Page 46 of How to Ruin a Duke
A serving maid came over to the table, her apron tidy, her cap neat.Thaddeus ordered steak all around, a small pint for Lady Edith and summer ale for himself.
“You condescend to consume ale,” Lady Edith said, unbuttoning her cloak.“I, on the other hand, would rather have had a good, restorative pot of China black.Don’t worry.The ale will not go to waste, though my goodwill where you are concerned—which used to be substantial—has apparently been squandered.”
She drew off her gloves, revealing pale, slender hands with an ink stain near her right wrist.
“I have puzzled over your motive,” Thaddeus replied, removing his hat and setting it on the bench beside him.“You left our household of your own volition, and while Her Grace was not pleased with the short notice, she wrote you a decent character.You’ve apparently spent the entire intervening six months plotting revenge against us for some fictitious slight.I cannot fathom what that slight might be.”
He tugged off his gloves, prepared to hear that an underbutler had started a false rumor regarding her ladyship’s use of hair coloring—her hair was golden—or a maid had purposely scorched her ladyship’s favorite cloak.Any justification was better than believing he himself might have given Lady Edith cause for offense.
“I do not want to ruin you,” he said, when the serving maid had bustled off.“But I cannot ignore ongoing literary character assassination.”
“Surely it is beneath the consequence of a duke to ruin a mere failed lady’s companion.”
Her ladyship was either not afraid to be ruined, or she did not take the threat seriously.
“I could do it.All it would take is mention in my club of a rumor or two.A hint, an aside, and you would never be received in polite society again.”Thaddeus did not want that outcome on his conscience, but to whom did he owe greater allegiance?A former companion who’d apparently acquired the disposition of a dyspeptic hedgehog or his own family?
How could he have been so wrong about her?
Lady Edith gave the humble inn a slow perusal, then she swiveled her gaze back to Thaddeus.“My father died up to his ears in debt from his gaming and wagering.My step-mother followed him within months.I attribute his demise to an excessive fondness for spirits, while the countess passed away due to a surfeit of mortification.
“Polite society did nothing to aid us,” she went on.“Our worldly goods were sold before Papa was cold in the ground, my step-brother’s dog led off by a neighbor while the boy cried his heart out all the way down the drive.We were passed from one relative to another, until the last of the aunts died.I pray for her eternal rest every night, because she at least wrote to your mother on my behalf before expiring.”
The pink cloak and the worn feathers took on a new significance.“So you hate all who are well to do?”Though again, facts in contradiction caught Thaddeus’s notice.A lady fallen on hard times should not have left her post on a whim.
“I loathe hypocrisy, Your Grace, and a society that pretends to be polite while laughing behind their painted fans at anybody who suffers misfortune, a society that blames children for their parents’ bad judgment, deserves not only contempt but divine judgment.”
The serving maid reappeared with a pint and a small pint on a tray along with half a loaf of sliced bread and a plate of butter pats.
“A pot of China black,” Emory said, “with all the trimmings.”
The maid put the offerings on the table, bobbed a curtsey, and moved away.
“They’ll serve adulterated tea,” he said, letting the foam on his ale settle.
“No, they won’t.The publican’s wife will not allow weak tea to be brought to your table.”
“What makes you say that?”The ale was quite good.The bread smelled fresh from the oven.
Lady Edith put a table napkin on her lap and bowed her head.“For what I am about to receive, I am most sincerely grateful.Would that all going without such fare soon have reason to pray similarly.I would also appreciate it if the Architect of All Worldly Affairs could see fit to serve His Grace the truth regarding that awful book.Amen.”
Would a woman who gave thanks for bread and butter find it morally acceptable to wreck another’s social standing, and then mislead her victim while she said grace?
She took up her knife and spread a liberal portion of butter on a slice of bread.“With regard to the tea, you need have no fear of being cheated.Your boots cost more than most of these people would see in a year.Your sartorial splendor would blind the angels.Your height proclaims your blue blood, and you would send watered down tea back to the kitchen, making more work for any who sought to cheat you.”
She was right, also fond of butter, apparently.
Her ladyship took a delicate nibble of her bread.“You won’t ruin me, because I don’t deserve ruin, though it stares me in the face without your good offices to help it along.I gather you think I wroteHow to Ruin a Duke.”
Her expression as she consumed a humble slice of buttered bread was enraptured.No expensive courtesan had ever gazed upon Thaddeus with that blend of soft focus, quiet joy, and profound appreciation.Thaddeus left off swilling his ale, fascinated by the transformation.Lady Edith was, he realized, not a plain woman, but a woman who’d learned toappearplain.
Severe bun, no cosmetics, no jewelry, clothing far from fashionable, nothing flirtatious or engaging about her.She set out to be overlooked, or perhaps that succession of begrudging relatives simply hadn’t included anybody who might have shown a young girl how to present herself.
None of which must sway him from his course.“I know you wrote that dratted book.Nobody else could have.”
She hadn’t set down her bread since taking the first bite, but she did pause in her consumption of it.
“Do you think, if I’d written such a wildly popular novel, I’d be subjecting myself to a meal in the company of a titled buffoon who cannot be bothered to consider facts?”
