Page 21 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
He filled in her meaning when she trailed off. Her uncle was the Duke of Bedford. Of course he would be invited to the most opulent balls London had to offer, and by extension his family.
“I am afraid I will not be at His Majesty’s ball, but I wish you a most wonderful time.”
There, that had come out both fluent and benevolent. But inside a riot of emotion pounded at his chest. He’d not be at Susannah’s first ball of the season. How was that possible?
He’d hoped to be the first to lead her to the floor. Not that his dancing could be called elegant, or even proficient, but the idea that someone else would stand up with her in front of all of Society and he’d not be there to protect her, to support her… who was he fooling? He would not be there to quail the attempts of all the eligible bachelors.
Susannah’s expression fell, and he wondered if he’d allowed his frustration to show. “I see.” Then she brightened. “Well, I look forward to our dinner Monday evening.”
And like that, the cloud of gloom that had settled over him lifted. She looked forward to seeing him? Dare he hope that those words meant more than in a brotherly fashion?
Gathering all the courage he had, he reached out and took her gloved hand. “Safe travels, Miss Wayland.” Then he bent and placed a kiss on her wrist, just above the edge of her kid gloves.
It was the boldest thing he’d ever done, but the smile she graced him with when he rose compensated for his discomfort tenfold. His mind danced forward on wings of hope, desperate for a chance at winning Miss Susannah Wayland’s affections.
Then she left, and reality sunk in. How was he ever to gain the courage to declare himself? What if she did not feel the same? Could she ever see him as more than a brother?
Somewhere inside he needed to find the courage to speak, and he needed to find it soon or he’d lose her. But how would he find the words?
Chapter 7
London was not quite what Susannah had imagined. To begin, it smelled horrendous.
She’d taken to carrying a handkerchief doused in perfume everywhere she went. The strong scent counterbalanced some of the worst areas of the city, but it did not dissipate the depravity she witnessed.
Dirty children seemed to beg at every corner, their sunken eyes pulling at her soul. Lady Stanford had supplied her with a small purse for such occasions but warned her to be careful and only give out small amounts—andonlywhen they were in Sir Nathaniel’s company. No need to excite thieves and pickpockets.
Only a few streets seemed clear of the poverty, one of which being where Kendall House was situated in Mayfair. The tall stone home flanked by its companions stood four stories high, a multitude of windows boasting its size.
It intimidated Susannah to think of how much splendor her hostess had grown up in. But Lady Stanford paid little attentionto the elegance around them and simply smiled at Susannah’s awe.
Three days in residence had done little to stifle her amazement as she slowly made her way down the stairs to the beautiful gold and cream drawing room on the second floor.
Sir Nathaniel and Lady Stanford were already present as were a few other ladies and gentlemen she did not know. Introductions were made and Susannah hoped she’d be able to remember all of the guests' names. Mr. Kendall came to stand by her, a cheery smile on his face.
“It is a bit overwhelming, is it not?”
“Indeed.” She clasped her hands in front of her hoping he did not see how they shook.
She liked Lady Stanford’s brother. Easygoing and affable, he put her in mind of her younger brother Terrance. Both had ready conversation and seemed to find enjoyment in being helpful to others. However, at nearly a decade older than her brother, Mr. Kendall’s mannerisms were more polished as he led her from circle to circle, blessedly repeating the names of people she’d met as he conversed with them.
The door opened, and the butler announced the final guest. Her gaze flew to the door, hungry for the sight of John in all this chaos.
Her eyes widened as she took in his evening blacks. In the country he rarely dressed so impressively, generally sticking to drab colors with little ornamentation. But tonight a sapphire stick pin was nestled in the folds of his cravat and a silver chain peeked out of his pocket which no doubt held his timepiece.
As he entered, several of the young ladies took note. As a viscount, he commanded the highest rank in the room for this evening. Ladies leaned together behind fans, their eyes dancing with delight.
Something hot and sticky sank into Susannah’s middle. She wanted to poke their eyes out. The feeling caught her off guard and she quickly adjusted her face, hoping no one had seen her jealousy.
“Welcome, Newhurst,” Sir Nathaniel greeted, using John’s title in the company of those who were not close to them.
The realization that they called each other by given names in her presence suddenly struck her. But it had always been so. From her earliest memories they had used abbreviated names for one another. A name she had taken to using for John.
She knew his full name to be Johnathan, but none of his friends called him that, so neither had she. That is, until her father had insisted she be more formal. It was odd calling him Lord Newhurst but it was probably for the best.
As he approached her, though, the only name that came to mind was John. Her John. No, she could not think of him that way. She had no right, but, oh, how she wished she did.
And he had called her Susannah back in Maidstone. Did he still think of her by her Christian name?
