Page 92 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
A slim hand caught Etty’s, and she turned her attention to her companions—Frances leaning toward the window, vibrating with enthusiasm as she held Gabriel in her arms, and Loveday,apprehension in her expression, her eldest child staring out of the window, and the baby asleep in her lap.
Loveday squeezed her hand. “Mrs. Ward?”
Etty shook her head. “It’s Miss Howard now,” she said. “I’m sorry I deceived you.”
“You’ve nowt to be sorry for, ma’am.”
Loveday glanced toward the building, and Etty caught a flicker of fear in her eyes. She lowered her gaze to Loveday’s bandaged wrist.
“You’ll be safe here,” she said. “I promise.”
Loveday remained silent, while Frances pointed out the building to Gabriel.
“Big house!” he cried.
“It’s like a palace,” Frances said. “What do you think, Florrie?”
Loveday’s eldest nodded, then she resumed her attention on her mother. “You look tired, Ma. Shall I take baby Anna?”
Etty’s heart ached at the understanding in the little girl’s eyes. Florence was a child—younger than Frances—yet the concern for her mother in her expression spoke of a life lived, and horrors witnessed, that no child should ever have to endure.
Loveday nodded, and winced as she handed the baby over.
“Does your wrist still pain you?” Etty asked.
“It’s nothing, Miss Howard. I’ve had worse.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll ask my sister to send for a doctor.”
“The duchess?” Loveday asked. “Oh no—I can’t. What would the duke say if he found out?”
What would he say, indeed? Etty’s father had assured her that Eleanor would welcome her with open arms. But as for Eleanor’s husband, the man renowned for his impenetrable demeanor and cold heart…
Her gut twisted with fear. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. But Papa had insisted that the time had come to facethe consequences of her sins and not spend the rest of her life running from them.
The carriage rolled to a halt, and Etty caught sight of two female figures standing at the foot of the steps leading to the main doors of the building. Then the carriage door opened and a footman appeared, offering his hand.
“Miss Howard.”
Trembling, Etty took the proffered hand and climbed out. She stumbled on the bottom step, and the footman caught her arm.
“Steady there, miss.”
Then he released her, and she found herself standing before her sister.
Etty recognized the woman standing beside her—the black-clad housekeeper with her iron-gray hair set in a severe style. But had it not been for the intense expression in her emerald eyes—which had always disconcerted Etty, for she had always believed her sister could penetrate her soul with a single look—Etty would not have recognized Eleanor.
Gone was the awkward, shy young woman, the misfit who had weathered the taunts of Etty and her friends with quiet distress. Eleanor had been transformed into a duchess—not the glittering diamond to whom Society looked for inspiration, but a genteel creature, understated and dignified. Her gown, a pale-green silk, was elegant in its simplicity, accentuating her soft curves.
Etty stared at the sister against whom she’d once relished the comparison in her favor, but who now outshone her in every aspect. With the goodness that radiated from her soul, and the sheer happiness of her countenance, Eleanor was a woman who had found peace and fulfilment.
Next to her sister, Etty was nothing more than the spiteful creature who had tried, and failed, to ruin the kindest soul to have walked upon the earth.
How she must hate me.
Eleanor stepped forward, and Etty fought to conquer her shame, moisture stinging her eyes as she braced herself for the recriminations.
But none came. Instead, a pair of soft arms drew her into an embrace.
