Page 33 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
He couldn’t help smiling at her words. Eleanor, the woman who’d resided in this very cottage, had once said the same about the pictures she painted. Perhaps Etty was right—women were endowed with the ability to look into the gaps between. Perhaps that explained their insight.
He leaned forward and offered his hand, an expression of trust.
“What has Frannienotsaid?” he asked.
For a moment she stared at his hand, then, her eyes glistening with moisture, she took it.
“That she bears responsibility for her sister’s death. That she committed a sin merely by being born.”
Her voice wavered, then a tear splashed onto her cheek.
Unable to fight the instinct, the need to ease her pain, he lifted his free hand and brushed the tear aside. His breath caught at the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips. He placed his palm on her cheek, and she closed her eyes, shuddering as she inhaled.
“Etty, I…”
Her eyes snapped open, and his gut twisted at the intensity of their gaze, the color of a deep ocean filled with sorrow. Was she speaking of Frannie, or perhaps—
Sweet Lord…
Had her son been unwanted? No—that couldn’t be. Her whole body radiated with the fierceness with which she loved Gabriel.
But perhaps the boy’s father…
“Forgive me,” she said. “I’ve no right to pry. But I wondered, perhaps, if Freda wasn’t Frances’ssisterafter all.”
Surely she didn’t possess the insight to…
“That, perhaps,” she continued, lowering her voice, “Freda was her mother.”
His gut twisted in apprehension.
“I see I am correct in my assumption,” she said. “I take it the young man refused to offer for Freda?” Her expression darkened. “It happens. More often than the world would care to admit—children born out of wedlock, hidden away lest they taint the purity of those nearby.”
Andrew shook his head.
“Does he live in the village?”
He shifted in his seat. Why must she continue with her questioning?
“Do I discomfort you, vicar?” The hard edge to her voice had returned. “Do you perhaps blame a young woman for falling in love and yielding to her lover’s demands on her body?”
His cheeks burned as if they were on fire, and she withdrew her hand.
“I see,” she said, nodding. “Like any man, you lay the blame at the feet of the woman. Do you blame the child also?”
“Freda wasnotto blame!” he cried, no longer able to suppress his anger. “Why must you continue to speak against the whole of my sex so? Not all men are cads who take an unwilling woman then blame her for their sins.”
She recoiled.
“Shall I tell you why Mrs. Gadd, kind and loving as she is, struggles with her faith, and looks upon little Frannie with regret?” he said. “It’s because each time she looks at her, she’s reminded of the man who seduced her daughter and in doing so brought about her death—the very man to whom she is expected to curtsey and show deference to.”
Her hand flew to her mouth and she let out a low cry. Then she stiffened and glanced at the door.
Had Frannie overheard?
But when he turned, the doorway was empty.
“Does Frances know that…”
