Page 43 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“I know, but I can’t imagine anyone surviving with so little space.”
“It may not be as grand as the townhouses you grew up in, Mrs. Ward, but I assure you it’s better than most. And I daresay your servants in London survived with less. A four-room cottage for a family of four is to be preferred to a tiny room in an attic shared with six or seven other housemaids.”
Almost as soon as he’d uttered the words, his conscience pricked at him. She flinched, and raw shame flickered in her expression. He had no right to condemn her for having been brought up in luxury. Her cottage might be palatial compared to Loveday Smith’s tiny dwelling, but it must be considerably smaller than what she’d been used to in London.
He reached for her hand. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to cast judgment.”
“Did you not?”
She raised her hand and rapped on the door. Light, hurried footsteps approached and the door opened to reveal Loveday Smith’s eldest child. The girl stepped back, her mouth forminganO. Her sloe-black eyes widened as she stared at Andrew’s companion.
“Oh!” She let out a cry, then glanced over her shoulder. “Oh! I-I…”
Andrew approached the girl. “Florence, child, we’re here to call on your mother.”
“Y-you…” The girl’s voice trailed away as she glanced up at Andrew’s companion, a flicker of fear in her eyes. She looked as if she’d turn and flee inside if Etty approached her, but Etty made no move.
“That’s a pretty name, Florence,” she said. “It means ‘blossoming,’ doesn’t it? Is your mama fond of flowers, perhaps?”
“I-I…” The child shook her head.
“Florence, this is Mrs. Ward,” Andrew said. “She especially wanted to meet your mother.”
“Oh.” The child hesitated, then dipped into a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. C-come in.”
Andrew stepped inside, and the stench of damp assaulted his senses.
“Ma’s restin’, vicar,” the girl said.
“Is she in her chamber?” Andrew asked.
The girl nodded. “I’ll take ye—and the lady.”
She led them up a narrow staircase that creaked with each step, to a tiny, uneven-floored chamber where the stench of damp mingled with the acrid odor of stale sweat. To her credit, Andrew’s companion made no sign she’d noticed as she entered the chamber, where Loveday sat reclined in a rocking chair, eyes closed, a blanket on her knees, her baby sleeping in a nearby cot.
Florence approached her mother and gave the rocking chair a gentle push. “Ma.”
Loveday stirred and frowned, a low groan reverberating in her throat.
“Ma!” Florence said, tugging at her mother’s hand. “Vicar’s here.”
Loveday let out a cry, and her eyes snapped open. She withdrew her hand, and Andrew caught sight of a dark mark on her wrist before she tugged her sleeve over it. He glanced at Etty, who was staring at Loveday’s hand, frowning.
Loveday teetered to her feet, letting the blanket fall to the floor. “Vicar! Oh, sweet Lord, what must you think of me not receiving you. I…”
She stumbled forward, losing her balance. Before Andrew could react, Etty dropped her basket, rushed toward Loveday, and caught her in her arms.
“There!” she said. “I have you, Mrs. Smith. You mustn’t get up on our account when you’re unwell.”
“Oh—no!” Loveday shook her head. “Ma’am, no, you mustn’t—” She broke off with a sob, moisture shining in her eyes.
“Here, let me sit you back down,” Etty said. “What must you think of us, intruding when you’re taking your rest?” She helped Loveday into the chair, then crouched at her feet, gathering the blanket before placing it over her knees.
“You must be wanting tea,” Loveday said. “Florrie, love, see to it, would you?”
“What about the baby, Ma? You said I was to—”
“Never mind that, Florrie. We have guests.”
