Courting Susannah Read Online Free PDF Page B

kept his own counsel, and now here he was, airing his private grievances to a stranger. “Sleep well. You might get some noise from the alley in that back bedroom, but I’m sure the mattress is comfortable enough.”
    She looked down at the half-eaten piece of chicken on her plate, longingly, he thought. “What shall I do if the baby awakens in the night?”
    He thrust a hand through his hair. “Feed her and change her diaper,” he said. “If that doesn’t work, fetch Maisie. She and the boy sleep downstairs, in the little room off the kitchen.” He let out a long breath. “Good night, Miss McKittrick,” he said, and, with that, he turned and left Susannah alone at his table.
    A door closed in the distance, and Susannah realized, with a surprising sweep of loneliness, that Mr. Fairgrieve had left the house. She sat still for a few moments, there in that grand and gleaming dining room, trying to sort through the storm of emotions that seemed to assail her whenever she was in his presence, then rose resolutely to clear the table.
    In the kitchen, working by the bluish-gold glow from the gas fixtures, she washed the few dishes left undone and put the leftovers in the wooden icebox. Maisie was apparently one of those cooks who clean up as they goalong, a trait Susannah admired, and there was very little work to do. The meal had been excellent, not that she would have complained in any event. Beggars, after all, could not be choosers.
    Gratefully, Susannah turned down the lights and mounted the rear stairway. Several lamps burned in the upper corridor, and she found her way easily to the room she had chosen and looked in on the baby, who slept peacefully in her cradle, moved there by Mr. Fairgrieve, her tiny form bathed in the glow of an autumn moon.
    She kissed the tip of one finger and touched it to the tiny, furrowed forehead. “Sweet dreams, little one,” she whispered. “Shall I go on calling you Victoria? You’re not a Julia, I can plainly see that.” She frowned and shook her head. “Your mother was going to name you after me, you know. It’s just as well she didn’t, though, for you aren’t a Susannah, either.”
    The child gave a sigh as soft as a fairy’s heartbeat, and a feeling of such poignant tenderness overtook Susannah that tears came to her eyes once again. She hadn’t wept, outwardly at least, since the news of Julia’s death had reached her. She’d been too busy, first resigning her post, over vociferous protests from her elderly charge, then packing up her few belongings and settling her affairs, and finally traveling.
    She laid aside gloomy thoughts and stiffened her spine. The baby needed her to be strong, and she would not fail in this or any other duty.
    She tucked the soft blankets gently around the tiny infant, lest the night chill reach her.
    A flannel nightgown, far too fine to be her own, lay across the foot of the bed, along with a soft towel and a new cake of lavender soap, still in its painted tin. Blessing Maisie for an angel in disguise, she went to the bathingroom to wash, change, and brush her teeth. While there, she admired the grand tub yet again.
    Back on Nantucket, Susannah had taken all her baths in the kitchen, setting the wash tub in the center of the floor and filling it with water laboriously heated on the cantankerous old cookstove. What a wonder it was simply to plug the drain, turn a couple of knobs, and sink into luxury.
    After inspecting everything for a second time, rapt as a country bumpkin gone to the fair, she crept back to her own room, checked on Victoria once more, and climbed into bed.
    She did not expect to sleep, after her long rest on Mr. Fairgrieve’s bed, and promptly dropped off into a world of nebulous, troubling dreams.
    She awakened before the child, deeply saddened. All her life, she had yearned for a husband, a child, a home, however modest, of her own. Julia