Page 56 of Indecently Employed
“He took us to the seaside. On a ride,” Charlotte piped up in a perky tone Susanna did not recognize at all. She wanted to stare at the girl and warn her off whatever she was about, but Charlotte’s huge, dark eyes were trained on her cousin as politely as could be, her hands folded serenely in her lap.
“The seaside?” Mrs. Rickard’s brows shot up, apparently not expecting that.
Fortunately, the door swung open and tea arrived, just in time to distract from the proceedings enough that once it had been poured for the three of them, Mrs. Rickard had forgotten to scrutinize Susanna further. Instead, she ran a hand along her shining golden hair, pulled back elegantly behind her.
“He wrote me, actually,” she said, speaking to the large, opulent painting of the three muses on the opposite wall. It was altogether ill-suited for the sitting room, but then again, everything in the house was overdone and gaudy, either too large, too garish, or both. Nothing worked together; everywhere one looked was a riot of colors and textures.
Susanna managed to briefly catch Charlotte’s eye, and she gave her a stern look.Behave yourself, she thought furiously in the girl’s direction.Please, she added hastily, in case it happened to work. Charlotte’s tendency toward spiritualism must be rubbing off on her. Oh dear, what would her parents think? She felt a new embarrassment heating her cheeks, but Charlotte just waved a hand in her direction. What for? Was she calling her off? Reassuring her?
“Never in my life had I ever received correspondence from my uncle.” Mrs. Rickard fluttered her lashes and turned back, considering the pair of them. “That dress suits you very well, Miss Abbotts.”
“Thank you,” Susanna managed to squeak out, and a new fear suddenly came to her: What if Mrs. Rickard somehow knew about her kiss with the Earl of Clifton? He had relentlesslypursued Mrs. Rickard—then Miss Sedley—and Lady Matilda had spoken of her as a friend. Could she be regretting placing Susanna in her uncle’s employ? Shame and terror paralyzed her, and the only place she could look was at her hands, as white as the porcelain of the teacup she held.
“Charlotte, I have to warn you. Grandpapa is not well. I do not expect your father to manage well in the next few days.” Mrs. Rickard sighed, then pushed aside her tea. She’d hadn’t taken even a single sip.
“Why?” Charlotte asked, tilting her head. “He hates his brothers.”
Susanna found herself wincing along with Mrs. Rickard.
“Miss Sedley,” she said, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on the girl’s wrist. “I encourage you to speak of this with your father, in private.” She pressed her lips in a line, wishing she could say more. Instead, she added in a softer tone, “He is not an unfeeling man.”
“Oh, is he not?” Mrs. Rickard chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that still sent a shiver of warning along Susanna’s back. She ought not to have said that. “My uncle has spent his entire life running from any mood that is unwelcome at his club. Which leaves room only for smarminess and absolute inebriety.”
“Maybe you just don’t know him,” Charlotte charged, one eyebrow cocked as she brought her cup to her lips, her play at the cultivated young lady apparently finished.
With any other family, Susanna would be sent packing her bags that evening. But even as she knew her position was secure here, she said a silent prayer, horrified at this display. Just what was the young girl about?
“Oh, I know him, cousin dear,” Mrs. Rickard said, a sad smile on her lips. “He and any other Sedley are all one and the same. Well, aside from Marcus.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or Grandpapa. Those two are a bit apart. But you’ll find the rest ofus run much closer to Uncle Titus.” She nodded and indicated the heavy, pilfered watch fob that Charlotte still sported around her neck every day. “Shot down in Vauxhall for chasing the wrong skirt.” She raised her eyebrows in warning.
Susanna suddenly recalled Mrs. Edith Kenney at the train station in Hull. She’d been so polished, so sophisticated. So pretty. In that moment, Susanna finally absorbed what she’d only fretted about before: Ajax truly had been with the lovely widow, just as he’d been with Susanna. Perhaps in ways even more… intimate. And there was no question about the nature of his relationship with Charlotte’s mother. Beyond that, who knew how many others there had been? It was only logical that he would have been at it repeatedly; such behavior was deemed acceptable for men of his ilk.
So why had she blinded herself to it? Orhadshe blinded herself? Perhaps she’d simply forgotten. Or maybe she had wanted to forget. Oh,fie, everything was twisted and shadowed, and Susanna could not marshal her thoughts.
Mrs. Rickard was talking to her, but Susanna could hardly swallow, let alone speak. Horror of horrors, she might spill tears if this went on any longer.
“Miss Abbotts? Are you alright?”
“I… I believe I’m overtired. Please forgive me, I must…” She shot up from her seat, unsettling the table in a most improper manner. The clinking of dishes rang out, a horrifying sound to her mannered ears. “I must retire.”
Susanna managed to make it to the stairs before the tears came.
She didn’t know him; that was the truth of it. He’d shared snippets of his life with her, and even divulged his secret hobby of penning sensational fiction, to the point where he had all butbegged her to read his scribblings. He’d welcomed her into his bed, made himself acquainted with her body, her yearnings. But that was the extent of it, wasn't it? She felt herself heating up around the collar—even here, in the tiny little room under the eaves in which she’d been settled. She didn’t complain, as the room was comfortable and it was only proper for a governess to be provided such accommodations, and yet it had been quite the comedown after Ajax had installed her in the best bedrooms of his homes.
She took a deep, steadying breath, worrying the little gold cross at her neck. How long could she remain upstairs? Certainly not for the evening meal.
How had this happened? How had she come to believe that she was… special? She glanced in the direction of the small mirror hanging next to the door, and was taken aback by the puffy redness about her eyes. How had she come to be so maudlin? The urge to blame the Earl of Clifton bubbled up, but this time she quashed it before it took hold. No—the truth of it was, she had wanted this with Mr. Sedley. She still wanted it, again, and fully.
Susanna stood up and went to the basin. She splashed cold water over her face, hoping it would be enough to set herself to rights.
Did she want something more, though? For her to mean something to him beyond what all those ladies before her had? She thought about it as she considered her reflection. Maybe she’d misinterpreted his affections. Maybe this was all her fault, expecting things she didn’t deserve and couldn’t have.
Patting her skin gently with a bit of toweling, she nearly gave in to her own self-pity. But just as she was ready to sob once more, there came a gentle rap at the door, forcing her back into composure.
Ajax opened the door, his expression furious. “They put you up here? Why didn’t you fetch me?”
“Sir,” she gasped, flitting her hands about her skirts, unsure of where to place them. Her heart surged in relief, despite the murderous look on his face. Just seeing him was a comfort; she felt steady again.
“Blast those fools.” He slammed a fist against the door before stepping in and closing it behind him. “I’ll have Harmonia’s head for this.”
