Page 13 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
Lady Stanford lifted a handkerchief to her nose. “No need to thank me,” she said as she dabbed.
Did the shop smell bad to her? Susannah peered down at the dressmaker. The woman did not seem to have any peculiar odor. Whatever the reason, Lady Stanford had been holding the piece of linen to her face quite often during this trip into town. Perhaps she had a cold.
“There ya are, miss.” The middle-aged seamstress stood. “Now if you’ll step over here, we’ll remove it and I can begin the hemmin’.”
Susannah did as she was instructed. This was the last of the clothes being prepared for her trip to Town and the thought excited her. Just one more month.
Slipping back into her old brown traveling dress, her gaze strayed to the pretty blue one also awaiting its hem. It had been over a year since she’d gotten anything new, long before Mama grew so ill. Tiny sparks of excitement danced in her chest when she imagined how well she would look, especially if a certain tall, blond gentleman were to take note.
Her smile faltered.
After donning her pelisse, she thanked the seamstress and followed Lady Stanford out the door. Down the street, several young ladies stood outside the milliners admiring a bonnet, while several more seemed to be swarming two gentlemen.
Their hats hid most of their features but the height of one and the gathering of various girls about the other made their identities very clear.
“Oh dear,” Lady Stanford said. “Shall we go save John from Algenon’s many sisters?”
Susannah giggled. Mr. Roberts had the most sisters of any person she’d ever met, ten to be exact. It had been several weeks since she’d last seen Mr. Roberts, but they often crossed paths in Maidstone when the future baron brought his many sisters to shop.
As one of John’s close friends, she had grown up hearing stories about his larks with Mr. Roberts and their mutual friend Miss Harris. That is, until the stories had stopped.
Her gaze wandered to John. He appeared positively frightened. In his hand he held a bouquet of flowers, from which each girl plucked a stem. Poor man had probably tried to do something nice and now had no idea what to do with their thanks.
He’d once admitted that crowds of people made him nervous. She’d seen less of his unease these last few years, but Mr. Roberts’s sisters had apparently brought it back to the surface.
When they reached the gathered group, only one cluster of flowers with a broken stem remained of the ones John had been holding. He looked down on it much like a boy observing a crushed toy.
“Good afternoon Roberts family, Lord Newhurst,” Lady Stanford said to the gathered group. Several ladies rushed to greet her.
Susannah smiled and nodded to each one, trying to recall all their names.
Mr. Roberts clapped his hands and six faces turned to him. “Sisters, might I have a word with Her Ladyship and Miss Wayland?”
A chorus of ‘of course’ and ‘absolutelys’ met his request, but no one moved.
“Alone,” he added.
Several girls groaned.
“Georgette, Phillipa, will you lead the younger girls to the mercantile? Get them each a sweet and tell the proprietor to add it to my bill.”
Excited chatter began between the two youngest who were no more than ten and twelve. When they all were removed, Mr. Roberts turned to John.
“Iamsorry about the flowers. It was kind of you to offer them to my sisters even though I am certain that is not for whom they were meant.”
John’s eyes flicked to her for a brief instant before he said, “No matter. At least it appeased them.”
“Like a sacrifice on an altar to pagan gods?” Mr. Roberts grinned.
“More like a sacrifice to stay away from the altar,” Lady Stanford said.
Mr. Roberts laughed and John even cast the lady a smile.
“It must have worked,” he said.
It had been quite some time since she’d heard a bit of John’s dry humor. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed it.
“And where have you two lovely ladies come from?” Mr. Roberts asked with a healthy dose of his customary charm.
