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

It was sad, really. He seemed a decent sort of man if a little browbeaten. Perhaps if circumstances had been different Susannah could have even come to like him. But if he continued to allow his wife to lead him around by the nose like a bull on a chain, he would only add to the problem.

When the front door closed, her father’s stiff shoulders slumped. Michael, who had been glued to the floor the whole time, burst into tears. Susannah scooped him up and set him on her lap.

Andrew too began to cry, but silently. Amanda placed a sisterly arm about his shoulders.

Terrance took their father’s elbow and led him to a chair where he gratefully sat.

“I am deeply sorry, children. That is the last thing I wished for you to witness on such a difficult day.” The lines about her father’s eyes had deepened this last month as Mama’s health had faded.

They had all known the cancerous growth would take her eventually, but it still did not make the experience any easier.

One look at her siblings and Susannah knew they could not bear any more sadness for the day. “Terrance, will you ring the bell for Mrs. Crabtree?”

“But I do not want to go back to the nursery,” Michael said through his tears. “It is music lesson time.”

“What if I have Cook send up some of your favorite ginger biscuits?”

This perked the little boy up. “And raspberry tarts?”

“I do not know about that. It will depend on what she has in the larder.”

He bounced on her lap. “It has raspberry tarts. I know, Andrew and I checked.”

Susannah smoothed his hair back, thankful for the simplicity of youth when biscuits and tarts could take away the sting of death. If only it were that easy for the rest of them.

“What do you say, Andrew? Would you like some raspberry tarts?”

Andrew’s enthusiasm was not quite that of Michael’s, but he gave a weak smile and a nod.

When the nurse arrived, Susannah gave her instructions, asking Amanda to accompany them. Her sister’s dubious expression spoke of her displeasure at being dismissed with her little brothers, but what Susannah had to say was a discussion best left to the adults.

“Did everything go smoothly with the burial?” she asked as soon as the children were gone.

“As well as can be expected.” Her father sighed, his shoulders slouching even farther.

Terrance leaned an elbow against the mantel. “The vicar said many pretty words, and there were a good many men in attendance.”

Her brother continued to describe the proceedings, but Susannah heard very little.

That women were not allowed to attend funerals had never bothered her before, but when she’d been barred from attending her own mother’s burial, the tradition had become excessively unfair.

Who had cared for her mother? It was not men.

Some might have argued the local physician counted against that assessment, but the man had hardly even lifted a finger to help Mama.

He would come, glance at the growth on her chest and then leave.

The most he had ever done was identify her condition and suggest she see their butcher of a surgeon. That, and send them exorbitant bills.

The physician had not even been decent enough to leave them laudanum for Mama’s pain. Thank heavens for the apothecaries' remedies, otherwise Susannah and the housekeeper would have had little to help her through the last stages of her disease.

Terrance’s words broke into her irritated thoughts. “Lord Newhurst should be by soon.”

“John is coming?”

Her father frowned. “You are fully grown, Susannah; I think it time you address him properly.”

“Oh, I do when I am out, but it is hard to break old habits.”

They had grown up together after all. Well, of a sort.

She still remembered the first time she’d seen Johnathan Newhurst. She’d been seven when her father finally deemed her old enough to sit through services.

For the entire week she’d been excited to do something so grown up, but the experience had been far more tedious than she’d expected.

The only distraction had been the white-blond hair of the young man sitting in front of her.

She’d never seen such light hair and without thinking, had reached out to touch it. Her father had snatched her hand back, but not before John had turned and smiled at her.

After services, her father had talked to Lord and Lady Newhurst for what seemed like forever.

John had taken pity on her and kept her entertained with a piece of grass that he made into a whistle.

She did not have an older brother, but that day she’d found herself wishing she did.

One who resembled the lanky youth who had been happy to entertain a restless little girl.

For the next eight years he’d never failed to bring her a treat or some other trinket whenever he was home from Harrow or later Cambridge, and she’d adored him for it.

But when he’d returned from his tour of the continent two years ago, something had changed.

He’d grown more reserved and a bit distant. It perplexed her.

As did her altered view of him. Something had changed between them in the year and a half they’d been apart, a shift she worried was more the imaginations of her fanciful mind than founded in actual fact.

John had still been attentive to her family, as was evidenced by the amount of time and effort he’d spent these last two weeks entertaining her siblings or bringing baskets of food from his kitchens.

But he no longer spent time solely with her.

And when they were together, he seemed to guard his words like a treasure he feared would run out.

Three taps from the knocker on the front door interrupted her father and brother’s quiet conversation.

“I suppose that must be Lord Newhurst now.” Her father rose to his feet. Before he made it to the door, the housekeeper ushered John in.

His hair had darkened since his youth to a very distinct yellow. The shoulders and arms that had once been thin had filled out, but still held a slender and athletic appearance. She and Terrance rose to greet their guest.

When John’s blue eyes flicked to her, she gave a soft smile. He did not. Instead he clasped his hands behind his back and shuffled from one foot to the other.

“Newhurst.” Her father reached out his hand and the man took it. “Could you come with me to the study? I have some business to discuss with you.”

John nodded.

“Terrance, you too. It is time you start learning the ways of the estate.”

Her brother glanced at her before following the other men. It was strange seeing him take on such a grown-up role, but with his education at Harrow complete this was the next logical step.

With the click of the door behind the men, Susannah sunk back into her chair. Alone.

It was unfair, really. She had been alone when Aunt Guthrie had arrived and she was alone again now. The click of the infernal clock mocked her as if to say, “Alone, alone, always alone.”

She shot to her feet, picked up the clock, and stopped its small pendulum from swinging. For hours the piece of wood and gears had stood silent after her mother’s death, but with the dawning of the day her beloved mama was buried, the clocks had been started again.

It was too soon. Far too soon.

Susannah needed more time. More time in silence, more time to grieve… more time with her mother. But time had been stolen from her. From all of them.