Page 42 of Harpy of the Ton
“That’s my good girl.”
She wrinkled her nose but said no more. At length, he resumed his attention on the road.
Ned continued to steer the cart, the horse responding to his hands on the reins as if they were of one mind. The road veered toward the river, and the rush of the water mingled with the wind in the trees. Lawrence glanced to the back of the cart. Bella sat, her back against the edge, eyes closed, moving gently from side to side with the motion of the cart. She seemed to have fallen asleep—or the laudanum Dr. Carter gave her had finally taken effect.
At least they’d have some respite from her tongue. Battle would resume when they reached Brackens Hill.
“You didn’t have to place her in the back,” Ned said.
“Neither did you have to hit that rut.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
Lawrence laughed. “You’re too good a driver for that.”
“I don’t know why you’re griping. It got her to settle, didn’t it? She’d have fallen off otherwise.”
They continued in silence. Each time the road veered toward the river, Lawrence shuddered at the notion of what she must have endured. He might loathe her, but nobody—not least a woman—deserved to be torn to pieces in the river. Neither didthey deserve to be abandoned by those who were supposed to love her.
Dunton didn’t love her—unsurprising, given their sort never married for love. They entered into contracts, marrying for money or rank. Then they foisted their children onto nursemaids and nannies, governesses and schoolmasters, only viewing them occasionally to inspect them for cleanliness and decorum.
Cleanliness and decorum—something his children knew nothing of.
What would she make of them? And what would they make of her?
His conscience pricked him again at the thought of his children—three motherless pups. What made him better than Lady Arabella and her sort? His children had been deprived of a parent’s love as much as any nob’s child. He’d foisted them onto neighbors and paid subordinates at every opportunity, trying to convince himself it was for their benefit so he could work to keep food in their bellies and a roof over their heads.
He’d have failed in that had Ned not found him a home at Brackens Hill. And now, he was repaying his friend by involving him in his scheme.
“I won’t keep her forever, Ned.”
“You shouldn’t keep her at all. If not for her sake, think of your little ’uns.”
“Iamthinking of them,” Lawrence said. “If they’re unhappy, then I’ll stop. If I promise that, will you promise not to betray me?”
Ned resumed his attention on the road. After a moment, he sighed and nodded.
“I’ll not betray you—you’re too determined to have her reap the consequences of her actions. Just mind you’re prepared to reap the consequences of yours.”
“I’ll face my retribution when it comes, Ned,” Lawrence said. “And, no matter what, I’ll always put my children first.”
“Then we’ll say no more on the matter.” Ned grinned, revealing a row of teeth with a gap in the middle. “If Lady Arabella—”
“Bella,” Lawrence said. “Bella…Baxter.”
Ned nodded. “IfBellais to pay for what she did to you, I can think of no better punishment than to take those three tykes of yours into her care. My Sophie told me yesterday that Mrs. Chantry’s been complaining about them again. The twins started a fight with sticks in the middle of class, and your Jonathan tipped a bottle of ink on the floor.”
Which explained why they’d been unable to sit still at supper last night—that miserable old sow Mrs. Chantry seemed to measure her success as a teacher not by how much her charges learned, but by how often she disciplined them. Still, a reddened arse harmed no one. He’d received plenty himself as a lad.
But woe betide Bella if she took it upon herself to discipline his children. If that haughty minx laid so much as a finger on them, he’d teach her a little marital discipline in return, false wife or not.
Oh yes—she’d earn back what she’d cost him. Not with coin, but through a bloody good dose of hard work.
Chapter Fifteen
The warm aromaof straw thickened in the air—the scent of the countryside. She inhaled, and the acrid note of manure caught in her throat.
Something nudged her shoulder. The memory floated before her—a long brown face with a white mark across the forehead and big, thickly lashed eyes. Her horse, perhaps.
