Page 119 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
The path openedout into a clearing in the woods, where the sunlight, broken by the canopy of trees overhead, formed a dappled pattern on the ground. Clusters of ferns nodded in the breeze, their bright green fronds curling to form tight spirals at the ends. Etty reached out and caressed the tip of a fern with her fingers, letting out a soft sigh.
Though Arabella had assured her the forests surrounding the estate were perfectly safe, Etty shivered as shadows moved in the gaps between the thick, gnarled trunks.
Then light laughter filled the air, followed by footsteps as Etty’s companions approached—Arabella’s stepdaughter Roberta, hand in hand with Florence Smith.
“Here it is!” Roberta cried.
“It’s so pretty,” said her companion, “just like a fairy den!”
“See? Didn’t I tell you, Florrie?” Roberta said. “Not that I’d call it a fairy den,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “Fairies aren’t real.”
“But we can play at being fairies, can’t we?”
Roberta let out a snort. “That’s a game forgirls.”
“You’re a girl, are you not?” Etty said, suppressing a laugh at the look of horror in Roberta’s eyes.
“But I don’t play silly make-believe, Miss Howard.”
Etty placed her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you declare yourself to be Admiral Nelson yesterday and make your brother walk the plank?”
“Yes, but Admiral Nelson isreal.”
“I doubt he made his lieutenant walk the plank,” Etty said, “and nor did he tie Empress Josephine to the mast—or in your case a sapling—and threaten to feed her to the sharks.”
Florence—also known as Empress Josephine—shivered, then slipped her hand in Etty’s.
“You didn’t mind our tying you up, did you, Florrie?” Roberta asked.
Florence glanced toward Etty, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m not a good sailor.”
Frowning, Roberta stared at her new friend, and Etty steeled herself for an argument. Roberta was a bright, intelligent creature, but her forceful, assertive nature dominated the little group of friends, and Florence, having grown up in a home where her mother was repeatedly beaten, had learned the benefit of shrinking into the shadows when challenged by a more forceful personality.
At length, Roberta nodded and embraced the younger girl. “Not everybody has to be a sailor,” she said. “For one thing, there’s not enough ships to go round. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I was horrid to you just because we like different things. That’s not what being a friend is.”
Etty smiled as Roberta—who couldn’t have been much older than ten years—nodded as if she stood in a pulpit addressing a congregation while the sunlight illuminated her features.
Then she caught her breath at the memory of another who had stood in a pulpit, the sunlight on his face casting myriad colors from the stained glass windows, while he delivered his sermon to his parishioners before he settled his gaze on her.
“Miss Howard, is something wrong? You don’t look at all well.”
Roberta stared at Etty, a curious expression in her sharp blue eyes. Arabella had said her stepdaughter was one of the most insightful children she’d known. At first Etty had believed her friend’s words were merely those of a doting stepmother, but there was no doubting Roberta’s intelligence. Had she been born a boy, Roberta would have been destined to grace the colleges of Oxford, excelling over her fellow scholars. But her father had done the next best thing and engaged both a governess and tutor to school her in mathematics and history. A most remarkable man was Mr. Baxter.
Etty smiled to herself. To think—she had been raised to consider a man in trade not worth evenlookingat, let alone inviting into her acquaintance. And yet her best friend with whom she’d prowled the Marriage Mart in search of titled husbands—rivals for the attentions of a duke—had found her perfect match in a simple gardener with uncouth table manners and a perpetual layer of grime under his fingernails. But in place of the gentility that Mr. Baxter lacked, he had other qualities rarely seen in men of Society—loyalty, generosity, and a sharp intelligence. Together with a propensity to work hard for his loved ones, such qualities rendered him the best of men.
Or, perhaps, the second best.
Etty could never hope to encounter another such man. Perhaps Arabella was right in that it was time for her to settle—to aspire to peace and contentment, lest she be perpetually disappointed by her hopes for something more. A union of convenience where both parties negotiated the terms of the marriage contract might not promise a life of passion, or of love, but it would at least save her from disappointment and heartbreak. She had a dowry to offer, and, in reality, most prospective suitors cared for little else. In return, all she wantedwas a home of her own, and a father for Gabriel. If a man existed who would accept her on those terms, then she could at least live out her life happier than she had been before.
Such as this Viscount Radham.
A marriage of convenience…
Etty shook her head and laughed inwardly. Most likely Lord Radham would flee back to his ancestral pile the moment he learned about her past. He’d certainly be disinclined to love her.
But what was a husband and lover compared to good friends? Arabella had those in abundance. Only that morning, she’d introduced Etty to the first guests to arrive: Lady Marable, with her extraordinarilystimulatingverses, together with her sister-in-law, who worked as a physician despite being the daughter of an earl, and their husbands, who both supported and encouraged them in their careers. Such liberal ideas would have them chased out of Almack’s, despite their titles. But here, in the country, Arabella had created a haven for souls who wished to engage in honest conversations and genuine friendships, far from the drawing rooms of theton.
Yes—with good friends, a woman alone had no need of a man’s love.
