Page 95 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
He led the way along a hallway, his feet clicking against the polished stone floor. Etty followed, Frances beside her, the girl’s footsteps at a more hurried pace.
At length, he stopped outside a pair of doors. Voices came from the room within. Etty recognized her sister’s voice, accompanied by that of another woman, and a deep male voice.
Eleanor’s other guests.
Seeking comfort, Etty reached for Frances, her hand shaking. Her sister might have forgiven her, but the rest of their acquaintance was not likely to match Eleanor’s generosity, however naïvely Eleanor might believe others to be as kind as she.
The footman opened the door. “Miss Juliette Howard,” he called.
Etty flinched at the announcement, as if it proclaimed her guilt to the world. Summoning her courage, she entered the room.
Eleanor rose to her feet. “Sister! I trust you’re well rested.” She gestured to the woman sitting on the sofa. “You already know Lady Arabella, of course.”
Etty drew in a sharp breath as she recognized her sister’s guest.
Lady Arabella Ponsford. Her former friend—and the woman who had triumphed over Etty’s disgrace and secured an offer of marriage from the Duke of Dunton.
But the man with Arabella was not Dunton. Tall, muscular, with an unruly mop of dirty-blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, and huge hands, he looked the very antithesis of the portly, lecherous duke. He was dressed in a tailored jacket of dark blue, with a waistcoat embroidered in formfitting silk breeches and polished boots. But he did not wear them well. He rose to his feet, moving with the awkwardness of a man in an environment he deemed hostile—as if he believed he did not belong there.
He reached for Arabella, and she rose too, revealing her rounded belly, and the two exchanged a smile before resuming their attention on Etty.
Arabella’s smile disappeared, and Etty took a step back.
Then the man approached Etty, hand outstretched.
“Lawrence Baxter, at your service, Miss Howard,” he said, and Etty found her hand swallowed up in what could only be described as a great paw, the skin roughened and calloused. A broad grin stretched his face, and his eyes twinkled with warmth and kindness.
With his country accent and ungentlemanly air, he was the very last man with whom the Arabella she knew would have associated. But Etty couldn’t help warming to his lack of pretension and the raw honesty that came with it.
From the corner of her eye she saw Arabella watching her, her brow furrowed into a frown. Then she resumed her attention on the giant.
“Mr. Baxter, a pleasure,” Etty said.
“You know my Bella, of course. She’s been wantin’ to see you ever so bad. She’s told me so much about you.”
“Oh, dear, forgive me. I—” Etty began, but Mr. Baxter interrupted her by throwing his head back and bellowing with laughter.
“Ha! You told me she’d not like it if I said you’d been talkin’ about her, didn’t you, Bella? Women are so funny sometimes. No, Miss Howard, my Bella’s only ever said good things about you. And I can see for myself she spoke the truth.”
Etty glanced at Arabella, whose cheeks had turned a shade of rose. “What did my friend say?” she asked.
“That you were the most beautiful creature in the whole of London,” Mr. Baxter said. “Now, seein’ as I think my Bella is the most glorious creature to walk this earth, I found it impossible to believe that any other woman could measure up to her. But I’ll grant that you’re a very pretty thing, and were you to grace London with your presence, you would indeed be declared the most beautiful.”
“Lawrence, I’m sure Juliette hasn’t come here to beflattered,” Arabella said. “Nor has she come to listen to your nonsense. Talk sensibly, lest my friend think you a simpleton.”
Etty flinched at the sharpness in Arabella’s tone. “Lady Arabella,” she said, dipping her head. But before Arabella could reply, Frances entered, Gabriel in her arms.
Lady Arabella stared at the boy and drew in a sharp breath. She glanced from Etty to Gabriel, understanding and recognition filling her eyes, then her mouth settled into a firm line.
Etty braced herself for her former friend’s contempt as Arabella approached Etty’s son—the bastard son of the duke who’d offered Arabella his hand.
“Yes,” she said, at length. “I see the likeness.”
Etty swallowed her shame and awaited Arabella’s condemnation.
Then Arabella reached out and touched Gabriel’s cheek.
“What a beautiful child,” she said softly. “A credit to your mother. And let nobody tell you otherwise, young man.”
