Page 67 of The Lady's Companion
“He was no coward,” she lied. “David told me everything.”
She knew if Lady Bushnell was to believe her, she had to look her in the eyes, so she did, raising her own ravaged face to the widow’s. Her gaze was steady, dishonest as the day was long, and entirely fitting for a Hampton. She knew from the bottom of her heart that Lady Bushnell believed her, and the knowledge was bitter beyond belief.
Lady Bushnell relaxed against the pillows with a great sigh. She squeezed Susan’s hand, then released it “Very well, Susan,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
I must get out of here, Susan thought, wondering if there were enough hours left in the day to get her to that door that seemed miles away. “Excuse me, please,” she said, and hurried from the room.
Her husband followed her. She looked back at him, but did not stop as she moved toward the stairs. She paused halfway down, and looked up at him. “David, you can still tell her the truth.”
“I don’t have to now, Susan, and you know I can lie with the best of them.”
She didn’t know why she said what she did then, even before the words were entirely out of her mouth. It was illogical, and nonsensical, and totally without merit, and meaningless. It was the kind of thing that she would never sling at him, even on her worst day, because she knew, as only his wife could, how false an accusation it was.
“Did you lie about loving me, just to keep her cocooned here from the truth?”
She knew, if she lived to be older than everyone in England, Scotland, and Wales combined, she would never forget the shock on his face. He reeled back as though she had slapped him, then retaliated without a thought, even as she had.
“I consider that remark worthy of a... Hampton,” he snapped,the word coming out like every dirty thing imaginable.
With a sob she turned and fled down the stairs and out the door.
Chapter Nineteen
I cannot believe I married such an idiot, she thought as she walked fast down the lane past the Waterloo wheat, and over the brow of the slope. I think if I had a sharp object in my hand, I would do him damage if he followed me. And he had better not follow me.
She looked over her shoulder then, wishing that he was behind her, even as she had wished him to hell only seconds before. “You numbskull,” she said at the top of the rise. “You haven’t even the good sense to follow me! Why was a woman ever plagued with such a husband? Well, never mind.”
She took off her apron and stuffed it in the crotch of a tree beside the main road to Quilling. I will walk until I cool off, then I will go back and apologize, she thought. Of course, I don’t know that I can apologize for being a Hampton, she reasoned as she walked along, scuffing at the pebbles in the road. But I can ask your forgiveness for doubting for even one moment that you loved me.
“That’s the only thing I am really sure of right now,” she said out loud, and felt immeasurably better. She stood still a moment, thinking about turning around, then decided against it as embarrassment washed over her again like a cold bucket of water. How could I be so hateful? she asked herself. And how could you say such a mean thing back?
All love and moans and groans aside, it’s hard to be married, she decided as she walked thoughtfully into Quilling an hour later. She wasn’t wearing a bonnet, and her face felt uncomfortably warm. She looked away from the sun, feeling the odd puffs of wind that blew here and there, as if as confused as she felt. The sky had a greenish cast to it and she felt a moment’suneasiness. I should go right home, she considered.
But she was tired from the walk and the exertion of all that anger. With another frown at the sky, she went inside the public house. It was cool and dark, as she had hoped it would be. She sighed and sat down at a table, grateful there was no mail coach stopped now, with travelers clambering for attention. I shall sit here and feel sorry for myself for a few minutes, then go home and apologize to my dear husband. She smiled to herself. And he had better apologize to me, or I’ll...
“Would you like some tea, Mrs. Wiggins?”
It was the innkeep. She smiled at him and shook her head. “I never seem to come here with money for tea!”
He grinned at her, went back to the counter, and returned with tea. “I think I can trust you or David to stop by with a coin, next time you’re in Quilling.”
She gave him a grateful look and sipped the tea. While the cares of the world didn’t exactly roll off her shoulders, they did loosen up a bit. She looked at the brew in the cup. I wonder what other people in the world do without tea? she asked herself. They can’t imagine themselves civilized. She blushed a deep red. Not that I was so civilized an hour ago.
“Mrs. Wiggins... is everything well at the manor?”
She looked up at the innkeep, a question in her eyes. “Sir?” She put her hand to her hair then, realizing how wind-blown and blowsy she must look, she who never let a pin get out of place, except when David, drat him, played with her hair. And here I am without bonnet or gloves, she thought in dismay. No wonder he is worried.
So much concern deserved a straight answer. “No, no, we’re all fine at Quilling Manor,” she assured him, then took a deep breath. “It’s only that I’ve had a dreadful quarrel with my husband, and I stormed off the place.”
The innkeep chuckled and pulled out a chair. “May I?” heasked.
“Of course.”
He seated himself. “A bad fight?”
She rolled her eyes. “It was a brawl! I can’t believe how rude we were to each other.”
What am I doing saying this to an innkeep? she asked herself as she took another sip. She glanced at him then, and could see only sympathy, and a lurking good humor that made her glad all over again that she lived near such a friendly village. “It was awful. Ghastly.”
