Page 89 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“So he must be up in Scotland, right?”
That’s what Bram hoped.
Dicky brightened. “So that’s our plan!”
“What?”
Dicky waved to the porcelain shepherd and Clarissa’s mammoth bonnet. “We’re going to live in Plymouth. As shepherds.”
Bram didn’t say a word. Not with the two staring at him with hope in their eyes.
“It’s the perfect thing,” Dicky continued. “No one would expect it of us. We don’t have to go on the water, and we’re still in England.”
“Where people will find you.”
“Nonsense. Who would think us common shepherds?” He grinned at his own cleverness.
“Dicky, do you know anything about sheep?”
“They’re dumb animals. And I got excellent marks in school—I’m sure I can figure it out.”
He’d barely passed his classes, and that was by paying underclassmen to write his papers. Bram tried to picture the two of them herding sheep. Clarissa in her massive bonnet, Dicky with shears in his hand, calmly ordering a ram to submit like a good sheep.
“It won’t work.”
“Of course—”
“But I know something that will,” he lied. Nothing would work for these two, but this might serve everyone’s purpose. If he could bring it off. “But only on one condition.”
“Yes?”
“That once I have you established, you never, ever speak to me again.”
“Well, I say!”
“Oh no!” Clarissa gasped.
“Not one word. Not one glance. Never again. Swear it.”
They had no choice but to relent. And once he had their solemn word—not that it meant much—he ushered them out the door. Finding a hackney at this hour was hard. Sitting in itwith those two was even harder. Eventually, he found his friend Bernard, manager of the most reputable gaming hells in town. He was also the brother to the new Duchess of Bucklynde.
He held off telling them what they would do until the last moment. First, he paid Bernard an enormous fee for ensuring Dicky’s and Clarissa’s places in the troupe. Then two more days of miserable travel—in the carriage pulled by poor Mina—in order to find the group. But after three days, it was done, and he could finally tell them about their new jobs.
“You’re going to be host and hostess of a traveling menagerie.”
Then he dumped them on the proprietor, who really did need a showman like Dicky. Then he reminded them of their promise to never speak to him again, and departed as fast as poor Mina could manage.
Chapter Seventeen
Even bastards can getlucky.
“It is onlytea,” Lady Eleanor warned Maybelle a few days later. “You needn’t worry about anything except for how you speak. Make sure your words are slow and clear. And for heaven’s sake, remember thoseh’s.”
Maybelle nodded. Her grandparents were coming, and she was a knot of mixed emotions. She wanted to make a good impression, but she also wanted to confront them for how they’d treated her mother. Two goals, absolutely contradictory. She was nervous and excited and bewildered all at once, and she’d never felt so many conflicting desires, apart from her time with Mr. Hallowsby—who wasn’t coming, the blighter.
“Make sure to sit up straight. Keep a reserved expression, though a smile or two of happiness would not be amiss.”
Fortunately, Eleanor was displaying enough anxiety for both of them. The woman was pacing, which was something Maybelle had never thought to see. Eleanor kept touching her fingers as if she were counting off items on a list. And she no longer floated when she moved. It was more of an agitated swirling of wind and words.
