Page 41 of Indecently Employed
“On my soul. Cleton. And like I said, it was only a morning’s ride from here, or so they say.” He picked up his cutlery with relish and gave his daughter a smile—a genuine one, not one of his thoughtless grins he spent freely. “You do well in your riding lessons, and perhaps I shall take you to the coast and we will search for it. You could bring your dowsing crystal.”
Charlotte cocked her head in a confused manner, then smiled. A small gesture, but one that he would carry with him for the rest of the day.
The footman pulled out a chair, and Ajax looked away from Charlotte long enough to allow himself a glance at her governess.
His breath caught in his throat.
She was wearing the dress. The one he’d given to her, with the blue and gray stripes. She looked beautiful. Refined and elegant. Ravishing. Even as she must have felt his eyes on her, she bid Charlotte a good morning before turning to him.
Everything fell away: the gentle clinking and scraping of dishes and covers, the reach of a footman’s hand to retrieve a plate from the table. There was only her—Susanna, as he’d considered her all the evening before, but still Miss Abbotts as politeness must have it—and him. Her with her perfect skin andthe hint of a flush, those big brown eyes looking up at him, considering him as a man, not an employer. And it was in that moment he knew, even as she looked away and said something amiable to Charlotte about the prospect of riding out in search of Cleton. Even then he could tell.
She wanted him too.
She would be his, if he wanted her to be. This young, pretty, parson’s daughter of a governess had not been sent running by his obscene admission. Ajax reached for the tea once more. It wasn’t enough to stop the pounding in his head, nor would it quell the feeling welling in his gut.
Fear.
She did not know what she had expected. For Mr. Sedley to cross the room, sling her over his shoulder, and carry her off to his solar and the massive carved four-poster bed within?
Be serious,she chided herself as she tucked into breakfast. She didn’t get the sense he harbored any regrets about his confession the night before, but he took pains to avoid being alone with her for the rest of the day.
And the following day. And the day after that. And then, somehow, weeks had passed and she’d barely seen him.
Frustrated by this unfulfilled desire, Susanna did what she had done for the past ten years and threw herself into her work. She and Charlotte went into town, spending a pleasant afternoon among the monuments and inscriptions at Beverley Minster, Charlotte gaining confidence with every new declension she learned. It was not a market day, but still they strolled about, admiring the Georgian houses and the odd Tudor building, although Charlotte seemed much more interested in the new railway station and the fact that it had been built on a plague pit.
And while the girl made strides in Latin, she positively excelled in her history reading, as Susanna had taken pains to choose the bloodiest and more stomach-churning periods on which to focus their studies. Charlotte’s skill at mathematics had accelerated in a few short weeks as well, for which Susanna allowed herself the small vanity of pride. She’d never struggled with figures or logic, not even as a young girl. Unlike Maddy, who had floundered with arithmetic from the outset.
Susanna wondered how her sister managed the household budget; a curate’s income would need to be stretched, especially as her niece grew into a young lady. The thought of Maddy undertaking Madge’s education was laughable as well, as in Susanna’s professional estimation, instruction was yet another thing Maddy found frustrating. Once, on the night of a ball at the assembly room, Susanna had asked her older sister to show her how to fashionably arrange her hair a la the Roman empress Octavia. Maddy had given up in disgust before Susanna had even managed to coax her wild curls into one tight, slick cannon curl above her forehead. Maddy, of course, had gone looking as glamorous as a parson’s daughter could, while Susanna made do with coils of severely plaited hair, painfully cinched so her curls would not escape.
A sense of duty had compelled her to write to her parents about her new situation, and out of fondness for her niece she’d penned a charming account of Yorkshire and the Wensleydale sheep for Madge. But she’d uncharitably ignored Maddy and Orville. She hadn’t written them since she’d left for London and the Earl of Clifton’s household. Though she had written, and already received a reply from, Lady Matilda, who was being packed off to school. A good thing for her, Susanna decided, shuddering at the recollection of the earl that last night she’d been in Puxley House.
Even as she focused on instructing Charlotte, Susanna still found herself with a sizable period of free time every day when the girl had her riding lessons with Theo. A few times she’d spent an enjoyable hour walking the grounds in the company of Mr. Faine, whose smile was so bright and laugh so infectious she always forgot herself and laughed heartily along with him. Sometimes she offered her hands to Mrs. Nathan, who occasionally put her to work planning menus. But most times Mrs. Nathan cried off Susanna’s aid, opting instead for her company over a cup of tea. During one of these respites, Susanna had helped the housekeeper in the selection of fabric, ordered from Hull, for a new pair of curtains for her sitting room. When she’d informed Mr. Sedley of the fact over breakfast the next day, he’d nearly fallen over himself in instructing her to order whatever fabrics or notions she required for herself as well. Usually one to demur such generosity, Susanna this time allowed herself some frivolity. Not least because he always looked at her longer when she wore her nice dress.
She wanted him to look at her.
On the days when Mr. Faine and Mrs. Nathan were otherwise occupied during Charlotte’s riding lesson, she spent her time alone, reading. She had rereadEast Lynnewithin four days of their arrival, and now she scoured the library daily, searching for anything romantic, or even better, lurid. To her surprise, the library held an ample selection of sensation novels, stacked neatly alongside the more cerebral fare. Susanna wondered how they might have ended up in the same room as Mr. Sedley’s priceless collection, but figured it was only natural that an avid collector like Mr. Sedley would end up with a helping of frivolous items as well. And it was to her benefit—if he would not act on his longing, she must make do with the crumbs to be found within the pages of popular novels.
And yet, that did not resolve her aching need to be with him. In fact, it only stoked the flames. She touched herself nearly every night, desperate to know just what he’d meant when he said he would be devoted to giving her pleasure. It had been so long now, though, that she’d almost given up hope, almost decided to put the whole encounter behind her and do her best to forget this useless lust. It seemed she truly was meant to be alone, silent and ignored until she managed to squirrel enough money to move to the seaside and get herself a cat.
Until one afternoon, as Susanna sat reading alone in the library during Charlotte’s riding lesson, when the door opened and Mr. Sedley walked in.
Chapter Fourteen
She looked fully relaxed,settled back in a winged armchair done in orange silk damask, when her eyes drifted up from the Charles Reade novel she was perusing.
“We must stop meeting like this,” Ajax joked, unable to keep the hopeful strain from his voice. “What will the servants think?”
Miss Abbotts set the book aside and straightened up before he halted her with a shake of his head. “No, no… don’t get up on my account. Sit, please. Relax. Enjoy your brief respite from Charlotte’s gruesome dirges and equally gruesome questions.”
She sat back down and laced her fingers together in her lap, appearing a bit tentative. “Despite her tastes, her skill at the organ is remarkable for a girl her age,” she said. “And it extends to other instruments; she claims familiarity with the piano as well as the viola and the violoncello.”
Ajax wandered over to the shelf nearest Miss Abbotts, and allowed his gaze to run along the rows of books, always a soothing exercise. But it did little to settle him now. He’d waited weeks, hoping the feelings would pass. Or, though he felt guilty about it, hoping that Miss Abbotts would decide for her own saketo leave, despite the excellent work she was doing with Charlotte. But she’d stayed, and still he wanted her. Every look, every word that passed between them was heavy with the implication that sooner or later it would come to pass, that he would go to her. And what’s more, despite the physical torture of deprivation, these weeks had felt… pleasant. She had stayed, and did not outwardly appear to be regretting it. It made him think, or at least wonder, if perhaps he wasn’t so abhorrent after all.
It was that new hope that felt all twisted inside him. He didn’t want it to disappear.
“Naturally. Theater people.” He mindlessly pulled a book back with one finger, then slid it back in. He repeated the action with the book next to it, and then its neighbor, and so on. Terrible for their spines. But they were his bloody books in his bloody house.
“Mr. Faine mentioned he comes from a theatrical background as well,” Miss Abbotts said, her voice a little lighter. “I wonder whether he is musical.”
