needed to stay here. Even if he resisted, she’d have to convince him. She looked over at Amy, whose expression mirrored Susannah’s anxiousness. A wave of guilt washed over her for dragging the poor girl along into her precarious situation. She had more than herself to worry about, so she pushed her fear away and squared her shoulders, rehearsing her lines and putting on a character, just as she had done long ago when performing in school pageants and plays. Her mother’s father, the nobleman, hadn’t wanted much to do with his low-class granddaughters, but he did finance their schooling, and in this moment, Susannah was grateful.

  This unknown vicar held her future in his hands, but she had to face him with poise and confidence. Besides, what did it matter what he thought of her, as long as he allowed her the use of the cottage? It was possible that all she was doing here was buying herself some time. She might have no choice but to return to London a few weeks hence, ready to fall in with the awful plans of her guardian, with no more foolish dreams of love or happiness. She wished she still believed in God. If she did, maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone right now.

  In the interest of comforting Amy, she smiled and said, “You wait here until I make the arrangements. With any luck it will just be a few moments.”

  Amy nodded back uncertainly. “Yes, Miss Susannah.”

  The driver handed Susannah down, and she knocked on the large white door. An elderly butler swung the door open. His mouth opened to speak, but then closed again, as though he had been expecting her to be someone he knew and was surprised to find a stranger.

  “May I help you, miss?” He recovered quite nicely.

  Susannah beamed at him. It had been her experience that wide smiles worked wonders with elderly men. “Why, yes, I believe you can. I am here to see the vicar.” What was it that Prince Charming had called him? Mr. Roberts? Mr. Richardson?

  The butler’s brows lowered in confusion and possibly concern. “You are here to see Mr. Robinson?”

  Ah! Robinson, that was it! She smiled even more broadly and nodded.

  This was not, it seemed, the answer the butler wished to hear. He appeared to be working something out in his head. Apparently, the vicar didn’t have many young lady callers. At least not unknown ones. Susannah continued to smile. Perhaps if she pretended this was a normal request, the servant would see it that way too.

  Finally, he seemed to resign himself to the idea that she must be shown in. He ushered her in with a rather rickety bow.

  Susannah followed him into the house, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder at Amy in the carriage. The butler showed Susannah to a small drawing room. The house was quiet, servants moving in a hushed manner. Susannah almost felt as though she’d intruded on a family in mourning. She earnestly hoped she had not. If so, no wonder the butler had looked perplexed.

  She tried not to fret as she waited, so she set about distracting herself by examining her surroundings. She sat on a slightly faded but comfortable blue sofa. The furniture seemed well used and cozy. It was the type of room in which friends would settle down for long conversations to pass long winter—or summer—nights. Just now, the curtains were half drawn, leaving the room slightly dim, but the windows were large, and there were several of them, so she suspected that dim was not the usual state of the room.

  Presently, the door reopened. A woman a few years older than Susannah smiled warmly at her. Her rich auburn hair was pulled back in a simple chignon. Her cheeks were rosy, and she seemed to glow in the deep-green morning gown she wore. But perhaps the glow came from another source, for her belly was gently swollen with child. “Good afternoon.” She smiled at Susannah, her green eyes sparkling with warmth and welcome. “May I help you? I’m Letitia Powell, Mr. Robinson’s daughter.”

  Susannah rose from her seat, smiling gently back at the woman. She sensed the confidant smile she’d used with the butler would be out of place with this woman. “I’m Mrs. Susannah Stanhope. I wished to speak with the vicar. But I’m very much afraid we’ve intruded.” She and Amy had contrived the name on their journey. It belonged to an aunt of Susannah’s, who’d always been kind to her. She hated to deceive anyone, but Hector might search for her, and anyway, it would be better that no one knew she was unmarried. People didn’t take kindly to young, unmarried ladies flitting about the countryside unchaperoned.

  Mrs. Powell took a chair near the sofa and waved for Susannah to sit again, her friendly aspect never wavering. “Not at all. However, I’m afraid that my father is recovering from an illness and isn’t able to receive company. May I be of service? Or may I take him a message of some sort?”

  Susannah felt her bravery and practiced words depart. Suddenly her actions seemed so foolish and brazen. She, an unattached female, had traveled alone for three days to a town where she knew not a single soul, on the basis of an unconfirmed rumor from a strange man wearing a mask. She gaped at Mrs. Powell while she determined where to start.

  Mrs. Powell leaned a bit forward in her chair, head tilted to one side and brows wrinkled with concern. Her eyes seemed to see straight through all of Susannah’s fears, picking up on the anxiety racing through her.

  “How can I help, Mrs. Stanhope?”

  The kindness reflected in Mrs. Powell’s face was almost Susannah’s undoing. A girl such as she, cut off from her friends and sisters by the whims of fate, would love nothing more than to sink into the couch and tell this woman the whole truth of her past years, the whole reason for her journey here. But kind eyes or no, Susannah couldn’t put this woman in such a position. The law required wards to be returned to their guardians, after all.

  Susannah cleared her throat. “Well, you see…” she started. She took a breath, shook her head a little, and tried again. “I-I feel very foolish.” She smoothe
d her skirts. “You see, I was told that he kept a cottage. For those who had much on their mind.”

  Mrs. Powell’s brow rose in surprise. “The Thinking Cottage? You came to stay at the Thinking Cottage?”

  Blood rushed into Susannah’s cheeks. How presumptuous this kind woman must find her! “Y-yes, but of course we did not realize that your father has been ill.” She stood suddenly, overwhelmed by her own behavior, unwilling to bring these strangers into her tangled mess of a life. “We will not put you out. We will find a room in an inn and return to London in the morning.”

  Mrs. Powell stood too, and she reached out a restraining hand. “We, Mrs. Stanhope?”

  Susannah hesitated. “I have a maid with me.”

  Mrs. Powell nodded. “Ah. I see.” She still had a hand on Susannah’s arm. “Please do not interpret my surprise as a lack of welcome. It’s only that I can’t remember a woman ever occupying the cottage, though we have as much to think about as any man. That is all. We would love to have you and your maid in the cottage.” She gave Susannah’s arm a gentle squeeze, an apologetic smile gracing her face, and compassion in her eyes. “Please stay.”

  Susannah hesitated. “You are certain?” It would be so easy to let herself see friendship where none existed.

  “Indeed I am! It will be lovely to have another lady so near. In fact, if you’ll just allow me to get my pelisse, I’ll show you to the cottage right now.” She nodded firmly at Susannah, then smiled and walked briskly to the door. But just as she passed the threshold, her head darted back into the room. “Where is your maid?”

  “Waiting in the carriage until arrangements were made.”

  “I see. There isn’t much of a road between here and the cottage. Perhaps it would be best to walk there. If you will retrieve your maid, I will send a couple of men to retrieve your luggage and bring it to the cottage for us.”

  Susannah nodded and headed for the carriage.

  Amy had only enough time to step down, and Susannah to settle with the driver, before Mrs. Powell joined them. She smiled a greeting at Amy, then led them down a path that wound away from the road and toward the back of the house. The countryside sang with color, the green of the grass and trees broken up with pinks and blues and reds of wildflowers. Mrs. Powell was tall, and it showed in her stride. Susannah, unaccustomed to long country walks after two years in London, struggled to keep up, a fact made all the more humbling by Mrs. Powell’s rather advanced state of maternity. If Susannah was right, and she almost always was in these cases, she guessed the babe would make an appearance before summer was out.

  Indeed, Mrs. Powell passed the time in friendly chatter, her breath completely unaffected by exertion. “The cottage has its own kitchen, but it’s much too late this afternoon for your maid to get you settled and go marketing and prepare food. There’s an inn in town, but as you’re traveling without a male protector, I think it would be much better for the two of you to return and dine with us this evening.”

  “Oh no, we couldn’t impose further!” Susannah protested, doing her best to disguise her lack of breath.

  “But you wouldn’t be imposing! Indeed, my father has only this week begun joining me for dinner after his illness. He’s been without any society save for me and the servants for so long, I know he’d be grateful for your company. He especially loves to meet visitors to the cottage.” Her sincere expression turned wry. “Besides, you might as well get used to it, because tomorrow is Sunday, and you won’t be marketing then either!”

  Amy, who followed closely behind, said, “Mrs. Stanhope could use some company other than mine. And I would enjoy dining with your staff.”

  Mrs. Powell grinned at that. “Mrs. Bartlett, our housekeeper, will enjoy having another woman to chat with as well!”

  Susannah had no choice but to agree, and frankly, she looked forward to dining with this lovely woman. Truth be told, she most often dined alone as well. A dinner with anyone besides Hector and whatever mistress he had with him would be a welcome treat indeed.

  Susannah was relieved when a lovely thatched-roof cottage came into view. The light-colored stone appeared almost solid white, particularly next to the dark gray of the thatching. A small, unruly garden adorned the left of the house. Mrs. Powell grimaced as she noticed it. “We have the staff keep the inside up, but my father always tended the garden himself. Since his illness I’m afraid it’s been neglected. Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can find someone to come patch it up for you.”

  Susannah nodded. In London, there had always been someone for all the chores. But just as she was about to agree to Mrs. Powell’s plan, a slight breeze lifted the delicate scent of the garden to her nose—all earth and sea and flowers—and she remembered hours spent with her father in the gardens at home. He had loved getting his hands dirty and seeing something beautiful bloom from his handiwork. Susannah felt a sudden longing to build something beautiful. “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. Although perhaps I might borrow your father’s gardening tools whilst I’m in residence?”

  “Why, of course, if you wish it!” Mrs. Powell looked surprised but pleased.

  By this time, they had reached the neat little cottage door. Mrs. Powell stepped through and led the way into a cheerful compact room that obviously served as the public area. The door opened directly in front of a well-used dining table with four chairs. To the left was another modest-sized room with a large hearth equipped with pots and kettles, a worktable, a basin for water, and other kitchen accoutrements. To the right of the table, a sitting area invited conversation. Two small windows illuminated both the kitchen and the sitting area, but the white paint on the walls and the light, airy curtains made the room feel bright despite the size of the windows.

  Mrs. Powell gestured to a door on the back wall of the sitting area. “Through that door lies the primary bedchamber. Behind the kitchen there is also a small servants’ quarters for your maid.”

  She looked expectantly at Susannah, and Susannah obliged, moving into the little bedroom. The walls were a pale sea green, with lovely white cotton curtains on the window at the back of the room. A simple mahogany dressing table and looking glass stood directly in front of the door, the bed to the right. The pillows on the comfortable-looking bed were white as well, but the top was covered in the most intricate quilt Susannah had ever seen.

  “How lovely!” she exclaimed, closing the distance to the bed so that she could run her fingers over the surface of the quilt.

  Mrs. Powell beamed. “Thank you. My mother was an avid quilter and produced many such beauties.”

  Susannah took in a deep breath. So this woman also knew the pain of losing a mother. She smiled sadly at Mrs. Powell. “I have very few things in my possession that belonged to my mother. How lovely to have something so beautiful remain after she is gone.”

  “Yes, I am grateful for that.”

  “I’ve never seen this pattern before. What is it?”

  “It’s called a Mariner’s Compass. Our community is mostly comprised of sailors of one sort or another, and Mother made it in their honor. But it also has another meaning, because it reminds us that God helps us navigate through life as well.”

  Susannah bit back her first reaction and smiled tightly to hide her thoughts. Where had God been the last few years? Certainly not providing her with any direction.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Powell didn’t seem to notice Susannah’s bitterness. She cocked her head a bit, her expression kind. “Well, what say you, Mrs. Stanhope? Will the cottage suit your purpose? Will you and your ladies’ maid manage here?”

  Susannah smiled, more truthfully this time, at her hostess and Amy, who stood behind Mrs. Powell at the entrance to the bedchamber. “We shall manage just fine. Yes, I do believe this cottage will be just what I need. And with few servants and a garden to tend to, I shall have plenty to keep me busy. My father always said that the fastest way to a clear mind was through busy hands.”

  Mrs. Powell nodded and beamed again, making Sus
annah feel well and truly welcome.

  “Well then, I’ll leave you to settle in. We’ll expect you in two hours’ time for dinner.”

  Chapter 8

  At the appointed time, Susannah made her way back to the vicarage. This time, the butler was friendlier. Letitia, as Mrs. Powell asked Susannah to call her, was already waiting for her in the same drawing room she’d been in earlier in the day, as was an elderly gentleman, bundled up and seated in a wheeled chair. Letitia introduced him as her father, Mr. Edward Robinson. He didn’t seem like the type of gentleman who took kindly to being incapacitated, and he frequently fidgeted with the blankets, as if to throw them off and arise. But then he would steal a look at his daughter and relax his hands. Indeed, Susannah wouldn’t have known from his healthy build and complexion that he was ill at all if it weren’t for the fact that he would occasionally be overtaken by spasms of coughing that lasted several moments.

  After the first such episode, Mr. Robinson turned to her, tears still glistening in his eyes. “My dear Mrs. Stanhope, please do forgive me. I am certain you are used to dining with gentlemen far more dashing than myself. I will endeavor to be as charming as possible when I am not excluded from doing so by my coughing fits.”

  Letitia grinned proudly and rolled her eyes heavenward. “That’s my father. Ever the scamp.”

  Susannah smiled at him. “I see that you are off to a good start in fulfilling that promise. I look forward to being charmed.”

  Mr. Robinson beamed back. “Now, Mrs. Stanhope, please indulge and old man’s curiosity. I understand you are staying in my cottage? Does this mean you have much to consider?”

  This simple question sent a chill down Susannah’s back, reminding her of the serious nature of her situation. She feared her smile fled, so she pasted a new one, rather lacking in sincerity, onto her face. She nodded, bracing for more questions about her solitary state.