Page 81 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
“Easily said by a man who is completely oblivious to the ways of women.”
Mr. Kendall’s easy smile disappeared and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you calling me stupid?”
“No, just naive.”
For a moment Susannah thought Mr. Kendall would dispute the claim, but he uncrossed his arms and shrugged.
“You have me there, but at least I know when to put my foot down.”
Chapter 26
Johnathan stared at the fire in his bedchamber. That one word had taken all his willpower to say. He wanted to scream his objections, to beg her to reconsider, but he was a gentleman. When a lady had made her choice, it was not his place to interfere.
The fire popped in the grate at the same time something inside him snapped. Sometimes he hated being the gentleman his father had raised him to be. Snatching the nearest thing to him, he hurled it at the wall. The expensive vase shattered against the stonework of the hearth.
He sucked in a breath as tears pooled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
He abruptly stood and rang for his valet. What was the use of staying home to lick his wounds alone? As much as he hated people, he needed a distraction. Might as well dress for the Durhams’ ball. He’d not dance, but perhaps a game of cards and a stiff drink would help distract him.
Lost in thought, he allowed his man to choose whatever ensemble suited him best. When the man finished, he looked in the mirror. Hair perfectly styled, cravat tied in a crisp mathematical, and his black jacket in place, he wondered what the night would bring. Most likely Susannah’s ultimate happiness, and his lifelong torture.
He scowled at himself. Might as well get on with it then.
Even though the sun had long since set, the streets of London bustled with fancy carriages carrying wealthy passengers to various parties. Dogs barked, and somewhere in the distance, music played. Life carried on, much to Johnathan’s dismay.
Did the world have no respect for his pain?
He could have ridden in his own carriage, but the walk had served its purpose and cleared his mind. Inside, people waited in line, each taking their turn to greet the host and hostess. It was strange to think that just one year ago, Nate and Melior had been caught in the cloakroom of this very house. So much had happened since that fateful evening.
So much could yet happen. Would Mr. Wallace choose to offer for Susannah this evening?
After making it through the line, Johnathan entered the crowded ballroom. He had been one of the last guests to arrive, so when the music began a few moments later, he was not surprised. Couples gathered in the center of the room and one person in particular drew his attention.
Susannah, bedecked in the softest of pink gowns, ribbons and pearls gracing every inch of her, stared back at her dance partner. He did not need to look to see who accompanied her. In fact, he refused to.
Why had he come? Did he enjoy having his heart ripped out and danced upon like the chalk outlines on the floor?
He took a glass off the tray of a passing waiter and let his gaze travel to the ceiling. Paintings of cherubs and clouds filledthe sections between the gold beams that lined it. How had the painter spent so much time perfecting each image? He slowly sipped the champagne he held. If he could lose himself in questions of art, perhaps he’d be able to make it through this evening.
When he lifted his glass to take another sip, someone bumped into him, spilling the contents of his drink all over his nicely pressed cravat.
“Lord Newhurst, do forgive me,” a feminine voice said, as he tried to look down at the damage. He recognized the owner of the voice but did not glance up. He’d been hounded by Miss Guthrie nearly day and night for weeks, and while he’d once thought her interest might be sincere, he no longer wished to connect himself with her. Distance was what he needed. Space from Susannah and all who were connected to her.
Maybe he would go abroad. He’d always wanted to see Africa and the Americas.
“Here, let me help you.”
Miss Guthrie wiped at his cravat with her handkerchief.
Johnathan jerked back. “No, thank you. I will attend to it myself.” What was the woman thinking, allowing such intimacies, and in a ballroom no less?
He spun on his heel and exited, finding his way to the men’s retiring room. Glancing in a mirror, he assessed the damage. Thankfully it had been champagne and not ratafia. While the white cloth had taken on a dingy hue it would not be entirely ruined.
After several dabs with his own linen and a quarter hour's time for it to dry, he deemed the neckcloth recovered enough to hide away in the card room for the rest of the night. He’d not planned on dancing anyway.
In the card room, he took up an unoccupied table near the back, pouring himself a glass of brandy from the decanter thatsat in the middle. Conversation swirled around him and men at a nearby card table laughed. Johnathan’s eyes drifted down and he pulled out his reading glasses to examine the grains of wood in the tabletop in front of him, letting time slip by in an achingly slow fashion.
Mr. Wallace would be a fool if he did not use tonight to offer for Susannah, especially with the way other gentlemen had begun to take note of her. Who would not notice her? She was everything a man could hope for. Everythinghehad ever hoped for: kind, talented, dedicated to her family, generous and thoughtful with her friends, talented at speaking—something he’d never be—but mostly he’d always just hoped forher. He realized he’d always loved Susannah, and probably always would.
