A Practical Partnership

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“I shall.” Much of her bluntness over the years had been developed as a shield—a way to deflect the criticism of her elder sisters. In some ways, too, it had been used as a sword. After all, someone had to cut through Becky’s romanticism or to pierce Susannah’s vanity. The only way the Siddonses had survived—and thrived—was by gathering their strengths together while breaking down one another’s weaknesses. So it stood to reason that, deprived of her sisters’ annoying habits, she would find little need to be abrupt.

“But even as you work on supporting yourself, on striking out on your own—leave room in your heart for love,” Becky added, fanning herself lightly. “I was so certain that love had left me behind that day when Lieutenant Walker jilted me. Now I know that I was made for Paul.”

Nan resisted the urge to roll her eyes. After John’s supposed proposal had gone so hideously awry, she had felt no desire for romance for quite some time. Leave that to the very young and the very pretty. Of which she never felt a part.

Would they ever leave? She shifted slightly on the settee—not that there was that much room—and fought the desire to give way to nervous pacing. As she moved, she caught John’s glance from across the sitting room. The corners of his mouth quirked and he sent her a knowing, bemused grin.

She turned abruptly, knocking Becky’s fan to the floor. “Oh dear,” she muttered, and bent to retrieve it.

“Allow me,” a deep voice answered. How had John managed to cross the room, soundlessly, in less than two seconds? He handed Becky her fan with a flourish and offered Nan his arm.

“I hate to leave Kellridge, as my hosts have been so generous and wonderful,” he added, pulling Nan to her feet. “But the horses are restive and we’ve several miles to go before reaching Grant Park.”

Gratitude surged through Nan, and she allowed herself to look him at him fully for the first time in weeks. “Then by all means, let us go.”

* * *

In truth, John was in no hurry to return to Grant Park. Life at the Park meant taking on the yoke of responsibility that he had no desire to don. It meant ledger books, meetings, servants and crops. It meant living in Father’s shadow. It meant seeing the traces of Mother everywhere, the mother he had disappointed and caused grave danger to all those years ago. These were all matters he had managed to neatly avoid for years, but there was no avoiding them now.

One look at Nan Siddons, miserably squashed between her two sisters, was all he needed to spur him on. Even if he couldn’t have fun, Nan should at least have a go at it. She had been avoiding him for weeks, and her absence was something he actually noticed. This was quite an accomplishment, for a young woman. Usually if one young lady shunned him, there were plenty of others standing in line waiting for his attention.

That was in London, though, and not Derbyshire.

“How far are we from Grant Park?” Nan had been peering out the window of the carriage since they left.

“It’s only an hour and a quarter from Tansley,” he answered, shifting lazily in his seat. If only it was farther.

“Still in Derbyshire?”

“Yes, near Wessington.” He should have told her more about the Park, given her some idea of what she was getting into before she took the leap. He gave himself a good, sharp, mental kick. His sister was absolutely no help, for once Kellridge had faded from sight she moped quietly in her corner and then fell asleep. “The house is very nice. I daresay you’ll like it there. Jane has her own suite of rooms, and we’ll put you in her wing. That way you can be close by for fittings and consultations and whatnot.”

“Thank you, sir.” Nan nodded respectfully.

He stifled a grin. After slapping him, she must be working doubly hard to stay on strictly professional terms.

“Call me John,” he replied easily. “Even if I am forced to be lord of the manor, I hate to be addressed as sir.”

“I don’t know that I can do that.” Nan shrugged, looking stubbornly out the window. “I don’t think that’s quite proper.”

“Nonsense. Call me John, and, of course, you already refer to my sister as Jane.”

“I don’t think I can. Calling Jane by her given name, well, it’s easier because we are friends.” She cast a discomfited look his way. “I’m not trying to be rude.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tease her, or at least reference how close they had gotten when she slapped his cheek, but he thought better of it. If she was thawing out a trifle, it would be better not to provoke her now. “Well, if you find it difficult, you could just call me Reed.”

Nan tilted her head to one side, as though giving the matter serious thought. “Very well, I think I could call you Reed.”

“Excellent. Shall I call you Siddons?”

Nan burst into laughter, a pretty smile lighting her face. “I daresay that sounds silly enough. But no sillier than Nan.”

“What, don’t you like your name?” It was so good to hear laughter that he was ready to draw the moment out as long as he could. She had a lovely laugh. Pity she didn’t indulge it more often.

“Nan?” She made a face. “No, I never have. I prefer my proper name, but I never had a say in the matter. Once Susannah called me Nan, I was Nan for life.”

“Well, Susannah’s not here.” He leaned forward, as though they were sharing a great secret. “So you can be whomever you want.”

“Oh, I am still myself.” She was getting into the spirit of the game as well. “I only wish to cast aside certain aspects of my life that were forced upon me, such as a most unattractive nickname.”

“What is your given name?” Genuine curiosity got the better of him.

“My name is Hannah.” She shrugged, drawing her shawl closer about her shoulders. “Susannah said it sounded too much like her name, you know, too many ‘annahs’ in the house. So she shortened it to Nan. So I’ve been, ever since.”

“That took some cheek.” He sat back, eyeing Nan—no, Hannah—with genuine sympathy. “I was the eldest in my family, but I never saw fit to change Jane’s name.”

“Susannah has always been rather high-handed,” Nan admitted, turning her eyes toward the floor of the carriage. “She is a very good sister, though,” she added hastily.

“I am sure she is, but that doesn’t solve our problem right now. The problem is, who are you? Nan Siddons? Hannah Siddons? Siddons? The choice is yours.”

“In the interest of speed and efficiency, you may call me Siddons. Just as I shall call you Reed.” She smiled. Then she added, “I am Hannah Siddons.”

Chapter Five (#ulink_a44de115-304e-53fa-86b0-513eb3e4123d)

Hannah Siddons, formerly known as the practical and prosaic Nan, stared up at the ceiling as she drifted awake. The mattress beneath her was soft and deliciously fluffy and the fire in the grate crackled merrily, chasing off the early morning chill. This was as different an awakening as she could imagine.

For as long as she could remember, waking up meant the squeaking protest of mattress ropes and a cold hearth that needed to be stirred to life. Nothing would ever be accomplished unless she and her sisters roused themselves and began their chores. Here at Grant Park, silent servants took care of the minutiae of existence, lighting fires in hearths or making beds. She no longer had to worry about a million little trifles. Instead, her whole life and purpose was to make Jane into a desirable candidate for matrimony.

Hannah sat up, even though it was hard to give up the warmth of her quilt. The change in her circumstances was as dramatic as the change in her name, and she was having a difficult time getting used to being called by her given name. Focusing all of her efforts on one task was, in truth, a bit daunting. Yet focus she must, because failure could mean only one thing—spinsterhood.

With that daunting thought, she jumped from the bed and grabbed her wrapper. Breakfast was surely being served somewhere, and she couldn’t simply lie about all morning. She must dress herself and then find Jane. They had arrived just yesterday, but it was time to start working.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Enter?”

Jane opened the door wide enough to just let her peek through. “Oh good, you’re awake.” She bustled in with a breakfast tray. “I thought we could eat together. Normally I dine in bed, but it’s terribly lonely. Dreadful way to start the day.”

“That sounds lovely.” From a practical perspective, it meant that she could begin working with Jane right away, before the day had even really begun. From a deeper, more private perspective, Jane’s presence also pushed aside any lingering loneliness she might begin feeling. Her sisters had gone off and married months ago, and one would think she’d be used to being alone by now.

She wasn’t.

Jane pulled two chairs over by a little marble table near the hearth. “There we go. This is nice and cozy, don’t you think?”

“Perfect.” Hannah waved her over to her seat with a well-practiced flip of her hands, then she began pouring the tea. “In fact, we can get started better this way. I’d like to know how you see your role at Grant Park, and how you want to present yourself to others outside your inner social circle.”

Jane accepted the teacup Hannah offered her, her brows drawn together in thought. “I never really thought of myself as playing any kind of role. I suppose, if I had to describe it, I would call myself a simple person. I don’t have many wants or needs. I help out as much as I can as mistress of the house, but I don’t feel that we are at a social level that requires much showiness. Does that make sense?”

Hannah nodded. Yes, that made perfect sense. “In other words, when one isn’t a duchess, one doesn’t need to worry about her morning dress.”

“Or her afternoon dress...or her riding habit...” Jane set the teacup aside, her spoon rattling against the saucer. “Oh, I am not trying to belittle what you do, in making clothing or hats. It’s just that I have always considered myself a country girl. When I marry, I shall marry a simple country farmer. I won’t have a need for frills and furbelows.”

“True, but to meet your simple country farmer, you will need to attend the kinds of functions in which you are expected to dress well.” Hannah selected a scone from a wicker basket, lined with a linen napkin. She broke it into halves. “That is where I can help you.”

“Actually, I have already met him.” Jane leaned forward, her dark eyes sparkling. “I’ve wanted to tell you for the past two days.”

Hannah shook her head. Had she heard aright? “What do you mean? Are you already engaged?”

“No. I am already in love, though.” Jane sighed and leaped gracefully from her chair. “I told you about the Holdcrofts as we were leaving Tansley.”

“Yes.” She was still holding one half of a scone in each hand, a silly pose if there ever was one. She put one half down and rubbed her hand on her napkin.