A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(70)

Susanna raised an open palm. “You did tell me I could have my say.” Turning back to her father, she continued, “At the same time, Papa, the ladies at the Queen’s Ruby are growing concerned. The militia exercises have disrupted their schedule, and they’ve lost the highlight of their summer—planning the midsummer fair. Some are thinking of leaving Spindle Cove entirely, which could prove disastrous in its own, albeit different way.”

She drew a deep breath. “So Lord Rycliff and I have decided to join forces and work together, to protect what’s most dear to us both. The militia drills and preparations will become the joint project of all village residents. Men and ladies, together. There’s so much to be done, and Lord Rycliff has admitted he can’t do it without my help.” She gave Bram a cautious glance. “But together, we can plan a display to do you proud. What do you think, Papa?”

Her father sighed. “It all sounds eminently logical. And entirely unworthy of this urgent conference that disrupted my work.”

“There is something else,” Bram said. “A question that requires your answer.”

Susanna gulped. “Can we have a ball?”

“A ball?” Bram and her father echoed in unison.

“Yes, a ball.” She’d blurted out the idea without thinking, but upon reflection, Susanna saw that it was perfect. “That’s the proposal. We’d like to hold a ball here, at Summerfield. An officers’ ball, directly following the field review. I know you will have esteemed guests for the occasion, Papa. A ball is the perfect way to honor and entertain them. It will also serve as a reward for the militia volunteers, after all their hard work. And it will give the young ladies something to look forward to. A reason to stay. It’s perfect.”

“Very well, Susanna. You may have a ball.” Her father plunked his glass on the desk.

And then his manner changed, somehow. His gaze roamed the blotter absently, as though he’d misplaced his chain of thought. And Susanna felt dropped, without warning, into one of those awful, terrifying moments. Those moments where the filter of daughterly affection slipped, and suddenly she wasn’t looking at her dear familiar papa, the charismatic, eccentric hero of her childhood—but simply at a stranger named Lewis Finch. And that man looked so old and so tired.

He rubbed his eyes. “I know this militia business seems rather silly on the face of things. But there’s a great deal hanging in the balance—for us all, in one way or another. I’m gratified to see the two of you working together to ensure its success. Thank you. Now, if you’ll both excuse me.”

And he was gone, exiting through the side door.

Bram turned to her. His expression was blank. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“You can’t believe I did what? Save your life and your career? Not that you seem to make a distinction between the two.”

He stared out the window. “Susanna, you just gave him reason to doubt me. He assigned me a duty, and you told him I can’t do it.”

She winced. How was it that men could be so big and strong in body, and yet so fragile when it came to pride?

“I told him you can’t do it alone. And there’s no shame in that.” She moved to stand at his side. She began to reach for him, but thought better of it, crossing her arms instead. “As my father just said, a great deal hangs in the balance. I know what this means to you, truly. You need to prove yourself after your injury, and this is your one chance.”

A flicker of denial crossed his features, like a knee-jerk reflex. But then he nodded. “Yes.”

She wanted so badly to hug him. Perhaps, once this militia was a success and he had proved himself, he could turn his attention to all those other, less easily admitted needs. Like his palpable yearning for closeness and affection. Or his obvious, unspoken desire for a true home. Perhaps he’d even change his mind, and decide to stay. But she knew he couldn’t consider any of those things until he felt strong and whole again, in command of himself and others.

“Then let me help.” She said honestly, “For both your sake and my father’s, I want to see you succeed. But we must face facts. You have a little more than a fortnight to get those men uniformed, drilled, and trained to perfection. Not to mention all the preparations for the day itself. There’s so much work to be done. I know this village, inside and out. You can’t do it without me.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “Now that you’ve thrown an officers’ ball into the mix, I suppose I can’t.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment idea,” she admitted. “But a good one. If anything can convince Mrs. Highwood and the others to stay, it’s the prospect of planning a ball. We’ll need everyone working together, men and ladies. If we’re going to keep both our dreams from disintegrating, we have to make this day a grand success.”

“Something tells me Miss Finch has a plan.”

“Not a plan,” she said, smiling a little. “A schedule. As you know, Mondays are country walks. Tuesdays, sea bathing. On Wednesdays we’re in the garden, and Thursdays we shoot. On Fridays, we’ve always climbed up to the castle. To picnic, sketch, stage our little theatricals. Or sometimes just to plot and scheme.”

“Well,” he said. “We can’t disrupt the ladies’ schedule, now can we? Bring them all up, then. It’ll be a good way for the men to patch things over, after last night’s mayhem.”