Page 36 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“I’m not the militia,” he said, insulted, though he wasn’t sure why. He respected England’s soldiers. But personally, he hated following orders so he had avoided the military. “And say the full word. Except.”
“Except,” she repeated. “And there ain’t—” She grimaced. “There isn’t a thing wrong with being in the militia. But you didn’t go that way.”
Of course not. But the militia wasn’t the place for a duke’s son, even one born on the wrong side of the blanket. He squatted and looked at his carriage while trying not to think of the luscious woman a few feet away.
“That’s a complicated tale,” he said.
“I got all day.”
“Youhaveall day.”
She rolled her eyes. “Youhaveto start whitewashing. Ihavetohavesomething to discuss.”
“Very well then. I will give you my sad tale if you tell me yours. Why do you want so much to be a lady?”
“I am a lady,” she repeated stiffly. “I just don’t sound like one.”
“Actually,” he said with a soft smile, “that haughty tone was perfect for a lady.”
“Really?” she said with a sudden bright smile. “I am a lady.”
“Yes,” he said sadly. “Just like that.” He didn’t like the idea of his Miss Bluebell putting on airs, but that was what she wanted, so he didn’t argue. “Why do you want to sound like a lady?”
She was silent for a long time. Long enough for him to turn to look at her, to read that she was considering telling him the truth—the full truth—but in the end, decided on half. Or a quarter. Or some percentage, but it definitely wasn’t one hundred percent.
“I have relations in London. I want to talk to them.”
“Relatives don’t care what you talk like,” he said, then immediately knew he lied. Good relatives didn’t care. Most Londoners would definitely turn up their noses at someone who looked and sounded as if they’d lived all their lives in Hull.
“They might care. I’d just as soon present meself—myself—in the best way.”
“Who are they?”
She buttoned her lip, and when he looked at her, she shook her head. “I only learned about them from me mum before she died.”
There was a wealth of emotion in those words, so he gave her something else to focus on rather than the pain. “Say it correctly.”
“I have only just learned of them. My mother told me before she died.”
He nodded. “Excellent. What kind of people are they? Soldiers? Merchantmen?”
“I…I’m not sure.”
“Do you know where they live?”
She shook her head.
“London is a very big city.”
“I’ll find them.”
He was sure she would, but in the meantime, there was a mystery there. “Who knows about this?” Maybe he could learn the truth from Widow Dwight.
“No one ’ereabouts.” Then she grimaced. “No one in Hull.”
“But they know in London?”
She shrugged.
