Page 17 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
But he didn’t say that aloud. Instead, he nodded and smiled as if that was exactly what he’d do. Ten minutes later, he was sauntering up the road to see where Miss Bluebell lived all alone.
Chapter Four
It’s hard to look in two directions at once. Look ahead or look behind, anything else makes onedizzy.
“I’ve found away, Mama. Did you push him here just ’cause I needed him?”
Maybelle blinked back tears as she ground the foul muck with her pestle. She was in her tiny kitchen, making up the last of her stock before she left for London. She spoke to her mother’s portrait even though it was in the main room and couldn’t be seen in here. It was a sketch done by an inexpert hand, but her mother looked so young and vibrant that it had sat on the mantel long after the paper yellowed and the artist’s signature faded to a smear. But it didn’t matter. She knew every line by heart. Had even sketched it over and over as a child to practice her “lady arts,” as her mother had called them.
And now that her mother was gone, this was all she had left, except her memories and the legacy the woman had sworn her to before she’d died. A legacy that was even now coming to fruition.
She heard his footsteps coming up the path. She’d trained herself to catch every rustle outside, because a visitor usually meant money. Someone needed a posset, an extra egg from their chickens, or the butter that her mum had churned, day in and day out.
But his tread was heavy and crisp, and her hips bobbed in glee. He was her way to London, and she was betting everythingthat she’d be able to turn him to her task. His knock was equally ponderous, and she had to consciously shift her expression to surprise and a bit of disappointment.
“A moment!” she called by way of stalling. The window was open, allowing whatever breeze there was to deal with the stench of her ingredients. She gave her mixture a last grind before crossing to the door.Soon, she thought. Soon she’d never have to make that disgusting potion again.
He stood in the doorway, framed by the late afternoon sun. As it was still summer, the light shone down on him. “Thank you, mum,” she whispered. Before this morning, she’d had no idea how much she had yet to learn. And now she had a handsome teacher.
“Why, Mr. Hallowsby! Whatever are you doing here?”
“You told me where you live.”
“I’m sure Mr. Garwick said I’d be in tonight—”
“You told me to come.”
His tone was hard, and there was no mistaking the anger in his eyes. So it was like that, was it? Armed with his distemper, he was ready to negotiate for the carriage. Well and good. She knew he planned to drive a hard bargain, and she had her tactics well in hand.
Stepping back, she gestured for him to come inside. “I was drinking my tea. Would you care for some?”
“No, thank you, miss.”
She flashed him a smile, making sure her dimpled side showed. “Best tea in the land, but suit yourself.”
“I’ve come to sell the carriage.”
She heaved a sigh as she settled at her table. He entered her house, but didn’t sit while she looked morosely into her tea. “It’s no good. I stopped by the lady in question, and she doesn’t want it. She did more’n a week ago, but now…” She shook her head.
“What?”
She looked up, doing her best to appear heartbroken. “She don’t want it, Mr. Hallowsby. I tried all my ways on her, but nothing worked. Can’t force people hereabouts to buy what they don’t need.”
His eyes narrowed. “Was there ever a woman at all?”
“Well, of course there was!” she cried, pushing her air of injured innocence. “Did you think I’d lure you out here for some other reason?” She shoved up from her seat. “I’ll have you know that I’m a good Christian woman. And there’s souls not more’n a hundred yards that way. They’ll hear me scream if you—”
He held up his hands. “I have no designs on your virtue.”
Had he shuddered as he said it? But why? She had a mirror. She’d known since childhood how pretty she was.
She folded her hands demurely in front of her, the picture of chastened purity. “I apologize. I am sorry to misjudge you, sir. And double sorry that the lady no longer wishes the carriage.” That wasn’t exactly true, but it was close enough that her conscience didn’t quibble with it. “But I have thought of an alternative.”
He folded his arms and leaned back against the door frame, blocking the light. It was a position guaranteed to emphasize his height and breadth.
“Of course you have,” he drawled. “Out with it, then. Let’s hear what you want.”
She frowned, startled by his stubbornness. She was doing everything she could to be charming, and he was having none of it.
