Page 5 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
“In the sitting room with Lady Stanford.”
As if to punctuate Michael’s words, giggles floated down the hall from the small sitting room he knew Susannah loved. She’d taken a liking to the room and could be found there nearly all hours of the day, instead of in the front parlor where most of her family gathered. It was odd, but when he’d questioned her, she’d mumbled something about an infernal clock.
Having taken him an entire ten minutes to formulate the words to ask about her curious behavior, he opted not to question the answer.
When had talking to Susannah become so hard? Ah, yes. When he’d returned from his tour of the continent years ago to find that she had transformed from a sweet schoolgirl into a ravishing beauty.
Her golden blonde hair had grown longer, allowing for all those intricate curls that always seemed to kiss her cheeks, and somehow her big brown eyes had gotten larger in her perfectly oval face.
And her curves…
Johnathan swallowed hard and gave his head a shake. It was hard enough gathering the courage to speak to Susannah without remembering she had a handsome figure. He neededto rein in his thoughts if he wanted to have the wherewithal to inquire why, after all this time, she would ever want to go to London for a season.
It was a dirty, ugly city, but most of all it was full of people. Lots of people who talked incessantly about the most inane topics.
Then again, Susannah loved to talk, and she was good at it. Unlike him. He only had three subjects he conversed decently on: painting, uncommon words, and inventions. Much beyond that and he turned into a stuttering mess—especially with ladies.
The pretty ones were the worst. Hence his ineptitude with Susannah.
Unlike most ladies, however, Susannah did not mind his propensity toward silence. She simply filled in the words he could not find, and that talent was exactly why he’d not let their awkward friendship fall to the wayside.
That and her parents’ kindness after his own parents’ passing.
The Waylands had been like family to him ever since he’d inherited Gimly Hall as a lad of eighteen. He’d not been ready, and his knowledge of how to run an estate had been minimal at best.
Mr. Wayland had taken him under his wing, training him during his breaks from Cambridge, and caring for the property when he was away. The arrangement had been mutually beneficial as the gentleman had not wanted others to know how dismal his family's finances had become, nor that he’d needed to take up work as an estate manager to bring his own property back into prosperity.
Thankfully, Society only saw his generosity as he tutored a young man in finance and supported him through his grief.
And Mrs. Wayland… thoughts of the sweet lady pulled at his heart and pushed his feet into motion.
“Don’t you want to hear the rest of my story about the toad?” Michael whined.
Johnathan stopped. He’d been so preoccupied thinking about Susannah that he’d not heard one word in ten of Michael’s monologue.
“My apologies Michael. Might I hear the story when I’m done speaking with your sister?”
The boy’s shoulders sagged and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Oh, all right. But I might not be able to tell it to you once Mrs. Crabtree has her tea.”
Michael walked away, dragging his feet.
“Why not?” Johnathan called after him.
Andrew answered for him, “Because Michael will get more lines to write when it hops out of her teacup.”
While Andrew’s mouth stayed placid, the corners of his eyes crinkled as if he were fighting the urge to smile. Neither boy cared for their nursemaid, and Johnathan could only imagine the enjoyment they would get from seeing the cranky old lady dance about like a cat who’d stumbled onto hot coals. But it would not do for Michael to be in the suds again.
“Would you be a good lad, Andrew, and go remove it? I would very much like to hear the end of your brother’s story.”
“But that would spoil the ending,” Michael said, hanging over the banister. “Don’t you want to know what Mrs.Crabbydoes?”
Johnathan hid his smile, knowing if he encouraged the lad in his mischief, it would only distress Susannah more. She was already at her wits’ end keeping them out of trouble.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Johnathan said, “I think a gentleman would be more considerate of older ladies, especially ones as elderly as Mrs. Crabtree.”
A devilish smile lit Michael’s face, and Johnathan knew he’d misspoke. Heaven help him if the boy quoted verbatim whathe’d just said about Mrs. Crabtree. She’d be livid at being called elderly.
“John—I mean, Lord Newhurst,” a light feminine voice exclaimed from behind him.
