Free Courting Susannah by Linda Lael Miller

thoughtful and not unfriendly, she was not troubled but rather intrigued.
    The meal ended, and the gentlemen retired to Aubrey’s study, ostensibly to smoke cigars and drink brandy. Susannah was tremendously relieved when Maisie bustled into the dining room and began to clear the table.
    â€œYou didn’t tell me Aubrey and his brother were barely speaking,” she challenged.
    Maisie gave her a level look. “I don’t tell everythin’ I know,” she retorted. “And put down them dishes. You ain’t dressed for clearing up.”
    â€œNonsense,” Susannah protested, scraping and stacking plates.
    â€œMr. Fairgrieve won’t like it if he sees you doing that.”
    â€œHe doesn’t mind my changing diapers. I hardly think it would disturb him to find me helping you with a routine household task. I’m only a nurse, after all.” A maiden aunt, she added to herself. A poor relation who wasn’t really even a relation. “Frankly, I don’t even know why he wanted me to join him for dinner tonight. He didn’t say one word to me.”
    Maisie smiled. “But his visitors had plenty to say, didn’t they? Especially young Ethan. Did he tell you his wife weighs three hundred pounds and carries a pistol?”
    â€œYes,” Susannah said.
    That time, Maisie laughed outright. “Well,
he
ain’t changed since he was here last, anyhow.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong between those two?” Susannah ventured, heading toward the kitchen door with an armload of plates and silverware. “Ethan was cordial enough, but Mr. Fairgrieve was downright bristly. If he didn’t want him here, why issue the invitation?”
    â€œI doubt that he did,” Maisie said. “They’ve had their differences, Aubrey and Ethan,” she went on when the two of them were standing side by side in front of the sink. Maisie elbowed Susannah deftly aside, poured steaming water from the kettle on the stove over the soiled dishes, and pushed up her sleeves. “Now that Miss Julia’s gone, God rest her soul, I reckon they might just start in to mendin’ fences.”
    Susannah sat down, suddenly weary. “What did Julia have to do with it?”
    Maisie turned and looked at her over one sturdy shoulder. “You want to know that,” she said, “you’re gonna have to ask either Mr. Fairgrieve or his brother. It ain’t my place to say.”
    Susannah felt a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach, recalling parts of Julia’s letters, parts in which she’d described Ethan as a gentleman with the heart of a poet. She’d recounted buggy rides in the country with Ethan and picnics by a lake, though at the time the interludes had sounded innocent. Julia had merely said that Aubrey was too busy with his store—he’d gotten rich selling picks and shovels to miners headed north, she liked to boast—and Ethan had “taken pity” on her.
    She let out a long sigh.
    Maisie set a cup of tea in front of her. “Don’t be frettin’ about what can’t be changed now,” she said. “That makes a body crazy.”

Chapter 4

    â€œY our brother is quite charming,” Susannah remarked to Aubrey the next morning, when by accident rather than design they endedup in the kitchen at the same time. Perhaps it was because she was unprepared for the encounter that she spoke without thinkingfirst.
    Seated in Maisie’s chair near the stove, the sleeping child resting against her shoulder, she watched as his jawline tightened.Resentment flashed fierce in his eyes, like lightning striking in some far-off and inaccessible place, and was quickly quelled.
    For her part, Susannah was utterly content, there in the warmth of the fire, the child warm and sweet-smelling in her arms.
    Aubrey went to the stove, coffee mug in hand, and poured a full cup. “My brother,” he answered in his own good time,