Page 35 of Indecently Employed
Susanna turned to the window, suppressing a small grin. Her eyes fell upon the road to Beverley stretching out beyond the drive. Perhaps they could find more Latin to decipher in town one day, maybe at the church. She added it to her ever-growing mental list.
In the corner of her eye, Susanna caught a glimpse of movement outside, and she turned to see a cart coming up the other side of the drive.
She recognized Mr. Sedley immediately, and her heart jumped in her chest. He was in shirtsleeves, with the neck hanging open, and wore no hat. She took a tiny step forward, only to stumble upon the low bookshelves the footmen had deposited there—at her own instruction—mere minutes ago. She flushed, and glanced back at Charlotte, who seemed too absorbed in translating the Lamplughs’ words to have noticed.
Susanna smoothed out the front of her dress, mildly annoyed at her earlier inclination to make herself as plain and sexless as possible.
It was impossible to see much detail through the thick, wavy glass, especially from the third story, but she drank in the sight of him, watching the way he leapt down from the cart with leonine grace, especially for a man his age. The way he ran a hand through his tousled, waving hair, and how he laughed at something his estate manager said.
There was an ease to his manner. An ache of yearning overcame her, and she placed a hand over her heart, as if applying pressure there might relieve it.
She turned from the window. The memory of her sister and her father’s curate, Mr. Orville Felstead, arose unbidden. She could see them standing alongside one another in front of the fireplace in the parsonage’s good parlor, their hands loosely joined, Maddy wearing her white cotton lawn and a smug smile.
Anger choked her; it materialized so suddenly and forcefully that she crossed the room, snatched the poker from the rack, and stabbed at the fire.
It was her own fault, she knew, that she’d become isolated and lonely. That was the lot of a governess. Educated, but allowed no opinions. Gently reared, but barely above a servant. The novels and stories were equally horrified by and enamored with her kind, fetishizing their independence. Susanna wanted to laugh.
She’d chosen this path. This prison, where she was forever starved of touch and companionship. But it would have to do. She’d far sooner live this solitary life than remain at home.
Staring into the flames, Susanna weighed laying the blame at the feet of the Earl of Clifton, scoundrel that he was. But she had wanted to believe him. She was the one who had wanted something more than this.
Closing her eyes, she willed herself to calmness, dropping her shoulders and breathing deeply.
Somehow she made it through the rest of the day, which dragged now that the excitement of the trip was behind them. She supped with Charlotte in the schoolroom, having received no instruction from either Mr. Sedley or Mrs. Nathan about the particulars of how meals were to work at Gallox Castle. Susanna didn’t mind too much, finding some comfort in falling back on familiar conventions.
After Charlotte had retired to her bedroom, Susanna shuffled about the schoolroom, setting things to rights, and delaying the inevitable.
She must meet with Mr. Sedley.
It was a matter of business; there was nothing untoward about it. She had spent many evenings genially recounting Emily and Jane’s days to the Pritchards over a cup of tea. Francis de Vauville, on the other hand, had spent more time in the schoolroom himself, and dismissed any conversation about Lady Matilda outside of those visits, so at Puxley House Susanna hadn’t bothered.
But here it would be expected. Especially as they settled into their new routines. Taking a deep breath, she plucked a piece of paper from a neat stack in a mahogany tray and began to write. If she listed everything that needed addressing ahead of time, perhaps she could maintain her composure and not lose her head over this unfortunate desire that continued to plague her. Perhaps she could keep the image of him half-dressed, with his shirt open and sleeves rolled up, out of her mind.
And besides, Mr. Sedley was not the only man in existence. She needn’t marry him just because he’d looked at her in a heated manner. Just as she need not give into carnal desires simply because they bubbled up on rare occasion. A flush warmed her cheeks, and she underlined the word “riding” several times near the top of her list before putting down the pen.
She drew another deep breath and stood, holding her list as gingerly as a pacifist might hold a weapon.
She first sought him across the hall, in the library, but he was not there. Anxious, she took a seat and attempted to remain still.
It was impossible. With nothing to distract her, her mind returned to her sordid thoughts of that morning, when she’d all but imagined Mr. Sedley inside her. She pressed her legstogether and wished her heartbeat would slow. Her eyes fell upon a sarcophagus-shaped cellarette made of highly polished mahogany, and a tiny voice inside her suggested she open it and help herself to a tipple to calm her nerves.
Susanna bolted up from her chair, alarmed. What on earth was she thinking? She had always been far too scrupulous to even dream of such a notion. Rushing out of the library, clutching her now crumpled mess of a list in one hand, she nearly ran straight into a housemaid.
Further astonished with herself at nearly repeating the mortifying mistake she had made just yesterday at the train station, Susanna began to apologize, only to be cut off by the young woman’s confused question.
“Miss? What were you in there for?”
“My report… I…” she stuttered, feeling completely at sea. “I was looking for Mr. Sedley, to account for Miss Sedley’s progress today. I assumed he’d be working in the library.” It sounded weak and pathetic, but the housemaid seemed unbothered.
“Oh, miss, he never works anywhere but his solar. Shall I take you there?”
With no plausible excuse to decline, Susanna nodded in agreement. She followed the girl back to the older part of the house and down the stairs, where they cut across the great hall without ceremony. The stone and lime here had been plastered over in the modern fashion and hung with enormous tapestries, and wooden linenfold paneling reached several feet up the walls. Combined with the massive floor-to-ceiling bay window, it only added to Susanna’s apprehension. Nevertheless, she found herself wanting to hang back and remain in the hall indefinitely—not because she was enchanted by it, but because she couldn’t bear to face Mr. Sedley alone in his personal quarters.
And yet the housemaid thought nothing of it, cheerily holding open a wooden door that was expertly concealed in the paneling in the far-right corner of the room.
“Go on, then,” she chirped, gesturing to the tight wooden spiral staircase hidden within.
Susanna reached for the small gold cross on her chest, said a brief, silent prayer, then began to climb.
