Nine Buck's Row (30 page)

“You look wan,” he said one morning at breakfast. “Do you find life here so very boring?”

“It's intolerable,” I said petulantly. “There's nothing to do, no one to talk to. You—you said I could learn to ride. You said there would be girls my own age to chat with, the daughters of neighbors. I—we've been here over two weeks, and I've seen no one but the servants. I've walked all over the countryside. I've read the complete works of Balzac. I'm bored. I know I have no right to complain, but—”

“After the book is done I'll see that you meet the neighbors. I'll invite them here, introduce you. Until then—I can't have the house full of chattering butterflies. I can't be bothered. You'll have to make do with your walks and your reading.”

“What about the riding lessons?”

“I'll speak to young Vic this morning. He'll saddle one of the mares and give you the proper instructions. Perhaps that'll keep you occupied for a while.”

Vic, the groom, was a husky, affable lad with brilliant blue eyes and shaggy, straw-colored hair that fell in a thick fringe over his forehead. In muddy boots, tight brown trousers and loose leather jerkin over a coarse white linen shirt with full sleeves, he was the personification of the robust, unlettered peasant. He spoke with a thick, guttural accent and invariably smelled of the stables, yet he had a crude charm and hearty manner that was immediately winning. Under his tutelage I soon learned to ride the gentle gray mare he had selected. Less than a week after my first lesson I was galloping confidently over the neighborhood.

One afternoon in early October I was riding along a dirt lane that ran past beautifully cultivated fields. Beyond the low gray-stone walls I saw richly undulating furrows of red-brown soil, some squares covered with green, tall golden grain waving on the horizon. A mile or so away, rounding a bend, I saw in the distance a spacious lawn surrounded by oak trees, formal gardens on either side of a gorgeous pink brick mansion with impressive white columns supporting a portico, sunlight gleaming on a blue-white roof. I knew the place immediately. It was Roseclay. I stopped the mare, sitting easily in the saddle and staring at the home of Ted Elliot. I had never seen a more beautiful house.

“I say, are my eyes deceiving me!”

I turned in the saddle to see a young farmer with dirt-streaked face approaching me on a muscular black stallion. Slender, tall in the saddle, he wore mud-splattered black boots, gray trousers and billowing white shirt tucked loosely in the waistband. He smiled broadly and waved, tugging on the reins and halting the stallion beside my mare. It wasn't until I saw the deep brown eyes and short-clipped brick-red hair that I recognized him. His face was more deeply tanned than it had been at Lady Cordelia's ball, and the rough clothes suited him even better than the dandy's apparel he had worn on that occasion. He was ruggedly handsome, alarmingly so.

“Is it really you?” he cried.

“Hello, Mr. Elliot,” I said calmly.

“But this is outrageous! How long have you been in Surrey?”

“Almost three weeks.”

“Three weeks! And I knew nothing about it! Three weeks during which I might have been courting you. Shocking, that's what it is. If you knew how often I've thought of you—well, we'll simply have to make up for lost time. That's all there is to it! Starting now. Come, I'll take you to the house. Mother'll be eager to meet you.”

“To the house? But I can't—”

Before I could protest further, he took the reins from me and led the confused mare along beside his stallion. I held on to the saddle horn, bewildered, outraged and thoroughly delighted. Stopping in front of the stables, Ted swung down from the saddle, tossed the reins to a groom and half pulled me from my horse. Holding my hand firmly, grinning a devilish grin, he led me into the house, down a long hall and into a rose and gray parlor gleaming with crystal and elegant French furniture.

Lady Lucille Elliot was sitting on a cream white sofa, stitching on a piece of embroidery. Thin, aristocratic, her beauty a bit faded, she had pale blonde hair and enormous gray eyes, a rose flush on her cheeks. She was the perfect chatelaine, lovely, vague, not at all perturbed by her son's sudden appearance with a stranger in tow.

“I say, Mother, look at the prize I've found! It's Susannah, the girl I told you about. Her guardian's brought her to Surrey at last. Isn't she a vision? Was I exaggerating when I said she was the loveliest creature in the western hemisphere?”

“Hello, dear,” Lady Lucille said, giving me a gracious smile. “I've heard so much about you. Ted's talked of nothing else since the night of my sister's ball. Ted, what can you be thinking of? Your boots are caked with mud, ruining my carpet. Go clean up immediately and change those clothes. Susannah will stay to tea, of course, and I don't want her thinking I've raised a young barbarian.”

“I couldn't—” I protested.

“You shall!” Ted said firmly. “Don't let her get away, Mother. I'll be back down in a few minutes.”

He charged out of the room, leaving bits of mud on the exquisite rose carpet. Lady Lucille shook her head, smiled tenderly, motioned for me to sit on the sofa beside her and began talking to me in a cozy, comfortable manner as though resuming a conversation between intimate friends. Elegant, calm, completely at ease in her world, she continued to stitch at her embroidery while relating anecdotes about her son and his deplorable love for the soil.

“It's beyond my comprehension, naturally, Teddy's passion for plows. I so wanted him to be a pianist—he's so talented, a virtuoso at the keyboard, I'll have him play for us after tea—but he persists in doing the most extraordinary things with the tenant farms. I'm proud of him, actually, but it distresses me to see him with mud on his boots when he could be winning acclaim in musical circles.” She sighed, drove the needle into the cloth, pulled it out, a dreamy look in her eyes. “His father, now, wanted him to be a lawyer.”

“Has Mother been boring you dreadfully?” Ted said, entering the room a few minutes later.

“Not at all,” I replied. “She's been telling me the most interesting things about you.”

“A pack of lies, no doubt. Mother's shameless in that respect.”

“What an absurd thing to say, Ted,” his mother protested mildly. “You look adorable, dear, but your hair is still damp.”

He had changed into a light brown suit and an outrageous orange waistcoat embroidered with dark brown leaves, his brown leather boots gleaming with polish. The brick red hair clung to his skull in short wet locks, and an amiable smile played on his lips. Mother and son were enchanted by each other. It was touching to see such devotion.

“I spoke to Aggie in the hall,” he said. “She'll be bringing tea in a few minutes. Now, Susannah, I want an explanation for your inexcusable cruelty. How is it possible you've been here three weeks without letting us know? I'm livid, I must warn you, so the explanation had better be a good one.”

I spent almost two hours in that beautiful parlor, delighted with the blithe, airy conversation, the lavish tea, the atmosphere of comfort and subdued luxury. Ted played for us after tea. He was, indeed, a virtuoso, a showman, his performance as dramatic as the music he chose. Head thrown back, fingers attacking the keys with gusto, coattails flying, he played the piece as Liszt himself must have imagined it. He wasn't quite as good as his mother believed, but his flamboyant verve and virile good looks would certainly have caused countesses to swoon.

“You must call again,” Lady Lucille said as we stood under the portico, waiting for the groom to bring the horses around. “My husband will be sorry he missed you. He's away on business at the moment.”

“She'll be back,” Ted informed her. “Tomorrow, in fact. Tea at Roseclay shall become a regular habit. And between times I shall show her all the sights of the countryside, give her a guided tour of our farms.”

“You take quite a lot for granted,” I said when his mother had gone back inside.

“Do I? I told you we were going to make up for lost time.”

“I may have other things to do with my time.”

“What? Come now, confess—you're overwhelmed. It's only natural. You're a woman. Am I not dazzling? All the girls in the county are going to be afire with jealousy when they hear about you, and their mothers will be white with rage. They've been scheming to trap me for years, devious creatures that they are, and along comes a beautiful young upstart, snatching the plum right out from under their watchful eyes.”

“Your conceit knows no bounds,” I said in a cool voice.

“What game is this? Don't you understand what I'm saying? My intentions are most honorable, I assure you. I shall call on your guardian first thing in the morning and make them known to him. He'll be delighted. I
am
a plum, Susannah. I wish you'd get that through your silly little skull.”

“You—you mustn't do that,” I said quickly.

“Do what?”

“Call on Nicholas. He—he wouldn't like it.”

“Ah, the plot thickens. An evil guardian, an obstacle. I'm pleased. Everything seemed a bit too easy. Our meetings will be clandestine, full of secret urgency, and then, when I've won you over, I'll storm into his study and demand your hand. If he refuses, I'll challenge him to a duel.”

“Oh, hush!” I snapped. “You're preposterous. I wonder how your poor mother puts up with you.”

Ted laughed heartily and helped me into the saddle. He was like an irreverent young prince, brilliantly hued, bigger than life, not to be taken seriously. Scatterbrained young society girls and their frivolous mothers might go wild over him, but I was far too levelheaded to be moved by his ridiculous mock-courting. I thoroughly intended to avoid him in the future.

The sun was already beginning to set when I finally got back. Ted had accompanied me most of the way, finally turning back at the grove of trees that hid the house from the road. Leaving the mare with Vic, I hurried inside, hoping Nicholas hadn't noticed my absence. He was standing in the front hall, a packet of letters in his hand, and I stopped, surprised. I had been certain he would still be in the library working.

“You look flushed, Susannah,” he said in a dry voice. “Did you enjoy your ride?”

“Y-yes,” I stammered.

He stared at me with cool, hateful eyes. Although he had no way of knowing about my afternoon at Roseclay, I felt sure he was suspicious. He turned his attention to the letters, ignoring my presence. The mail was frequently late, and it had evidently just arrived. I watched as he sorted through the letters, hoping there would be one from Millie. She had written only once, before the wedding, and it had been over two weeks since I had heard from her.

“Anything for me?” I inquired.

Nicholas handed me the letter without comment, his face expressionless, then went back to the library. The letter had a Brighton post mark. I hurried upstairs to my room, eager to read it. Flinging myself on the bed, I tore it open.

Suzy
!

It's happened, it's done, it's over with, and I haven't the words to express my elation! Jamie was as nervous as a cat when we said our vows, and he dropped the ring
twice
. It rolled across the floor and he had to go scampering after it. I had to restrain myself to keep from bursting into peals of laughter! Daddy cried when it was over, but I think he's secretly relieved to see me properly wed. He
worried
so about all my beaux. He thinks Jamie hung the moon, and I must say I'm in complete agreement
.

Here we are in Brighton. The hotel is tacky, but we couldn't afford anything grand and, after all, who needs red plush and golden tassels? From the windows I can see the boardwalk, littered with plump prissy women taking the sea air, and beyond it lies the beach, waves crashing over the sand. We haven't been to the beach even once
—
we've hardly left the room! Modesty forbids me to say anything more, but, Suzy, it's
glorious
to be married
!

Jamie is sitting across the room as I scribble. He is wearing a brown silk dressing robe and
nothing else
! He has a sulky expression, eager for me to put pen aside and pay attention to him. Wicked man! We leave for London tomorrow, alas, but I'm looking forward to doing up the little cottage and turning it into a proper nest for my Lord and Master
.

I've missed you dreadfully, luv, and I'm crushed that you couldn't be at the wedding. Hoping to see you before long. Perhaps you can come visit us at the cottage when I get it fixed up. Much love
,

Mrs. Jamie Caine

P. S.
Have you seen Ted Elliot yet
? Don't dawdle, Suzy! Get him! You can't
imagine
how divine it is being married
!

I read the letter twice, pleased for Millie, pleased that she was so happy, but I felt sadness, too. Was I secretly envious of her? Her happiness shone in every line. Would I ever know such elation? I felt alone, miserably so, and I despaired of ever attaining the state Millie described with such glowing colors.

October ripened, painting the countryside with autumnal colors, the trees ablaze with gold, yellow and bronze, cool winds tearing them from branches and sending them spiraling to the ground. The sky was steel gray, without a hint of blue, and the air was invigorating, each day a crisp new challenge. Fires burned in all the fireplaces, filling the rooms with the smell of smoke, and Nicholas was more immersed than ever in his book, frequently working into the early hours of the morning. The manuscript continued to grow, and, although we never discussed it, I could tell that he was pleased with the way it was going. At meal times he was preoccupied, his mind on the book, and I might have been one of the servants for all the notice he took of me.