Page 75 of Harpy of the Ton
“She’s a fool if she doesn’t accept him,” Lawrence said. “And he’d be a fool if he didn’t offer for her. She keeps house for you beautifully, Ned. You’re a lucky man.”
“As are you, Lawrence,” Mr. Ryman said. “Sophie tells me your wife is skilled at sewing.”
“A wife needs to do more than sew on a button, Ned,” Lawrence said, laughing. “My Bella here could learn a thing or two from your Sophie.”
Mr. Ryman scowled.
“Oh,couldI?” Bella said, folding her arms. Why did the men always belittle a woman’s efforts?
“Bella, stop your nonsense and pour the tea. It must be right brewed by now.”
Oh Lord—she’d forgotten the tea!
She pushed back her chair, wincing as it scraped against the floorboards.
“Careful!” Lawrence said. “That’s the floorboards needin’ another wax.” He turned to Roberta. “Mind you don’t pick up any bad habits from your mother.”
“Ha-ha!” William cried. “I wouldn’t be a girl if you gave me a hundred sovereigns!”
Roberta stuck out her tongue.
“Roberta,” Lawrence said, “I hardly think—”
“You’re quite right, Billy,” Bella said. “A hundred sovereigns isn’t nearly enough to compensate for being a woman inthishouse.”
Lawrence opened his mouth to reply, and she glared at him.
Go on—I dare you. One more word and you’ll regret it.
His eyes widened, then he closed his mouth again.
Turning her back, she lifted the lid of the teapot and stirred the contents. Titters of laughter and whispers filled the kitchen, but she was too tired to bother herself with whatever nonsense the children were indulging in. When she returned to the table, her husband and the children were eating their stew with an air of nonchalance. Only Mr. Ryman looked uncomfortable.
Something was afoot.
“There’s no need to pour the tea,” Lawrence said. “Finish your stew first.”
Surprisingly considerate of him—he usually demanded his tea at every opportunity.
She picked up her fork, her skin tightening at the feeling that several pairs of eyes were on her. Then she took a mouthful of stew.
The acrid taste flooded her senses, and she spat it out with a cry.
Someone had dumped a packet of salt into it.
The children burst into laughter, and Lawrence threw his head back, roaring with mirth. She curled her hands into fists, suppressing the urge to take a griddle pan to his head.
Was she nothing but an object of ridicule? Mr. Ryman was the only one who seemed unamused.
She wiped her mouth and pushed her bowl aside. Then her husband reached across the table and caught her hand.
“Bella, love—it’s just a bit of harmless fun.”
“All part of a woman’s lot,” she said bitterly. “I trust your Sophie will have better luck than I, Mr. Ryman.”
Their guest colored and said nothing.
“There’s no need to bring Ned into it, love,” Lawrence said.
