Free Her Lord's Table by Alysha Ellis Page B

of her throat, making her choke.
    When the coughing fit had passed, she drew an uninterrupted breath into her lungs, wiped her eyes and looked at the woman in front of her. Susan had seen her before. Outside. On the doorstep.
    A memory came flooding back. “You said my brother wasn’t here. He sold the house to you.” Humiliation made her face burn. “I have to leave. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
    “Nonsense. You haven’t inconvenienced me at all. Henry carried you in here.” The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
    Susan suspected she made her disclaimer more for show than reality. She stood, planting her feet wide apart to try to brace herself against the faintness.
    “Do sit down,” her reluctant hostess said. “You’re far too pale. I can’t send you away if you’re just going to faint again on the pavement in front of my house.”
    After a discreet rap on the door, a maid entered with a tray set for two. Susan took one look at the array of sandwiches and cakes and her determination to leave disappeared in a waft of tea-scented steam.
    “We weren’t properly introduced, of course. I’m Lady Milthorpe.” The woman looked at her with upraised brows.
    “I’m Susan Brody,” she replied, too focused on the small plate holding some cucumber sandwiches and a slice of butter cake to pay much attention to the niceties of social behavior.
    Lady Milthorpe gestured with her hand. “You’ve obviously had a long journey. You must be hungry. We’ll continue our discussion in a moment.”
    Susan didn’t need any further encouragement. Good manners, lady-like reserve or any other consideration fell before her hunger. Lady Milthorpe herself barely touched the food, but still, within a matter of minutes, she’d emptied the tray. Lady Milthorpe rang the bell and ordered more sandwiches.
    Susan murmured a half-hearted protest, but Lady Milthorpe shook her head.
    “I can certainly spare a few sandwiches. You need to take the time to regather your composure.” She leaned forward. “You appear to be unaware your brother had left the country. Had he expected your visit?”
    “I don’t know,” Susan said miserably, although her misery wasn’t sufficient to make her put down the sandwich she held in her hand. “My mother wrote him several letters, but we had no reply.”
    Lady Milthorpe folded her hands in her lap. “Perhaps you’d better tell me the whole story. There might be something I can do.”
    Although she knew no reason why Lady Milthorpe should take any responsibility for Susan or for her brother’s disappearance, Susan found herself pouring the whole story in her hostess’ sympathetic ear. She finished the tale by describing what had happened just before Lady Milthorpe had appeared on her own doorstep.
    “You poor creature,” the woman said. “Have you no other relatives in London? No one at all to whom you might apply for help?”
    “No one,” Susan replied. In spite of her now full stomach, another wave of dizziness hit her as she came to an awful realization. If Charles had indeed left the country, if Lady Milthorpe had told her the truth, then Susan was stranded. She didn’t have enough money to go home, and no way of getting any.
    She despised weak, crying females. No matter what had happened to her, she prided herself on staying strong, showing a determined, cheerful countenance to her mother and the girls, but she couldn’t stop the tears falling onto her cheeks.
    “There’s no need for despair.” Lady Milthorpe placed her hand over Susan’s. In spite of the fire burning in the room, the touch of the woman’s icy fingers sent a chill rippling down Susan’s spine. “Would I offend you if I were to offer you an opportunity for some employment?”
    Relief brought on another wave of dizziness. The woman had already been more than kind. Her good nature apparently knew no bounds. Any position offered to her by an obviously prosperous, socially acceptable person