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A dim memory stirred: Juno mentioning Susannah that night. Saying … what? That she hoped Susannah understood him. Well, of course Susannah understood him. Would any other lady in England think to take him to a glassworks in Kent?
“What do you say?” she asked. “Might they be a candidate for a grant from the Dammerton Foundation?”
“If you wish.”
“I shall put them on my list. There is an interesting Norman church in the village,” she added. “We could look at the carvings.”
Leo did not give a damn about the Normans or their carvings. “Excellent,” he said.
Susannah seemed to feel no need to say anything more. As usual, she displayed no interest in sharing her thoughts, or in any aspect of Leo at all.
Just as well, considering.
He had not kissed her. She made no sign of expecting a kiss, nor had she said anything that even the most hopeless romantic might mistake for flirtation. They were becoming friends and she seemed content with that. Leo was too, of course. Perfectly content.
He liked Susannah. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure he liked himself when he was with her. He felt artificial, somehow. Guilt made him try too hard, though he had no reason to feel guilty because he had tried to be honest with her, at least as honest as she would allow. But somehow his essence seemed to be draining away, rendering him no more substantial than a title in a suit of clothes.
Beautiful clothes, to be sure, but mere clothing nonetheless.
In the churchyard, Susannah guided him past an ancient yew tree and pointed at an old stone archway. She launched into an animated history of the church, something about the Normans and saints and grotesques. Lots of facts. Susannah liked facts. She liked lists. She liked order.
“Susannah,” he said, interrupting her recitation.
She turned, ever pleasant, a familiar stranger. “Yes?”
“I thought perhaps I might kiss you now.”
“Very well.” She folded her hands and lifted her chin.
“This is an important part of marriage,” he said.
“Yes. I do hope we are blessed with children.”
Kiss her now, he told himself, but his hands remained clasped behind his back. A kiss to his betrothed did not demand an explanation, yet still he said, “I’m sure your mother or grandmother has explained it to you.”
“I’m aware of the facts, yes.”
“I shall do everything in my power to make it pleasant. You have no cause for concern.”
She cleared her throat. “How very considerate.”
“Although I suppose saying there is no cause for concern makes it sound as if there might actually be some cause for concern. Which of course there isn’t.”
She looked perplexed. “I never expected to discuss it,” she said after a pause.
“Neither did I. Which might be why I am making such a hash of it.”
It was only a kiss. She was pretty. He liked her. They would marry soon. He could do this.
Her gaze flicked from side to side. She fidgeted with her thumbs.
“Of course, there’s plenty of time,” he said. “No need to rush into anything.”
“Of course.”
She sounded relieved. She stepped back and, in tacit agreement, they left the churchyard for the road.
Yes, Leo reminded himself, no need to rush her into a kiss. He had plenty of time.
