Page 82 of Harpy of the Ton
“More than anything.”
“And does Sam love you?”
“Oh yes!” Sophie cried, her eyes glistening. “Only the other day, he walked nearly three miles to fetch me buttercups from the meadow beyond the river, just because I said I liked them. He even fell in the river on the way there.”
Bella shuddered at the memory of water engulfing her—the cold seeping into her bones, her skirts binding her legs, pulling her down, until an explosion of pain plunged her into darkness…
“Bella?”
She blinked and resumed her attention on her friend.
“Will Sam hurt me?”
“No, Sophie dearest,” Bella said, caressing the girl’s hand. “Sam won’t hurt you. He’s a good, kind young man. Lawrence says he’s working hard so he can take care of you after you’re married. But you must be honest with him, as you’re being with me. If you fear anything, you must tell him—if you can trust him.”
“Oh, I can trust him,” Sophie said, her eyes filled with love. “Just like you can trust Mr. Baxter.”
Bella looked away.
How she longed to trust her husband—longed to speak of her fears and to bury herself in those strong arms of his. But save the briefest flash of compassion in his eyes, she saw nothing but deception—as if he could never fully reveal himself to her.
And if he couldn’t trust her with himself—histrueself—how could she trust him?
They continued along the road, nearing the inn on the opposite side. A flame-haired woman emerged from the inn, dressed in a bright-green gown. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and glanced about, as if looking for someone. With plump red lips and a rosy complexion, she was the most beautiful creature Bella had seen.
Then her gaze fell on Bella, and her lovely face creased into a frown.
“Sophie, do you know that woman?” Bella asked.
“That’s Amelia,” Sophie replied. “She’s staying at the Oak for a few nights. Never mind her—come and have a look at Hall’s. They’ve got some new ribbons in the window that’ll do very well for my wedding gown.”
“Howdo you know her?”
“Uncle Ned’s been visiting her.” Sophie colored and lowered her voice. “She’s one of—them. Take no notice.” Then she slipped off toward the building opposite the inn bearing the signHall’s Haberdashers.
Bella glanced at the woman.
Them.
A small, innocent-sounding little word that carried with it a whole host of sins.
Working women, some called them. Mrs. Gleeson, with her more charitable turn of phrase, referred to them asfallen women.
Whores.That was what Mrs. Chantry said—a word uttered in hushed whispers by the village gossips. A handful of them occupied rooms at the inn, providing travelers with comfort—or so Mr. Ryman called it. Of course, the travelers paying to enjoy suchcomfortwere not derided. No—the derision of the world was reserved for the women.
They were no different to wives—they lived in a world ruled by men, and serviced men’s needs. What did it matter whether the man dropped a few coins into his wife’s hand for housekeeping at the beginning of the day, or dropped a few coins into a doxy’s hands after a night in her bed?
It was an act that men and women had shared or thousands of years.
Except she and her husband.
Stop it, Bella—you’re being melancholy.
And envious.
But she envied Sophie. Who wouldn’t envy such a bright young woman with her young man so obviously in love with her? And, as she stared at the doxy standing beside the inn, Bella found herself envying her also. She envied the confidence Amelia exuded as she acknowledged the admiration of the men who walked past—the butcher’s boy whose eyes were as wide as saucers; Reverend Gleeson, who, despite his piety, couldn’t disguise the desire in his eyes; and the man who approached the woman, arms outstretched…
Sweet heaven!
