Page 38 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
Blanche almost choked and grabbed Christine’s bouquet to hide her face.
“Hmm, such a lovely fragrance,” she managed.
“Not to the captain of a ship. Easy to keep a firm hand on the tiller.”
“You need a firm hand?” Christine asked, glancing at Bingley.
“Rarely.”
“That is what I found. So nice to find someone so malleable.”
Martha’s eyes widened, and Bingley stuttered.
I have been around Tristan entirely too long. If a matter of days can be considered too long. I am growing fangs!
“Let us not pollute this lovely vista with harsh words, eh?” Blanche offered to play peacemaker.
“I see the rumors about the Lady of the Scullery are true. You talk with a servant’s mouth,” Martha spat, abandoning the game of veiled meanings.
Christine lost her words. Blanche took her arm and smiled something bright and gay that allowed them to walk on by. But as they passed, Christine reclaimed her arm and turned to face Martha.
“Will you tell me what it is I have done that has so upset you, Lady Martha?”
I can guess. Is this yet another family grievously injured by Charles’ reckless financial misconduct?
Lady Martha stopped, though Lord Bingley was whispering, ineffectually, that she should walk on. Christine regretted her harsh words about him. He was not a bad man, and it was not her nature to be unkind. Lady Martha seemed capable of bringing out the worst in her.
“I was told that you were trying to rekindle your abortive relationship with my fiancée,” Lady Martha said.
“Yes, which I would not have done had I known you were engaged.”
“I have only your word for that.”
“But your anger was hot from the moment you set eyes on me. Was there nothing already in your mind fueling that fire?” She had known cruelty and malice, but rarely such acute venom. Casual cruelty from Lady Gillray as well as mercenary exploitation. But this seemed pure hatred. Where could it possibly come from?
“Do not pretend that you do not know,” Lady Martha spat.
“I will not because I do not. What…?”
But Lady Martha’s nose was in the air and her back was turned. Lord Bingley was whispering and darting furtive glances at Christine, who threw up her hands in frustration.
“Hush! There is nothing for it!” Blanche said, pulling her along the path, “Some people are just wicked. I would say Lady Martha is one of them.”
“No, she has a reason. She just won’t tell me,” Christine protested.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, if she is going to be sniping at me for the rest of the week.”
“Just count yourself one up by virtue of your engagement to a duke. Even if it isthatduke,” Blanche said, “now whatever does she mean by the Lady of the Scullery? I cannot fathom it. Is it a riddle?”
Christine forgot her frustration at Lady Martha’s reticence. She thought of the insult that had been hurled at her. Blanche was regarding her with wide-eyed innocence, and she did not have the heart to see that expression turn to pity.
How could the dear girl do anything but pity if I told her of my life at Gillray House? Who would not pity? But that is the one thing I have never had to endure from Blanche.
“Perhaps it has been noted that I do not shy away from helping people when they are struggling. There was a man who dropped some glasses on the first night. And a woman struggling with far too much crockery.”
She hated not being entirely truthful with Blanche, but their friendship had developed before Lady Gillray had begun exploiting her ward as badly as she now did. When Christine was still allowed out of the house, even if for only an occasional luncheon or breakfast. Lady Margaret, Blanche’s mother, had been a regular visitor to Gillray House, with Blanche in tow, and they’d promenaded at the park and supped at tea shops around London.
