Page 68 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“I told him I was carrying his child,” she said, “in the hope that it would force his hand. But my plan failed.”
“What did you do?”
“I left London in disgrace,” she said, “to have my child in secret. Of course, there were those who tried to persuade me to give him away—hand him over to some childless couple who would give him a proper family life where he could live without the stain of being some man’s bastard…” Her voice caught in her throat as she uttered that vile word—the word her mother had used to punish her with, that Dunton had thrown in her face as he threw her out of his townhouse.
“You considered it?” he asked.
“Not for a moment,” she said, rising. The blanket slipped off her knees, and he stooped to retrieve it. “I think I should be going now.”
“But it’s still raining.”
“The storm has passed,” she said, “and I don’t mind the rain. I’ve weathered far worse in my life than a few raindrops.”
“At least let me accompany you home.”
She shook her head. “I have survived this far by looking after myself. And I wish to return to my son.” She leveled her gaze on him, and he flinched, discomfort in his eyes. “He needs me,” she said, “as I need him. And I won’t let a little rain come between us. In fact, I won’t let anything—oranyone—keep me from my son.”
“Then I shall confine you here no longer,” he said, folding the blanket and draping it over the back of the chair.
He rang the bell, and shortly after a maid appeared, bobbing a curtsey.
“Ah, Jane, please find a shawl for Mrs. Ward—and have her clothes sent over to Shore Cottage once they’re laundered.”
“Yes, vicar.” The maid bobbed another curtsey and disappeared, returning shortly after with a thick woolen shawl. Etty took it, then Andrew escorted her to the door.
As she stepped outside, he caught her hand. “Etty.”
She turned to face him. “Yes?”
“I promise I won’t breathe a word of what you’ve just told me to anyone.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated then dipped his head, his gaze falling to her mouth. She parted her lips, waiting for him to claim them, then he withdrew.
She searched his eyes, seeking the love that had filled them earlier. But all she could see was sorrow and disappointment.
She had taken the risk of entrusting him with her secret—and even then only part of it—yet he’d crumpled under the burden. Just as Papa had said he would.
But she would not succumb to the burden. No, she’d spoken the truth when she said she’d let nobody come between her and her son.
Not even the man she loved.
Chapter Eighteen
“Mrs. Ward—Mrs. Ward!”
Etty glanced up from her mending as Frances dashed into the parlor, her cheeks flaming.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“It’s Lady Fulford!”
“Fwannie!” Gabriel, who had been amusing himself with his toy boat, set it aside and reached up toward the girl.
“Lady Fulford often walks the cliff path,” Etty said. “Most likely she does it so she can peer through my windows to see whether I have any moregentleman guestsabout whom she can spread her gossip. Well, I’ll be delighted to disappoint her. And she needn’t bother us.”
“No, she’s coming—” Frances broke off at three loud knocks on the front door. “She’s here!” she whispered. “Quick! We must tidy the parlor.”
