Chapter Five
Can I help you with something, sir?”
He barely heard the question, and had a bit of trouble processing the words.
“Sir? Do you require some assistance?”
Now it was firm, and a little louder.
Daft little bird, he was hardly deaf.
“Erm… are you lost, sir? I can help you with whatever you are looking for.”
Colin finally looked up at the soft, rather confused tone of the young woman who had approached him. She was a pretty little thing. He would have noticed that a long time ago, had he been the man he once was. He would have already flirted with her, complimented a dozen or more of her features, spoken words of semi-original poetry, made her giggle, and have her doing him all sorts of favors, some of which might have gotten her fired from employ. Not for indecency, mind, but because it was bad for business.
Now, however, all he could do was smile very blandly and respond, “No, thank you.”
Her smile was rather quizzical, and she gave him a look, no doubt a chance to change his mind.
Impertinent chit, he thought rather harshly when she finally turned and walked away. Why did it matter to her that he did not need help?
He scowled and moved to another part of the shop, looking without really seeing.
Then it hit him. She was perfectly right to repeatedly ask if he needed assistance, and to question his answer. Here he was, a grown man of thirty-two, perusing the items for sale in a modiste shop. And he had been doing so in the stocking section.
With no care for who might see, he clapped himself very soundly on the forehead. He had been completely unaware of where he was or what he was doing, and was two paces short of losing his ruddy mind! What in the world had gotten into him?
An involuntary glower darkened his features as he was brought back to it, yet again, for what had to be the thousandth time today.
Susannah.
Even her name, the mere thought of it, made him bristle and it was all he could do to keep from snarling.
Three days since he had seen her, had spoken to her, and in those three days, she had become his obsession. He had hardly slept, and when he had managed it, his dreams had been plagued with images of her, as she had been and as she was now, and imagining all that had lain between the times. His curiosity bordered on lunacy now, and the secret was dangerously close to coming out.
His sisters had noticed his moods, and the poor things had been confused by his sudden darkness and indifference. They had grown used to his cheerful, teasing, carefree self; they could not reconcile that brother with the one before them. He’d even heard that Bitty had gone to Kit the next time Rosie threatened her. Kit, of all people! It was madness, complete and utter madness.
His guilt knew no bounds where they were concerned. He owed them all his attention and all his efforts, not some mindless and useless lump of a man that ignored them. They already had that in a father, and no one needed to be reminded of that, least of all girls so young.
For pity’s sake, even Tibby had noticed his change, and that was something he did not need at all. It was quite the blessing that she was so involved with the girls and their needs and desires and making them feel at home, or else she might have focused on him entirely and that was one inquisition that he would be powerless against. If England ever needed aid in interrogation, they would have no greater asset than Lady Tabitha Raeburn.
So irritated had she been by his behavior this morning, when he was supposed to be watching and appreciating the girls’ newly acquired dancing skills, that she banished him from the house, his own house, to fetch the new clothing items from the modiste. And so out of sorts was he that he did not fight her, could not even muster up the effort to protest.
That, he was sure, terrified his sisters. Rosie watched him go, wide-eyed and gaping. He could hardly meet her gaze. Bitty had been close to tears, and he had been sentient enough to reach out and tousle her curls in some show of comfort. And Ginny had latched onto his leg and asked if she could come. He had picked her up, kissed her nose, and said no, which she had not cared for at all.
Even Tibby, quite the consummate actress herself, had been aghast. He could see she had not meant to be serious, the dresses were due to be delivered by carriage later that day, along with the items from the milliners, haberdashers, and who knew where else. She had never expected him to obey her now when he never had before. Her worried expression, unabashed and open, showed him just how dire his situation was.
It was hardly his fault he was so tossed about. Everything, every single pang of guilt and twinge of conscience, could lie squarely and completely upon the slender shoulders of Miss Susannah Merritt, as was. And he would quite happily layer each and every one upon them.
Except some small, but mighty portion of whatever semblance of heart he possessed pounded a steady cadence of betrayal quite angrily against his ribs. Lies. It was all lies, and he knew it.
Oh, he was furious, and quite rightly so. Anybody in the world would side with him on that one, he could safely say that. Anyone who had ever thought themselves in love, or found themselves spurned, or both, would have handed him pitchforks and cheered for his cause. He suspected it would be at least two-thirds of London, and that did not count those in various other parts of the country currently hiding from such pain.
No, he could be angry. He could be angry, upset, and confused. He could demand answers or some sort of explanation. He could refuse to see her, not include her on guest lists, and be undeniably cold when unfortunately confronted by her.
All of that he could do.
What he could not do was entirely blame Susannah for being the chief occupant of his thoughts, and the sole topic of his focus. Hadn’t she always been thus? It was her rightfully earned place within him.
It was not her fault he was going mad because of her. That was his own doing.
And blast his interfering curiosity, and his indomitable will, he could not let it go.
He growled in frustration and rubbed at the place on his brow he had hit. What was he doing here again?
Right. The dresses.
He looked around the room, trying to discern if that sweet little assistant was still fluttering about, knowing he would get far more out of her than he would the proprietor of this fine establishment. Older women never cared as much for his charm, despite his best efforts.
The bell of the door chimed as it opened, and he looked around again to see if the girl would reappear. Surely for the sake of good service, she would have to.
He frowned when nothing happened.
He moved towards the large counter and shelves he saw in a rather poor position in a far corner of the room. Really, whoever constructed the layout and positioning of this place had a very pitiable idea of natural flow and ease of access. Why, he would never have found it at all if he had not been as tall as he was and diligently searching with his keen eye for detail. Not that it mattered, there was no one at the desk to assist anyone at all, let alone the only other patron, who was now heading towards it.
Her plain bonnet was cast down a bit, so she could hardly have seen where she was going well. If she did not mind her footing, she was going to topple over a rather trim mannequin. Suspicious and ever watchful for potential moments of heroism before young ladies, he made his way to possibly intercept the imminent disaster.
Sure enough, she barged headlong into it, and down it began to fall, destined to crash into yet another poorly placed item, a display of ribbons and lace. But, thanks to his fast reflexes and impeccable timing, Colin was instantly there to catch said falling mannequin and thus save the hopefully fair maiden from distress and humiliation.
“That was close,” he said softly with a laugh, his easy rakish demeanor sliding perfectly into form.
“Thank you, sir,” came the relieved reply.
His heart skidded to a halt as he righted the mannequin, straightening himself and stiffening his spine.
Fate was truly unkind.
Slowly, he turned his head only, coldness enveloping him like fog. “Susannah,” he said with all the tautness in his being.
Her blue-green eyes widened and she mouthed his name. If it were possible, she was paler than the last time he had seen her, and she paled still before his eyes. She turned and ran, but this time he was ready for her flight, and caught her arm in a firm grip.
“No,” he growled darkly. “No, you are not getting away that easily.”
“Please, Colin,” she replied, her voice hitching on his name in a way he tried to ignore. “Please. Let go. Let me go.”
He held her more firm. “No.”
Her shoulders sagged, and slowly, she turned to face him. “Colin…”
He shook his head, and gave her the slightest shake. “You are going to start talking to me, and you are going to do it now.”
A steely coldness entered her eyes and her chin lifted. “My life is not your business anymore.”
There was his Susannah. He shouldn’t have been so secretly thrilled about it, and he definitely should not be referring to her as “his.” He cocked his head a touch, giving her a serious look. “Then why are you afraid of me?” he asked softly, his hold on her relaxing.
“What?” she asked in return, her tone higher.
“You are shaking like a leaf. You are frail, tiny, much smaller than you should be. In fact, you look ill.” The closer he looked, the worse it got. Her eyes bore heavy, dark circles and were tinged with a painful sort of red. Her cheekbones were almost harsh in the setting of her face. The lock of hair that had always and ever fallen out of place over her left temple now did so, and he had to clench his free hand to keep from reaching for it, as he had done so often before.
But he was the only one living in the past. Susannah’s jaw tightened and she somehow snatched her arm out of his hold.
“If you are just going to insult me,” she bit out, “I will leave.” She turned on her heel and strode purposefully for the door.
The dark anger that had flowed through him so freely for fifteen years roared to life in his ears. “Don’t you walk away from me again!”
With that, she stopped in her tracks, as if she had come to a wall. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. There was no sound at all but their breathing.
Then he saw it. The slight tremor he had felt when she’d been in his grip now became visible as it coursed through her frame. From her head to her toes, she shook. Then her breath suddenly hitched loudly, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sounds.
Something broke inside of him at that. What, he could not have said, but it sent his feet moving and his throat working absently. He slammed closed the cage around his heart and tried for a stranger’s unaffected air. Awkwardly, his hand patted at her shoulder.
“Come, come, that’s quite enough,” he forced out, his voice uneven with the forced coolness.
She turned from him, unwittingly forcing his hand to settle more firmly on her.
He nearly gasped in shock at what his touch was telling him. She was not only frail in appearance, she was altogether feeble in frame. Her dress, what he had thought so well fitted, even if she were thinner, actually hung fairly loose on her. She was nothing more than skin and bones, and with the faintest pressure, he was sure she would break beneath his hand.
He forced back a swallow and patted her again, his touch far gentler. “There, there, come on.”
She shook her head, her breathing growing more and more frantic.
Colin looked out of the windows and saw more potential customers approaching the store. He exhaled in exasperation. Whatever his feelings, he did not want a scene. He gripped her shoulder and put his other hand on her arm. “For heaven’s sake, come here,” he muttered, steering her in the exact opposite corner of the store, behind some very ugly tartan fabric that no one would want.
Susannah went to put her face in the corner, but he turned her back to him.
“Face me,” he ordered, his tone brusque.
She hiccupped and trembled a bit at the command, then winced and rubbed at her eyes.
“Pull yourself together, woman.” He looked around again, praying that idiotic assistant would stay away.
“Go ahead,” Susannah finally grumbled. “Say something else. Twenty lashes, am I right?”
He gave her a quick look of surprise. “What are you talking about?”
Her tears were nearly gone, save for the tracks on her cheeks, but her breathing was still unsteady. “You are punishing me. Exacting revenge. Eye for an eye.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, looking away. But she was right, wasn’t she? Was that not exactly what he had been doing?
She snorted softly and leaned her head back against the wall with a soft thud. “There is no need to keep me trapped here, Colin. No customers, no scene.” Her voice was laced with a deep sense of fatigue, almost resignation. After what he had just witnessed, it was chilling.
His eyes slowly slid back to her. He couldn’t let her go, not yet. She would disappear for good, and he would never have answers. And yet… He didn’t want to press her. Not like this.
“Can I…” He fumbled for words, still playing the barely polite gentleman. “Can I help you find what you were looking for? A dress, a wrap, whatever you came here to get?”
She raised a brow at him. “Why? So you can tell me how ill it suits or poorly it fits?”
“It would fit poorly,” he said at once. “You’re even more fragile than I thought. What the devil happened to you, Susannah? Or can I call you Susannah?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “You can call me Susannah. Or Miss Hart.”
“Miss?”
One eye opened. “Yes. Not a real name, so don’t bother asking.”
He frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it when he heard the rustling of fabric. He glanced up and saw the assistant organizing something in the back. They were quite out of her sight, and she would never notice them. He looked back down at Susannah to find both eyes open and staring at him without emotion.
“Why are you here?” he asked in a low tone, not bothering to hide his irritation.
“You do not own London, Colin,” she said softly.
That was beside the point. He shook his head at her. “You cannot go until you answer my questions, Susannah.”
She folded her arms across her, which only emphasized the shocking slightness of her frame. She looked down for a long moment, swallowed once, then brought her eyes back up to his.
“I did not come here to purchase something,” she informed him calmly. “I came to ask for work.”
Had she said she were royalty, she could not have stunned him more. He blinked, then blinked again. Work? Her? In a place like this?
“Work?” he repeated aloud, the word feeling odd in his mouth. “Why work? Why do you have to work, Susannah?”
A small muscle in her jaw ticked. “I just so happened to inherit my late husband’s debts. I need the resources to fulfill them.”
Late husband. Late. Husband.
His teeth ground together for a moment. “Who?” he asked darkly.
She shook her head firmly. “No. That I will not tell you, and you can keep me here until dawn, if you wish, but I will not budge.”
Still as stubborn as that girl from Seabrook. Why did that satisfy him?
He grunted and pretended it made no difference. He gave her a careful, thorough look, and she returned the gesture.
“What happened to you, Susannah?” he asked again, his voice no longer harsh, and suddenly he was not asking just about the years of pain, but more.
The slender column of her throat worked a few times. “Life,” she finally said, the word almost an expletive. “Life happened, Colin.”
He sensed that there were several layers to that response, and very few of them pleasant ones. This woman, the one he had hated for so long, had been through something, or several things, and in one way or another, had suffered. She might have broken him, but she was not whole either. Somewhere in that, he also found satisfaction.
And pity.
“Why London?” The question was bitter, as was he, for he did not want to feel pity or sympathy or any sort of connection between them. He did not want to understand, wished to God that she had never crossed his path again. Now that she had, he felt… duty-bound. Was it not the mark of a gentleman to help those who were suffering?
How much of a gentleman was he?
Susannah shrugged against the wall. “I needed a place to be anonymous, a fresh start, and the best opportunity for work would be here. Far better than in Bath.”
“Is that where you’ve been?”
Her eyes had no expression as they stared back, and she made no reply.
Colin closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in agitation. He exhaled slowly, then gripped the back of his neck and looked at her again. She was so calm, so composed staring back at him. It reminded him eerily of the same attitude she had that day fifteen years ago. And yet… she still trembled slightly. Her knees shook beneath her skirts, and it seemed the only thing holding her up was the wall. And if he looked closely, she was not as calm in her breathing as she was in her looks.
Susannah was very, very nervous. And worried. And no doubt a hoard of other emotions.
Again, that same something broke and he groaned a small sigh. “What kind of work?” he mumbled.
She blinked once. “I beg your pardon?”
What he wouldn’t give to ask her to repeat that phrase a few hundred thousand times. He pushed the impulse back and put his hands on his hips. “What kind of work are you looking for?”
She looked at him as if he had sprouted a spare set of arms.
Impatient and not understanding himself, he made a slightly dramatic gesture for her to tell him.
She swallowed. “Well… Anything, really. I thought… to try for a companion or a governess. I have some skills and education. But those are harder to come by, particularly with so few references. I can sew and launder, so that opens up a different set of options. I worked in a hospital before, but when I asked here I was told they cannot pay at this time.” She shrugged again and sighed heavily. “At this point, I would be a scullery maid if it came to it.”
Colin pulled his head back a touch, surprised yet again. Her words should have been dramatic, and as they replayed in his head, they certainly sounded dramatic. But the tone of her voice and the complete lack of emotion told him quite the opposite.
She was perfectly honest.
“You are desperate, aren’t you?” he murmured softly, almost against his will.
Her look said all he needed to know. Would I be here if I wasn’t?
He suddenly cleared his throat, decision made before he could think back on it. “All right. I will help you find work.”
She slid a bit on the wall in surprise, and he ought to have smiled, except he felt the same way. “What?” she asked in a too-loud voice.
He steeled himself, and repeated, “I will help you find work.”
Her lips tried to form words, and eventually, only one made its way out, “Why?”
“Why what?” he grumbled, looking away. He did not need her thinking this was an emotional thing, or that she was forgiven, or that he was being nice. He was simply being a gentleman. Or polite. Or something.
“After what I did to you, why?”
Ah, so she did see the irony here. He ought to say something clever, something cold, something with a sneer. But there had been quite enough of that. She had been candid with him, at least in part, and he would do no less. He offered a rough sigh and met her eyes steadily. “Because in spite of everything, we were friends once. And that young man would have helped you.”
Hours later, Colin sat alone in his study, his mind more a mess now than it had ever been. The day’s events unfolded before him over and over, and still they made no sense.
Had he really offered to help Susannah find work in London?
Why?
His own answer to the same question from her kept repeating, and he knew that they were true. But he was not the young man he had been then. When he had loved her so blindly, so naively, so hopelessly. She had ruined him. She had broken him. And yet he was helping her.
It was no comfort to know that she was just as surprised. They had arranged to meet in a few days in Hyde Park to go over what he had found, and any success that she had had. Hopefully, that would be the end of it. If he did this good deed, this bizarre and kind thing, he might be able to let her go. He would do what he could to see that she would not be completely without resources in London, and what she did with his help would be on her head alone.
She had left the shop without speaking to the owner, looking back at him several times as if he had been an apparition that would soon vanish before her.
He thought it was a very distinct possibility himself.
Somehow, he had been polite and coherent with the assistant and modiste, had collected all the necessary frocks, and delivered them safely home again, to some very excitable sisters who immediately insisted on a fashion display for him. He politely accepted the invitation and showered each of them with accolades and praises. He truly had been impressed by the modiste’s work and confided to Tibby the same. She gave him a smug reply about doubting her, but her eyes asked a hundred questions, none of which he answered.
He owed his sisters some attention, so the rest of the evening had been devoted to making up for the past few days. Now, however, they were all in bed, presumably asleep, and his mind could unravel at will.
What was he doing?
Never had his actions ever given him this much cause for distress. Never had he questioned a single thing he had ever done; he had always been strategic and precise in his actions. But now?
Now he questioned everything.
“Colin?”
His brother’s voice broke his reverie and he looked up to see Kit in the doorway, watching him with uncertainty.
“Colin, why are you sitting in your study with only one candle lit?”
Absently, he looked and saw that the rest had gone out at some point. “Oh…” he murmured slowly. “I didn’t notice…”
Kit made some noncommittal noise and leaned against the doorframe. “The girls tell me you have been a bit different lately.”
“Yes.” Really, what else was he supposed to say about that? There was so much… too much…
The silence wore on, and only the ticking of the clock could be heard.
Kit exhaled sharply. “Colin, what is wrong with you?”
He slowly dragged his eyes to meet those of his twin, and saw, beneath the furrowed brow and glower, worry. Kit should never worry about him; it was always the other way around, and had been for years. Not that Kit had any idea, nor would he ever, but Colin had always been perfectly situated and content, with nothing particularly distressing outside of his wardrobe or bad rumors.
He could not pretend there was not some cause for his brother to be concerned now.
After all, he was becoming quite concerned himself.
It was time Kit knew.
“Susannah is here.”
Kit actually jerked from his position and took a few steps into the room. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Susannah,” Colin repeated without emotion. “Susannah Merritt.”
“Yes, I know who you mean, but… Are you sure?”
He snorted once. “Quite sure.”
Kit began pacing in the room, which was a rare sight indeed. “You’ve seen her?”
Colin nodded. “Three times.”
“Have you spoken to her?” Kit was watching him intently as he paced, as focused and intense as if this were some criminal examination.
Again, Colin nodded in response. “Twice.”
Kit stopped pacing and set his hands at his hips. “And…?”
Slowly, Colin shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“About what?”
He shrugged. “Anything. Anything at all.”
In one fluid motion, Kit grabbed the chair nearest him, swung it around, and set it directly in front of Colin’s. Then suddenly he was sitting there, hands folded before him, leaning forward. “Talk.”
Numbly, Colin related all of the events of the last few days, leaving out only the dreams. His twin did not need to know how long those had been going on. Kit had been there with him when Susannah had gone off to marry whoever she had, and he had done everything in his power to set Colin back to rights. It had taken ages, and Colin was indebted to him eternally for it, but Kit would never know that Colin had never been completely whole again.
Not now, not ever.
When all was told, sometimes repeated, Kit sat back in his chair, looking a touch winded. “Damn,” he said softly.
That shocked Colin immensely. Kit, by a general rule, never swore.
Yet another sign that this was grave indeed.
Kit ran a hand through his hair. “Well, why would you offer to help her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not good enough, Colin. We are not going back there.”
Colin knew only too well not to be impertinent enough to ask where.
“I couldn’t help myself,” he murmured as if in a daze.
Kit’s eyes widened. He wet his lips quickly, and then leaned forward again. “Colin,” he began carefully, “do you… do you want to help Susannah?”
He thought about for a moment. A very long moment. Then, eventually, he met his brother’s eyes. “Yes.”
Kit stared at him, then got to his feet and moved to the sideboard. “I think we need a drink.”
Colin quite agreed.