Page 17 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)

S usannah turned the page on her book, having made her way to the library after breakfast. Lady Stanford had gone to bed to recover and Susannah had been happy to lose herself in a gothic novel.

The butler entered. “Mr. Kendall asks that you join him in the east sitting room.”

She rose, placing the book on the table next to the sofa. Before she could ask why he needed her presence, the butler turned to lead the way. She followed without complaint, deciding to hold her tongue. Perhaps John had come to spend time with Mr. Kendall and had asked after her.

The thought brightened her day until she remembered the painting. Who was the woman that had inspired him so much?

John, however, was not the man awaiting her.

Mr. Wallace and his sister rose to their feet upon her entrance. “Mr. Wallace, Miss Wallace. What a surprise.”

“Forgive us,” Mr. Wallace said. “I know these are not your visiting hours, but we wanted to inquire after Lady Stanford.”

She glanced at Mr. Kendall, the only other occupant of the room. How much should she divulge? It was not her information to share.

“All is well. My sister was ill but is feeling better today.”

She sent Mr. Kendall a grateful smile. He subtly nodded in return.

“Shall I ring for tea?” she asked.

“I already have.” Mr. Kendall’s eyes flitted to the door, but he said nothing more.

Once they were all seated, conversation turned to the close of the ball.

Susannah expressed her surprise at their visit after such a late night, but Mr. Wallace assured her it was no bother; he only wished to make certain all was well.

His thoughtfulness did him credit and she again found herself drawn in by his attentiveness.

When the tea tray arrived she poured each person a cup.

“Have you ever attended Almack’s, Miss Wayland?” Miss Wallace asked.

“I have not, but Lady Stanford has arranged for me to meet with one of the patronesses to see if I might obtain a voucher.”

Mr. Wallace lifted his cup as if in salute. “We wish you well then, for not everyone who applies is found worthy. Some of the patronesses are uncommonly picky.”

“Very true, brother.” Miss Wallace then relayed the ups and downs of her own journey to obtaining a voucher. Ten minutes into the conversation the door to the sitting room flew open.

Miss Harris quickly made eye contact with each person.

“Your hat, Miss Harris,” the butler called from the hallway.

She yanked the pin out of it and tossed it to the harried-looking man. “Where is she?”

“Who?” Susannah said at the same moment Mr. Kendall said, “Upstairs.”

That seemed to be enough explanation. Miss Harris spun around and bolted for the stairs.

“Wait!” Mr. Kendall rushed after her.

When the pounding of his feet on the stairs died away, Susannah turned to Mr. and Miss Wallace, a bit taken aback by all the commotion. “Well, that was unexpected.”

Miss Wallace tittered. “Entirely. What does she mean by coming in here in such a state? She looked positively wild.”

Susannah’s back stiffened. It was one thing to be surprised and quite another to cast judgement. Miss Harris’s worry was understandable. She and Lady Stanford were as thick as thieves and equally as protective of one another.

“I—”

The door opened again, this time far more respectably, and the butler announced Lord Newhurst and Mr. Roberts.

The occupants stood and Mr. Roberts sauntered in, John close on his heels, a single pink rose pinched between his fingers.

Each gave an abbreviated bow to the room as a whole, but Susannah’s gaze was drawn to the flower.

Had John brought her a pink rose?

“I see Miss Harris is not here,” Mr. Roberts said with a smirk. “I told her not to go running into the house like a hoiden, but I suppose I should not have expected her to listen.”

After Miss Wallace’s affront, Mr. Roberts’s words raised her defenses. Then his eyes twinkled. His was not a rebuke but rather an odd sort of affectionate statement and that knowledge softened the remark.

“Those are exactly my thoughts, Mr. Roberts,” Miss Wallace said. “Her arrival was positively scandalous.”

The cheer in the gentleman’s face swiftly fled. His lips turned down and his cheeks tightened as his jaw worked back and forth. And if it were possible, his already proper posture somehow became straighter and taller.

“It is not at all scandalous to show deep concern for a friend, Miss Wallace.” Turning his attention to Susannah, Mr. Roberts said, “Javenia received word this morning that a doctor had been called to the house. Is this true?”

“Yes, but Lady Stanford is fine. She is merely resting from the night. Miss Harris has gone up to see her.”

Miss Wallace snickered, obviously oblivious to Mr. Roberts's earlier rebuke. “More like barge in on her peace. Mr. Kendall is trying to stop her as we speak.”

In all the time Susannah had known Mr. Roberts she had never seen him look so fierce. “Perhaps you misunderstood my earlier address, Miss Wallace. I will thank you to curb your tongue where Miss Harris is concerned.”

“But you—”

“ I am given the liberties afforded one of a long-standing friendship with the lady in question. We have known each other since our cradles. I may peck at her, but you will not .” Without another word he marched out, calling over his shoulder, “I am going to find Nate.”

The strain in the room was palpable after such an exchange. Susannah instinctively searched out John’s gaze, unsure how to proceed, but his focus was firmly on Mr. Wallace. Both men appraised each other.

Miss Wallace flounced into her seat and put her hands to her burning cheeks.

A tiny sliver of sympathy filled Susannah.

Mr. Roberts and Miss Harris’s relationship was a complicated one even for those who knew them well, but someone unfamiliar might think Mr. Roberts's comment was an open invitation for unkind discourse.

“Will you join us for tea?” Susannah finally asked John, motioning to the tray.

“I thank you, yes.” His jaw clenched as he approached the group.

Resuming her seat, she was surprised when he took up the other end of the settee.

Though the distance was still proper, it was the closest he’d sat to her since Lady Lincolnhurst’s soiree.

He twisted the flower in his hand a time or two before setting it on the small coffee table in front of them.

Her eyes caught on it and her hope diminished.

“The weather has been… rather, ah, gloomy,” she said, hoping to dissipate the tension.

Miss Wallace pulled herself together quite nicely. “Yes, the misty rain early this morning was positively depressing and wets a body clear through if one does not have the right outerwear.”

The conversation, completely ordinary and dull, caught Mr. Wallace’s attention. “Let us hope for better weather this week. There are so many pleasant pursuits available in London if only the sun would shine for a few hours.”

“Indeed,” his sister said.

The room again fell quiet. John did not contribute anything to the conversation. His chilly demeanor began to wear on her nerves. The last few hours had been difficult enough without him adding to her burden with a foul mood.

Not to mention his mystery lady. The knowledge that John’s heart might already be taken pinched at her weary nerves.

“Well, I believe it is time for us to go.” Miss Wallace rose to her feet and her brother scrambled to stand. His umber-colored eyebrows pulled together as they exchanged a look.

“Yes, um… I suppose it is time. Do send our regards to Lady Stanford and our wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“I will.” Susannah smiled at him. The discomfort written across his handsome features after his sister had so abruptly ended their visit lifted.

She could not blame her for wanting to leave. John’s uncharacteristic glower would have set even the stoutest heart to trembling. What was wrong with him?

Miss Wallace curtsied and Mr. Wallace took hold of Susannah’s hand. The pressure of his fingers on hers chased away a bit of the pressure weighing on her chest. At least one man appreciated her. The knowledge soothed her wounded pride and aching heart.