Simply Magic

Her grandfather Clapton had three surviving daughters and eight grandchildren apart from Susanna. Her aunts and cousins, he told her, smiling his quiet smile. The eldest was married to his successor in the village church-and their son was a curate in a church not far away.

She had aunts and uncles and cousins.

“How different my life would have been if I had not left Fincham in such a hurry all those years ago,” she said.

“And ours too, dearest,” her grandmother said, patting her hand.

“But would you go back now and change your life if you could?” Grandfather Clapton asked gently. “I believe our lives unfold in perfect but mysterious ways, understood clearly only by our Lord.”

“That is something you would say, Ambrose,” Grandfather Osbourne said irritably. “I have not seen much perfection in the lives of my own family, only endless mystery. And if the Almighty is responsible, I will have a quarrel to pick with him on Judgment Day.”

“I cannot know if I would change the course of my life or not,” Susanna said, smiling at all of them and understanding already that her grandfathers did not always see eye-to-eye upon every issue. “I wish I had known you all sooner, and I do look back upon the couple of weeks I spent in London with some horror. But I spent six happy years at Miss Martin’s school, and I have loved my teaching job there during the past five years. I am proud of what I have made of my life.”

Her grandmother patted her hand.

“Teaching is all very well,” Grandfather Osbourne said, “for a lady with no family or for a lady whose family has only slender means. I am not an enormously wealthy man, Susanna, but I am certainly not poor either, and you are all we have. It is time you came home with us. It is time we found you a good husband to look after you when we are gone.”

Her grandmother smoothed a hand over hers, and Susanna could feel her bent arthritic fingers against the back of her hand.

“I think, Clarence,” she said, “Susanna may have already found him for herself. Viscount Whitleaf is a very handsome and charming young man, and it seemed to me yesterday that he thinks the world of our granddaughter. He has invited us all to attend the ball at Sidley Park tomorrow evening, but I had the feeling that it is Susanna with whom he wants to dance more than anyone else.”

“I daresay it would not be me, Sadie,” Grandfather Osbourne said with a bark of laughter. “But a viscount. That is aiming high, though not impossibly high. We have a perfectly respectable lineage. And so does Ambrose.”

“And you were a colonel,” Grandmother Osbourne reminded him.

“Hmm,” her grandfather said. “I shall have to find out what that young man’s intentions are.”

Susanna pulled her hand away from her grandmother’s in order to clap both hands to her cheeks.

“Oh, Grandfather,” she said, “please do not say anything to him.”

She was blushing, she realized. She was also laughing. Her grandfather had known her for less than twenty-four hours, and already he was trying to take charge of her life.

Could it possibly be less than twenty-four hours? She already loved them, all three of them. How absurd!

How indescribably wonderful!

She had just realized something, though. They must not know about Viscountess Whitleaf’s part in the death of her father. They had not reacted in any way to his name.

They were not alone together all day, the four of them. Lady Markham, Theodore, Edith, and Mr. Morley were all tactful enough to remain in the background most of the time, but they all came together at mealtimes, and after luncheon Susanna and her grandmother went up to the nursery at Edith’s invitation to see Jamie since this was apparently the most wakeful, alert, and cheerful part of his day.

“And of course,” Edith said, “I want you to see him at his very best.”

They stayed up there talking for longer than an hour after admiring the baby and handing him from one to the other and coaxing smiles from him. Susanna’s grandmother held him in the crook of one arm while they sat and talked, and cooed down at him when he demanded attention.

It was during that hour and a bit, Susanna discovered later, that Viscount Whitleaf had called with two of his brothers-in-law and young Mr. Flynn-Posy.

She also discovered that during the visit her two grandfathers had gone off to the library with Viscount Whitleaf while the others had visited in the drawing room. Neither of them volunteered any further information-about who had initiated the private meeting or what the topic of conversation had been. And Susanna did not ask lest her grandparents think that she really was interested in him.

He was gone by the time she came downstairs.

But she would see him at the ball, she thought, with a heart that tried to sink and soar at the same time, leaving her feeling horribly confused and not a little upset.

She must not begin thinking that an impossibility might after all be possible.

It was Peter who had asked to speak privately with the two elderly gentlemen who were staying at Fincham. While he was disappointed to learn on his arrival that Susanna was up in the nursery with Edith, he was also glad to find his plan easier to implement than he had expected it to be. He had merely asked Theo if he might use the library for a few minutes in order to have a word or two with Colonel Osbourne and the Reverend Clapton, and Theo had agreed-with a smirk.

Peter had come to the point after a few preliminary conversational niceties. Or, to be more accurate, it was the colonel, frowning ferociously and harrumphing through his large mustache, who brought him to the point.

“I understand, Whitleaf,” he said, “that you had my granddaughter out in a curricle yesterday afternoon, without even so much as a groom up behind.”

Peter felt very much as if a shotgun had been pressed to his spine.

The other old gentleman gazed genially at him-with perhaps a thread of steel behind the mild eyes.

“I did,” he confessed-no point in lying and pretending to have had six eagle-eyed grooms all clinging to the back of his curricle to play chaperone. “I hope, sirs, to ask your granddaughter during tomorrow night’s ball to honor me with her hand in marriage. I would like the blessing of both of you before I do so.”

It had occurred to him last night that this was perhaps something he ought to do. Less laudably, it had also occurred to him that she might look more kindly upon his suit if he had their blessing.

A third thing that had occurred to him, of course, was that they might be very familiar indeed with the name of Whitleaf, and that he might be dooming his hopes to a horrible dashing if he approached them thus.

The Reverend Clapton beamed at him from his chair by the fire.

The colonel frowned fiercely at him from his stance by the desk.

“Why?” he barked. “Why do you wish to marry our granddaughter?”

“I have conceived a deep affection for her, sir, “Peter said.

“Even though she was a dowerless nobody when you did it?” the colonel asked him, and Peter felt sorry for all the soldiers who had served under this man-theirs must not have been a comfortable life.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Then you are a fool, Whitleaf,” the old man said.

Peter raised his eyebrows.

“If loving Miss Osbourne for herself makes me a fool, sir,” he said, “then I can only