Page 122 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“No, of course not!”
He nodded, brushing leaves off his jacket. “I didn’t think so. Baxter strikes me as an honest sort, though a determined deceiver is capable of making even the most cynical believe his lies. Or should that beherlies?”
She took a step back, clutching the brim of the hat. “Is that what your elevation to the aristocracy has done, Andrew?” she asked. “Turned the kind man I once knew into a misanthropist?”
“I have no war with humankind,” he said, “merely those individuals who have done me wrong. No doubt you and Lady Arabella schemed to secure you a titled husband.”
“Bella did nothing of the sort!” Etty cried. “She’s merely inviting a few friends to widen my acquaintance now that I’m no longer welcome in Society. Had I known thatyouwere Viscount Radham…”
“Ah, there we have it,” he said. “From your own lips, you confess that you set your cap on a viscount. But I suppose given that in your last missive you informed me that you weregoing home—a return to the drawing rooms of Society and the Marriage Mart to secure the prize you’d failed the win before—I should expect nothing less. Tell me, did you and your friend also scheme to deceive your quarry about your history?”
“I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” she said, but even as she spoke the words, her conscience stabbed at her and she lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
“Your friend, then. Is Lady Arabella Baxter nothing more than a scheming—”
“Donotimpugn my friend’s honor!” Etty interrupted. “You may say, and think, what you like about me—you’ve already made your disgust clear. But I will not give you leave to dishonor my friend. She invited you out of friendship because her husband thinks highly of you.”
“And will you seek to correct his opinion of me?”
“No, sir,” she said. “I have long since learned the cost of attempting to influence the opinion of others. I care nothing for his opinion of you—just as I no longer care for your opinion of me.”
He opened his mouth to respond. She shook with the need to hear his soft words of love—the words that had plagued her every night since she fled Sandcombe with a broken heart and a determination to free two similarly broken women from misery.
But such a need was an exercise in futility. To succumb to it would only lead to heartbreak.
He snatched the hat from her grasp and rammed it onto his head. Then he limped toward the horse, which stood patiently in the middle of the path. He grasped the reins and hesitated.
“Do you need help to mount?” Etty asked.
He turned to face her. “No, I need nothing from you—including your dowry. Some men cannot be purchased.”
He lifted his foot into the stirrup, then launched himself upward, grimacing. He swung his leg over the saddle, almost toppling over the other side, and muttered a curse. Then he righted himself and squeezed the horse’s flanks. The animal veered toward Etty, and she leaped back into the verge, almost losing her balance. He cursed again, then urged on the animal on, which galloped along the road, disappearing at the far end where it curved toward the main house.
Moisture pricked Etty’s eyes, and she bit her lip to stem the tears that he did not deserve. Then a small hand slipped intohers, and she looked down to see Florence staring up at her, the child’s face streaked with tears.
“I-I d-didn’t know the vicar could be s-so unkind,” she said softly. “Do all men turn cruel?”
“Certainly not!” Roberta said, taking Etty’s free hand. “My papa would never behave like that to a lady. Why was he so horrid to you, Miss Howard?”
Etty squeezed her hand. “He said nothing I did not deserve,” she said quietly.
“Nobodydeserves such incivility,” Roberta huffed. “I can’t think why Mama Bella invited such a horrid man to stay. And Papa’s a fool if he thinks highly of him.”
“He was always so kind,” Florence said, sniffing.
“Well,Ithink he’s horrid,” Roberta said. “And I’ll tell Mama how horrid he is.”
“No, you won’t,” Etty said.
“Don’t you want him punished?”
Etty shook her head. “He was only meting out the punishment that I deserve,” she said. “You may think he behaved badly just then—but I’ve behaved much worse than he did, and for far longer.”
“But you’re not horrid now, are you?” Roberta said.
Etty sighed. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
“My opinion is that you’re one of the kindest people I know,” Roberta replied. “And even if you weren’t before—well, the right thing is to forgive, isn’t it? That’s what Mama Bella always says.”
