Page 37 of Harpy of the Ton
Ned sighed. “The loss of a mother is not something a child can easily recover from.”
“Jonathan never knew Elizabeth,” Lawrence said. “The twins don’t remember her—heavens, I knew her so little that I struggle to recall her now.”
“Not something to be proud of.”
“Perhaps not,” Lawrence said, “but I’m not one for sentiment.
“What if they grow attached to her?”
“Ha!” Lawrence let out a bark of laughter. “Once you’ve seen her, you’ll understand how improbablethatis.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because she wronged me, Ned, and she must pay. Too often the likes of them can do what they want, and the likes of us suffer for it. It’s about time one of them learned a lesson on what it’s like.”
“I only hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m gettin’ myself a housekeeper and cook,” Lawrence said, grinning, “and she’s gettin’ a taste of her own medicine.”
“Ifit’s her.”
Lawrence eyed the carriage. Why did that crest look so familiar?
“Out of my way!” a voice cried—a veryfamiliarvoice.
The front door opened and a young man in a vicar’s dress appeared in the doorway, before being thrust aside by a portly figure dressed in ostentatious finery.
The vicar stumbled against the door. “Your Grace, don’t you want—”
“Don’t presume to speak to me! It’s not her. I’ve had a damned waste of a journey, and now you plague me with questions.”
The man strode toward the carriage, turning to glance toward the cart.
Lawrence froze. But the Duke of Dunton showed no sign of recognition. Doubtless, to him, the lower classes all looked the same.
A footman leaped to the ground and opened the carriage door. Dunton climbed inside, the carriage tilting under his weight, before righting itself with a wobble. The footman resumed his position, and, with the crack of the driver’s whip, the carriage lurched into motion and rolled away.
So—the woman wasn’t Lady Arabella.
Perhaps it was for the best. But Lawrence couldn’t suppress the shiver of loss, driven by the memory of kissing that wicked mouth of hers and holding that lush body in his hands.
“Ned, we should go.”
His friend snorted. “Conscience got the better of you?”
“Ah—Mr. Baxter, I presume,” the vicar said, approaching the cart.
“Y-yes.” Lawrence nodded.
“Reverend Gleeson wrote to say you’d be coming.”
“Yes, but…”
The vicar gestured toward the door. “Shall we?” When Lawrence made no move, the vicar frowned. “Aren’t you anxious to be reunited with your wife?”
“What of the man who just left? Did he think she was his…wife?”
“His sister. He spun some tale about her eloping with the gardener, but he seemed hesitant, as if concealing something. Then he caught sight of her through the parlor door and realized it wasn’t her.” The vicar cocked his head to the side and frowned. “I could swear he recognized her. But he said not. He wouldn’t even see her. It was as if he were desperate to leave as quickly as possible.”
