A Simple Deception

VIII

"People who insist on dividing the world into 'Us' and 'Them' never contemplate that they may be someone else's 'Them'." Ray A. Davis

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VIII.

Susanna awoke the next morning feeling very foolish indeed. How determined she had been, or at least Susanna thought that she had been determined. But the slightest interruption had spooked her all the way home.

Home to her bedroom, or her London bedroom, where she was surrounded by her same fine things. It was where she would dress before journeying to the drawing room to receive callers, as she did every day, where she would smile and pretend to be delighted by men who seemed to be morons, rogues, or both.

Susanna had been given a chance to do something reckless, but at the same time, she had been blessed to meet and know someone whose life and experiences were so different to her own. She could see that Alexander Whitfield was haunted by more demons than Susanna could count. It was evident in his eyes and the way his voice became hoarse ever so slightly.

Susanna sat up in her bed and hugged her knees to her chest as she thought deeply. She thought of the question Mr Whitfield had asked her. Well, she supposed it was not a question. It was a statement, and a heartbreaking one at that.

He understood if she did not want to be seen with him. His voice had shaken ever so slightly as he had spoken those words, and Susanna knew exactly why. It was evident on the faces of the people who came to view him at the faire.

He was different. He was very different to the types of people that those who lived in England saw each day. And if there were those of darker complexion, they were in service, having only gained their freedom from the king a few years earlier. Susanna had personally never seen a man like him before, but she was not so ignorant as to be unaware of how men in power stayed in power. It was off the backs of people like Alexander Whitfield.

Susanna had seen the expressions of shock, horror and disgust upon Mr Whitfield riding out. What was worse was that she had heard these expressions. She did not see it. Susanna genuinely didn't understand how anyone could look upon a man like Mr Whitfield and not see beauty.

"I think he's beautiful," Susanna whispered to herself.

Beautiful and patient ... and completely decent when he had every reason in the world to be hateful and resentful. He was the first man that she had encountered since arriving in London this summer with whom she had engaged in genuine conversation.

It had been simple. Easy. Natural. It hadn't felt wrong despite the fact that she had snuck out of her home late at night. In fact, had Mr Whitfield been a caller, she would have gladly received him. That thought startled her, though it pleased her soon afterward. What would it be like, what would happen, if Mr Whitfield was a caller? A suitor?

Was it allowed? Susanna didn't know. And frankly, she then thought, she did not care. Susanna thought of Mr Whitfield's eyes, dark, serious and intense, and she felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. He was strong and powerful, with a large frame that indicated a life spent labouring. But there was also a clear tenderness inside of him. She admired the way that he spoke of his mother. She could not even begin to fathom what his childhood must have been like.

Mr Whitfield was quite the only man who had impressed Susanna this season, and she had truly meant what she had said to him upon their parting the night before. She did hope to see him again.

Susanna's bedroom door opened abruptly, and her mother entered without so much as knocking, observing Susanna's still abed person with a look of exasperation.