Page 73 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
She mimicked their sour expressions—chin lifted, nose wrinkled, and lips pursed—as they reached a small table on the cobblestones.
“That’s it,” he said as he held out the chair for her. He didn’t sound like he approved.
She tilted her head, watching him—and everything else she could see—as he sat beside her. She’d never been served before, not like this. Not at a table outdoors by a waiter or a garçon. She knew the words. Her mother had told her stories of Oxfordshire, but now she was experiencing it and she vibrated with the joy of it.
He waited in silence, letting her gaze rove over everything. Soon tea and ices were set before them, and he gestured for her to lift her spoon and take a taste.
Cold ice and sweet lemon flavor exploded in her mouth. “Coo…” she murmured.
His jaw tightened. “Say marvelous.”
“Marvelous.”
“And sit up straight. Your corset isn’t bone. You must pretend it is.”
She frowned, but tightened her back as he’d ordered. It was going to be hard to maintain.
“I’ll have to buy whalebone now, won’t I?”
“Deuced uncomfortable, as I understand it.”
She didn’t speak. He was trying to make a point, but she didn’t know what. So she arched a brow and waited. In her experience, men never kept quiet for long. Not if they had something burning in their gut.
But in this, she was sadly out. He did nothing but eat his ice, gesture for her to serve the tea, and then glower. And he kept that up while she tried to look everywhere without appearing to really look.
“Sit up,” he snapped.
She sighed, but straightened her back. “You’re being very disagreeable.”
“Learning to be a lady is very disagreeable.” He set his arm on the table, leaning forward. “Most girls are at it their entire lives, and they hate it.”
“Then why do it?”
He shrugged. “You might as well as ask why the sun rises in the east. Because it does. Because they do. Because that is what is expected of ladies.”
Her gaze cut to his. “Then I had best start learning now.”
“Or perhaps, give up—”
“Leave off,” she snapped. “I am a legitimate lady. Granddaughter to the Earl of—”
“Your father died in school. Likely before you were even born.”
She paused. A pair of gentlemen on horseback were riding through, splattering mud everywhere and laughing as an apple vendor cursed them. She could tell by the fine cut of their clothing that they were wealthy. No one could afford that much gold stitching unless they had money to spare. And that wasnothing compared to the horseflesh they jerked about with no consideration for the poor beasts’ mouths.
She was so busy frowning at the men that it took a moment for her to realize what Mr. Hallowsby had said. But when she did, her gaze cut back to his. “What?”
“I’m sorry. The second son of the Earl of Cavener died years ago of a fever.”
She swallowed. Dead. Her father was dead. “No,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry, Bluebell.” Then he took a breath. “You have your paper. You’re legitimate. And now we know why your father never came to find you. You can go back to Hull and—”
She slammed down her spoon, her pleasure from the dessert gone. “You have cast doubt everywhere you turn. I am tired of it. Leave if you want, but tomorrow, I go to London.”
He threw up his hands. “To see what relation? Your father is long gone.”
“Then I will speak with the earl.”
