Page 38 of Harpy of the Ton
And well he might, given that Dunton would consider the house beneath his dignity to enter. Come to that, so would Lady Arabella.
Pity it wasn’t her—there’d have been some small satisfaction in knowing that she had to suffer the discomfort of a house so far beneath her dignity.
Then his conscience pricked at him. His obsession—and there was no other word for it—was eliciting a mean-spirited side to his nature.
“Come in,” the vicar said, “and you can see if she’s your wife. It’s a mercy she didn’t drown in that river. Dr. Carter wasn’t certain she’d regain consciousness at first.”
“We should go,” Ned said.
“What about your friend’s wife?” the vicar asked.
Lawrence frowned at Ned. They had to at least make a pretense of looking at the woman, whoever she was. It was too late to turn back.
He climbed off the cart and followed the vicar inside.
Unlike his home at Brackens Hill, the house was clean and bright, filled with light rather than dust and cobwebs. Muffled voices came from behind a door, then it opened, and a woman burst into the hallway. With wisps of hair peeking beneath her cap and wearing a bone-white lace-trimmed apron over a pale blue gown, she looked every part the efficient doctor’s wife. Nodoubt the state of the cottage was down to her touch—a loving wife who undertook her housekeeping duties with vigor and enthusiasm.
She let out a huff. “I swear, vicar, the Almighty has given me a test beyond the endurance of the stoutest of men. Do you know what that unpleasant harpy—”
She broke off as she caught sight of Lawrence.
“This is Mr. Baxter,” the vicar said. “Come from Brackens Hill.”
“Oh! Begging your pardon, Mr. Baxter.” She glanced toward the door through which she’d just come, a flare of hope in her eyes. “Are you come to…”
“No, I’ll not take any more of that disgusting medicine!” a sharp voice cried. “Get it away!”
Sweet heaven!There was no mistaking that voice.
The woman behind the door was Lady Arabella Ponsford.
“Mr. Baxter? Are you all right?”
The vicar’s eyes shone with hope.
No—not hope. Relief.
“Youknowher,” the vicar said.
It wasn’t a question.
A fork in the road stretched before Lawrence. Withdraw and leave her to her fate, or…
Or what? Leave her in the care of people eager to be rid of her? When their patience ran out, where would she go? Dunton had abandoned her to the mercy of the Carters—mercy that was, by the expression on Mrs. Carter’s face, rapidly diminishing. With no means to support herself she’d end up begging on the streets—or in service, if some wealthy family took pity on her.
And a life beholden to the charity of others was not to be borne.
By executing his plan, he was not only meting out justice for the wrongs she’d done him. He was giving her a better life than the alternatives.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “That’s my—my Bella.” Then he grinned. “Speaks her mind, doesn’t she?”
“A little too much, if you ask me,” Mrs. Carter said.
“Mrs. Carter, you shouldn’t speak ill of the young woman,” the vicar said. “It’s not your place to criticize her behavior—it’s her husband’s. Isn’t that right, Mr. Baxter?”
Lawrence nodded. “I apologize for any trouble she’s caused.”
Mrs. Carter smiled. “You’re a fine young man. She’s a lucky lass to have you. Would you like to be reunited with her?”
