AN: here's a fic I wrote for a contest at the MCBC (most of my work tends to be from there, lol). I like the concept of it, you know, if Suze was born at the time of Jesse, cause we know that they were meant to be together (don't hurt me, PFCs::ducks: ). How would Suze's life be like during the Victorian Era, and how would she meet Jesse? Lots of speculation on that, but anyway, to the fic:

(the only thing is, don't hate me if I don't update frequently. I'm writing another story at the MCBC full-time. And I go to college, so those 2 pretty much eat up a lot of my free time. Go figure. But I'll try not to give up on this fic like I d with CHANGE and SUZE'S GIRL. :sniff: R.I.P. to those two).

New York, 1850

"Susannah, I would like you to meet Mr. de Silva and his son."

Oh, lovely, I thought to myself as I curtseyed politely, new clients for my father and his lawyer business.

Probably some scheming philanthropist who wants to make his company larger by using my father.

I generally hated such people. But thank God my father always saw through those schemes and would never take them on.

However he still allowed them to come and ask for his legal assistance anyway. It was only common courtesy, he told me. Most of these individuals, if they didn't live in New York already, traveled for miles by train to see him, and it was the least he could do, even if he was going to reject them.

As I was saying, I curtseyed and smiled politely. I knew I shouldn't have come into my father's office. It wasn't a woman's place they said – even though father would allow me to sneak in at times when he wasn't with clients. In front of them I was never allowed to come in there.

But I usually couldn't stay away from this room. The cherry-oak wood paneling and the spicy hint of tobacco from my dad's smoking pipe were always such a familiar source of comfort to me. So were the walls were lined from floor to the ceiling with books that I couldn't imagine anywhere else that felt more like home.

Then how unfortunate it was that I had forgotten he was meeting someone today.

Both Mr. de Silva Senior and Junior bowed gallantly in response as my father said, "Mr. de Silva, Jesse, this is my daughter Susannah."

As he said this, I quickly planned my escape, but then when Mr. de Silva spoke with a slight blurred accent to his voice as he said, "A pleasure, seniorita," that captured my attention. It wasn't often that we had foreign visitors. Like a buggy-horse, I swerved my thoughts around and tried to contrive a way to stay longer.

"Father," said sweetly, folding my hands down in front of me like a proper – submissive woman should (but my father knew it was all a show; at home alone I'd never act like this). "I was wondering perhaps… perhaps…"

My eyes drifted slightly to look at the two newcomers. My father was annoyed that I was taking his time away from his client; the elder Mr. de Silva waited patiently, but the younger Mr. de Silva…

A smile was playing on his lips as though he was amused by my behavior.

That made me missish – why should he be laughing at me? So I quickly made my point, "… perhaps you know where my horse Penelope was?"

Quite ridiculous, I realized this, but… Oh! Weren't women supposed to be 'insipid' and 'shockingly dim', anyway?

My father frowned, and said surly, "She is right were you left her last time, Susannah."

The young Mr. de Silva burst out laughing. Of all the rude, inconsiderable things –

"Fine," I said primly. "But if you aren't certain she's stolen," I added threateningly, trying to make it sound like a reasonable concern. "Then I shall be going." I was in no mood to stay in such rude company.

The younger de Silva just kept right on laughing, but his father – thank Heavens – had a real look of concern on his face.

"Hector, this is serious!" he scolded him. "You shouldn't laugh at a lady! And she's right you know."

I shot him a smile of glowing gratitude as I was about to exit the door.

He continued in the same concerned and chastising demeanor, "The chance of having a stolen horse is a horrible prospect. You should know better than anyone, what from working on the ranch at home."

That silenced Mr. Chuckles right up.

Ha!

"But parde," he tried to explain to his father, and pulled him back to whisper, "These people – they live here in the cities with their mountains of money – to them, a horse isn't what it is to us on the ranch. To them they're just trinkets – toys they can replace!"

This infuriated his father more. "Son, that's very ungenerous of you! A horse is still a horse!"

After much bickering back and forth, Mr. Not-So-Smiling-Any-More emerged from the conversation, and bowed to me, apparently he had been duly chastised.

"I apologize, Miss Simon, for my ungentlemanly behavior," he said.

I curtseyed primly in acknowledgement, accepting his apology – barely.

Mr. de Silva patted his son on the back, firmly. "Jesse insists on accompanying you to find your horse – with a proper chaperone, of course," he added gruffly for propriety's sake. My father was relieved, and at once agreed with the plan. I shot him an angry look, but he blatantly ignored it. Obviously he blamed me for the interruption, and thought it proper that I should be dismissed so. At least then he could get back to business.

Oh blast it all!

My father rang the bell for Nancy. This was insufferable – intolerable!

I shot an angry glare at Mr. Cheerful's direction. Unfortunately, the frown he was wearing sprung back up into that well-worn grin of his – he was actually considering this something fun, a sport of some sort, I thought indignantly.

Well, I thought, as Nancy came in and bowed. It actually could have been worse, I suppose. After all, he was sort of handsome. His inky hair was combed over to one side, and when he was trying not to smile, a set of pearly white teeth glittered. He was also a very tall gentleman, and the breadth of his shoulders hinted at through his shirt…

Oh for Heaven's sake, he was just laughing at me! I was not to be thus easily won; I wouldn't just swoon because of a pretty face – even though it happened to be a remarkably good one.

We walked down the grand staircase, and out the front doors towards the back stables.

I could swear Mr. Poppycock was trying not to chuckle every now and then.

"So where is this horse of yours that you misplaced?" he gave me a glittering smile.

Oh phooey.

"I did not 'misplace' him," I told him rudely. "I only said I couldn't find him."

"Oh yes, of course. How could I mistake you?" he smiled at me, his eyes teasing. "Of course you didn't misplace him. You just can't find him."

"Uh, yes. Of course. Exactly," I said, blinking, confused for a moment. My brain was becoming muddled. Perhaps it was those dark eyes of his?

Blast it all!

"As I was saying," I tried to clear my thoughts, but there was no point in me finishing my sentence. There, in her stable – with a golden plaque that read, "Penelope", was my chestnut-brown coated horse.

I flushed scarlet, but turned away so he couldn't see. It wasn't proper to blush in front of strangers. "Oh Heavens: look! He has returned."

"Apparently so," he said. I could even hear the smirk in his voice. "But after all, animals are miraculous creatures aren't they?" he mused aloud, pacing around the stable with those long legs of his.

"Apparently so," I grumbled under my breath.

"Or perhaps, the human mind is miraculously forgetful?" he turned around the corner, and stood right in front of me.

I placed my hands on my hips – proper or not, I was angry, "Listen you… you!" I pointed at him. "How dare you make fun of me in such a manner?"

"I?" he raised an eyebrow up. "Make fun of you? Whatever made you think so?"

He was doing it again.

"That!" I told him. "Exactly that! Who gave you the right -"

"Right?" he asked again, shaking his head. "No one gave me any right." He threw his hands up calmly.

"Exactly!" I bellowed, but confused. I could feel my anger dissipating. He was giving up so soon?

"Perhaps, seniorita," he drew my arm through his as I stood there in my perplexed daze. "You are tired, and I think I should walk you back to your house.

"After all," he added, winking. "The threat of losing a horse could weaken a lady's spirits, or so I've heard."

My face probably turned purple.

"I am not one of those fainting-fancy ladies you might know, sir," I drew my arm back. "And I can walk myself back to the house, thank you."

I could tell he was mad, but after a pause, he followed after me, calmly.

But I was the furthest thing from calm, and I couldn't bear to see him so. "And what does your father wish to speak to mine of?" I exhaled angrily. Very unladylike. "Some sort of monopoly on the steel industry, I presume?"

He balked, and the snorted at that. Very ungentlemanly.

"Then what?" I asked. I couldn't keep up walking very fast as my corset was constantly crushing my lungs, and for walking at a brisk pace I was quite winded.

"I believe that is between my father and yours," he said, and clamped his jaw shut.

But I wanted to rile him up. "Your father said you worked on a ranch?" I said, recalling.

"Yes," he admitted briefly, but kept his silence.

"There are no ranches in New York," I pointed out.

"Then that's probably why we are from California."

"California?" I said, startled, and stopped.

I knew of the recent gold rush the previous year – it was all the range. Poor souls went there to find their luck, and to "strike it rich." My eyes narrowed.

But he surprised me by saying agitatedly, "The settlers of the gold rush are trying move in on our land." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Scheming conmen trick them, making them pay for land that isn't theirs, giving them fake land-certificates, and shipping them onto our land. Those innocent settlers didn't know at the time of purchase, and when they find out, then they demand that the land they paid for be given to them. Father's afraid that soon we'll be thrown off our own property."

I was shocked – and appalled by it.

"That's why we need a lawyer – we heard your father was the best in the country. And so -"

But his words were cut off when we entered my father's office. Mr. de Silva and my father had risen, and were shaking hands. Apparently they were done. "Ah, come in, Susannah!" my father smiled, beckoning the two of us in. He was always much more cheerful when he had decided on a legal plan of action to help a client. Obviously he hadn't turned Mr. de Silva and his case away.

"Call for your mother," he smiled, and announced. "Tell her we shall be leaving for California in two weeks."

I blinked. "California!" I reiterated, distrusting my hearing.

"Well, not you, perhaps," he added in afterthought, "but at least I am."

I looked at Mr. de Silva to see if my father was being serious.

Apparently he was.

"But that's so… so far off, father!" I protested weakly. Leave it to me to state the obvious.

"Yes, I know it is," he nodded slowly. "But you see I have no choice. Mr. de Silva came for legal consultation, and my consulting was that I should go down there and sort this whole mess out."

Oh dear.

"You had best stay with your governess, because your mother might want to come along with me."

I planted my hands on my hips. "Father, I'm seventeen. I haven't had a governess for over six years."

"Still," he continued, wiping his glasses with his handkerchief.

"Father," I said, dead-serious. "I'm coming."

His eyes flew up and looked at me, angrily, but he said with a firm jaw, "We'll discuss this later, Susannah."

I shut my mouth.

My father said his farewells to Mr. de Silva and his son, Jesse. When Jesse came to me to take his leave, his eyes danced in amusement. "A pleasure, Miss Simon," he kissed my hand.

Of course father made sure they had a place to stay of the night – they did, at a local inn. Very well, he said, we should see them tomorrow for dinner.

I could tell these two weeks wasn't going to be an uneventful, at least.