Page 74 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“He won’t see you.” He reached forward to touch her hand, but she pulled back. “Think, Bluebell. You were sent away to Hull, your mother as well. Who do you think did that? The best possibility is that it was the earl. He will not acknowledge you now. In truth, he will do everything he can to discredit you in front of everyone, because he will not admit how badly you have been treated.” He gave her a sad look. “And that is the best possibility.”
“Rubbish. I am legitimate, and he will acknowledge me.” She said the words and stared down her nose at Mr. Hallowsby. She did everything to be intimidating, and it had no effect. He was steadfast in his regard. Just as she was sure in her plan.
“It won’t work, Bluebell. It will only give you pain.”
She didn’t bother responding. He knew her plans.
And then, surprise of surprises, he relented. A little. “Tell me everything, Bluebell. Absolutely everything.”
She was in no mood to recount any of it, but she would have to relay it to the earl soon enough. And if her father was dead and gone these last years, then there was no one to swear that it was true. No one to stand by her side. And that terrified her.
“I grew up in Hull,” she said, speaking her words carefully.
“If the banns were read in Oxfordshire, how did your mother get from here to there?”
She swallowed. “I asked Mum that when I was little. She told me such tales of Oxford, I wanted to see it. But Mum said she’d promised to keep us in Hull until later. I didn’t know what later meant until a few months ago.”
He waited, his expression shifting into narrowed eyes and a tight mouth. She didn’t know what that meant, but as he didn’t speak, she had little choice but to continue.
“Mum got sick last year and it grew steadily worse through the winter. Come February, we both knew…” Her throat closed down. She couldn’t voice it, but then she felt his hand over hers, heavy and comforting.
“She was all you had. I’m sorry that you lost her.”
“One evening, she said it was time I knew the full story. I was old enough and would have to decide what to do when she was gone.”
“Tell me her exact words.”
“She said that when she was young, she was a maid working in the house of a don. There was a student, Mr. Oscar Ballenger. He was the second son of the Earl of Cavener, and he was a kind and wonderful man.”
“Or a good liar.”
Maybelle glared at him. “I grow tired of your insults.”
“I’m not insulting you.” He leaned back. “I’ve been one of these boys. I spent my childhood among these spoiled, lying—”
“Not my father.” Her words were clipped and loud. It was the volume that had him glancing around as he tightened his hold on her hand.
“Steady and quiet. A lady never raises her voice.”
“If you are so sure I am not a lady, then why do you continue ’arping at me?” Her words were tight with fury.
“Harping. With anh.”
“Harping, haranguing, harboring hatred. Horrible Hallowsby.”
His lips twitched at that. “No one can fault your vocabulary.”
Was that a compliment?
“But everyone will notice if you forget yourh’s.”
“But you don’t believe it’s true. Even after seeing the church registry.”
He sighed. “Bluebell—”
“Miss Maybelle Ballenger,” she corrected acidly.
He swallowed and dipped his head. “Maybelle. Very well, Miss Ballenger, tell me the rest. Your mother said she grew up here, met a student who was the second son of the Earl of Cavener.”
