Page 45 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
The child nodded and exited the chamber. Shortly after, voices echoed from downstairs—Florence’s tone pleading, placating, alongside another, deeper voice, its surly tones thickening the air.
Loveday gripped the arms of her chair and struggled to her feet. Andrew set the tray on a table and took her arm, but she pulled free.
“Vicar, you should go,” she said.
Then the heavy tread of footsteps drew near and the door opened to reveal a thick-set man with thinning brown hair and close-set, pale-brown eyes. He glanced about the chamber, giving Andrew a cursory nod before settling his gaze on Etty, a flare of lust in his eyes.
Andrew wrinkled his nose at the stench of stale sweat.
“Husband!” Loveday cried.
Ralph turned his attention to his wife. “What’s goin’ on?”
“The vicar’s come to visit, Ralph,” Loveday said. “Isn’t that kind of him?”
“Busybody more like, pokin’ his nose where it’s not wanted.” He gestured toward Etty. “Who the bleedin’ hell’sthis, then?”
Etty approached the man. “Mr. Smith, I’m—”
“I didn’t askyou, woman,” he sneered. “I asked my wife.”
“I’m your wife’s guest,” Etty said, her voice sharpening. “I have every right—”
“Get out!” he snarled. “I’ll have none of that nonsense in my house! We don’t need some fancy woman pokin’ her sharp little nose in our business, thinkin’ she’s better than us merely because she sits on her arse all day drinkin’ tea.”
“Mr. Smith, there’s no need—”
“Vicar, control your woman before I do it for you. I’ll not have fancy women puttin’ ideas into my wife’s head.”
“Ralph, the vicar only came to see the baby,” Loveday said.
“The girl’s taken the brat outside, so there’s no reason for the vicar or his tart to stay, is there?”
Etty stepped toward Ralph. “How dare you refer to your daughters in such a manner? Is this how you treat your wife, also?”
“Mrs. Ward, please!” Loveday cried. “Ralph, forgive me. Mrs. Ward didn’t mean to say such things—did you, ma’am?”
“I most certainlydid,” Etty said.
“Why you…” Ralph raised his fists and took a step toward Etty, but she stood firm, defiance in her eyes.
“Go on, Mr. Smith,” she said. “Do your worst—unless, of course, you prefer to beat women behind closed doors with no witnesses present.”
“Mrs. Ward, no, ma’am, please!” Loveday said. “I told you, it was my fault—I slipped on the stairs. Ralph, I told her, honest I did. Mrs. Ward, I think you should go—it’s best if you do.”
“Not before I have your husband’s assurance that he’ll not lay a finger on you.”
“He won’t, will you, Ralph?” Loveday said. “You’re due at the Sailor, aren’t you? And I’ll have a nice bit of stew waiting for you when you get home tonight. Your favorite.”
“I think we ought to go, Mrs. Ward,” Andrew said.
Etty turned her gaze on him, anger in her eyes. “Youwhat?”
“We can visit Mrs. Smith tomorrow.” He turned toward Loveday’s husband. “And we can check on your wife’s wrist—make sure she’s had no more accidents.”
Ralph shrugged. “It matters not to me,” he said, retreating. “I’ve got work to do. Someone’s got to now Loveday’s landed me with another mouth to feed.”
“That’s no way to talk about your—” Etty began, but Andrew stopped her.
