LITMIR.BIZ

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took a careful sip. The tea was strong and wonderfully hot, just the thing she needed to feel revived. “No indeed. I need to work a good deal harder.”

      “I worry about you.”

      She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but he kept his face turned down. He must be teasing her, just as he always did. “Oh, don’t worry about me, Mr. Hale. I am tireless as a windmill.” She made her voice light and airy, the perfect rejoinder.

      “I’m not teasing you. I have grave concerns about the amount of work you are taking on.” He cast the blade of grass aside and faced her squarely. “I want to help. If I keep sending food down from Goodwin, would you accept it? I want to make sure you and your sisters have enough to eat until your shop becomes a success.”

      “We will not accept any charity.” She kept the same light tone of voice, but her hands began to tremble. “But I thank you for your concern.”

      “It’s not charity.” With a sudden, swift gesture he took the cup from her and set it aside, then grasped her hands in his. “Won’t you let me help?”

      She cast a quick darting glance at him, scanning his face for sincerity. Deep shadows ringed the eyes that usually held a mischievous light, and the stubble of a beard darkened his cheeks and chin. Daniel looked older—more worn—than he had in some time. Age might have changed him. He might be sincere. But then—Daniel was always sincere at the moment. The sincerity just didn’t stand the test of time.

      She tried to tug her hands away and attempted a flighty, false laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t see why you feel you need to watch out for me.”

      Daniel pulled her closer, so close that she caught his scent of leather and green grass. “I’m sorry for what I did. Can you ever forgive me?”

      She forced herself to look up at him. She hadn’t been this close to him since they were sixteen years old, and for some reason, his proximity was playing havoc with her sensibilities. “I am trying,” she admitted in a whisper. “But it’s difficult. You have no idea...” She trailed off, unable to tell him anything over the painful lump rising in her throat.

      “I wish I’d done things differently. I know I have a lot to make up for. Can we...” He paused and swallowed. “Can we at least be friends? I can work on atonement much more effectively if you don’t openly despise me every time I stop by.”

      Friendship. Friendship was neutral and didn’t use up as much of her feelings as hatred did. Besides, she was supposed to forgive him if she was to live out her faith. He wasn’t asking too much. Not really.

      Could she relinquish her anger enough to be friends?

      She tugged her hands from his grip and sat back on her heels, putting some much-needed distance between them. “Very well,” she admitted. “I will be your friend, and you can be mine, but we must have some conditions for this arrangement.”

      A half smile quirked the corner of his mouth and the light of challenge shone in his green eyes. “Name them.”

      “First, you do not call me Susy. Second, you do not send extravagant gifts to my family.”

      “I don’t like the terms, but I will reluctantly agree to them if it means I earn your friendship.” He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “Anything else?”

      “Let’s just keep everything...pleasant.” She could not give voice to her tumultuous feelings, but somehow the word summed up how desperately she wanted to brush over the past. “I’m starting anew here in Tansley, and I don’t want to spend the first few weeks in dread of meeting you, or in dread of reliving the past. Do you understand?”

      “I think so.” He kept his face turned downward, studying his boots. “I know only too well what you mean about reliving the past. ’Tis an awful practice.”

      He must be referring to their engagement. He must feel badly that he ever agreed to marry her. Finding out this way was like tripping over a rut in a road you thought was smooth. She regretted the engagement, too, but she would never describe it as awful. Rather, she regretted that she ever depended on anyone else for her happiness. At least now she knew that independence was the only way to be fully happy.

      Susannah stifled a sigh. But then, Daniel had always hated being confined to duties and responsibilities. One Easter Sunday he’d run off and spent the day climbing the moors rather than attend services with his father. He’d been nothing but a lad then. She found him later—dirty and unkempt—when she’d taken her sisters out for a walk. And they’d shared a jam sandwich and strolled with him back to the gates of Goodwin Park.

      He would never change. He’d always be the boy smeared with dirt, running away to avoid his duties.

      Friendship, and never reliance, was the only way to be happy with Daniel.

      “Rest assured, I never spoke of our engagement to anyone but my sisters, and, of course, my aunt and uncle. My aunt and uncle have passed away, and my sisters will never breathe a word of it to anyone. So you see—we can pretend it never happened.”

      She rose and picked up the teacup. “Thank you for your assistance today, Daniel. And for the food, too. It was delicious and much needed. I had better finish up, though. There’s still a lot to get done and a few hours of daylight left.”

      He glanced up at her, his eyebrows slightly raised, as though he was surprised by her words. “Very well. I hope to see you again soon.” He stood, brushing the stray blades of grass from his breeches. Then, with a slight bow, he strolled off in the direction of Goodwin Hall, his jacket tossed carelessly over one shoulder.

      “Is he gone?” Nan chirped, peeking around the door frame.

      Susannah jumped, startled at the sisterly intrusion. “Yes.” She placed her hand over her pounding heart. “Nan, you gave me such a scare.”

      “What were you two talking about for such a long time out here? Did he propose again?” Becky popped her head around the door frame, pushing her cheek next to Nan’s. “He looks so dashing without a cravat. More men should follow his example.”

      Susannah suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Rubbish. No, he did not propose. Why would he? Our engagement was a childish mistake. We’ve agreed to become friends, that is all. And I thanked him for the hamper of food from Goodwin Hall.” She shooed her sisters inside with a flick of her wrist. “Scoot. Both of you. We need to work on our displays.”

      Nan and Becky groaned and trudged back inside.

      “I always thought Daniel was handsome,” Nan muttered.

      Becky sighed. “So debonair.”

      Susannah propped herself against the door frame, pausing for a moment to gather her wits. One must be very, very cautious with overly romantic sisters. In her case, it was always the two of them against her. ’Twas easy indeed to become outnumbered and overwhelmed. Why, they could lead you to think that a fellow cared, or that a handsome face made up for a lack of character.

      She must never forget, even if she did forgive.

      * * *

      “Have another drink, my good fellow.” Paul splashed more scotch into Daniel’s glass, droplets of the precious amber liquid flicking across Daniel’s sleeve. “After all, you lose me to London in a day or so. Off to have a good long debauch before settling down for the winter.”

      Daniel sipped slowly. The day had started late and brought him into too much contact with too many stark reminders of his own deficiencies. Maybe if he drank enough, he could drown the memory of Susannah sitting on the porch, the late-afternoon sun bronzing the gorgeous waterfall of her auburn hair...

      Or the look in her eyes as she assured him their engagement was a childish indiscretion.

      “By Jove, man, I might as well be talking to a statue. Why so quiet this evening?” Paul sank onto the settee and grinned.

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