Page 81 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“What else can I do?” she returned serenely.
Show some emotion, perhaps? Something to indicate that she was human and not porcelain come to life?
The butler came in, walking in measured steps. Given the bustle everywhere else in London, Maybelle couldn’t understand how these two were so slow. The tray was set down, the lady nodded formally, and then she leaned forward to pour.
“Miss Ballenger, may I offer you some tea? How do you like it?”
Maybelle’s first thought was to answer, “With hot water.” But she saw sugar and cream on the tray, not to mention a lemon sliced neatly in half. What riches! “Um, a squeeze of lemon, if you please.”
“My father also liked it strong. None of that sweet nonsense, he used to say.”
Yes, that was the reason, she thought, her lips tight to keep from giving in to a hysterical giggle. It wasn’t because she’d never been able to afford sweets.
“Bram? You prefer it almost white, don’t you?”
“I do like cream,” he said.
Was this polite conversation? Tea? Dust? Maybelle sipped her tea and tried to keep her mind quiet and her senses alert. She drank. She nibbled at some cakes. Meanwhile, brother and sister discussed who had left London, who had remained, and who had married.
“And what of Lord Linsel?”
“Gone. He left me in Hull, which is where I met Miss Ballenger.”
“He left you? But—”
“He became frightened.”
“And well he should be. Were you in danger?”
Mr. Hallowsby answered with a shrug. His sister, however, turned to Maybelle.
“Miss Ballenger, you must tell me. Was he in true danger?”
“Three men appeared with pistols. A bear of a man and two ugly ones on either side.” She didn’t need to fake her shudder.
“With pistols?” the lady cried, her eyes wide as she turned to her brother. “Pistols?”
“There wasn’t any danger.”
“There was,” insisted Maybelle. She had lost patience with sitting like a bump on a log. It was time for her to add to the conversation. “But Mr. Hallowsby tricked them, and Lord and Lady Linsel were able to escape.”
“My goodness. How did you trick them? Did you punch them insensate?”
Mr. Hallowsby sighed. “No, Eleanor—”
“Of course not,” the lady said, tapping a finger on her teacup. “That wouldn’t be a trick, would it? Now, don’t tell me. Let me see if I can guess.”
“Eleanor, we didn’t come here to—”
“I have it. You distracted them somehow. You found someone who looked like Dicky and Clarissa, and the brutes followed them instead.” She looked to Maybelle. “Was that it?”
“No, my lady.”
“Hmmm. But he could have done that. He’s done that before with an extremely dangerous murderer.”
“Really?” Maybelle looked to Mr. Hallowsby, who rolled his eyes.
“No—”
