"The best lightning rod for your protection is your own spine." Ralph Waldo Emerson

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XI.

Susanna had been home a fortnight. Two very long weeks. She never thought she would miss the busyness that was London, but her life in Hertfordshire had never felt greyer. It didn't help that the weather seemed to be turning cooler even earlier this year.

She had settled back into her routine easily because it was the routine that she had kept each and every day since leaving finishing school. Perhaps the only change these last few years was her time spent with her nieces. Susanna would never begrudge her nieces, for she adored them terribly, but she was once again consumed by that feeling that had haunted her during her season.

It was unfulfillment. It was the knowledge that something was dreadfully lacking in her life, that worldliness that she had so craved, and yet had been too frightened to go out and grasp.

These feelings often led her thoughts to Alexander Whitfield. In fact, it did not take much in Susanna's day for her thoughts to travel to him. She watched the gardeners from the window lugging large planters, and she was instantly reminded of Mr Whitfield's brute strength. Whenever she saw her brother out riding, she could not help by think of Mr Whitfield's connection with his horse, Argent. She had found a French title of a book in the library and she had smiled to remember the moment where Mr Whitfield had revealed to her mother that he indeed spoke English, as well as his mother tongue. Susanna thought of his voice, his hands, his smile, his character, his eyes ... oh, his eyes. What windows to a deep, wounded soul they were.

Susanna wrote to him. Of course, she never sent her letters. She had felt so foolish as to have asked, and ashamed when she had witnessed Mr Whitfield's embarrassment at his illiteracy. But she needed to write to him for her own sanity. How she wished she could talk to him. Really talk to him, beyond any conversation she had ever shared with a man, or a woman, indeed. Susanna simply knew there was something there to be discovered.

"Oh, Susanna, for God's sake, stop moping!" snapped Cecily as they sat together with Grace and the girls in the drawing room for tea. "I cannot tolerate it."

Susanna righted her posture as Grace offered her a sympathetic smile. Susanna turned away from her mother and towards Perrie, who was sitting on the same settee with her. Perrie was playing with a doll that she had been gifted last Christmas, one made of beautiful porcelain and wearing a white dress made of real lace.

Perrie looked up at Susanna and offered her a sweet, yet cheeky, grin, her bright, blue eyes sparkling with delight. Perrie offered Susanna had doll and Susanna dutifully accepted it, straightening her dress as Perrie had been doing.

"She is so pretty like you," Perrie observed innocently, reaching up to stroke the side of Susanna's face, fingering one of her blonde curls which matched the colour of Perrie's doll.

"Oh, I quite agree, Perrie," commented Cecily. "And so many gentlemen this last season agreed also."

"Cecily," murmured Grace, "really? I know you appreciate and respect Susanna's choices somewhere inside of you."

Susanna's eyes flicked to her mother as Cecily pursed her lips.

"Just you wait until that one," Cecily nodded at Perrie, "or this one," she again gestured to Lily, who was sleeping in Grace's arms, "vexes you as that one," she motioned to Susanna, "vexes me."

Grace smiled peacefully. "I should hope they resist the charms of suitors who would want them for their dowries and not their hearts. Nothing would make me prouder, and it should certainly not vex me."

Susanna resisted beaming.

Cecily audibly sighed. "Dear Grace," she groaned. "Not every gentleman in London is a lecherous ogre. There are some, certainly, but not every one of them is. Susanna turned down some very amiable young men, and now she mopes about the house as though she has suffered some sort of disservice when she might have been mistress of her own house at this very moment had she but given one of them a chance."

"Grace, will you tell her?" snapped Susanna uncontrollably, her tone capturing the attention of both her sister-in-law and her mother. "Will you tell her what it is like to be in love? For she has no idea. And when she understands, perhaps she will forgive me for not selling myself to the highest bidder."

Cecily's eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened, and Susanna could see that she had hit a grievously dangerous nerve. "Do not you speak to me like that, young lady," Cecily uttered intensely. "I want you to be happy more than any other. You are the one standing in your own way as you will not tolerate any of the men that I place in front of you!"

"Perhaps because they are not the sort of men I want!" exclaimed Susanna, huffing impatiently.

"Well, pray, enlighten me!" retorted Cecily sarcastically.

Like they had so many other times this past fortnight, Susanna's thoughts uncontrollably flicked to Mr Whitfield. She saw his face so vividly in her mind that he might have been standing right in front of her.

Their conversation was interrupted as the door to the drawing room opened, and Cole entered, standing up straight as he announced, "Mrs Denham has arrived."

Mrs Denham entered the drawing room on her cane and their argument was forgotten as Cecily rose to greet her friend. Susanna swallowed her emotions as she greeted Mrs Denham, too. Mrs Denham had been recovering from a head cold for the past few weeks, Grace had informed them upon their return, and so this had been her first visit to Ashwood since Susanna and Cecily's return.

Mrs Denham soon occupied one of the armchairs as she couldn't be on her feet for very long without her once broken leg ailing her. Susanna knew that her mother had quite often offered to summon a surgeon to assist her, but Mrs Denham kept refusing. It was an ache she had grown used to, and it only really troubled her when it was going to rain. Susanna had quietly thought to herself that with England's weather, it must trouble poor Mrs Denham all the time.

Conversation quickly shifted to news of the village, and Mrs Denham shared news of Kate, Jim, and their young son, as well as how Jem, who was sixteen now, was getting on now that the school had reopened after the summer. Both Jem and Peter had left school quite young owing to the financial burdens of the Denham family. It pleased Susanna that Peter was able to better himself in London and Jem now has this opportunity to further his own study.

Susanna quietly grieved once more that poor Mr Whitfield had never had that chance. But, of course, he could learn. She wondered if he would one day.

"He is an energetic boy, our Jem, but he is bright, too," Mrs Denham said proudly. "It was his own decision to return to school. I think he was quite inspired by his older brother."

"You must talk to Adam when it comes time for thoughts on university," Cecily encouraged. "You know he would assist with that sort of thing."

"I will, I thank you," replied Mrs Denham gratefully. "And how goes Peter? He writes, of course, but we mothers would always prefer wordier letters from our sons." She laughed lightly.

"When Jack writes me, I will let you know. Thankfully Claire is a good correspondent," said Cecily with a roll of her eyes.

"Peter is doing well," Susanna answered Mrs Denham's original question. "He visited shortly before the close of the season and I did happen to see him at the publishing house as well. He is every bit the businessman, Mrs Denham."

Mrs Denham's cheeks flushed with pride. "Thank you, Susanna. Did you enjoy your own time in London?" she asked with slight hesitance, her eyes briefly flicking towards Cecily.

"Moments of it," murmured Susanna honestly.

Mrs Denham frowned sadly. "Well, I am certain the village is happy to have you home. There is always next year."

Susanna shuddered to even think of enduring another season.

The conversation turned to Grace and the girls for a little while as they enjoyed tea, sandwiches and sweets. Susanna enjoyed the distraction for a little while.

"Oh, did you hear the news?" Mrs Denham suddenly asked.

"No, what news?" inquired Cecily.

"Apparently there was a man in the village yesterday asking about space for a horse charming performance," Mrs Denham reported animatedly. "It is an act, I believe, like a circus act. Performed by a savage, or so I am told. He was struggling to find accommodations as the inn in Hexham wouldn't rent them rooms. They are setting up a camp by the church."

Susanna eyes widened and her breath hitched at the news. Certainly not. Surely it could not be them. But it was too much of a coincidence for it not to be true. And why else would the inn in the neighbouring parish of Hexham refuse a paying customer save for the colour of his skin?

"Oh, I think we are familiar with those performers, Mrs Denham. I believe they were established in London only a few weeks ago," replied Cecily distastefully. "The charmer's horse nearly killed Susanna."

"What?" gasped Grace.

"Mama," protested Susanna. "The poor beast was spooked by something. It was an accident, and no harm was done." A smile tugged at her lips. She couldn't help but feel quite excited for the first time since returning to Ashwood. He was coming here. If that was not a sign from God, then Susanna did not know what was. "Mr Whitfield, the horse charmer, saved my life, Mrs Denham," Susanna added. "Perhaps, if they cannot find accommodations to take them, then they ought to stay here."

Susanna watched as the colour physically drained from her mother's face as the idea startled her so. Thankfully, it was not her mother's decision. She did not wait for Cecily's response for she had already run out of the drawing room in the direction of her brother's study.

***

The village of Ashwood was small, as were the minds of its inhabitants, Alex thought bitterly. Though, he supposed that was not fair. As there was no inn in Ashwood, there was no innkeeper to refuse him entry. In innkeeper in Hexham, however, had balked at the very notion of Alex stepping foot inside his establishment.

Len had managed to procure land from the church for them to pitch their tents and unload their cart, and this was where they would be staying as they had not managed to secure any other accommodations in the interim.

"That bloody vicar is a tough man to bargain with," muttered Len bitterly as he sorted through one of his bags.

There were not many public spaces for their show, and the church owned the large green beside it. Alex had found that most clergymen believed his work with horses to be something resembling witchcraft. A small percentage of their profits would allow them to forget any of their moral objections.

"We really needed those rooms," Len continued grumpily. "I don't like the townsfolk seeing you before any of the performances. It ruins the illusion if they see you dressed like a white man."

"I am dressed like a person, Len," Alex snarked, "which is what I am."

Len rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. At least we are in the right place. The Ashwood estate is a few miles from here, and as soon as we get the word out that you are here, I am certain our Little Miss will find you." Len all but rubbed his hands together with glee.

It had been a fortnight since Alex had made the decision to go along with Len's plans one last time, and he had been wracked with guilt for every minute of it. But the guilt had not altered his decision. All he had to do was keep reminding himself that Susanna would survive this, and his mother would not.

But something else had happened during these past two weeks. Alex had missed Susanna. Despite everything he planned to do, he was damned well excited to see her again. And that was the most wicked part of it all.

"Excuse me."

The flap of their tent was lifted, and a finely dressed gentleman stood by the entrance, peering inside with curious eyes. At first glance, Alex could see he was wealthy, landed, perhaps even titled. His buttons seemed to be made of gold, or at least fine brass.

He was a tall man with a lean physique, and neatly kept dark hair. He was not old, in fact Alex would have wagered that the man was a similar age to himself.

"We've got the permission of the good reverend to be here, sir," Len immediately said defensively. "My friend, here," he gestured to Alex, "is a God-fearing savage, you're not to worry."

Alex glared daggers at the back of Len's head. If Len started shouting at him in his made-up language just to carry on the ruse, then he would indeed start shouting back in French.

The man frowned as he stepped inside the tent cautiously. "Forgive my intrusion," he said, adjusting his top hat under his arm. "I have not come to ask you to leave. On the contrary." He looked to Alex, smiled, and extended his hand.

Alex nearly fell over.

"You must be Mr Whitfield, is that right?"

Alex did not think he had ever been greeted first in his life, certainly never before a white man. Furthermore, a gentleman was offering his own hand. Alex found himself reaching out, not quite believing it as his hand was shook firmly.

"Yes, my name is Alexander Whitfield, sir," Alex replied, though he had no control over his own shocked tongue.

"I am pleased to meet you," he replied, "and I find I am indebted to you."

"Indebted?" repeated Len, the taste of fortune on his mouth. Alex could hear the cogs in Len's greedy mind turning.

"Yes. Forgive me, I have not introduced myself. I believe you are acquainted with my sister, Lady Susanna Beresford."

Alex saw little to no resemblance between the siblings save for their tolerance. This man had shaken his hand without a second thought. But Alen then realised that he was standing before a duke, and so did Len.

"Your Grace," exclaimed Len, bowing his head.

Alex followed suit, truly meaning the mark of respect.

The duke smiled. "Please. I have only just learned of the service you rendered to my sister in London and I must thank you. Susanna has suggested a way in which I might clear my debt, and ... she can be quite persistent when she wants something."

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Hope you enjoyed it! 

What's going to happen next, I wonder? I'll give you a hint, we are closer than you think to the first lot of "LAURA IS SO EVIL!" comments ;)

*sips my preferred beverage of reader tears* ahh, that hits the spot!

Alright, bed time - and that basically means I'm going to spend the next hour reading A Court of Mist and Fury. I'm still not into it, but I paid $16 for it so I'm going to finish it. I just hope it doesn't end on a cliffhanger so I don't have to buy the next one lol. I really just think it's not my genre as I know so many people love the series. Like, I like bits of it. Some characters are cool. But the story just drags. This book is 69 chapters long! You can get to the point a bit faster! I think I'm up to about Chapter 24 and the fact that I've still got 40 chapters to go kills me. 

Lol, anyway, vote and comment!