Page 64 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
He let out a chuckle. “Ye’re a Town lass, all right! It’s the rabbit’s tail, which he flashes to his kin when there’s danger afoot, to tell them to take shelter. The trees do the same, my ma says, with their leaves, flashing their pale undersides to warn us folk of an oncoming storm. Some folk pass them off as old wives’ tales meant to frighten incomers, but most of them hold true. Loveday all right, is she?”
“She’s a little frail today, Mr. Ham.”
He nodded. “Aye, poor lass, what with her ma passin’ and all, she’s got no one to take those girls off her hands. She’s always ailing for something, and daughters are always such a handful.”
“And I suppose sons aren’t?” Etty said, swallowing her irritation.
“Fair dos, Mrs. Ward,” he said good-naturedly. “Our Tom was a right tearaway when he was young Florence’s age. But my Mary is a strong ’un and knows how to handle twenty boys. She can handleme, all right.” He grinned. “Not that I mind—she’s a fine, strong lass, is my Mary. Always has been. As for LovedaySmith, she was never a sickly child, but some women fade when they become mothers—takes it out of them, it does. Now, as for my Mary, she was as hale and hearty as ever she could be after our Tommy arrived. Mind you, that’s not to say Tommy wasn’t a handful. Mary had a lot to say about him when he was a little ’un. ‘Jim,’ she used to say, ‘Jim, I swear that boy’s going to be more trouble than all the lads in the village combined.’ But he’s a good lad, really. We thought he might do for Loveday before she married Ralph, but she’d already gone into service at the big house, and Mrs. Fulford’s housekeeper was very strict about gentleman callers. In fact—”
“Forgive me, Mr. Ham, but I’m rather cold,” Etty said. “I really should get back. I don’t want to leave Frances on her own.”
Heavens!Whoever said women were the purveyors of gossip while the men stayed silent had clearly not met Mr. Ham.
“Oh, beggin’ yer pardon, Mrs. Ward,” he said, chuckling. “I do prattle on so—my Mary is always pulling me up for it. ‘Jim,’ she says, ‘Jim, you’ve a tongue on you as long as—’”
He broke off at the sound of thunder in the distance.
“There’s the storm,” he said. “Best get yerself home before it takes hold. If you’re fit to wait a bit, I can hook Bessie up to the cart and take you over meself.”
“You’re very kind, Mr. Ham, but I’ll be all right,” Etty said, glancing at the sky.
“Hurry yerself, then, lass,” he said. “Storms are known hereabouts for coming in quickly. You’ll not want to be caught in it.” He removed his cap and bowed his head, then returned inside the inn.
The sign over the door creaked as it swayed to and fro in the wind. Then another rumble echoed in the air, and Etty drew her shawl about her shoulders and set off, quickening her pace as droplets of rain spattered on her face.
By the time she passed the church, the rain was falling more steadily, soaking through her shawl and dripping off the brim of her bonnet. She shivered as she caught sight of the red rooftop of the vicarage—but it wasn’t due to the cold.
How could Andrew have said such wicked things to her? How could he believe her to be a harlot, a woman who sold her body such that she might live under a man’s protection, a kept whore living in obscurity, servicing a man old enough to be her…
She shuddered. Even the thought of it could not be borne.
But could he blamed for having made such an assumption? After all, she had been deceiving him, and the rest of the village, from the day she arrived. They believed her a respectable widow, when in fact she was a ruined woman with the natural child of the man she’d attempted to seduce into matrimony.
Which made her no different to a harlot—worse, because she hid behind a veil of respectability.
Not to mention her act of spite against her sister. Whereas a woman’s desperation for security in a man’s world might justify her ruination, nothing could justify Etty’s deliberate attempt to ruin Eleanor.
What might her life have been like had she taken a different path?
I only feel shame for what my feelings have been.
What had Andrew meant? Had he loved her, only to retreat in shame at the notion of her ruination?
The rain began to fall more steadily now, blurring the air and turning the road into a quagmire. A dark shape shifted by the side of the road, and Etty’s stomach clenched with fear. The shape seemed to increase in size, and she stumbled back. Her foot slipped on a stone and she turned her ankle, almost losing her balance. She tipped her head to the sky, letting the rain assault her face.
“Oh, what have I done?” she cried. “Must I be punished forever?”
The shape moved toward her, seeming to float in the air, and she leaped back with a scream. Her feet slipped and she tumbled backward, bracing herself for the impact.
But it never came.
A solid body collided with hers and pulled her hard against a broad male chest.
“Steady there!” a voice cried. “I have you.”
She looked up into a pair of chocolate-brown eyes, their warmth in sharp contrast to the storm—a pair of eyes in a face she had grown to love, even though its owner had branded her a whore.
Her gut twisted with shame, and she struggled in his arms, but he held her firm.
