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, after all.”
* * *
As soon as Daniel said the words, he was ready to take them back. Susannah’s face paled, and the freckles that marched across the bridge of her nose stood out in bold relief. He never meant to anger her. But dash it all, his head pounded like a big bass drum from last night’s drinking bout, and thinking of the delicate way to phrase things had simply fled.
’Twas easy enough to ignore their engagement when an ocean separated them. But now they lived in the same village. He must acknowledge the truth now.
Susannah trembled, and he fought the urge to steady her. This was not maidenly fear—Susannah was in the grip of her formidable temper. Her hazel eyes had darkened to a deep grayish green hue, a sure sign of the storm to come. “There’s no need to do anything about our engagement. Only my uncle and aunt knew.”
“Even so...” He hesitated. A smart man would leave now. Susannah would likely throw something at him in a moment. But he rather enjoyed tangling with her; she always put up a jolly good fight. “Can’t I do anything to help you? Anything at all?”
“No.” She made another grab for her parcels, but he grasped them tight. As long as he had the bread, he held her there with him. He wasn’t ready to let go. “You helped me escape Uncle Arthur by proposing to me. A letter every now and then would have been nice, since I thought we would marry some day, but I suppose you were too busy.” She spat out the words as though they left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“What about you? You never wrote to me.” He took a step backward, putting more distance between them. Would she follow? She took a step forward, still intent on retrieving her parcels. “Perhaps you were the one who jilted me first, Susannah. Is it better to be making bonnets for a pittance?”
She raised her chin in a defiant manner, a flush stealing across her cheeks. “There is dignity in all work, so I’ll thank you not to mock me. And besides, I did write to you. You never wrote back. I should thank you, Daniel. You taught me the value of independence well. I shan’t ask anyone else for help again.”
What a hash he’d made of that.
But at least they were starting to speak, to discuss the problems that had plagued their engagement for these three years. He’d ignore the letter-writing for the moment—’twas ancient history, after all. And he must stop riding roughshod over her pride. He might try reason instead. “But surely, as the daughter of a gentleman, you’re ashamed to live in such a place, and to earn your living by your hands.” He looked down at her—how could he soften her temper? If only they could speak to each other without anger, as they did when they were children. “And your sisters? What of them?”
She drew herself up, throwing her shoulders back. “My sisters will do quite well, thank you. In fact, we are all doing splendidly, so long as we are together.”
He nodded. “I must confess I am jealous of your closeness with your sisters. Never really understood the closeness of other families.” His mouth quirked with bitterness. His dour, domineering father and staid, lethargic brother certainly held no charms for him.
His admission helped. Her eyes had lost some of their hard, glittering light. “I truly am sorry, Daniel. And I appreciate your offers to help. But I just can’t prevail upon you for assistance the rest of my life. Independence is everything to me now. I must find my own way.”
Behind her, the door opened and one of her sisters poked her head out. “Is everything all right, Sue?” she called.
“Yes, I’ll be in momentarily. Start brewing some tea, will you, please?” Susannah tossed the words over her shoulder.
He handed the parcels back. Their interview was now over, and he must surrender with as good grace as he could. Once he rid himself of this wretched headache, he might be able to think more clearly. Susannah spoke as though she released him from any obligation, but was that really the best thing for both of them? And did she really mean it?
“Come to Goodwin Hall for tea sometime,” he offered. “You and your sisters are always welcome.” It was a mere social gesture but all he could think of at the moment.
“Thank you.” She glanced up at him uncertainly. The fire had gone out of her, and when it left, the traces of her fatigue remained. “You were always a charmer, Daniel.”
Something in her tone made him pause—allure of any kind was apparently not high on the lady’s list of male virtues. One auburn curl had pulled loose from under her bonnet, and he resisted the mischievous urge to reach out and grasp it. He shook his head. “No. I’m not as charming as you think me.”
He touched the brim of his hat and walked away. He refused to look back at the ridiculously run-down cottage that was her stab at independence or at her trim, lovely silhouette as he continued his stroll. Three years he had been engaged to Susannah. Three years. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he had planned for it all to work out. But after hearing nothing from Susannah, he’d pushed the thought of marriage further aside. And it wasn’t until he’d received word that his brother died that he’d had to bow to obligation and come home. The thought of marriage to Susannah was rather daunting; he hated the thought of becoming as violent and grim as his father had been. Or as dreary and drab as his brother had been. Why not avoid the inevitable as long as possible?
And that made sense at the time. Unhappy relationships were his lot in life. He had no idea how a couple in love should act. He’d certainly never seen it for himself.
His mother had died when he was still quite young—hounded to death, so village rumor ran, by her sour and cruel husband. By the time Daniel was old enough to think and feel for himself, Father had lapsed from abusive to merely domineering, while his distant brother sat dully about the house. He hated everything about family. Family meant duties and obligations. Family meant silent meals, recriminations over one’s personal foibles, absentminded reminders that he really never had lived up to anything in his father’s estimation.
And falling in love meant marriage. And marriage led to families. And that would merely start the miserable process all over again.
That was precisely why he’d run away.
The Hall loomed in the distance. Its solid presence nothing more than a stark reminder of his family and his failings. Small wonder he shirked his duties to seek fun and adventure. And now, in the bitterest of ironies, he was in charge of everything he’d once cast aside. And Susannah had returned, too, another link to his regretful past. He craved the abyss that drinking a bit more than he should would bring on. Good thing Paul was coming this evening. He would have someone to drink with, and that was decidedly more cheerful than being alone.
He strode up the drive, his boots crunching on the gravel, preparing to at least get a bit of a head start on Paul.
But—of course, there was a slight hitch in his plans. Paul stood on the front steps, his angular face alight with laughter. “What ho, man? Been to the village to check on Miss Siddons? That’s a