Page 6 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“For your joints, Mr. Garwick,” she said. “In return for some of your wife’s divine stew.” She turned to Lord Linsel. “Mrs. Garwick doesn’t charge half as much as she should for that beef. I have tried and tried to copy her recipe, but I simply haven’t the knack. Or the meat.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gillian nod in agreement. The woman could now charge these nobs double, and the man wouldn’t blink an eye. “Have you tried a bowl?”
Lord Linsel shook his head. “I haven’t had—”
“Oh, you simply must. It’s wonderful. An important man deserves an important meal, don’t you think? And this is the only place for miles to get one.”
The man puffed out his chest. “Well, then I suppose I will.”
“Excellent. Oh dear, ’ow I run on. I’m not used to chatting with so elegant a man. Mayhaps I could see yer wife?”
“Yes, yes. Right through here.”
She didn’t need him to lead her. She’d been coming to this inn selling possets since she was old enough to count money. But she let the man lead her and so entered the private parlor where a beautiful woman drenched in jewels sat looking bored.
Her gown was the most stunning thing Maybelle had ever seen, and a surge of desire went through her strong enough to make her bite the inside of her cheek. One day soon she would be attired in a gown like that. Lush green like the deepest forest, plus a gold necklace sporting blue sapphires, just like the one this woman wore. She’d have a big ring on her finger too, and…oh my.
The woman had been sick. The stink clung to her gloves. Her breath was foul, and her blond ringlets were greasy too. When Maybelle was rich, she’d look prettyandsmell good.
None of those thoughts appeared on her face as Maybelle crossed to the woman. On the way, the edge of her boot kicked something hard hidden under the couch, but she couldn’t bend down to look. She’d already scanned the room and itemized the things that were owned by these three. Nothing much beyond the lady’s bonnet and a long umbrella. But something important was under that couch.
Sadly, she couldn’t look. Her job was to sell everything she carried. “Oh my,” she said as she neared the reclining Clary. “I’ve never seen so beautiful a laidy before.”
“What?” The woman’s face crumpled up in horror. “Gracious, Dicky, what creature is this? I can’t understand a word she’s saying.”
Maybelle drew up short. Of all the things she’d expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. She always spoke perfectly clear. But perhaps the woman was hard of hearing. So she smiled warmly and spoke slow and distinct.
“Good afternoon, my lady. I can see you’ve ’ad a ’ard time of it. Mayhaps—”
“Oh, keep her away. Her words grate on the ears. Mr. Hallowsby, tell me her garbled screech doesn’t give you the headache. And me, in my delicate condition.” She pressed one hand to her belly and one to her mouth.
“I completely agree,” said the difficult man. “I’m sorry, Miss Bluebell, but you must leave.”
What? Without earning so much as a farthing? “You understood me clear as day outside,” she snapped. Then she forcibly moderated her tone. “I. ’Ave. Possets,” she said, each word distinct. “To. ’Elp. Stomach.” She patted her tummy.
“I’m not a half-wit,” the lady snapped. “I hear the mangled thing you call language perfectly well.” She raised her hands and made a shooing motion. “Go away. Just go away.”
Maybelle clenched her teeth, struggling to keep calm. It was always difficult braving the village to sell her wares. She’d been pinched and insulted for the last hour. And now to be dismissed for her language? That was beyond ridiculous. Her speech was no different than the innkeeper’s and they both spoke clearly.
But there were more ways than one to sell a thing. She would simply do it without speaking. And charge them triple for the trouble. So she lifted off the covering of the basket and showed the woman her tisanes and possets. Then she picked out one in particular and mimed drinking it. Then she pointed at her belly.
“Good Lord, she wants to poison my baby,” the woman moaned.
That was not what she had said…er…gestured. She looked to the room at large for help. Mr. Hallowsby was smirking, so she looked to the woman’s husband. Turning pleading eyes on him, she lifted up her best tisane. It calmed nerves and soothed aches. Truthfully, she wanted a cup of it right now, but instead she looked imploringly at Lord Linsel.
“Clary, you’re going to make the beautiful girl cry.”
Oh damnation, men were such idiots. The last thing this woman wanted was to hear about her beauty.
“Don’t you get loud with me,” the lady pouted. “You know how it upsets me.” She clenched her necklace as if she feared Maybelle would steal it.
“I’m not, dearest,” Lord Linsel said, moderating his tone. “But perhaps this will help your nerves.”
“What can this ignorant creature have that will help me?”
Ignorant? Maybelle was better educated than anyone else for miles. She had read Shakespeare and knew her figures. She had memorized chemical formulae and even knew Latin, though Greek was beyond her. Naturally, none of that would show outwardly. And apparently, it didn’t show in her voice, either.
“Are you trying to be rid of me?” Lady Linsel continued, her voice painfully shrill. “To poison me—”
