Page 100 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“I know this is hard,” the countess said, “and I’m afraid it’s going to get worse. But you must listen to us.”
Eleanor nodded emphatically, then began ticking items off her fingers. “You require dancing lessons, singing lessons, a speech tutor—”
“Oh, definitely,” her grandmother said with a nod.
“The dressmaker has your measurements, but you will have to practice in the corset. You still look awkward.”
“Because it’s b—” Maybelle swallowed the “bloody awkward” she was about to say and shifted to something less scandalous. “Pinching me and I cannot breathe.”
“Exactly,” Eleanor confirmed. “You must get used to it.”
“And you must get used to the fact that Mr. Hallowsby and I are friends. Without him, I would not have made it to London. I could never have met you, Grandmother. And I certainlywould not be trussed up in this corset and discussing singing instructors. I have a terrible voice!”
Both elegant ladies looked at her, their expressions excruciatingly sad. It seemed to be what aristocratic ladies did when upset. They tilted their heads, let their eyes droop and their shoulders settle, while they sighed with great feeling.
“The man is a by-blow,” her grandmother finally said. “He is not received.”
“He was received here.”
“Through the servants’ entrance,” Eleanor said crisply.
“But he is your brother.”
“Half-brother,” Eleanor snapped. “There is goodtonand badton—”
“You have been singing his praises since I first arrived. I have heard about his service to the crown, to any number of poor ladies, and I have experienced his kindness myself.”
“And yet he is still a by-blow,” her grandmother pressed. “Not an appropriate companion for a lady.”
“He has been my companion since I left Hull.”
Grandmother reacted to that with a gasp as she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth.
“I told you that we would not speak of that,” Eleanor said with a sigh.
“But it is the truth, and—”
“Maybelle!” Eleanor snapped. “There are rules, and this is one. You will cease being familiar with Mr. Hallowsby. If you do not listen, then I wash my hands of you. Is that what you want? No Season, no dowry, no entrée into society.”
Maybelle bit her lip, trying to comprehend the depth of their hypocrisy. “You would throw me over for a friendship with your brother.”
Eleanor remained intransigent. “I do not claim a friendship with Mr. Hallowsby.”
“But—”
“We have become known to one another only recently.”
There was something in her tone. Some waver in her words that penetrated Maybelle’s fury.
“How recently?” When Eleanor refused to answer, Maybelle folded her arms. “Recall that I have been independent most of my life. As soon as I could read, I began managing our money and furthering my education, not to mention caring for my sick mother and earning what little I could by making possets.”
Her grandmother shuddered. “Pray do not mention that again.”
Maybelle stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She was focused on Eleanor and would not be distracted. “I am not a woman to be put off by hurt feelings or illogical assumptions. If I were, then I would have starved by the age of seven. So you will explain yourself logically. Why would you refuse to acknowledge your own brother?”
Eleanor sighed and nodded. “I met him when my father was ill. You recall what happened to my family?” She asked the question of the countess, but Maybelle was grateful for the details.
“Illness. Very tragic. I cried for you.”
