She heaved a sigh. “But my slender purse must dictate my purchase. So I shall take a loaf of the cinnamon bread and three of the scones, if you please.”
The baker chuckled and tucked the sweets into brown-paper wrapping, tying the packages with a bit of string. “Here, try this marble cake. I made it this morning and I cannot tell if it’s any good. You’d be doing me a favor if you gave your honest opinion.”
Was this charity? She shouldn’t have mentioned her lack of funds. She didn’t want to beg for food, but...the kindly baker pressed the warm slice into her outstretched hand. At this point, it would be beyond rude if she said no. So she took a small bite. Oh...it was delightful—chocolate and vanilla swirled together. She finished the rest in two large bites.
The baker laughed. “I suppose it passes your test.”
Susannah nodded, wiping the crumbs from her gloves. “By far the best I’ve had anywhere.”
The baker nodded. “Good to hear that I have most of the kingdom beat.” She handed the parcels over to Susannah. “Are you new to the village? You look a little familiar.”
“My sisters and I bought the building down on the corner. I’m setting up shop as a milliner. But my family was here for a while before that. We’ve just moved back from Matlock Bath.”
“Three girls on their own? That’s worthy of applause. When I started this bake shop, I was only sixteen. I’d lost my mama and papa within a year of each other and had to support my brothers.” She extended her hand, grasping Susannah’s in a warm grip. “My name’s Bess. So happy to welcome you back to Tansley.”
“Thank you, Bess. My name is Susannah—Susannah Siddons.” It had been years since they’d lived here, of course, but still—perhaps the name would ring a bell.
“Siddons? I thought you looked familiar. You must be part of that Siddons family that used to live here. A gentleman and his wife.” The baker tilted her head, drawing her brows together. “Your mama and papa?”
“Yes. We moved away five years ago.” She hugged the brown-paper parcels against her chest.
Bess nodded, the confused look still clouding her eyes. Susannah took a deep inward breath. That was enough reminiscing and chatting for the moment. No need to explain why the gentleman’s daughter had returned home to work for her living. Another moment and she would be howling her woes onto Bess’s ample floury chest. “I had better be going. My sisters are as hungry as I am, I’m sure.”
“Well, come again anytime. You’re as welcome to this village as sunshine and rain. We need a good milliner. I’ve been making my own hats for years, and they look like a burlap bag tied with twine.” If Bess was still puzzling through the mystery of the Siddons family downfall, she had the grace to hide it with a brisk nod.
Susannah managed her first genuine smile since their arrival. “Thank you. I shall look to you as my first customer.” She waved and exited the shop. She made it through her second encounter in the village, and this time she hadn’t made a fool of herself. In fact, she might have made a friend. She certainly made a customer. Funny how a slice of marble cake and a simple conversation could make everything seem warmer...less bleak, at any rate.
She tucked her chin down, fighting happy tears. Maybe everything would work out, after all. One could hope, anyway.
“Susannah.” A tall form stood before her on the path, blotting out the sunlight. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She glanced up at Daniel Hale as he stood before her, his smile as mischievous as ever, emanating power and self-assurance. Did he ever have a moment’s doubt? Did he ever see merely the sober side of any situation? ’Twas unlikely. As long as she’d known him, he’d been as brazen and carefree as a wild creature. That’s why she’d come to him so long ago when she needed help, for he always found a way to escape any scrapes of his own making. “Of course.”
He took her parcels and offered her his arm. “Been to Bess’s? I can tell just by the aroma. The cinnamon bread she makes is a poem. You made an excellent choice.”
She managed a tight smile. She was in no mood for politesse. If only he would start the conversation. The unbearably difficult conversation, which she was too stubborn to broach. Let Daniel bring up the subject. After all, her difficult position could very well be laid at his threshold.
“I confess I was amazed to see you yesterday.” He cleared his throat. “I knew right away who you were. Your eyes...and that hair...”
Susannah placed a defensive hand on the back of her neck. Her hair was still neatly coiled beneath her bonnet, though. She hated her hair. Ever since she was a child and had been called “Carrots.” Of course, it was redder then. As she grew up, it darkened into auburn. But even so, any mention of her hair still rankled.
“Why are you here?” he continued, his voice softening. “Why didn’t you write and tell me you were coming to Tansley?”
Did he actually care? And was he serious? Surely not. “I didn’t know you were here. Or else—” she blurted, and then froze.
“Or else you wouldn’t have come?” he finished, his voice oddly strained.
She glanced sideways up at him. His mouth was turned down, his face slightly reddened. Was he angry? Certainly not. If anyone had earned the right to be angry, it was she. The old frustration welled in her chest, and the desire to throw the parcels in the street and stomp them flat assailed her. She must control her rage. Here she was in Tansley for less than a day, and already her temper had nearly gotten the best of her twice.
She sighed and slowly counted to ten. “I didn’t know you were here. The last I’d heard of you, you were on that merchant vessel. And I was trying not to ask for anyone’s help again.” ’Twas better to stick to the facts of the situation—if she did so, perhaps she could keep her emotions in check. He had never written to her, and the knowledge that he had forgotten her so carelessly burned deep embarrassment and anger into her very soul.
“The last I heard of you, you were still living in Matlock. Why did you leave?”
“My aunt and uncle died in a carriage accident, two years after my parents passed away. While I stayed with them that last year, I became an apprentice milliner.” She paused, unsure if she should tell him the whole truth. It was rather a ridiculous, sad little history. “My father left us a small inheritance. I bought this building with it so we could start a milliner’s shop of our own.” Thank the good Lord above, they were nearing the shop now. Her sisters would be awake and hungry, and the time for living in the past was over. “I hope all is well at Goodwin Hall.”
“My brother died,” he responded briefly. “I am master of Goodwin now.” His face was still turned away from her, but the slight catch in his voice spoke of misery.
“I’m so sorry.” And she was. Daniel and his brother had never got on very well, but his brother’s death must have been a shock to him all the same. He’d certainly fled from his father as often as he could, and his brother, too. It would be difficult indeed to be called home to assume control of everything he’d cast aside. After all, Daniel had always lived as though there would never be any consequences to any of his actions.
And that was precisely why she was in her current position. Daniel simply couldn’t be trusted to live up to his promises. So while she could sympathize with the loss of his brother, she could never let herself forget that she must earn her own way in the world. She must never trust anyone again—certainly not Daniel.
His expression had not changed, but he clenched his jaw at her words. “Thank you.”
“Well, I should be going.” She extricated her arm from his clasp and reached up to get her parcels. The time for reminiscing was over, and she must move on with her life.
He held on to the packages, looking down at her with eyes so green they took her breath away. “What are we going to do about this other little matter? You are my betrothed,