Page 114 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“And Loveday?” Etty asked.
“Mrs. Smith is proving invaluable,” came the reply. “My housekeeper told me only yesterday that she doesn’t know what she’d do without her. She’s turned into a confident young woman, fulfilled in her occupation. Nothing like the poor, timid creature who first came here. Her Florence is getting on so well with the children, and you wouldn’t want to remove her from her home, would you? As to young Frances, my own maid Connie quite dotes on her. The life of a lady’s maid can be rather lonely when she has only her mistress for company. I’ve never seen Connie so animated. You wouldn’t want to deprive her of her new friend, would you? Frances has the makings of an excellent lady’s maid, and who better than Connie to teach her?”
“You make a good argument.”
“What’s this about arguments?” a deep male voice said.
Mr. Baxter appeared, a pair of shears in his hands, his large frame silhouetted against the low afternoon sun.
“Is my wife plaguing you, Miss Howard?” He chuckled. “Bella, love, you might consider yourself within your rights to order your poor husband about, but your friend must be permitted to think for herself.”
“Lawrence, you’re a beast!” Arabella replied.
“Ah, but I’myourbeast, love,” he said, kneeling before his wife and taking her hands.
A pang of envy tugged at Etty’s heart at the easy manner between a couple so evidently in love.
“I must apologize for my manners, Miss Howard,” he said. “Our life here is somewhat different to what you’re used to. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Etty said, “and everything to admire.”
“I was about to ask Juliette whether she’d object to our hosting a house party,” Arabella said.
Etty’s gut twisted with apprehension. “A house party?”
“Just a small one, with a few close friends,” Arabella said. “You have naught to fear—our parties are nothing like those you’ve experienced in London.”
“But they’re parties nonetheless,” Etty said, cringing at the notion of members of Society—the very same individuals who’d once admired her for her beauty—now looking down on her and basking in their own superiority over the fallen woman in their midst.
“We select our friends very carefully,” Arabella said. “People who have something interesting to say.”
“Provided they can get a word in when Bella’s talking, of course,” Mr. Baxter said.
Arabella gave him a playful slap. “You’re supposed to be encouraging my friend, Lawrence, not putting her off. I shall have to admonish you later.”
“You may admonish me all you like, love, after supper.”
Etty’s cheeks warmed as she caught the glint of desire in his eyes as he smiled at his wife.
“Lawrence!” Arabella chided, though desire flickered in her eyes too.
“Forgive me, Miss Howard,” he said. “I’m afraid you must be unused to my uncouth manners. My wife was right when she said I am a beast. But our friends are liberal enough to endure my company, and I know they’d find you charming. You’ll havenothing to fear. And if any of them give you cause to complain, I can always throw them into the ditch.”
Etty eyed the giant of a man with broad shoulders and thick muscles that strained at his jacket—and his huge, rough hands, covered in callouses, with traces of dirt under the fingernails.
“I daresay you would,” she said, smiling.
“So that settles it,” Arabella said. “You’ll find our friends somewhat different to the acquaintances we shared during our Season. Here, we prefer people who have something interesting to say.”
“Such as?”
“Your sister, of course,” Arabella said. “Then there’s Lady Marable. She’s a poet—writes the most extraordinary verse. Some might say her work is a little scandalous, for it certainly stirs the blood.”
“Doesn’t it just,” her husband said, a wicked grin twisting his lips.
Arabella gave him another playful swat, and he rose to his feet.
“I’ll leave you ladies to it,” he said. “I fear the conversation will soon turn to discussions about meus and after-dinner entertainment—something I’d rather indulge in at the time than discuss the preparations for at length. Besides, talk of Lady Marable’s verse is rendering me in need of a cold bath, and I fancy a dip in the lake.”
