Page 72 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
She extended her hand—thin, bony fingers, adorned by a multitude of rings, each jewel glittering with malevolence. Etty took it, and Lady Fulford curled her fingers around her hands in a claw-like grip, digging fingernails into Etty’s flesh.
“Good,” she said. “Very good. I trust you’ll not trouble yourself with the inconvenience of attending the village fete. It is, after all, for those of us who belong to the village and who strive to preserve the moral fiber here. I cannot comment on whether you feel the need to continue to attend church, but I would counsel you on the folly of placing yourself in a position where our vicar is faced with further temptation. There are thoseus of here willing to undertake whatever is necessary to keep his soul safe. Do I make myself clear?”
She tightened her grip, and Etty suppressed a cry at the sting of pain.
“Perfectly so, Lady Fulford,” she said.
“Excellent. Then I shall intrude on your time no longer.”
Etty opened the door, and Lady Fulford swept out of the room, almost knocking Frances over.
“Out of my way, girl!”
Frances dipped into a curtsey and rushed toward the front door to open it. Once Mrs. Fulford was safely outside, Etty leaned against the wall, her defenses crumbling.
She knows.
Perhaps not everything, but a woman such as Lady Fulford would make it her business to sniff it out.
And, armed with the full history of Juliette Howard and the sins she had committed, Lady Fulford could command Etty in any manner that she liked. For if Andrew was to learn her true identity, then he would justifiably—and irrevocably—hate her.
Chapter Nineteen
Andrew cast hisgaze over the swelling crowd—Mr. Dodd hobbled across the field supported by his wife, while the Newnhams set out a blanket by the duck pond, watching their constantly increasing brood of children splash about by the water’s edge. Sammy Legge stood more quietly at the opposite edge, throwing bread into the pond, on which the ducks descended like a charging battalion. At the largest stall, surrounded by a throng of villagers, Mr. Ham served ale to the men, while Mrs. Ham served lemonade to the women and children.
Andrew smiled as he caught sight of Sammy snatching a mug of ale. The lad met his gaze, and Andrew folded his arms and arched his eyebrows. Sammy’s cheeks turned red and he scrambled away, dropping the mug, which bounced on the grass before settling beside Mrs. Ham’s foot.
And, of course, among the noise and laughter, Mrs. Fulford could be heard barking orders at anyone who cared to listen.
Mr. and Mrs. Gadd wandered about, their son by their side, though Frannie was nowhere to be seen.
And there was no sign of the one person he sought.
Where are you, Etty?
Since their last encounter, she’d attended church each Sunday, but always slipped out of the building before Andrew had the chance to speak to her, to apologize for both hisforwardness the afternoon of the storm, and his lack of compassion when she’d revealed her past.
In truth, he did not blame, nor judge, her for her actions. In fact, he admired her honesty. Only a woman of the utmost integrity would make such a full and frank confession, with no guarantee of the listener’s understanding.
And he was determined to tell her the next time he saw her. Only the last time he’d gone to Shore Cottage, he’d received no answer, though he was sure he saw a curtain move on the upper floor.
But she was certain to come to the fete.Everybodycame to the Sandcombe fete.
Little Gabriel would like the flags Mr. Fossett had set out on his stall. Mrs. Fossett had spent the past month making flags for the children, and Andrew had determined to buy one for the boy. He’d even picked it out—a rectangular flag of blue cotton, decorated with stars. Each time he spoke to Etty, he seemed to distress her even more than the time before. But with a gift, however trivial, perhaps he might be able to regain her trust and show that he was not like the others—that he cared not who Gabriel’s father was.
The boy couldn’t help the circumstances of his birth. Neither could his mother, the warrioress who protected and loved her son with a ferocity that Andrew could only admire.
It might not be much, but buying a flag for Etty’s son was the first step in rebuilding their friendship. It was an innocent act, a gift for a child, neither conveying emotion, nor risking Andrew’s heart. An olive branch—an offer of peace to symbolize the end to his judgment of her. If she didn’t take it, then he’d lost nothing, for it was not unreasonable to refuse an offer of a gift, and he could preserve his dignity without having revealed his heart again.
But if she took it…
You’re a coward, little brother.
He shook his head to dissipate his brother’s voice. Robert would have known what to do, most likely would have taken what he wanted—claimed Etty for his own, silencing her protests until she yielded, after which he’d have grown weary of her and moved on to the next woman.
Perhaps that was what Gabriel’s father had done—preyed on the desperation of a woman’s lot in life, promised her security, perhaps even marriage, merely to satisfy his carnal lust, then discarded her, abandoning the woman he’d claimed and the child he’d fathered.
What man would do that to a child of his own flesh?
