Page 5 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)
J ohnathan shifted nervously in his seat awaiting his friend’s arrival.
Glancing at the books on the shelf, he wondered what was keeping him.
He and Nate had been friends for as long as he could remember, their mothers having been excessively fond of one another.
His earliest memories involved them giving their nursemaids a fright when they’d shimmied up an old log that had fallen across the River Medway.
Sir Nathaniel Stanford finally entered, a grin on his face. “Well, John, have you heard the good news?”
“Perhaps. What news are you referring to?”
He sat down at his desk. “About Miss Wayland traveling with us to London?”
How could he forget? The whole week he’d agonized over thoughts of Susannah surrounded by throngs of men mesmerized by her beauty. Perhaps his imaginings had become a little overdramatic, but she would certainly draw attention.
“I had heard,” he said quietly, careful not to let his feelings overwhelm his ability to speak clearly.
“And what do you think of it? Are you not pleased for her?”
He would sound like a complete ogre if he said he was not, especially since the likelihood of Susannah’s own father being able to take her to Town was very slim. Too many obligations to attend to.
“It is a great opportunity,” he finally said.
“And we shall see you in Town often, I hope.”
Johnathan studied Nate’s face. The soft brown hair that curled about his ears and neck was styled in the popular Brutus fashion. Starch shirt points nearly touched his straight square jaw as intelligent green eyes gazed back at him.
“I have a lot of responsibilities in Parliament, Nate. While many go to Town for the entertainments, I go to work.”
“Work? Do not let the rest of the Ton hear such blasphemy. You know a gentleman is only to have a life of leisure.”
John chuckled. “You and I both know neither of us conforms to the dictates of polite Society. If so, I would not have sat on the floor for the better part of the afternoon yesterday playing jacks with a six-year-old.”
Nate sobered. “How are the Wayland children doing?”
“Michael is still causing havoc with their nurse, but that is to be expected of one so young. Andrew, on the other hand…”
“Yes?” Nate said when he took too long to continue.
“He has never recovered from Mrs. Wayland’s death. I do not believe we will ever see the carefree boy that once played in the fields roundabout Wayland Lodge again.”
Nate shook his head. “Such a shame.”
“It is. Fortunately Terrance is doing well under his father’s tutelage and may be able to help take on some of the estate management.” He did not add so Mr. Wayland might have only one estate to keep in line, not having ever shared how much the older man had cared for the Newhurst properties.
“And Miss Amanda?”
“She does not cry as much as she used to, but she is distraught about her sister leaving for so long.”
Nate hung his head. “I feared that would be the case, but you must see how much of a help this will be for Miss Wayland. She has taken on the burden of a large family since long before her mother’s death. That is a heavy load for a woman not yet twenty years old.”
“I-I do understand, and I am not o-opposed, but that does not mean it will not be a stress on the entire family. Mr. Wayland has already begun looking for more help to compensate.”
“As he should have months ago.”
Johnathan stiffened. “He has done the best he could under the circumstances. How would you feel if you had lost Melior?”
His friend’s shoulders slumped. “Terrible.”
“Now imagine spending two decades growing close to one another, expecting to spend many more, only for them to be stolen from you.”
“I get your point, John; you do not need to belabor me with it.”
“Then you will understand if he has not been up to obtaining new staff.”
“But the housekeeper—”
“Has had enough on her hands what with Mrs. Wayland’s lady’s maid retiring and no governess to speak of for Miss Amanda.”
Nate must have sensed how much the topic upset him, for he suddenly stood and pulled a book from the shelf. “I forgot to return your book on the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct. Fascinating invention, that.”
Johnathan took the book, running a hand over the leather-bound cover. It was not the reason he had come. He had a very important question to ask, but when he tried to form the words in his mouth they faltered.
“Is it—” He stopped, wondering if Nate was the right person to ask. He had, after all, been required to intervene in Nate’s own marriage at its very beginning. If he, a veritable novice at interacting with women, had seen what his friend could not, would Nate have the answers he sought?
Then again, seven months had elapsed since he’d tricked Melior and Nate into posing together for a painting at the beginning of their rocky, scandal-riddled marriage. Perhaps his friend had learned a few things since then.
“Nate, what do women like?” he blurted out before he lost his nerve.
“Are you speaking in general or is there a particular female that you wish to impress?”
Heat crept up Johnathan’s neck at the insinuation.
“In g-general,” he choked out. Speaking of his particular interest had never been easy, not even to friends.
Nate had shared openly of his attraction to Melior when they were at Harrow, but Johnathan had never found the same amount of comfort in any of his childhood friends.
Feelings crowded his thoughts and jumbled them so much his tongue stopped obeying his will. Stuttering was embarrassing enough, but to do so through a confession of love would be humiliating.
Nate tapped his chin. “Pretty compliments seem to work well, but considering your difficulties…”
Johnathan rubbed the back of his neck. It was no secret among his closest friends that he struggled with his impediment far more when conversing with women.
In his early days at Harrow, Nate, Al, and Eddie had been his only defenders, speaking for him and coaching him through simple conversations.
But now they were grown men; he could not hide behind their words forever. He needed to take action, but how?
The fire crackled in the hearth and the clock ticked on the mantel. Suddenly Nate snapped his fingers.
“I have got it. Flowers. A lady always likes a bouquet of her favorite flowers. What does she like?”
He frowned. Nate thought himself subtle in his question, but he would not fall for it. The answer was cowslip, but he would never tell Nate that. How was he to find cowslip in November? Perhaps a different flower, one that could be found in hothouses.
“We are speaking in generalities, Nate. What sort of flowers do women like in general ?”
His friend smirked. “Of course, because there is no lady in particular that you have in mind.”
He stood, trying to escape his friend’s probing gaze. Crossing to the window, he said, “Perhaps they are for your wife.”
“You want to get Melior flowers?”
“No, but if it will get you to leave off teasing me, we will go with that assumption.”
Nate barked out a laugh. “All right.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “How about roses? They seem to be popular.”
He shook his head. “That is what lovers give to one another.”
“Is that not what you wish to be?”
“Nate, just tell me what small token one might start with.”
The smile slipped from Nate’s face and he steepled his fingers, bringing them to his lips in contemplation. “Forget-me-nots. They are given after most dances in London, something you would know if you danced much.”
“I dance.”
“Twice a season is not much. You do realize you will be forced to the floor more if you ever wish to take a wife.”
He did and it terrified him. Not that he was a bad dancer, only that making conversation with beautiful women he hardly knew seemed worse than having the blacksmith pull an aching tooth.
“I will dance, but perhaps not as much as you wish.”
“As long as you lead Miss Wayland to the floor whenever you are both present I will be appeased. We would not want her to be a wallflower all season.”
The idea that any man would allow Susannah to take up a spot along the wall for any amount of time was ludicrous. No man that saw her beauty and witnessed her sweet, cheerful disposition would ever leave her to herself.
“I shall do my best. Now if you will excuse me, I need to ride into Maidstone to get… ah… s-some new cravats.” That sounded reasonable enough, didn’t it?
Nate’s eyebrows inched up. “Cravats?”
“Yes, so I might have plenty for the season.” The season? Was that the best he could come up with? Whatever the case, there was no way he would admit his intent to get said flowers right away. If he wanted to change Susannah’s view of him, he needed to start now.
“You have several weeks until we leave.”
“I know, but it never hurts to be prepared.”
Nate sighed. “Well, good luck obtaining your cravats then.”
The laughter in his eyes indicated he was not fooled, but Johnathan refused to discuss it. “Please convey my well wishes to Melior.” He gave a short bow.
“That I will.”