Page 23 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
“I lost hope of my father gaining my replacement long ago.”
“Replacement, never. He only wishes to make certain the title is secure.”
“Because he thinks I will eitherdieor not do my duty and provide him an heir. I consider either of those a replacement. It is certainly not me he is focused on.”
John, who had been silently eating his breakfast, put down his fork and cleared his throat. “Perhaps we might speak on s-something other than your father’s hoped for o-olive branch.” His head tilted toward Susannah and she frowned.
Did he consider her too young and naive to participate in a conversation about children? The thought stung. She was nearly twenty years old, two or three years older than many women taking their first season.
At thirteen she’d even taken part in Michael’s birth, the midwife having taken too long to arrive so she’d assisted thehousekeeper. Maybe other ladies of his acquaintance were not aware of the facts of life, but she was not one of them.
Her hopes of appearing as more than a younger sister plummeted at his insistence on changing the subject. The kiss at Gimly Hall had given her hope that he’d begun to see her as more, but his need to protect her from reality proved he still viewed her as he always had.
Susannah fumed as she put all her focus into eating her breakfast. She was a little girl no longer. The sooner John realized that the better things would be for the both of them.
Mr. Roberts glanced over his teacup. “Nonsense, John. Women do not hold as tender of sensibilities as you might think. I am sure Miss Wayland is much more acquainted with life than you suppose.”
Bless him. At least someone at the table realized she was a woman full grown.
Mr. Kendall’s fork paused midair. “All I can say is I pity the child if it is another girl. What sort of masculine name will your father feminize next?”
Susannah’s hand stilled, a piece of toast midway to her mouth as she reviewed the few names she could remember. Henrietta, Paulette, Georgette, Phillipa. “Charlotte is feminine.”
“Oh they are all feminine now, but Charlotte is the female of Charles.” Mr. Kendall smiled as he speared his eggs.
“I pity the child as well,” Mr. Roberts said. “My father’s new names of fascination are Robert and Richard. Can you imagine? Boy or girl, Robert is a complete disaster. Robert Roberts? What is the man thinking?”
A laugh bubbled out of Susannah even though her mouth was full of toast. It took all her efforts to keep crumbles from escaping through her lips.
Mr. Kendall, on the other hand, gave a hearty guffaw. “And how shall he fit Richard to suit a little girl? Richette, Richia, Richarda?”
Even John laughed at the names, breaking through the silence he’d kept. “Richarda? Even your father cannot be that cruel.”
“I certainly hope not.” Mr. Roberts dabbed at his lips. “Maybe if I suggest something so absurd he’ll finally come to his senses.”
The right side of Mr. Kendall’s mouth pulled as he tried to contain his mirth. “Either that, or you will end up defending yourself from the poor girl’s reproofs her entire life since she’ll have you to blame for such an abomination of a name.”
Mr. Roberts’s lips twitched.
John leaned forward to look at Mr. Kendall. “Do not give him ideas, Eddie. This is the same man who finds an odd sense of pleasure in Javenia’s insults. A little girl’s ire would be nothing compared to his own lifelong amusement.”
Susannah cracked the top of her boiled egg and scooped out a spoonful.
“I am not so cruel,” Mr. Roberts protested. “It would be my father, after all, saddling her with such a monstrosity of a name. But now I am of the same mind, Eddie. I believe it is high time another Roberts boy enter the world, for Robert Roberts is far better than my poor little sister Richarda.”
The spoonful of egg Susannah had just placed in her mouth sputtered out, dotting the tablecloth as she tried to cover her laugh, only succeeding at inhaling bits of egg which sent her into a coughing fit.
John quickly shoved his handkerchief into the free hand not covering her mouth, giving her back a couple firm pats. She waved him away. When her coughing eased, she used the piece of linen to wipe the moisture the fit had brought to her eyes. With her vision cleared, she noted all three men staring at her with matching looks of concern.
Her cheeks pinked. “Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Mr. Kendall said. “It is Al’s fault for his incredibly poor timing and even poorer drollery.” Turning to his friend, he said, “Try not to kill the ladies by humor this season. Stick to disgusting flattery, it suits you better and is far less likely to get you hanged.”
Chapter 8
The Duke of Bedford’s card party was indeed small, only encompassing family and close friends. John placed his whist cards face down, waiting for the others to organize the hands they had been dealt.
Across the parlor, Susannah sat with the Duchess of Bedford on a plush red settee. The middle-aged woman was far younger than the duke, having only married the older man last spring after he’d lost his first wife the year before. The duke had no children from his first marriage, but from the looks of Her Grace, it seemed they would soon welcome a possible heir.
