Page 37 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)

T he last few weeks had been the most glorious of Susannah’s life. Who knew time spent with the right person could hold such joy? Nervousness filled her, though, at the thought of returning to London. But she would not stand in the way of her husband's parliamentary duties.

Her husband. Lord Johnathan Newhurst. The Right Honorable The Viscount Newhurst. She could hardly believe it. Some mornings she had to pinch herself to make certain it was not a dream.

She speared an egg on her plate and glanced up at him across the breakfast table. “I would like to accept a few invitations that have been forwarded from London. Would you like to attend with me or would you rather remain at Newhurst House?”

John glanced up from his food. “Wherever you are is where I wish to be.”

“But you hate social gatherings.”

He nodded. “But I love you.”

She smiled. It had gotten easier for him to speak his mind these last few weeks and she adored it. Never had she imagined how poetic he could be.

“There is one in May that will take us out of the city for a few days. Is that acceptable?”

He grinned. “Absolutely. I’d much prefer gatherings in the country. Larger gardens to get lost in if the crowd is especially exhausting.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you getting lost in these gardens alone?”

“Not a chance. I have it on good authority that a certain lady likes flowers a great deal, especially pink roses.”

Susannah’s eyes strayed to a side table where a huge arrangement rested, one John had given her to celebrate their first month together. “I suppose I could be convinced to wander about a secluded garden path.”

He chuckled and returned to eating. After a few bites he asked, “Where is this country gathering?”

“Eastley End House. Mrs. Hardy is feeling particularly lonely since her husband went on his last voyage and has decided to have a grand gathering to lift her spirits.”

“And how do we know Mrs. Hardy?”

“We don’t.” She cast him a cheeky grin. “But Lady Braithwaite does. Apparently the woman showed her some kindness several years ago and she wants to return the favor by having several notable guests attend.”

“Like a viscount and his wife?”

“Exactly. And perhaps a duke’s nephew?”

“You wish to include Eddie in our party?”

“I do. I witnessed something at Kendall House that leads me to believe an invitation to attend such a gathering would be welcome.”

His head began to shake. “No, no, no. I will not fall into this trap. Did you learn nothing from Melior and Nate’s attempt at matchmaking?”

“I did.” She leaned forward and placed a hand over his. “I learned it works.” She smirked. He rolled his eyes but could not argue the point.

Setting his utensils down, he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “I am not opposed to having Eddie along for the duration of the party, but that is it. Neither of us will meddle in his affairs. He is a grown man who can make decisions for himself and does not need us pushing him into trouble.”

“A marriage is not trouble.”

“It would be if the other person is Lady Braithwaite. I know she has been very helpful, but by what means? There is deception and intrigue surrounding that woman at every turn. Eddie’s infatuation will pass. We simply need to give him time.”

Susannah was unconvinced, but she made no protest. “Alright, only the gathering at Eastley End House. Then I shall leave him to his own devices.”

John pushed back from the table. “Good. Now if you are finished, I have something to show you.”

She took one more drink of her tea and allowed him to help her up.

Hand in hand, he led her to the second story of Gimly Hall.

It had taken some time for her to get used to the large, drafty home.

Its stately grey stone was nothing like the warm brown brick home she’d grown up in, but it had its benefits.

New furniture being one of those. John had allowed her to choose the colors she wished to finish her favorite rooms in and then ordered furniture to suit her liking.

It was strange to think a month ago she’d worried her father would be thrown in debtor’s prison, only to learn he was far better situated than most of the families in Maidstone.

After witnessing the artifice of London, she was grateful for his frugal disposition.

It had taught her to appreciate what she had, great or small, and it had allowed all of them to benefit.

Her dowry, which had been a few hundred pounds, was not the only money given upon her marriage.

It seemed another sum had been set aside from the money her mother brought into the marriage.

One ten times the size of what she’d expected to receive.

She saw the wisdom in her father’s financial management, for if Mr. Wallace had known her fortune, he may have been tempted to forgo Aunt Guthrie’s offering and press her into a marriage.

“Where are we going?” she asked John when they did not stop at any of their usual rooms.

“I have a surprise for you.”

She grasped their conjoined hands with her other hand. “A surprise? Is it a new dress?”

He shook his head.

“Another dozen roses?”

“No.”

“Did the furniture for your painting room arrive?”

“Not yet.”

They stopped at a door she’d not yet entered. In their tour of the house the day after they married, John had said this room needed some work and was not quite ready. So she had not questioned it.

“Is the room fixed?”

He smiled. “It is. Now close your eyes.”

“What?”

“You heard me. It is a surprise.” He placed his hands over her eyes and a servant opened the door.

They stepped in slowly as he guided her around something, then asked her to sit. Her seat was soft, the fabric velvety to the touch. His hands fell away from her face.

“Can I open my eyes now?” She asked.

His breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “Yes.”

She opened her eyes, and her mouth went slack. The long room held dozens of portraits and paintings, but it was the one directly in front of her that captured her attention.

“That’s… me.” She stared at the large canvas, her profile obvious with curls that came alive. They were piled on her head and draped over her neck. The light caught on each one and seemed to shimmer across her jaw. Then it struck her.

She turned to gaze into John’s smiling face. “It was me you painted?”

“It was,” he said softly, then played with a few of the curls at her nape. “You have no idea how long it took me to catch the essence of your beauty.”

Tingles danced up her neck at his touch, then he stood straight and gestured behind her. “It took a great deal of practice.”

She glanced over her shoulder and then stood. The wall behind her was covered in paintings of different sizes and at different ages, but all of them were of her. A laugh bubbled in her chest.

“I am not sure how I feel looking at dozens of pictures of me. Visitors might think I’m excessively vain and demand a portrait every year.”

He laughed. “No, they will think the painter is madly”—he stepped forward and took up her hand— “wildly”—he clasped her waist with his other hand— “And completely in love with you.”

She leaned in close enough to kiss. “You certainly know how to propitiate your wife.”

His eyes lit up. “Propitiate, now that is a fine word. Did you know it originated—”

She covered his mouth with hers. They could discuss the etymology of words later. For now she had a husband to thank, and she wished to do it properly.