Page 67 of Indecently Employed
“And let us not say any more of the matter to Maddy. Mr. Felstead shall have to deal with her, and I shall deal with your mother.”
“Of course.” An unnamable lightness settled over Susanna. Even if Ajax never returned for her, she could walk out of the parsonage on her own two feet, or perhaps even float away, as she felt now. She stood to take her leave, intending to heed his warning and head straight to bed, so as to avoid her mother and sister. No longer would she allow herself to be disused and ignored. She was so much more than what they thought.
“Be a good girl, Susanna.”
The small twinge of guilt she felt at her father’s goodnight dampened her spirits slightly. But only slightly.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ajax stepped from thehired coach and took in the small square building before him. It had its charm, he supposed, if one held an affection for genteel poverty in a quaint bucolic setting.
It had been exactly two weeks since Rickard had escorted Susanna back to her family of origin, under the auspices of providing her with a respite from work and a long overdue familial visit, while allowing the Sedleys their privacy and sorrow as his brother finally reached the end.
Except that Tiberius hadn’t; the miserable old git had rallied ten days ago, somehow managing to get up and about, while exhibiting startling moments of energy they hadn’t seen from him in ages. The clarity was still missing, but they’d all been assured enough that Marcus and Bess had even returned to London. Ajax himself had taken a meal with his brother, who spent the time in a state of amiable confusion. The cold, stern, disappointed Tiberius of Ajax’s youth was gone forever, replaced by a perpetually baffled blank slate of a man. It was bittersweet, but Ajax had made peace with it. He would take it.
It was a particularly chilly November afternoon, the cold damp in the air a harbinger of the harsher season to come. He tugged at the already upturned velvet collar of his overcoat.
He’d considered writing Susanna, or perhaps sending flowers, but then decided against both acts as too maudlin. He wanted to tell her, to ask her, to be with her, not make pathetic excuses with pretty words, or try to convey some implicit, secret meaning by having a massive box of yellow pansies, red tulips, and daisies sent here, to this sorrowful little cottage.
He gave instructions to the driver, then walked up to the door. He rapped sharply on it, but no one answered. He frowned, then knocked again to no effect. He tried once more before impatience took over and he stalked around the side of the house, smoothing his mustache with his thumb, back and forth. He’d waited so long for this; he’d been desperate for Susanna, and had navigated the phalanx of both Marcus and Harmonia’s pointed examination of his motives for days. What was one more walk, one more door? He’d walk miles on his knees, over glass, to make Susanna his.
He’d lied to Charlotte before, when he told her he’d loved Nancy Jutton. He hadn’t even known what love meant.
But now he knew. He loved Susanna with his entire being.
His interest in maintaining appearances thus extinguished, Ajax didn’t even bother to knock at the kitchen door. He tried it. It opened.
And there was Susanna before him, in the flesh. On her knees, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her face flushed from exertion, scrub brush in hand and a metal bucket at her side. She was washing the floors.
She was as lovely as she’d been the first time he’d ever seen her, at her interview, bundled up and nervous at the prospect of not securing the position.
“Oh,” Susanna said as she looked up, her voice breathy and unsure. She sat back on her heels, and her cheeks colored as the realization of her state of dishevelment dawned on her. She set her scrub brush down on the stone floor and self-consciously reached for her hair, rising awkwardly to her feet as she tried in vain to tuck all her loose curls back behind her ears.
They had her scrubbing floors. A fury came over him, an unfamiliar degree of indignation somewhat akin to what he’d felt every time Charlotte’s maternal relations had sent him a dismissive letter denying any relationship between them and the girl. Howdarethese people.
“Susanna,” he started, but she cut him off.
“Would you care for tea?”
“God, no,” he said, his words laced with anger.
She looked away, dejected. But he’d already moved forward to catch her chin in his gloved hand. He gently turned her back to face him.
“I want to spend as little time here as possible,” he murmured, sliding another hand behind her, slowly pulling her into his embrace.
She pursed her lips, andChristbut he wanted to kiss her then, and take her to bed. But not here. Anywhere but here.
“I don’t understand. Have you—”
He placed a finger against her lips, silencing her.
“No wife of mine belongs on the floor, washing up like some charwoman.” He tried to temper his tone, but it still came out like a growl. “I’m taking you away from here, and I don’t give a damn what your family might say, curse propriety to hell and all damnation.”
She stared at him, momentarily confused until she realized what he had just said. Her brows shot up, and she grabbed at his overcoat with her fists.
“Ajax,” she breathed, her face inches from his. Hopeful, expectant.
“I regret not speaking plainly before. So many times I should have told you, especially that night before you left. I’d meant…” He paused, his words pathetic and paltry, inadequate for saying what he wanted to say. After so many years of smoothing over conflict with his words, he found himself unable to access his usual charm and wit. All he could say was the simple, God’s honest truth.
