Page 105 of Harpy of the Ton
“Hush!”
Ned rolled his eyes. “Ashamed of what you’re doin’, are you? Don’t you want me to speak her name—herrealname?”
“It’s not that,” Lawrence said. “It’s a surprise. Mrs. Colt should mind her own business.”
“Itisher business, seein’ as she’s the landlord’s wife,” Ned said. “Plannin’ on tellin’ her ladyship the truth tonight, are you? Softening the blow with a slice of Mrs. Colt’s steak pie and a mug of ale?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“I’m treatin’ her to a meal out. She deserves somethin’ special.”
“You’re soft in the head, wastin’ good money like that,” Ned said. “A man shouldn’t be sellin’ his things needlessly—neither should his wife, though it’d serve you right.”
“She’s sold nothing of mine, Ned.”
“That’s not what Mrs. Richards says.”
“Oh, this bloody village!” Lawrence cried. “Can a man not even take a piss without it being talked about? It’s that Mrs. Chantry spreadin’ her lies about Bella, I’ll bet.”
“Mrs. Chantry?” Ned shook his head. “No, Mrs. Richards saw her with her own eyes.”
Lawrence’s gut twisted. “With aman?”
“No, you arse! She saw her in Midchester, comin’ out of a pawnshop—in broad daylight, too.”
What the devil was Bella doing in a pawnshop?
What had she said when he’d argued about the cost of his son’s spectacles?Rest assured, I didn’t waste any of your hard-earned money today.
“Oh, Bella—what have you done?”
Ned let out a laugh. “Not so pleasant when you’re the one bein’ deceived, is it?”
“Bella wouldn’t deceive anyone,” Lawrence said. “Or, if she did, she’d have good reason—she thinks of others before herself. And I care not how much hirin’ Mrs. Colt’s parlor costs. My Bella’s worth every farthing.”
“Sweet swivin’ saints, you’ve got it bad.” Ned shook his head. “If you’ve fallen for her, it’ll come to no good. She’s not for the likes of you, and wasting your coin on Mrs. Colt’s pie won’t change that—no matter how good the pie.”
“And you came to tell me that?” Lawrence asked.
“I came to say that, for your own sake, you must tell Lady Arabella the truth.”
“Oh!” a female voice cried. “Ned Ryman, isn’t it?” Lady Merrick approached. “The hedge looks very pretty, Mr. Baxter,” she said. “Just how I wanted it.”
About bloody time, seeing as he’d spent three days trying to fashion the damned thing into the shape of a cockerel.
“Are you here to see Halford, Mr. Ryman?” she asked.
“No, I came to see Lawrence. He’s hirin’ the parlor at the Royal Oak for”—Ned hesitated—“for his wife.”
“Ishe?” Lady Merrick glanced at Lawrence. “Well, I suppose it’s up to you how to spend your money. I hope that wife of yours knows how lucky she is.”
“I’m the lucky one, Lady Merrick,” Lawrence said.
“That young woman made the right decision when she accepted your hand. Few men are as considerate—excepting, of course, Sir Halford. In fact, as a reward for your generosity toward your wife, you can finish up early for the day.”
Lady Merrick looked at him expectantly. Recognizing the prompt, Lawrence bowed his head.
