Page 29 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)

T he mourning of a child none of Society knew existed was an odd thing.

Were they simply to just carry on? After a week's seclusion with only Sir Nathaniel’s friends and Melior’s family as visitors, Susannah was surprised to find little compassion from the Society of London. It was as if nothing had happened.

And yet something had, a very important something.

As difficult as it was to see her friend grieve, it had also been a week of relief for her.

There were no visits from Mr. Wallace, nor her aunt, nor anyone who had taxed her energy over the last few weeks.

Whether because the butler turned them away or because they’d not come, she did not know, nor did she care to find out.

The only other visitor that had been welcome was Lady Braithwaite. She came once a day to check on Melior to make sure she healed properly.

Something had changed in the way the two ladies interacted.

No more tension emanated between them, only a deep understanding that could be witnessed in the way they spoke of their shared experience.

Susannah had not been allowed to stay for a majority of the discussions, but she’d heard enough to know that the two women had more in common than she’d originally supposed.

There were other enlightening moments she kept to herself.

Like the day she’d caught Mr. Kendall standing beyond Melior’s private parlor door with a clear view of one of the room’s occupants.

At first she thought she’d imagined the look of adoration on his face since he’d swept it away quickly and kept walking.

But when she’d caught him glancing in on the countess multiple times with much the same expression, she no longer doubted his affection.

Mr. Kendall it seemed, had fallen head over heels for Lady Braithwaite.

Even now, as they all took tea with Melior on her first visit outside her own rooms, his gaze still gravitated to the tiny, fierce blonde across from Susannah. She smiled into her teacup, the secret tucked safely in her heart. If Lady Braithwaite could not see it, Susannah would not give him away.

Her gaze shifted, taking in John’s profile as he spoke to Sir Nathaniel.

How she’d loved being able to be in company with him nearly every day this week.

They’d not spoken much, their time being spent in company with others, but he’d sat with her several times at the piano and she had in turn taken time to watch him paint a little miniature of tiny footprints.

In those moments, it was almost as if they’d turned back the clocks to a time when things had been simple.

She read him Michael’s latest attempt at a letter, he told her about a new invention he’d discovered, and they both had sat quietly for minutes at a time in comfortable silence.

Melior set her teacup down with a rattle, pulling Susannah from her woolgathering. “I am fatigued, please excuse me.”

Sir Nathaniel shot to his feet to help his wife, but she waved him away. “Do not trouble yourself.”

There was an unusual snip in her words. Sir Nathaniel's brow creased and he looked to Lady Braithwaite after his wife left.

“It is to be expected,” she said. “Her body is not the only thing that needs time to heal.”

He nodded and began to sit.

She let out a huff. “Go after her, you dolt. She is hurting and will need that broad shoulder of yours to cry on.”

He straightened and made for the door, completely amenable to being ordered around. No doubt he wished to be out of company just as much as his wife.

Lady Braithwaite shook her head, a trace of a smile on her pert lips. “If only all men were as easily compelled as that one,” she murmured.

Susannah smiled into her teacup.

“Is everything all right?” A male voice asked from the door.

She turned to see a very concerned Mr. Roberts glancing back into the hall.

“I just saw Nate taking the stairs two at a time. When I tried to ask, he waved me off.”

Mr. Kendall crossed to him. “Nothing we can help with. What brings you to Kendall House? I thought you were engaged for the afternoon.”

Mr. Roberts’s gaze swept the room, his shoulders tense. He must have concluded there was no need for concern, for he relaxed. “I have a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” Mr. Kendall asked.

“The kind in skirts with a very determined mother.”

Lady Braithwaite leaned forward. “Does this lady happen to have the surname of Giles?”

“She does.”

A smile, much like Susannah imagined a cat might sport before pouncing on a mouse, bloomed on Lady Braithwaite’s face.

“Allow me to be of some assistance.” Her Ladyship rose gracefully from her seat and fairly floated across the room. “I am especially adept at dealing with menacing machinations from that quarter.” She took gentle hold of each man’s arm without slowing and guided them from the room.

A moment's disappointment overcame Susannah at not being privy to their conversation, then her eyes met John’s. It was the first time they’d been alone together in weeks.

Her insides quivered, excitement mixing with fear muddling her thoughts.

If she’d been given this chance before her aunt had made her threat, she’d have taken the opportunity to move closer in order to explore the newfound knowledge she had.

Then again, she’d not realized how much John felt for her until her aunt had opened her eyes.

“Machinations is a marvelous word,” he said somewhat to himself as he rose and paced to the window.

She took in his slender athletic form. Once, before her mother passed, she’d seen him in only his shirt sleeves, rolled to expose his sculpted forearms. He’d been teaching her brothers to fence behind the stables and thought no ladies were in view of him.

Her mind conjured the way his muscles had bunched and extended with each position he’d demonstrated.

Her mouth had gone dry watching him, but she recognized that it was not only his exterior that had attracted her.

He’d been patient and kind with her brothers; teaching them slowly and carefully without derision when they’d accidentally dropped a foil in the mud.

The moment had solidified his place in her heart.

He stared out the window a moment, then turned to face her. She waited, knowing he had something he wished to say.

“Are—” He stopped, his gaze straying to the door.

She glanced at the opening. The others had left without shutting it. She focused back on John, who looked to be fighting with himself.

His fisted hands opened, then closed at his sides, then slowly opened again. “Are you attending the Durhams’ ball this evening?”

“I am. Miss Harris invited me to attend with her. Lady Upton shall be our chaperone.”

He nodded. “And will Mr. W-Wallace be there?”

A weight settled in the pit of her stomach as the threats and restraints her aunt had set in place fell back on her shoulders. “Yes, he will.”

She hated the way John’s face contorted in pain. Why could they not talk of other things? Painting, music, flowers, anything. Couldn’t she avoid speaking of her future for a few more days?

John crossed to the settee. “I must know. Do you c-care for him?”

The weight in her middle rolled over, causing a wave of nausea. She hated the answer she was required to give him, hated her aunt for putting her in this position, hated herself for being so blind.

“He is a fine man. How could I not care for him?”

John’s eyes briefly closed. When they opened, a look of resolution replaced the agony she’d witnessed.

She opened her mouth to speak, to try to smooth over her words, but he spoke first.

“I wish you much felicity and prosperity.”

He turned to leave.

“We are not promised yet.” She blurted out, a small part of her wishing John would fight for her. That he would somehow be able to fix everything her aunt had threatened. In truth, if she did marry John, it might be possible.

Realization struck and horror nearly made her cast up her accounts. What if her father had ruined John’s finances as well? Papa had been helping him run his estates for years.

If John learned of her father’s situation, and if her father had led him astray when acting privately as his steward, it would crush him. He might never forgive any of them. John could never know of any of this.

She clamped her mouth shut, her heart warring with her head.

John’s gaze filled with compassion. “Anyone who knows you cannot help but love you, Susannah. I am certain you will receive the proposal you wish for very soon.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. Mr. Wallace was not the man she wished for.

“I need to be going.” John gave her an abbreviated bow and crossed to the open door.

Susannah’s heart screamed out from within and she could not help calling out, “Is there any reason I should not accept his proposal?”

John turned. The clock ticked on the mantel. One, two, three, four, five times.

“No.”