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"Where are you going?" Lisa asked, standing up.
"For a walk."
"But I was going to read to you to cheer you up," Lisa protested.
"I don't want to be read to," Suzette said grimly as she slipped her shoes on.
"I could tell you a story," Lisa offered.
"No."
"I could sing, or--"
"I want to be alone," Suzette said impatiently, heading for the door. She just wanted out of there. She didn't want Lisa's pitying looks or attempts to cheer her. She wanted to be alone to consider what to do. If there was anything to do. Of course, there were things she had to do. She still had to marry to save them all from scandal. Here she was, just a day's travel away from Gretna Green, where she would need to wed, but with no prospective grooms around to marry. If Daniel hadn't wished to wed her, the least he could have done was say so days ago in London, where she could have found someone else. Now she was far away from the bachelors she had to choose from. What a bloody mess.
Daniel was an ass, and she was an idiot, and soon Richard and Robert would return and everyone would know just how much of an idiot she was, Suzette thought as she left the room and started down the stairs.
Although, she supposed, everyone probably did know by now. Christiana and Lisa did. No doubt by now Richard and Robert had caught up to Daniel and demanded an explanation, which he would probably give, and they would know. So that just left her father, and he would learn soon as well, she was sure. It was bad enough making such a mistake, but having everyone know just made it unbearable. Not that it mattered, Suzette supposed. Even losing their combined esteem did not hurt as much as losing Daniel's. She had thought . . . Well, it didn't matter what she'd thought. She'd obviously thought wrong. And now here she was, heartbroken, Suzette acknowledged, as she made her way through the main room and slipped out of the inn.
While she had instinctively denied it to Lisa, Suzette would acknowledge to herself that her feelings for Daniel had run very deep indeed. She had craved him like the very air she breathed, and still did. She'd wanted to touch every part of him, hear every moment of his life before their meeting and share every future moment there was. She'd sprung from her bed each morning since meeting him, eager to start the day and find him, not wanting to miss a moment with him. And he had seemed just as eager to spend time with her, which was why she was so crushed now to learn that he hadn't ever intended to marry her, had been leading her to believe he would just to "get to know her better."
Perhaps it had all been some plot to debauch her, Suzette thought. It wasn't a pleasant possibility to consider. It meant she'd completely misjudged the man and hadn't known him at all.
Avoiding even looking at the stables, the scene of her folly, Suzette walked around the inn and found a small path into the woods as she considered that perhaps Daniel was one of those bounders who went about deflowering unwary young debutantes naive enough to--
Suzette shook her head. No. She couldn't believe that. Surely, she couldn't have loved such a bounder as that? In the end, she supposed it didn't matter. That was what had happened. She'd lain with him, he was refusing to marry her because of it, and she now had to face the consequences alone. Virginity was expected from a bride and she would never lie to a man and claim to still possess hers. And yet she had to marry, and probably sooner was better than later since there may be even more consequences to that morning's events in the stable.
Swallowing, Suzette placed a hand over her stomach, wondering if his seed had taken root. Was she carrying his child? Part of her hoped dearly that she was, that she would keep and have a reminder of their time together for the rest of their days in the guise of a Daniel Junior. Another part of her, though, was horrified at the thought, knowing that looking on that child would mean fresh pain every day as well.
Sighing, Suzette paused to lean against a tree and closed her eyes, wishing things had been different. Wishing he'd love her. Wishing she'd never met him. She could have happily gone an entire lifetime without knowing this pain . . . even if it meant forgoing the happy moments and pleasure that had preceded it.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
Suzette glanced around. A man stood, hesitating a few feet away, looking uncertain as to whether to continue on his way or stop. It was the fellow who had approached as she'd watched Richard and Robert ride off. The one who had asked, "Suzette, isn't it?" She had thought he looked vaguely familiar then. Suzette felt sure she should know him, but couldn't be bothered to work it out any more now than she had been then.
"You're crying," he said, concern filling his expression as he moved forward.
Suzette raised a hand to her face, surprised to find it wet. She hadn't realized she'd been crying again, but suspected she would do a lot more of it in the coming weeks as she grieved her loss. Realizing the man was coming to stand before her, she turned to move away, but he caught her arm.
"Please, what's wrong? Maybe I can help," he said softly, drawing her to a halt.
"Nothing," Suzette murmured, keeping her face turned away. "Please, don't trouble yourself. I am fine."
"Now what kind of gentleman would abandon a lady crying alone in the woods?" he chided, retrieving a handkerchief and turning her so that he could dab at her face and mop up the tears. "There, that's better."
"Thank you," Suzette murmured as he put the handkerchief away.
He nodded, and then glanced around before looking back and saying solemnly, "You really shouldn't be out here by yourself, you know. This close to the border between England and Scotland there is more crime than elsewhere and a young lady should never be unescorted in the area."
Suzette peered at the trees surrounding them. It looked peaceful enough. On the other hand, there could also be a dozen bandits and highwaymen hiding behind the surrounding trees and she would not know it until they leapt out at her.
"Come, I shall walk with you," he decided, taking her arm and urging her gently along the path. "There is a lovely little waterfall just a little further on. Perhaps we could sit there. I always find water soothing to my troubles, though I'm not sure why. But it has been that way since I was a small boy. Do you like water?"
Suzette mumbled a noncommittal reply. At that moment she wasn't sure what she liked or disliked, or if she liked much of anything at all. Mostly she just wanted to go back to her room at the inn and curl up in a ball on the bed and cry herself back to sleep. She didn't know why she hadn't just sent Lisa from the room and done that earlier, rather than coming outside.
"London is nice with its entertainments, but there is just nothing to compare to Mother Nature's artistry in the country, don't you think?" the man continued, chattering soothingly. "The fresh air, the birdsong, the rustle of the breeze through the trees . . . I always feel refreshed after a visit to the country. Ah, here we are. Isn't it lovely?"
Suzette saw that they'd moved off the path to the edge of a small pond with a waterfall pouring fresh water into it. It was quite pretty, she supposed with disinterest, and wondered if Daniel would have liked it.
"If I'd realized I was going to come across a beautiful young lady on my walk, I would have had the innkeeper's wife pack a picnic for us," her companion commented as he urged her to sit on a boulder next to the water. "However, I suppose we shall have to make do with what I did bring. You have your choice of a peach or a pear."
Suzette eyed the two items he'd retrieved from his pocket. She wasn't hungry, but took the peach to be polite and the fellow settled next to her on the boulder, leaving enough room that it could not be considered improper.
They were silent, watching the water cascade into the pond, and Suzette let her mind wander. Of course it returned to Daniel, to his smile, his kind eyes, his laughter, his kisses--
"Shall I dispose of the pit for you?"
Suzette glanced down with surprise to see that, hungry or not, she'd eaten the entire peach. And she hadn't tasted a bite. She held out the pit and watched silently as he tossed it into the pond.
>
"There." He relaxed on the boulder and then said, "It is none of my business, but you seem very melancholy, not at all the vivacious young woman I met at the Landons' ball."
Suzette stiffened and looked to him then, really looking this time. He definitely did look familiar, but she still wasn't placing him.
"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I danced with so many at the Landons' ball, and it feels like a lifetime ago. I'm afraid I don't recall--"
"I am the one man you didn't dance with," he said, smiling wryly, and then introduced himself. "I am Lord Danvers. Jeremy Danvers. I was on your card that night, but when I came to claim you for our dance, you seemed quite distressed and you rushed off."
"Oh," Suzette grimaced as the memory returned to her. He'd come to claim her just as she'd spotted Richard.
"Ah, I see the recollection on your face," Danvers said with amusement.
"I apologize, I am not usually so rude, but there was something of a family crisis," she said quietly, now recalling that Lisa had been alarmed at her not dancing with the man because he suited their needs and was not old or unpleasant. Suzette thought now that perhaps if Richard had arrived just a few minutes later, everything would be different. Perhaps she would have made her proposition to Danvers on the dance floor and never even given Daniel a second glance.
"There is no need to apologize," Danvers assured her, and then smiled wryly and said, "Although, I suppose I could hold you wholly responsible for my broken heart because of it."
Suzette blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry, I don't--"
