Page 28 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
Frannie’s gaze moved between Andrew and Etty, confusion in her eyes, and Etty placed a light hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“Frances, sweetheart, could you make some tea and bring it to the parlor?”
The girl bobbed a curtsey then disappeared into the rear of the house, and Andrew followed Mrs. Ward into the parlor.
The room had been transformed since his previous visit. Light filled the room, streaming in from the windows, framed by pale curtains. The layer of dust covering the floor had gone, as had the cobwebs that choked the ceiling.
She gestured to an armchair by the fireplace, then sat on a chair beside a small breakfast table as he took his seat.
“So,” she said, “if this isnota social call, I should expect you to disagree with everything I have to say—that is, assuming that you intend to listen?”
She tilted her head to one side, and he caught a flicker of mischief in her expression.
Sweet Lord Almighty—did she know the extent to which she tortured him? A woman of beauty, who had endured hardship, was danger enough to the heart of a naïve man with little to no experience of the female sex. But one with wit and a sense of mischief as well…
He might as well prostrate himself before her feet and declare his adoration.
Or he would, if he possessed the courage.
“Forgive me, Mr. Staines…” she began.
“Andrew, please.”
She blinked, and his heart soared as her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of rose.
“Andrew,” she said, lowering her voice. “Forgive me—I understand how a vicar might lack the understanding to comprehend why one of his flock absents herself from church.”
“You are under no obligation to attend,” he said. “Neither are you obliged to explain yourself. I’m here out of concern for your welfare.”
“I am well, as you see,” she replied. “But my son was feverish and I had no wish to leave him. Frances offered to tend to him, but she’s not seen her family for a week. I couldn’t deny her the chance to spend time with them. And I couldn’t rest easybeing separated from Gabriel even for a moment. He’s my whole world, you see.”
“Yes,” Andrew said, nodding. “I do see—and you are to be commended for it.”
He leaned back in his chair, while in the background, merry singing came from the rear of the house.
His hostess smiled. “Frances is a dear child,” she said. “How can one soul exude such happiness even under adversity? Her life cannot have been easy, yet in all the time she’s been here, I’ve never once heard a cross word from her.”
“Perhaps that’s because she’s a child,” Andrew said.
“Not all children have such a disposition,” she replied. “Take myself, for instance. Only now do I see how spoiled and pampered I was, expecting everything and giving nothing. Frances Gadd is the model of what every child should be. The purest of souls.”
“You were raised in a different world, that’s all,” Andrew said. “I take it you come from Society? Your accent is London, yes? Did you perhaps have a London Season?”
Her smile disappeared, and she stiffened. “I…” She looked away, and her hands curled into fists, gathering her skirts, the knuckles whitening.
“Forgive me. Mrs. Ward. I have no right to pry,” he said. “After all, this is not a social call. I’m not one to indulge in gossip.” He leaned forward. “In fact, I’ll wager you’d have enjoyed my sermon this morning, though I say it myself.”
“Oh?” she said, her voice stiff.
“It was on the sins of gossipmongering—on how indulging in rumors about one’s fellow parishioners is to be frowned upon.” He turned as the door opened and Frannie entered the room with a tray of tea things.
“What did you think of my sermon, Frannie?” he asked.
“It was wonderful!” The girl nodded with enthusiasm. “I liked the bit you said about how grownups are worse than children, because they ought to know better, or something like that.”
“Yes,” Andrew said, nodding. “They ought to know better because they understand the speed with which rumors can be spread.”
Mrs. Ward turned to face him. “And,” she said, “they understand the hurt those rumors can cause.”
