23. Because You Can Never Receive Too Many Letters

But the next morning, when she awoke, 'twas alone .

Leo nowhere about.

And to a scratch upon their door. The door of their room at The Golden Swan, she recalled, glancing around with hazy, tired eyes.

Where had he gone? After sharing the hours and their bodies for most of the night, when they finally allowed each other to drift off, a hard and heavy sleep had claimed her.

The sound came again.

"A—a moment, if you please," she called, her tongue sluggish, as she dredged her mind up from the depths of sleep, the sheets a tangle about her bare limbs, her heart a twitter within her breast.

Could it be Leo at the door? Nay, for he would not scratch nor knock. Would know he could not hear any response she might make. He would come right in.

Pushing back the thick tumble of hair falling about her face—thanks, in part, by how reverently, how often, he had stroked his fingers through it during the night—she drew the sheet about her. Muddled both in mind and body, graceful coordination seemed beyond her as she stumbled from the bed, wrapping the sheet about her as she lurched toward the door. "Aye? Who is there?"

"Mrs. Tucker? 'Tis Mrs. Wells, ma'am. With your laundered things and a message from your mister."

The door whipped open, words and clothing exchanged, and scant moments later, Susanna was alone again.

Sitting on the edge of the bed.

Staring at the wall peg where her "still damp, ma'am, hang it so will dry" dress dangled, Leo's message, delivered verbally, ringing like a death knell in her ears.

"Says he has important business to tend and will be back tomorrow, weather permitting, and the next day if it proves unfavorable. Your room, and meals too, are paid through Wednesday, and I shall see you taken care of, I will." And before the woman had bustled off, "Did Mr. Brooks set things aright for you both last eve?"

Wednesday.

Paid through then, which was four days hence, certainly not tomorrow or the next should the weather "not prove favorable".

What if he did not intend to return?

Susanna, do not be daft. No escaping or fleeing this time, aye? Of course he means to return.

Of note, to her entangled thinking at least, was how, the further distant from her home in both space and time she had traveled, the less she heard Sarah's counsel and instead was beleaguered with her own.

Show some trust. Has he not earned it?

He had. And so she would.

But waiting proved difficult.

Challenging, indeed.

When the first full day eclipsed with nothing to mark its passing save the carriages that swept into the inn yard, holiday carols that she could have done without overhearing, and the two meals Mrs. Wells' daughter brought up. After her last unfortunate encounter storming into a tavern unescorted, Susanna had subdued that reckless impulse, at least.

The entirety of first December 24…

She exhibited patience and decorum, if only to herself.

And then…

Difficult more, the second day, Christmas, December 25. With louder carols, boisterous happy family rejoicings reaching her through the window she'd opened, still determined to remain in place, secured and safe—no matter how much the inactivity chafed.

The second entire day she spent alone. Alone and besieged by doubts and worries and crazed thoughts she could have done without. So very many… It's too soon, and You have not known him long enough to depend upon everything he might have promised.

But just as sternly, Oh yes you have. You sensed his heart is true. Trust in that.

But without anything else to dwell upon, to busy her time or her fingers, her own past occupied her mind far too much, allowed doubts to creep in more with every hour…

Such that, late the following night, just as she was debating blowing out the candle and seeking the oblivion of sleep, when the door knob rattled?

Rattled once and then again? Susanna eagerly bolted upright.

"Susanna," heard clearly through the door, that and Reaver's unexpected but very, very welcome muffled yelp of greeting.

Relief and joy—and a bit of shame for those doubts—rolled over her like a wave when the door opened and Leo's broad form presented itself over the threshold, his eyes eagerly seeking hers.

Though exhaustion lined his features, his relief echoed on them too, and in the second he secured the door, she leapt over the jumping dog and plastered herself against her man, her cumbersome-of-late, now-giddy heart finally at ease once he bound her up in his arms.

"Forgive me, lass." In deference to the hour, out of respect of the others near them, not to mention his entrenched habit of keeping his tone moderate at all times—so that in his ignorance, he did not allow his volume to grow beyond that which would be appropriate—Leo tendered his explanation as quickly as he could, and though his words might have sounded tranquil, he was anything but. "Deep toward morning, my mind cobbled together certain thoughts that I needed to make known to my superior posthaste."

The moment awareness had startled him awake, he'd recalled with complete clarity a supposedly cursed brooch by the name of Lady's Diamond, unearthed by an archaeologian some years ago. Was supposed to have been turned over to the British Museum, but it disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

Information Leo had raced back to East Crossings to share, among other things.

"How in blazes…know all of that?" Farnsworth had demanded, no longer dressed as, nor portraying, a stable master, but now in his finery and in command of his coach, the duke—and Leo's dog—had been about to return to London. Leo had just barely caught up with him beforehand.

"Sisters," Leo said succinctly, his breath and pounding heart finally settling, now that his messages had been delivered. "Three of them, if you will recall. 'Twas before they were married, so some time back, but I remember they were all agog over the whole thing, hoping to visit the museum while in town. What any of this has to do with our missing men or women, I know not, but it seemed precise enough of a potential match that I needed to let you know. Besides…" He finished this reaching down to pet his absurdly clean (for once) dog. "Figured I could retrieve this cur early and ask a boon?"

"Oh?"

"Aye." And while Tucker explained, Farnsworth's expression went from irritation to incredulity to assurety. "I suspected…was in the offing… Come." His boss gave a nod and spun away from the carriage.

Knocking Reaver's dusty paws off his chest, Leo followed, speaking to his dog. "Did I not tell you, no more of that? You cannot be behaving thus around ladies. It isn't done. And if I have my way…"

But I misssssssssssssssed you!!! his dog's frantic side hops seemed to insist, prompting both a laugh and a shake of his head.

"Manners, Reave. You need to gain some."

Because if Leo had his way, both he and his four-footed companion would be around a certain lady forevermore.

Back at The Golden Swan now, looking at Susanna, the energetical pup's paws once again propped against his torso, Leo gave the base of the dog's thickly furred ears a hearty scratch.

"I also decided to claim this bucket of dirty fur," he told Susanna, only a fraction of his attention focused on the lively canine. "I wasn't certain Mr. Wells was going to let him inside." Directing Reaver's front legs off his chest, with a stern reminder (" Floor , Reaver."), Leo reached in and wiggled a hand in his pocket, hoping he made a couple of coins clink. "Fortunately, I was able to clear the coast with our accommodating innkeeper. Despite the bath he received since we both saw him last, Reave decided to frolic in a ditch this morning while I was taking care of some other important business. And wait a moment?—"

The sun had long since set, night embracing the land. The single candle she had burning next to the bed did not allow him to see any part of her to his satisfaction.

"I do not know what has gotten into him," Leo told her as he made his way to the small table, where the lantern he had requested upon their arrival still resided. "He's normally very well behaved, but the amount of travel we have done could explain his ill manners." 'Twas but a moment before he had it lit and the room brightened. "There, now." He turned to her. "Now I can see you enough— Wait. You're wearing my shirt."

A slight nod. "The one laundered and sewn." She pointed to the thin line of even stitches, a lot more than eight, along the shoulder and upper arm, then caught his gaze again. Her top teeth scraped against her bottom lip before she added, "Because it smelled like you."

Primitive urges roared to the surface. She was his .

By happen-so, he had claimed her when she fell under threat; by her own choice, she belonged to him now.

"My extreme apologies, Susanna. I thought to be returned by last night, but the more I rode with my clamorous thoughts, the more I wanted to see things put to rights between us. Without any uncertainty. After delivering my message to East Crossings, I found myself stabling Rambler for a well-deserved rest and renting steed upon steed, putting swift miles on the poor beasts so I could…"

His words faltered, so intently did she stare at him, her expression rapt.

Was this how she felt, when he stared at her mouth, studied her lips? Alive, exhilarated… Filled with disarrangement?

His heart followed his mouth, stuttering in place, and he firmed his resolve—and his voice. "Now that you, that we , are safe and time allows, 'tis appropriate to address some things between us."

Her face showed alarm, so he delayed not. "Some of my other important business, conducted since I saw you last…"

As he spoke, he bent to the haversack he'd tossed upon the bed, dislodging recently gathered paper and pencils, digging through until finding what he sought. "No, Reaver, I do not need your help." His big dog had jumped alongside, rooted his long snout inside the bag's opening and licked Leo's hand when he could have done without.

Standing, he inclined his head in a bow (on the sly, wiped the back of his hand against his pants, drying the unasked-for slobber). Lifting his head, he captured her still startled gaze.

"I believe, Lady Reckless, that you placed an advertisement for a kind, dependable man desirous of both matrimony and your self. One possessing both teeth and manners? I would apply for the position posthaste, if it is still available."

He waited, breath held—teeth clenched and manner straining—for her response.

She hesitated, perplexed.

Mayhap befuddled by the formal way in which he had begun? He suspected 'twas so, because what he thought she spoke next was nowhere the direction he had intended to point her. "Even… Knowing all that you do about me?" She frowned at the bed before catching his gaze again. "The…others?"

"Waste not a single concern nor thought about anything unpalatable in your past ever again. I mean it, lass." His response required no thought at all. Instinct guided him now. "For none of it—not one thing—could make my desire for you any less."

When she didn't speak soon enough to quell the riot climbing his throat, he revealed what he'd pulled from his bag. "Here. My own letters of reference."

That made her react.

Gasp, in fact, as she took the three letters from him. They were brief, the idea rather tickle-headed, yet so damn important…

So important.

Her reaction to them, surely.

Wary now, for had not her penchant for lettering nonsensical led them both into trouble more than once? Hoping a lightning bolt didn't await at the unfolding of it, Susanna dallied…

But then strong penmanship met her gaze.

Dear Lady Reckless,

She wasn't certain if this was in his hand or not, for all their scribbled conversations he had spoken while she wrote in double tides, with ferocity and vigor. Yet two sentences in she suspected; three sentences in and she knew —this was not Leo.

By the end of the short note, she possessed no lingering doubt as to whose carriage they had spent the night in.

I have known Captain Leopold Tucker for years. Considered him good enough to command the HMS Restless. Even good enough for my own daughter.

That should serve.

Yours, Farnsworth

(Aye, the Duke of, if you questioned)

The second note was in a feminine hand.

As she unfolded it with slightly less apprehension slowing her actions, Leo cleared his throat and leaned in to whisper, "I stopped by the house. Needed to talk with my sister and her husband. See how they felt about moving back to his abode. When Mama got wind of the whole to-do, she insisted I give you this."

When Susanna looked up at him, the letters tight in her clutch, his cheeks were ruddy. "I do not know what either of them said. Did not read them. I will not ever read anything of yours unless you see fit to shove it under my nose."

With that pronouncement prompting a smile, she turned to the letter, her nervosity a little less palatable.

Oh my lands a mercy, child, whoever you are, secure my Leo posthaste. Shall I bribe you? The garden house his father left us is nigh on begging for him to return home with a bride. His sister Liz and her spouse, John, would love nothing more than to move back to John's home, not stay here watching over me. Oh, what am I saying?

I need no watching over! Just give me some seeds, garden shears and a sunny day and I shall keep myself occupied handily.

Leo! You need to know of him , not all my blathering.

Sweet lass, whoever you are (he would not tell me your name—the wretch; said he'd not have you embarrassed if you didn't accept him), you will accept him, correct?

My Leopold Michael is steadfast, true, not given over to vast quantities of wine nor unduly chasing after women, nor even profanity. Getting him to church on Sundays might take a prod, but my Leo is truly a good man. I despaired of him ever finding a woman he wanted to wife, not after we lost sweet Ann-Marie (I'm sure he told you of her).

But now he's growling impatience at the doorway, telling me he must be off, and I am nowhere near finished.

Agree to wed him, Miss Reckless (he did tell me that much), and we can talk about him at our leisure.

I do so hope to meet you!

All my love, Abigail Tucker (Leo's mama)

Oh, her lands a mercy!

Susanna's.

For his mama, Abigail, sounded wondrous. So enthused and joyful, and after the years without her own mother, Susanna wanted nothing more than to wrap the other woman in a hug and be hugged in return. Well, nothing more than how very much she yearned for the man chafing beside her now, shifting his weight between feet, all that growling impatience his mother referenced only subdued at the moment.

"Now the last one." Stated in his deep tones.

Her lungs heaved as she opened the final letter, excited breaths panting from her lips.

Dear ( My Very Own , I hope and pray) Lady Reckless ,

Ours has not been a traditional meeting nor courtship, but rather than bemoan or regret, I choose to embrace it. To revel in your delightful, spirited ways, to celebrate the instinct that had me clambering to claim you upon an instant. (Mayhap the instinct to even tame a wee bit of that recklessness, hmm?)

Before that fateful act, I thought to spend the rest of my life alone, in silence. Your smile? It speaks to me. I cannot explain it. Because so does the sadness that at times has befallen your features.

Susanna, if you will let me, I will cherish your words, your sighs and your secrets. I would banish your past hurts and give us both a future, together, at my modest home in Kniveton, the property that has been waiting for me to claim it—a simple cottage with ample room for any children we might be blessed with.

My sister and brother-in-law will be relieved to leave ? —

And I digress.

Having (without express permission, I acknowledge) read what you desire in a spouse, I can confidently put myself forth as the Absolutely, Unequivocal Most Splendiferous candidate you might ever hope to chance across.

Yours, in heart and deed,

Leo

Too restless to wait a moment more, when the shift of her gaze indicated completion of his letter, Leo's words burst forth. "I know it's soon. Preposterously so, having only just met, but your light is too promising to ever again suffer the darkness of your past.

" I want to be the one to give you invited kisses. Hugs deep into the night so that you never have another second's worry again." He took the notes from her unresisting grasp, and tossed them on the table—the dog still in command of the bed—before crooking his knees until they were the same height and he could speak directly to the woman before him. "Selfishly, Susanna, I have a distinct feeling that if I did not do all I can to lay myself bare and keep you at my side, I would regret that to my dying day and miss you forever."

Spying the extra pages (blank) and three pencils (all sharpened) he had liberated from his haversack when he'd rummaged through it, she pushed an exhausted, slumbering Reaver aside and scrambled to scribble…

Kniveton? That is where you hail from?

Feeling the pinch between his brows, he held one hand up between them, fingers splayed, pointing to the scars on the back. "As lads, we were not inclined to play Knife Nick for naught. Gambling aside, calling Kniveton home meant being skilled with blades as much as our fives. And after everything you just read and what I just said— that is what you ask about?"

But then the page fluttered to the floor and she turned glistening, joyful eyes up to him. "Do you not…very close that…Nate's home now? His and Olivia's? My nieces…"

"I do realize that, lass. Not much more than an hour or so, and if it takes that knowledge to tempt you?—"

"It does not." Her heart shone in her gaze as she stared up at him. "…tempted the moment you claimed me as yours . Yours. I am just—just"—she stopped speaking, simply stared—"without words. Speechless, utterly so, at the thought of—" Her fingertips slapped against her lips, halting the ramble for a few seconds, until they slid away, to his chest and her lips moved again. "Your mother—you—sisters!"

"Me…what?" He took a leap, recalling from her letters how much she missed her maternal parent. "Aye, to accept me for life means you may call my sisters, my mother your own."

And whatever bliss she might have voiced next got lost in her exuberance as she launched herself into his arms.

Fortunately, Leo had learned quickly how to "hear" the puffs of her breath against his skin. Words she delighted in chattering over his body for the next several hours.

Her welcome "chatter". Every syllable she either spoke or that puffed across his flesh, something he would cherish with his every breath.

With everything in him. As he would her.