Page 76 of Harpy of the Ton
“You started it!” she cried.
“Bella…”
She snatched her hand free and forced a smile.
“No matter, husband,” she said. “I know my place.”
He nodded, then smiled at Mr. Ryman. “See, Ned? A good woman knows her place. And a hot-tempered woman only needs to cool off, then she’s right again.”
“I thank you for your correction, husband,” Bella said, picking up the teapot. He tensed as she poured tea into each cup. When she set the pot down again, he relaxed and leaned back.
“That stew were proper tasty, Bella, love.”
She smiled back, picking up the milk jug. Then she leaned over and tipped its contents over her husband’s trousers.
“Shit!” He leaped back, his chair clattering on the floor.
“Oh, husband,” she said, shaking her head. “Such unseemly language. How can you set such a poor example to our children?”
“Shit!” Jonathan cried.
“Jonathan!” Lawrence tugged at his trousers while milk soaked into the material, dripping onto the floor to form a puddle at his feet. “Bloody hell—they’re ruined.”
“Bloody hell!” Jonathan echoed.
“Stop that!” Lawrence said. “Bella—what the devil did you think you were doing?”
She met his gaze. “Why, husband—I thought you needed a little cooling off. Your temper tonight is hotter than mine.”
“You’ve ruined my trousers!”
“Then I must rinse them.”
Bella approached the sink, already filled with water to wash the dishes. Then she dipped a saucepan into the water and returned.
“Don’t you dare,” Lawrence growled.
“Go on, Mama!” Jonathan cheered.
“Very well.” She jerked forward, and the water flew through the air in an arc before it landed on her husband. His mouth opened and shut, as if he struggled to speak. Then he shook his head, sending droplets of water flying.
The children burst into laughter, and Mr. Ryman, despite being splashed with water, let out a chuckle. “You have to give your wife credit for giving as good as she gets.”
“Wait until I get my hands on you, woman!” Lawrence cried.
“You’ll have to catch me first!” Bella held up the saucepan. “And I’m armed!”
He convulsed, and, for a moment, she thought he was going to burst with rage. Then his mouth twisted into a smile, and he leaped toward her. She turned and fled from the kitchen.
“Get her!”
A clatter of footsteps followed her. She pushed open the front door, then darted to the right, skirting around the side of the house to the garden, where she could hide in the children’s den—the last place he’d expect to find her, given the unsavory items they collected.
Before she could reach the den, an excited voice cried out, “Thereshe is! I said she’d be in the garden!”
Three small figures headed toward her. The first collided with her, wrapping its arms around her waist, followed by another, and another. She lost her balance and crashed to the ground, falling face down in the mud, taking the children with her.
With a cry, the children leaped to their feet.
