Page 14 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
“Miss Wayland is being fitted for a new wardrobe for our trip to London.”
“Ah. I had heard you would be joining us in the parade of singles this season.”
“Parade of singles?”
“Yes, it is my own name for the marriage mart. Men and women without a match are like single stockings thrown into a basket where everyone hopes one might become useful and find a mate. We, on the other hand, simply hope not to be paired with a smelly one.”
They all laughed, John giving his customary quiet chuckle.
“And will Javenia be joining us this season?” Lady Stanford asked.
“How should I know?” Mr. Roberts said. “We are on the outs again and she has not spoken to me for nigh unto two weeks.”
Mr. Roberts and Miss Harris had the most peculiar relationship. One minute they were friends and the next… well, exactly as Mr. Roberts had indicated. It seemed they were back to being partial enemies again.
Lady Stanford adjusted her bonnet. “I shall write to her then. Is she still visiting her cousin?”
“No, I believe she returned the night before last.”
The man might not be speaking to Miss Harris but he missed nothing that went on at her neighboring estate. Susannah grinned.
John cleared his throat and she glanced his way. He peered down at his broken flower stem again before tossing it in the dirt. The battered forget-me-nots looked so forlorn.
“And how are you this afternoon, Lord Newhurst?” she asked softly as Lady Stanford and Mr. Roberts entered into a conversation discussing which activities they liked best in Town.
“I-I am well.” He glanced at his empty hands. “And you?”
“Everything seems to be going well with preparations. Andrew, as you know, will finally be attending Harrow after Christmastide and Amanda is coming along in her education.”
She continued outlining each of her siblings’ accomplishments, as it always made her nervous when people asked directly about her. As the oldest daughter it was her duty to care for others, not burden them with her own problems. No one need know how much she worried about leaving her siblings or what would happen to her father when he had no one to confide in about his grief.
The feel of John’s hand on her sleeve stopped her.
“But how are you?”
She bit her lip and glanced at Lady Stanford. That sweet woman must have seen her distress for she suddenly declared it time to leave.
“I am well,” she said quickly. “Good day, Lord Newhurst.”
His lips turned down and his eyes followed her as she left, much like the protective older brother he’d always played in her life. But the warmth he’d left on her arm made her feel anything but sisterly.
In truth, she’d wanted to burrow into his arms and cry on his shirtfront. She missed her mother; she was overwhelmed with her duties as a stand-in parent, and as excited as she was for her season, she worried that John would never recognize her as more than a sister and she’d be forced to find someone else.
Johnathan dipped his paintbrush in white and with a steady hand, added a stroke to the side of Susannah’s neck, trying to mirror the way the light had danced off her skin. Leaning back, he peered at it.
Why could he not get it exactly right? A growl escaped him.
His deficiencies in painting echoed his ability to deliver a simple bouquet of flowers. He shook his head. When he’d set out yesterday to procure more forget-me-nots, he never even considered what might happen if any acquaintances came upon him. But the moment Al appeared with his sisters, he knew he’d either have to admit his errand or relinquish the blue gems.
Since sharing his objective with Al was out of the question, let alone his sisters, he’d opted for a falsehood, claiming the flowers were for the giggling Roberts sisters. Better to share with the whole gathering than create an expectation that may never come to fruition.
However, he’d not expected Susannah to witness the whole debacle. What must she think of him?
If only the last stem of flowers had not been so bedraggled, he’d have offered it to her. But such a paltry gift did not seem fit for the woman who held his heart.
Cleaning off his brush and putting it back in its place, he pondered on how one delivered flowers successfully. Maybe tomorrow he’d try again. Or maybe not. As it was, it had taken an entire week of licking his wounds the first time to gain enough courage to try again.
“My lord,” his butler said from the doorway.
