Читать книгу A Practical Partnership - Lily George - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Nan trudged up the pathway that led to Kellridge, her valise banging against her hip with each step. The Reeds had offered to pick her up at the shop in the carriage, but somehow, she could not accept their kind offer. For a journey of this magnitude, she must put one foot in front of the other. Striking out on her own was just the way to start this new phase of her life.

To some, it might seem as though she was merely walking to Kellridge, where she would meet the Reeds and ride off with them to their country home. But this meant so much more. Meeting them and leaving Tansley from the shop would seem too hasty, abrupt even. This walk provided distance. Though she had spent the past fortnight working to put the shop in order, thereby allowing it to hum along smoothly in her absence, there was still a tug at her heart as she closed the shop door behind her.

She would be home to check on things in another fortnight, before returning to the Reeds’ home.

She must remind herself of this fact. This was not the end of her life in Tansley. She would be back soon, but it just wouldn’t be the same.

Life would never be the same again.

She inhaled deeply, breathing in the brisk spring air. Winter was leaving for certain, and yet there was still an icy, keen edge to the wind. This was a perfect time of the year for new beginnings, if one believed in poetic comparisons. She was striking out on her own as cautiously and yet as willingly as a sprout pushing its way up from the earth.

Nan stifled an internal groan. She was becoming as ridiculously poetic as Becky.

As she picked her way down a particularly rocky vale, her foot slipped on a rock. She tripped and slid down the last bit of valley, nearly losing her valise along with her footing. She skidded to a stop and tugged at her dress and cloak. She must have looked so ridiculous. What a way to begin her new attempted independence. Falling down was inefficient when one was hoping to land firmly on one’s feet.

“Nan! Are you quite all right?” Jane’s voice echoed in the valley. Nan glanced around and caught sight of her friend making her way down a steep path, one that led to some of the smaller, nearby farms. “I thought for certain you were going to fall.”

“So did I,” Nan replied with a smile. She picked her way over to Jane’s side, taking care to keep from sliding down atop an avalanche of pebbles. “What are you doing out here? I thought you would be at Kellridge, making last-minute preparations and saying your goodbyes.”

“No. I—I had a few friends I wanted to say farewell to before we left.” The color rose in Jane’s cheeks until it reached her hair.

Nan paused in her rush to start her life anew. Why was Jane so embarrassed?

She took a closer, more practiced look at her friend. Why had Jane taken her violin with her on a social call?

“I see,” she said softly. “You’ve only been here a few weeks. I am glad to hear you’ve made good friends, even in that short of an amount of time. Is it difficult to leave Kellridge?”

“I find it hard to leave.” Jane’s dark eyes flashed and she pursed her lips. “I haven’t met any families as congenial as those here in Tansley. I am sure the questionable delights of London will pale in comparison.”

Nan smiled, even as she was heartily confused by Jane’s vehemence. What families had Jane visited? Hadn’t she been here mere weeks—a very short time to form such a strong connection to someone? There was no one nearby except for a few families who resided on small farms on the outskirts of the village. She had made bonnets for the women of these houses for a while now, but she didn’t recall any of them as being particularly pleasant.

“Well, I am glad to see you found friends who share your taste in music,” Nan replied, for wont of something more intelligent to say.

Jane threaded her arm through Nan’s and began guiding them through the valley path toward Kellridge. She had a remarkably good grasp of the terrain, almost as though this rocky little valley was familiar to her. Nan had lived in Tansley for years, traversing this path often on her way to Kellridge from the shop, and she was far from being as nimble as Jane.

“Hmm.” Jane murmured in a distracted fashion.

They fell silent for a few moments as Jane led them over the side of the hill and up to the plateau that stretched toward Kellridge. Nan caught her breath as she looked at the large stone manor house. What a lovely place it was, and how fortunate Becky was to be mistress of all that grandeur. Becky’s place in life was now secure, and she could do as she pleased. She had a husband who adored her, a baby on the way, a stepniece who thought of her as a mother and a grand home filled with servants.

It was difficult indeed to swallow the bitterness rising in her throat.

Never mind. Once she was secure in her own right, she could afford to be happy for her sister. For now, and only to herself, she thought it a terrible injustice that she should be so shut out of the loveliness and happiness life had to offer.

As they paused for a moment on the brink of the plateau, Jane snapped out of her reverie. “Nan, do you know the Holdcroft family?”

Nan stuffed her jealousy back down deep inside. “Yes, I believe so. Mrs. Hugh Holdcroft is a customer of mine. I delivered a new spring bonnet to her just recently.”

“Remarkable people, the Holdcrofts. Very old English family.” Jane turned to her, giving a sweet, and slightly sad, smile. “Of course, they don’t have the wealth they used to command. They are farmers now, even though in previous generations they were quite well-to-do.”

“Unfortunately, that happens often in families.” Nan shrugged. “My sisters and I were wealthy until my uncle Arthur spent all of our money. Well, that’s not true. He didn’t spend it as much as he lost it at the gaming tables.”

Jane gasped. “How horrible! Were you able to save anything?”

“My sister had enough money left to purchase the shop in the village, but since then we have supported ourselves.” It was difficult not to sound boastful, but what the Siddonses had accomplished with such limited means was worthy of pride. “Poverty is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I think people should be more concerned with how they treat others, especially those they consider beneath themselves, than about the balance on their ledger books.”

“That is brilliantly put.” Jane clapped her hands. “I must say I agree with you. The Holdcrofts are quite an amazing family. I wish you knew them better.”

“I do, too,” Nan replied, but her mind was focused more upon leaving Tansley than on getting to know the other villagers better. Funny, though she and Jane walked side by side and even arm in arm, they seemed to be on completely different paths. While she was ready to push forward, toward Kellridge and her new future, Jane was lingering on the past and on the friends she’d made in Tansley. “Come, let us hurry. If we don’t arrive at Kellridge on time, I am sure to endure a scolding from Susy. She is quite a stickler for punctuality.”

Jane nodded in agreement, and the two of them quickened their steps, arriving at the front portico out of breath and red-faced. The butler showed them in with a bemused glance at their windblown locks and pinkened cheeks.

As Nan entered the drawing room, a tingling feeling shot up her spine. John must be here. She glanced around casually and spotted him in the corner, speaking with Paul and Daniel. She dropped her gaze again. She’d managed to avoid John almost completely since slapping him a few weeks ago. All of her arrangements had been made with Jane, for after all, she was going for Jane’s benefit.

“About time you two arrived,” Susannah scolded from her place on the settee. “I was beginning to worry about both of you.”

Nan kissed her sister’s cheek. How nice it would be to be on her own, and once in a while, be late if she had the inclination or the need. “Our apologies. I nearly fell headfirst down a valley. Fortunately, Jane rescued me.”

Neither sister seemed particularly concerned with her brush with death. They merely greeted Jane and then turned assessing eyes toward her.

Becky patted the settee cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”

Nan obediently sat, while Jane walked across the room to chat with her brother.

Nan fiddled with the banding on her sleeve. She was now imprisoned between her two sisters, one of whom had grown quite large during her pregnancy. She had to sit with her elbows pinned against her sides to avoid hitting either of them.

“Now, before you leave, we both have some advice for you,” Susannah began in the tone of voice that usually indicated a lecture was at hand.

Nan stifled a groan and flicked a glance over at her traveling companions. Jane and John were both laughing, and Paul and Daniel seemed to be caught up in telling a lively story. Everyone seemed to be enjoying each other’s company immensely, and none of them made a move to leave.

“Now, when you are employed by someone outside of our family, you must remember to temper your blunt ways,” Susannah admonished. “Many’s the time that you’ve hurt our feelings with your plain talk. Remember that another employer—a stranger, to be perfectly frank—might not be so understanding or forgiving.”

“I wouldn’t say the Reeds are strangers—” Nan began.

“Well, they aren’t well-known to us. Not like Paul was, when Becky began working for him.” Susannah gave an irritated twitch of her shoulders. “So heed what I say, Nan. Please temper your words.”

“I shall.” Much of her bluntness over the years had been developed as a shield—a way to deflect the criticism of her elder sisters. In some ways, too, it had been used as a sword. After all, someone had to cut through Becky’s romanticism or to pierce Susannah’s vanity. The only way the Siddonses had survived—and thrived—was by gathering their strengths together while breaking down one another’s weaknesses. So it stood to reason that, deprived of her sisters’ annoying habits, she would find little need to be abrupt.

“But even as you work on supporting yourself, on striking out on your own—leave room in your heart for love,” Becky added, fanning herself lightly. “I was so certain that love had left me behind that day when Lieutenant Walker jilted me. Now I know that I was made for Paul.”

Nan resisted the urge to roll her eyes. After John’s supposed proposal had gone so hideously awry, she had felt no desire for romance for quite some time. Leave that to the very young and the very pretty. Of which she never felt a part.

Would they ever leave? She shifted slightly on the settee—not that there was that much room—and fought the desire to give way to nervous pacing. As she moved, she caught John’s glance from across the sitting room. The corners of his mouth quirked and he sent her a knowing, bemused grin.

She turned abruptly, knocking Becky’s fan to the floor. “Oh dear,” she muttered, and bent to retrieve it.

“Allow me,” a deep voice answered. How had John managed to cross the room, soundlessly, in less than two seconds? He handed Becky her fan with a flourish and offered Nan his arm.

“I hate to leave Kellridge, as my hosts have been so generous and wonderful,” he added, pulling Nan to her feet. “But the horses are restive and we’ve several miles to go before reaching Grant Park.”

Gratitude surged through Nan, and she allowed herself to look him at him fully for the first time in weeks. “Then by all means, let us go.”

* * *

In truth, John was in no hurry to return to Grant Park. Life at the Park meant taking on the yoke of responsibility that he had no desire to don. It meant ledger books, meetings, servants and crops. It meant living in Father’s shadow. It meant seeing the traces of Mother everywhere, the mother he had disappointed and caused grave danger to all those years ago. These were all matters he had managed to neatly avoid for years, but there was no avoiding them now.

One look at Nan Siddons, miserably squashed between her two sisters, was all he needed to spur him on. Even if he couldn’t have fun, Nan should at least have a go at it. She had been avoiding him for weeks, and her absence was something he actually noticed. This was quite an accomplishment, for a young woman. Usually if one young lady shunned him, there were plenty of others standing in line waiting for his attention.

That was in London, though, and not Derbyshire.

“How far are we from Grant Park?” Nan had been peering out the window of the carriage since they left.

“It’s only an hour and a quarter from Tansley,” he answered, shifting lazily in his seat. If only it was farther.

“Still in Derbyshire?”

“Yes, near Wessington.” He should have told her more about the Park, given her some idea of what she was getting into before she took the leap. He gave himself a good, sharp, mental kick. His sister was absolutely no help, for once Kellridge had faded from sight she moped quietly in her corner and then fell asleep. “The house is very nice. I daresay you’ll like it there. Jane has her own suite of rooms, and we’ll put you in her wing. That way you can be close by for fittings and consultations and whatnot.”

“Thank you, sir.” Nan nodded respectfully.

He stifled a grin. After slapping him, she must be working doubly hard to stay on strictly professional terms.

“Call me John,” he replied easily. “Even if I am forced to be lord of the manor, I hate to be addressed as sir.”

“I don’t know that I can do that.” Nan shrugged, looking stubbornly out the window. “I don’t think that’s quite proper.”

“Nonsense. Call me John, and, of course, you already refer to my sister as Jane.”

“I don’t think I can. Calling Jane by her given name, well, it’s easier because we are friends.” She cast a discomfited look his way. “I’m not trying to be rude.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tease her, or at least reference how close they had gotten when she slapped his cheek, but he thought better of it. If she was thawing out a trifle, it would be better not to provoke her now. “Well, if you find it difficult, you could just call me Reed.”

Nan tilted her head to one side, as though giving the matter serious thought. “Very well, I think I could call you Reed.”

“Excellent. Shall I call you Siddons?”

Nan burst into laughter, a pretty smile lighting her face. “I daresay that sounds silly enough. But no sillier than Nan.”

“What, don’t you like your name?” It was so good to hear laughter that he was ready to draw the moment out as long as he could. She had a lovely laugh. Pity she didn’t indulge it more often.

“Nan?” She made a face. “No, I never have. I prefer my proper name, but I never had a say in the matter. Once Susannah called me Nan, I was Nan for life.”

“Well, Susannah’s not here.” He leaned forward, as though they were sharing a great secret. “So you can be whomever you want.”

“Oh, I am still myself.” She was getting into the spirit of the game as well. “I only wish to cast aside certain aspects of my life that were forced upon me, such as a most unattractive nickname.”

“What is your given name?” Genuine curiosity got the better of him.

“My name is Hannah.” She shrugged, drawing her shawl closer about her shoulders. “Susannah said it sounded too much like her name, you know, too many ‘annahs’ in the house. So she shortened it to Nan. So I’ve been, ever since.”

“That took some cheek.” He sat back, eyeing Nan—no, Hannah—with genuine sympathy. “I was the eldest in my family, but I never saw fit to change Jane’s name.”

“Susannah has always been rather high-handed,” Nan admitted, turning her eyes toward the floor of the carriage. “She is a very good sister, though,” she added hastily.

“I am sure she is, but that doesn’t solve our problem right now. The problem is, who are you? Nan Siddons? Hannah Siddons? Siddons? The choice is yours.”

“In the interest of speed and efficiency, you may call me Siddons. Just as I shall call you Reed.” She smiled. Then she added, “I am Hannah Siddons.”