Page 67 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
She could look for a different husband. But how did she find out if a prospective husband knew how to give her a quickening? She wasn’t supposed to know about it.
Which left her circling back to Mr. Hallowsby. As a bastard, he wasn’t a potential husband. She wanted to be completely respectable, and therefore needed a legitimate husband.
But that was a thought for later. Right now, it was time to get to the inn. She rushed through the last details, then walked as fast as she could without appearing hasty.
She rounded the last corner before the inn and saw Mrs. Pursley and Mrs. Bray outside, whispering together. It was early to be about, and if they were talking in the middle of the street, then something strange had happened. A moment later, they turned to her, speaking loud enough for her to hear.
“In the middle of the night, can you credit it? When all decent folks is in bed.”
“What ’appened?” she asked, consciously thickening her accent so as to not give Mrs. Pursley another reason to say she put on airs.
“Why, the London gent. He up and disappeared with his fine carriage, right in the middle of the night. Rode off like a thief! Didn’t pay his shot or anything!”
Maybelle felt her blood run cold. It couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t have abandoned her like that. Not after… But of course, fancy gentlemen abandoned women all the time. Isn’t that what she’d been taught?
“Goodness, Bluebell, you’re looking awful pale.” The old biddy leaned forward maliciously. “You weren’t expecting something from that man, were you? I understand he’s been teaching you lessons.”
Maybelle gritted her teeth, Mrs. Pursley’s sly innuendo steeling her spine as nothing else could. She’d show them all assoon as she got to London and forced her father to recognize her. She’d show them all.
“Maybelle?” Mrs. Bray asked gently. She was a kind woman, so her expression was filled with concern. “Would you walk with me?”
“Oh, thank you. I’m afraid I’m a little distracted right now. I’m going to London today on the mail coach.” Though how she was going to walk to the town where the coach stopped was anybody’s guess. It would take her hours!
“What?” gasped Mrs. Pursley. “But you can’t go now that he’s left.”
And there it was. Surely by now Maybelle wouldn’t be surprised by these mean-spirited people. Mrs. Pursley obviously thought Maybelle would run off with the London gentleman.
“Well, what has that to do with anything?” Maybelle asked. Then, before she could say more, they were interrupted by a man’s call behind them.
“What ho!”
All three turned to see Mr. Bray and his daughter on his rickety cart, and right beside him was Mr. Hallowsby, smiling as he jumped down from his perch. “Miss Bluebell, a fine morning, isn’t it?”
Relief flooded her, dropping her breath straight down into her toes. It made no sense. She knew better than to rely on a man to keep his word. But he hadn’t abandoned her. He hadn’t skipped away like a thief in the night.
“Good morning, Mr. Hallowsby,” she said, keeping her voice level.
“Good morning! I hear we’ll be fellow passengers on the mail coach.”
She blinked. “You’ll be joining me?”
“Yes, indeed. Appears my carriage disappeared in the middle of the night, so I had to ask Mr. Bray here for a ride on his cart. Should make it to the coach in about an hour, yes?”
“Er, yes. But…your carriage disappeared? You don’t seem very upset about it.”
“I’m very upset, but I don’t vent my spleen at ladies. And since I must get to London, I shall travel by mail coach.”
“I see,” she murmured. Then she swallowed. “And Mina?”
His expression fell, and there was an apology in his eyes.
“Oh,” she whispered. Silly her—attached to a horse. She knew better, and yet…
He took her hand and squeezed. It was a too-familiar gesture, but she allowed it. “No worries,” he said. “I’ll recover her somehow. I promise.”
“How?” she breathed.
He chuckled. “Mina’s an ugly horse, Miss Bluebell. I’ll recover her.”
