Page 93 of Harpy of the Ton
“Not a real horse—a toy horse, like the one I’ve seen Charles Merrick with. His papa buys him anything he wants. He told me so—at least, he did, until his nanny told him not to speak to me.”
“You’ll have to wait before you’ve picked every toy in the land,” Lawrence said, laughing. “It’s not certain that I’ll be hired yet. I need to finish the designs.”
“I thought you had finished them,” Bella said. “You spend enough time in your study.”
“Papa goes to his study to avoid having to help tidy up,” Roberta said.
“No, he doesn’t!” Jonathan cried. “He does it because he’s a man. You’re a girl, which is why you and Mama should tidy up.”
“You shouldallhelp your mama,” Lawrence said.
“Then why don’tyou, Pa?” Roberta asked.
Their arrival at Ivy Cottage spared him the necessity of responding.
Five minutes later, they sat at the dinner table while Bella dished out supper and sliced the bread.
Lawrence picked up a slice, dipped it into the gravy, then tasted it.
Delicious.
Since when had she become such an accomplished cook? The roast mutton was tender and flavorsome, and the bread was soft inside with a crispy crust—just how he liked it. And the children loved it, judging by how quickly they emptied their plates.
He almost choked in astonishment when Jonathan offered to help Bella clear the table. But she waved the children off with a smile, and they fled from the kitchen to play outside, their shrieks of laughter echoing around the garden.
Bella pushed her bowl aside, rose, and busied herself about the kitchen, making a pot of tea and taking a dish of stewed apples out of the range. She placed one onto a dish and set it infront of him before pouring his tea. Just how he liked—with a dash of milk and a spoonful of sugar.
“Thank you, Bella,” he said. “There’s nothing more a man wants on coming home than a fine meal cooked by his wife.”
She nodded, but the smile he’d been hoping for didn’t materialize.
“I’ll be seein’ Ned later tonight, so I won’t be gettin’ under your feet.” Perhaps she’d smile at that.
Instead, she frowned. “At the inn?”
“Of course—I’m in the mood for a mug of ale.”
“Mustyou?”
“You wouldn’t begrudge a man an evening with his friend, would you?”
She let out a sharp sigh.
“It could be good for us if Mr. Trelawney hires me,” he said. “I could afford to build us a greenhouse for next year. We could even move somewhere larger—a house with two parlors, perhaps, or another bedchamber.”
Next year…
What a foolish notion! He’d only meant to keep her for a month or two, and she’d been here longer than that already. Each day he woke, praying that her memory would remain buried—not because he feared retribution, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
How had she burrowed her way into his affections?
By rising to the challenges she’d faced, even though it must have terrified her—tending to strangers and coping with chores she’d never done in her life.
By her own resilience and spirit, she’d secured a place in his heart. And that heart would break if he lost her.
“Mr. Trelawney would be a fool not to hire you,” she said.
“IfI can produce designs to his satisfaction,” Lawrence replied. “Or rather, his wife’s. He’s a merchant—a working man.But she’s a lord’s daughter, as he let slip. Ladies are not to be trusted.”
