Page 55 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
He heard footsteps outside and glanced across the parlor to see a shadow on the floor beneath the door.
“Elizabeth!” Lady Fulford called out.
The door opened after a suspiciously short pause to reveal the three Fulford sisters. “Yes, Mama?” the eldest said.
“Girls, would you attend the vicar, please?” Lady Fulford said. “Elizabeth, a brandy, I think.”
Before Andrew could protest, the eldest Miss Fulford approached a side table, unstoppered a decanter, and splashed a generous amount of brown liquid into a beveled glass. Then she thrust it in his hand and sat beside him, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on him.
“Our poor vicar has had a nasty shock, girls,” Lady Fulford said. “But we’ll take care of him, won’t we? He deserves so much better, don’t you agree?”
“Ohyes, Mama,” Elizabeth said, leaning closer to Andrew.
Cringing at the expectation in the young woman’s gaze, Andrew raised the glass to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of brandy. The acrid liquid stung the back of his throat, and he caught his breath. He took another mouthful, and another, until he’d drained the glass. Then he held out the empty glass for more.
He might have to add yet another plea for forgiveness in his nightly prayers for being a toper—but perhaps the Almighty would forgive him, given that the pain in his heart was punishment enough.
Chapter Fifteen
Etty lay onthe blanket, relishing the warmth of the sun on her skin. She drew in a lungful of fresh sea air while the waves whispered as they danced across the shore.
What could be better than a picnic by the sea? Particularly on a day such as today, where the heat would have rendered the air oppressive were it not for the breeze.
“More lemonade, Mrs. Ward?”
“Mmm?”
She opened her eyes and rolled onto her side, wincing at the soreness in her right leg. Frances sat cross-legged on the blanket, a glass in her hand, while Gabriel sat beside her, his fat pink fist clutching a slice of fruitcake.
“I made it special—Ma’s recipe.” Frances drew a stoneware bottle from the basket, and Gabriel let out a cry of joy and reached for it.
“Me! Me!”
“No, sweetheart, you must let your mama have some first,” Frances said.
The boy let out a wail. “I want some!”
“You don’t like it, sweetheart,” Frances said. “Don’t you remember the last time I gave you some?”
Etty smiled at the memory. Her son had unceremoniously spat a mouthful of lemonade into Mrs. Gadd’s face. Then he’d collapsed into a fit of giggles and Mrs. Gadd had followed suit.
“Bot—bot,” the boy said, stretching toward the bottle. He lost his balance and fell face forward onto the blanket. Etty braced herself for the tears, but he merely giggled, and Frances tickled his neck.
“Funny boy!” she said affectionately. “How about I give you the bottle when we’ve finished the lemonade? You could fill it with water from the sea—though mind you don’t drink it. Seawater’s bad for you.”
“Yes,” Etty said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “The sea is for bathing in, not drinking.”
“Would you like to paddle in the sea, Gabriel?” Frances asked. “Chase the waves and see if they catch you?” She pointed toward the sea. “Look—the waves are dancing in and out, asking you to play with them.”
“Sea! Sea!” Gabriel scrambled to his feet and teetered across the sand.
“I think that’s a yes,” Etty said, smiling.
“He’s a lovely boy,” Frances said. “I adore him. And he takes such pleasure in everything.”
“That he does.” Etty sighed.
Unlike his mother at his age.
