Page 1 of The Burning Passion of a Fiery Lady
Chapter 1
Susannah gazed out of the parlour window, watching the last vestiges of snow melting on the ground. She breathed a sigh of relief. Winter was finally leaving. Very soon, the first blossoms and buds of spring would burst forth, in a flurry of colour.
New life, she thought wistfully. It is good, and right that the seasons change. Time stops for no man.
The days were getting slightly longer, too. Now, she could walk the vast grounds of her country estate in Shropshire, without feeling as if she were about to freeze to death. Without having to scurry back to the house and hibernate near a roaring fire. She had been housebound, the whole of the winter. Wandering the long hallways of her home like a ghost.
She kept staring out the window, pensive.He has been gone for nearly a year,she thought.A whole year, where he hasn’t walked this Earth. He never saw this winter. He does not know that spring is about to come again.
Abruptly, she dropped the lace curtain, walking back to the upholstered chair by the fireplace. Her favourite chair. The basket with her embroidery was by its side; easily accessed, as she sat there, night after night, by herself. She would embroider and stare into the flames of the fire until weariness overcame her, and she drifted up the stairs to bed.
She gazed around the parlour. It had been styled to her taste; she had picked out most of this furniture, when she had come to live here, many years ago. The Abyssinian rug. The paintings that hung on the walls. The mahogany dresser. The rest had already been here, but she had learned to love it, as well. Somehow, it all came together.
How could she even think of leaving it behind?
Her heart twisted. It would be so hard. But then she thought of her parents, so far away, in rural Lincolnshire. They had only been to visit twice in the seven years she had been here, and she had only returned to her childhood home once. She missed them, and what, after all, was really left for her here, now? Her life was as empty as the winter grounds outside.
There was a soft knock on the door. Susannah sighed. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Mrs Lambert, her housekeeper, entered, balancing a silver tray in her hands. She smiled broadly, as she deposited the tray on the small table next to Susannah.
“Ready for your tea, Mrs Drake?” she asked, in her soft voice.
Susannah smiled. “I have told you a thousand times to call me Susannah, Amy.” She paused, her smile dropping slightly. “Mrs Drake no longer exists. And besides, you are my only friend, now.”
The young woman’s hazel eyes softened as she gazed at her mistress. Susannah noted for the hundredth time how pretty she was. A pale complexion, unblemished, with large eyes, a womanly yet slender figure, and thick, golden hair. Mrs Lambert was only a courtesy title, for the housekeeper; Amy had never been married. Susannah knew that she was only three years younger than herself, but her meticulous and thorough housekeeping belied her years.
As Amy poured the tea, she thought back to when she had come to The Willows. It had been two years ago after fiery old Mrs Allen had finally retired. She had advertised in all the local newspapers for a new housekeeper and had been inundated with replies.
Most of them had been older women, of the same ilk as Mrs Allen. But Susannah had taken an immediate shine to the eager young woman, despite her inexperience. There had just been something about Amy Lambert; an infectious spirit and goodwill.
She had never regretted her choice. Especially in the last year when Amy had become her only friend. They would often sit chatting of an evening. Susannah simply didn’t know how she would have survived without her.
Her mother would have scolded her if she knew, telling her not to become over-familiar with the staff, but Susannah didn’t care a whit about such things. To her, people were just people; she didn’t have a snobbish bone in her body.
“Sit down, Amy,” she said now. “Pour yourself a cup of tea and talk to me.”
Amy complied, settling herself opposite Susannah.
“How are you feeling today?” asked the housekeeper, taking a sip of her tea. Her hazel eyes were as steady as frozen water as she gazed at her mistress.
Susannah sighed deeply. “It is just another day, I suppose,” she replied, in a quiet voice. “I get up. I get dressed. I see to the house, then take a walk.” She paused, her eyes filling with tears. “Tonight, I will eat my meal alone, before embroidering by the fire and going to bed. Tomorrow, I shall do the same thing, all over again.”
Amy sighed, too, putting her cup down. “It shall get better, my dear. Every day, you are growing stronger.” She gazed at her steadily. “You are young and beautiful. Your whole life is ahead of you …”
Susannah sniffed. She didn’t feel young anymore. She felt as ancient as the willow trees, which bordered this property, on all sides. The willow trees that the property had been named after. She felt like a husk, hollowed out, and dry. Had she ever once been young?
She knew that Amy was just being kind. Yes, she was only four and twenty in actual years. But inside, she felt about a hundred. So much had happened. How could she ever hope to move on and live again? The very thought was exhausting.
Amy took a deep breath. “You can move on if you want to,” she said hesitantly. “I know that you told me that you did not want to know, but you have receivedthreegentlemen callers already today.” She rummaged in the pocket of her white apron, taking out three calling cards, and handing them to Susannah.
Susannah automatically took the cards, placing them on her lap. For a moment, she simply stared at them, taking in the names. Mr Roger Baker. Mr Phillip Byrd. And last but not least, a Mr Timothy Notley.
She sighed deeply. She recognised them vaguely. They were all local landowners in Shropshire or the sons of local landowners. She had probably met them at various social events over the years. They would have nodded to her politely but kept their distance. And now, they were hovering around her like vultures, intent on a feed.
“It seems so inappropriate,” she said slowly, looking up from the cards, and staring at Amy. “How can they be so callous as to try to court a widow, so soon after her husband’s death?” She gazed down at her gown. “I am still in half-mourning clothes. It hasn’t even been a year yet!”
“I have already said that you are young and beautiful,” answered Amy, staring at her intently. “That is why all the local gentlemen buzz around you, Susannah. They are like bees to a honeypot.”
