Page 91 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“I heard it from my maid who heard it from another maid. What does it matter?”
It didn’t. That was the glory of gossip.
“So it was a spy come to steal her husband’s papers?” Maybelle prompted. “And Bram—er, Mr. Hallowsby—was in the lady’s bedchamber?” Hard not to feel sour on this point. If the tales were true, then Bram was a notorious seducer. He was always in some lady’s bedroom.
“Yes. She is well known for taking lovers, and why else would Bram be there?”
“You said he tracked the spy all over the Continent. Perhaps he was pursuing her.”
“He was. Which is why he and Mrs. Wulfson were together. Because he knew the spy was coming and needed a reason to be in the house.”
“But—”
“Then he caught her. He heard the noise, grabbed the venomous tart, and sent for the Home Office. Easiest thing in the world.”
“Which tart? The spy or Mrs.—”
“Tut tut. The spy, of course—”
The knocker sounded, startling Maybelle enough that she bit her lip. Then Eleanor slapped a hand on Maybelle’s thigh to keep her from rising.
“We are talking. You are a lovely lady come for a visit, and we are chatting.”
“We were—”
“Do not rise until Seelye—”
The butler opened the parlor door. Behind him trailed an elderly couple dressed in the fanciest attire Maybelle had ever seen. The gentleman wore a military coat with medals pinned to the front. She had no idea what they meant, but they were very impressive, especially as his face seemed covered by an enormous blond and brown mustache.
The lady appeared less conspicuous. She wore a shimmering, dove-gray gown and pearls. Her skin was powdered, and her hair so tall, it towered over everyone. And though she smiled with her mouth, it did not reach her pale blue eyes.
Maybelle rose to her feet, moving by instinct. The couple didn’t seem real to her. More like a picture in a book come to life. Could these people be her grandparents? She couldn’t comprehend it. They seemed so unlike herself or her mother.
“Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Cavener,” Eleanor said as she dropped into a shallow curtsy.
The gentleman gave her a perfunctory nod. The lady did nothing but incline her head with a vague sort of expression.
Sad, Maybelle thought. The lady seemed sad, though there was nothing in her outward appearance to suggest it. Meanwhile, Lord Cavener was frowning at the two of them.
“Lady Eleanor, you said we had something of importance to discuss. Of a private nature. We must come for tea, you said. So here we are. What is it?” Every sentence was punched at the end with a huff of air.
“Won’t you please sit down?” Eleanor asked, though Maybelle thought her smile was strained. “Seelye, the tea tray, if you please.”
“Of course, my lady,” Seelye intoned. But he left slowly, every step filled with pomposity.
“Don’t need any more tea today,” his lordship said, but his wife set two long fingers on her husband’s arm.
“I should like some tea,” she said. “I know it makes little sense, but I do love a hot cup on a hot day.”
“I’ve told you time and again,” the man cut in. “It’s because it makes you sweat. And that cools you off.”
Eleanor tilted her head. “What an excellent deduction, my lord. I would never have thought of that myself.”
“Course not. Don’t teach gels science.” Then he turned his bristly mustache to her. “And who is this? Introduce yourself, gel. Don’t be mousy. I want to know your name.”
Don’t be mousy? No one in her life had ever treated her so rudely, and that included all those people who thought her a bastard. Eleanor had spent days telling her to be kind, be ladylike, be serene, but at those words, her intentions flew out the window.
She lifted her chin, looked directly at that bristling monstrosity on his face and spoke. “I am Miss Maybelle Ballenger, my lord. Your granddaughter.”
