Page 31 of The Burning Passion of a Fiery Lady
Susannah bit her lip. “I just need some time to myself, Amy. That is all.”
The housekeeper nodded. Susannah turned back to the window. The next minute, she heard the door opening and closing as Amy left the room.
She gripped the windowsill, pressing her fingernails into the wood, gazing out at the grounds. The grounds of The Willows. The property that had belonged to her husband, before she had even come here, or knew that it existed. It had been his home before it had been hers.
Her heart twisted. He had died, not far from here. On a hill, into the woods.
Her eyes filled with tears. Suddenly, the grounds of the estate shifted in her vision, and she was back to that terrible night when her life had changed, so completely.
***
It had been cold that night. Unseasonably cold. She still remembered that she had ordered extra logs to be carried inside, for the fires, and she had built up the fire in the dining room, so that it roared, the flames almost licking the chimney.
She hadn’t seen Gilbert for two days; he had been away at a house party, north of The Willows. A grand soiree, hosted by Mr and Mrs Fenton. She had opened the invitation to the event a month ago and knew that the couple had requested the company of them both. The invitation wasn’t exclusively for her husband.
As she sat down at the dinner table that night, waiting for her husband, her heart had twisted in sadness. The Fentons would think that she was unbearably rude for not attending. But what they didn’t know was that her husband had banned her from going with him. She had begged and pleaded, but he had been adamant.
Susannah had picked up her glass of wine, staring across the empty table into the roaring fire. Her life had become so unbearably lonely. She wandered the hallways of The Willows like a ghost. Gilbert was always away, and he never allowed her to accompany him to the parties and assemblies anymore.
How had it come to this?
The door had opened, and there he was. Her errant husband. He looked unwell, with bloodshot eyes. Susannah knew it was because he had over imbibed at the house party. He always looked like this when he finally returned from socialising.
He gazed at her as he took his place at the head of the table, carefully unfolding his napkin.
“And how is my wife this evening?” he asked in a clipped voice.
Susannah waited for the butler to refill the wine glasses and retreat before she answered.
“I am well,” she had said, through gritted teeth. “I am better than you are, husband, by the look of you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he had snarled, draining his wine before slamming the glass on the table. The sound had echoed in the silence.
Susannah had bit her lip, not intending to answer. She should not have said anything about how he looked. She should have replied in a non-committal way. She knew how the evening would go, now, if she betrayed how hurt she was by his desertion of her. How hurt she was that he cooped her up in this house, forcing her to stay here, day in and day out.
The Willows was both her home and her prison, now.
“I meant no offence,” she said slowly, staring ahead.
He had laughed nastily. “Oh, come now, dear wife! You obviously have a bee in your bonnet. Please tell meexactlywhat is upsetting you now.”
Her eyes had filled with tears. Why did he always have to speak to her like this, in this cold, callous way, as if he hated her? What had she ever done to him that he felt justified in treating her this way?
She shouldn’t have replied. But suddenly, a great weariness had overtaken her. A weariness of her life and how she had been forced to live it.
“I do not understand,” she had said, in a faltering voice. “I do not understand why you insisted that I could not go to the house party. The Fentons will think me a terrible snob, and that I do not like them!” She had taken a deep breath for courage. “All of our previous friends and acquaintances think that of me, now, because you never let me socialise anymore. Why, Gilbert? Why do you insist that I stay in this house all the time?”
His face had darkened. “Because you cannot be trusted,” he had spat, his eyes narrowing. “I have seen the way other men look at you and the way you look at them. It is disgusting, and I will not endure it.”
She winced, feeling his words like a physical blow. “I am a loyal and true wife to you,” she said slowly. “How many times do I have to say it? I amnotinterested in other men, and even if they do admire me, I do not encourage it, nor do I seek it!”
He had thrown his napkin down, glaring at her. He stood up, towering over the table, seeming to consume the space with his presence.
“Enough!” he had bellowed. “I will not listen to your lies anymore! If I cannot find peace at my own table, I will leave!” His face had twisted. “And you wonder why I leave you alone all the time. It is all that you deserve for being the harridan of a wife that you are!”
She had started crying, then. “Please, Gilbert, can we not talk civilly to each other …?”
But he swept out of the room, muttering under his breath, slamming the door behind him. Dinner had been ruined, yet again, she could not eat. She had felt physically sick, retiring to her room. She had not known where her husband had gone. She had assumed that he had retired to his own chambers, too.
