Page 27 of Harpy of the Ton
“They gossip about their betters. And your reputation is vulnerable until you’re safely married. The lowest of the low will relish the slightest drop of gossip about their betters, because it gives pleasure to their pathetic lives.” Aunt Kathleen turned toward the door. “Isn’t that right…you.”
Connie stood in the doorway.
“Well?” Aunt Kathleen prompted.
The maid curtseyed. “Yes, Lady Smith-Green.”
“You sent for my maid?” Arabella asked.
“Of course I did!” Aunt Kathleen gestured to Connie. “Come here, girl—see to it that your mistress doesn’t disturb the household again.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The maid approached the bed, holding a beveled glass filled with white liquid.
“What’s that?” Arabella asked.
“It’s milk,” Aunt Kathleen said. “To settle your stomach.”
“Ma’am, shouldn’t we—” Connie began.
“That’s enough, girl! Do as you’re told, or I’ll have you whipped again.”
Again?
Connie flinched, then pressed the glass into Arabella’s hand. “Please drink this, miss,” she said. “It’ll help you sleep.”
“B-but it’s morning,” Arabella protested.
“It’s early yet,” Aunt Kathleen said, “and the duke’s taking his rest. He’s not long returned from his outing, and I doubt he’ll want to be disturbed. That girl”—she gave Connie a look of contempt—“can bring you breakfast in your chamber. We need to ensure you’re fully recovered before the duke sees you.”
Arabella shifted her gaze between her aunt and her maid—two women with the same purpose. But that purpose was driven by two different emotions. In her aunt’s expression, she saw determination and self-interest. In her maid’s, she saw terror.
She took the glass and swallowed a mouthful of milk. The sugar her maid must have stirred in couldn’t completely disguise the bitter taste of laudanum. She hesitated and looked up, and Aunt Kathleen raised her eyebrows in expectation. Accepting the futility of defiance, Arabella tilted the glass and drained the contents.
“I’m glad to see you can sometimes respect the wishes of your elders and betters.”
Elder Aunt Kathleen may be. As to better…
The one consolation from marrying Dunton was that Arabella would outrank her aunt and therefore be free of her. That was worth any inconvenience she must suffer now—including a dose of laudanum intended to keep her quiet. And, in truth, oblivion would give her respite from her dreams.
But nothing could give her respite from her conscience.
Chapter Eight
It was worsethan he’d feared.
Far worse.
Clutching his tools, Lawrence stared at the building before him.
“What do you think?”
Lawrence glanced at Ned, with his mop of brown curls, warm amber eyes, and overly optimistic smile.
“Is that…”
“Your new home, yes.”
