Page 101 of Reckless Kiss

“Oh, I know all about your whoring ways with that man. Pete Boyle told me all about your trysts. You will marry Sullivan to save the family name. No daughter of mine is going to marry a teacher.”

“But I love Jonathan. We’re going to live in the town.”

“Has he knocked you up? Are you carrying his child?”

“No, don’t be absurd,” Cynthia cried.

“Good, because the Turner inheritance doesn’t go to a bastard child conceived out of wedlock. Are you sure you’re not pregnant? Is that why you’re in a hurry to marry the interloper?”

“Jonathan and I are in love, father. We are to be married very soon.”

“I couldn’t care less who you love,” he bellowed. “Do you think I loved your mother when I married her? The Turners marry for position, not love.”

“I don’t want to marry Sullivan.”

“You don’t have a choice. Start finding a wedding dress. Reverend Sheldon has been notified. You’ll be married in the Turner chapel. No guests, just family.”

Cynthia stood open-mouthed at them, feeling thoroughly betrayed. Where was her mother? She truly regretted ignoring Freddie’s warning. But why wasn’t he here to fight with her? Had he given in and agreed to marry a woman of their choosing?

“What about Freddie?” Cynthia asked.

“What about him?”

“Are you arranging his marriage, too?”

“I don’t care who he marries. He’s not the heir. You are,” her father snapped. “Now get out of my study and see your mother. She’ll know how to prepare you for your wedding and marriage.”

Cynthia stormed out of the study, but it wasn’t to go in search of her mother. There was someone else she wanted to talk to first.

Chapter 46

Cynthia marched in front of the window for Boyle’s Butcher’s and pushed past the customers to reach the glass counter. Hunks of raw meat hung from hooks behind where the butchers were packaging up produce. Pete Boyle was serving a customer at the end of the counter. The older woman argued that she wanted to pay in shillings, and Pete explained they had dealt with new pennies and pounds since decimalisation had arrived.

“Pete, I need to talk to you,” Cynthia said, joining all her words together.

Pete smiled at her. “I’ll be with you in a second. Just let me sort out Mrs Sutter.”

Cynthia folded her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for the elderly lady to take her pork chops. When the spot was vacated, Cynthia slipped into it, much to the annoyance of the customer behind her. She couldn’t care less. What she had to say couldn’t wait.

“Have you been speaking out of turn?” Cynthia asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked, unperturbed by her abruptness, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Can we go out back?” Cynthia asked, hearing the tutting coming from customers behind her.

“Yes, come through,” Pete said, lifting the side hatch.

Cynthia held her breath as she hurried through the preparation area with evidence of the products they sold. Pete held back the plastic curtain at the back door, and she stepped out into the fresh air.

The backyard of the butcher’s shop wasn’t huge. Upturned crates acted as seats. Somebody had half-filled a bucket with sand, and cigarette butts were sticking out.

“What’s got you fired up?” Pete asked, lighting up, taking advantage of the impromptu break.

“Did you tell my father about Jonathan and me?” Cynthia yelled.

Taking a step back from the volume of Cynthia, he then frowned, eventually answering her. “No, why?”

She pointed a finger at him, punctuating her words. She was close to tears, but she had to hold them back. “He knows, and he said you’d told him.”

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