Page 1 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)

T he gentle tick of the clock on the mantel sounded more like shots from a rifle in the small parlor. Each reverberating click increased Miss Susannah Wayland’s discomfort twofold as she tried to look anywhere but at Aunt Pauline Guthrie and her portly husband.

She hardly knew them after all, and yet Aunt Guthrie acted as if she and her siblings should share their private affairs with her.

“And when again is your father to return?” The rotund little woman asked as she set down her teacup.

Susannah tried unsuccessfully to stop the trembling in her hands. “As I said before, I am unsure. I do not know how long burials take.”

“Ah, yes.” Aunt Guthrie glanced about the room, her freckled nose scrunching as if she’d smelled something distasteful.

Susannah glanced at her younger sister Amanda who sat completely still on the tattered red settee across from the pair.

Her hands were primly clasped in her lap, her shoulders back, and not one light blonde curl out of place.

It was unnatural for a thirteen-year-old girl to sit so long without moving, which testified of her sister’s terror at being in company with Aunt Guthrie, the woman whom they’d regularly visited when their parents took them to London as small children.

Then one day the visits had stopped. Susannah knew why, but Amanda did not. It was for the best. Knowing the discord between their families would only make her sister more distraught.

The pounding of little feet on the stairs heralded the arrival of her two younger brothers. She stiffened. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was time to teach them their music lesson, but that would not be possible with the present company.

“Nan, we’re here,” six-year-old Michael said as he rushed in, his brown hair flopping about. Skidding to a stop, he hesitated as he took in the guests.

Ten-year-old Andrew entered at a more sedate pace, being old enough to understand death and the state of the family.

The red around his beautiful blue eyes and the droop of his mouth made Susannah wish she could hold him, but such gentleness to the boy would not be deemed acceptable to her stodgy relatives.

“Who are you?” Michael asked without reservation.

“Young man, you should learn that children are to be seen and not heard, but if you must know, I am your Aunt Guthrie, and this is my husband.”

Uncle Guthrie, who had said very little before now, put his hand out to shake Michael’s. “How do you do?”

Before Michael could take it, Aunt Guthrie batted her husband's hand away. The balding man’s brow furrowed, and he blinked at his wife, but accepted her silent reproof without question.

“And who might you be, young man?” Aunt Guthrie peered down her nose at him, her beady eyes quailing Michael’s excitement. He stepped back, now nervous to speak to someone as intimidating as their sour-faced aunt.

Andrew stepped forward and bowed. “If I may, this is my brother Michael and I am Andrew.”

The words were so grown up, much like Andrew had been forced to become over the last several months. They all had as Mama’s sickness had progressed.

“Ah, yes. I had heard my brother had more children.”

The entry door opened and Susannah could hear their housekeeper, Mrs. Stone, speaking to her father and brother in the hall.

Terrance entered first, his lanky seventeen-year-old legs eating up the distance between her and the door in five long strides. He stooped and kissed her cheek, but before he rose he whispered, “Are you well?”

She gave a sharp nod, not wanting to speak lest her aunt overhear her.

Terrance straightened and turned to their relatives, but before he could greet them, their father’s voice filled the room.

“What are you doing here, Pauline?”

Aunt Guthrie rose from her seat. “I heard the news and have come to visit with you, dear brother.”

Susannah scrunched her brow. The buttery smooth way her aunt spoke to her father was so at odds with how she’d treated the boys that she did not know what to think.

“A visit. Why could you not come for a visit a year ago, or even ten? Why now?”

The steel in both her father’s voice and his gaze spoke of his anger.

Coupled with the fact that he hardly ever raised his voice made his current behavior quite frightening for her little brothers.

She did not blame him, though. Years of hurt were buried under that anger and considering he’d just come from burying the love of his life, she would expect no less.

Aunt Guthrie cleared her throat. “Yes, well, you know we have been quite busy—”

“Nonsense.” A lock of steel grey hair fell over her father’s brow, but he did not swipe it away. His hands balled into fists beside his long legs.

Aunt Guthrie’s head jerked back. “I beg your pardon. I have been very busy raising my girls and seeing to my duties in Society.”

“Your duties, indeed. It must be so taxing to attend parties and balls.”

“One must do what is necessary to make the right connections. I have two daughters to find husbands for and that can only be done if we know the right people.”

His eyes narrowed. “I see. And that is your excuse for not coming to visit years ago when they were but eight and ten? Also, if I recall, you sent them away to girls’ school, and yet you still did not come.”

“I do not know why you are so cross. We are here now, are we not? And I have come with a proposition. I thought it might help if I took your eldest daughter back with me for the rest of the season. She could be a companion to my girls and have her time in Society.”

Susannah stared and her father snorted in derision. “A companion, as if she is so poor she needs employment?”

“Well, from the looks of your home she could probably use it.” Aunt Guthrie’s hand swept out, indicating the outdated furniture in the room.

“Did it ever occur to you, Pauline, that money is not everything? If my wife had wanted to change the furniture in this room at any time in the last twenty years she could have, but we like these pieces. They are comfortable and familiar.”

Uncle Guthrie, who had remained seated for most of the confrontation, finally made it to his feet, his wide girth making it more difficult to stand.

“My wife is only trying to be helpful, Wayland.”

Her father glared at the man. They were a study in opposites, her father tall and lean compared to Uncle Guthrie’s short, fat frame.

Uncle Guthrie cowered.

“How would Pauline even know how to be helpful? She has not been around to know what we might stand in need of.”

Aunt Guthrie puffed out her chest. “You do not have to be so cruel.”

“Cruel! Would you like to know what cruelty is? Cruel is not visiting your own ancestral home in nearly twenty years because you disagree with your brother’s choice in wife.

Then showing up on the day he buries said wife, the wife that you treated abominably even though she did everything in her power to pander to all of your whims. Cruel is asking him to give up his oldest child so your pampered daughters can have someone to order about.

If you think my anger is cruel, you do not know the definition well enough. ”

Aunt Guthrie’s pudgy face twisted into a scowl. “At least I am here, am I not?”

Her father stilled, his lips compressing and his hands clenching. His brown eyes held her aunt’s gaze. “Too late Pauline, too late.” His flat tone chilled the room. “You were unwilling to come while Leah was alive, so you are not welcome now that she is gone. Now, get out.”

“You would throw out your own sister?” she sputtered.

“Come, man. Do be reasonable,” Uncle Guthrie said.

“I am being reasonable. Your treatment of my wife, and by extension all of my children, was despicable—I still do not understand how Leah put up with it for so long—but now that she is gone, the best thing I can do to honor her memory is to never let either of you taint my children’s memories of her. ”

Aunt Guthrie opened her mouth to protest, but Father cut her off. “Do not deny it, Pauline. I have heard the rumors you spread in London and here in the countryside. So take your deceitful tongue and be gone.”

The awful tick of the clock on the mantel again filled the room in the wake of her father’s anger. Susannah hated the sound and vowed to silence it once everyone left.

Aunt Guthrie looked at each of them. Was she trying to gather her words or seek an ally? If the latter, she would find none.

She and Terrance were old enough to remember their last visit to London when Aunt Guthrie had pulled them aside to tell them their mother would probably die birthing Andrew, but it would be for the best for all of them. She’d never been a good match for their father anyway.

The fear and pain of those heartless words had remained with Susannah and her brother ever since. When they had told their father, he vowed never to send them to London again.

Their mother had been far more forgiving, sending letters and trying to make amends. It never ceased to amaze Susannah how her mother could show kindness to a woman who treated her so badly. Even more perplexing was why Aunt Guthrie held such dislike.

Perhaps in the beginning, before the shock of her parents’ sudden marriage had worn off, she could understand, but not after decades of concessions and overtures of good will. There had to be something more.

“Fine,” Aunt Guthrie snapped. “But mark my words, brother. You will regret this day. Do not expect me or Mr. Guthrie to put forth one farthing to help you or your brood of sniveling brats. You are all dead to me now.”

“So be it!”

If Susannah had thought the tick of the clock abrasive, the boom of her father’s pronouncement was like a cannon blast in her ears.

“Guthrie,” Aunt Guthrie barked at her husband, then stormed out. The quieter man glanced about the room, true regret in his eyes, but when his wife called him again, he jumped at her bidding.