Page 76 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“How?”
She picked up the picture, stroking the frame rather than her mother’s face. Then she carefully rewrapped it in muslin and returned it to her satchel beside the letter from the vicar.
“You will make him,” she said, faking her certainty.
He snorted. “You haven’t enough money for that.” Then he grabbed her hand. She wasn’t going to allow it, but he was quick. “Do you understand why I kept harping at you? Correcting your language, your posture, your everything?”
“Because you are mean and like pointing out faults.”
“Because I am kind and know that what I said was nothing compared to what others will think in society. There is a whole world outside theton, and it is vastly more comfortable than inside it. I only know a small part of the etiquette forced on young girls, and you will hate every correction, every uncomfortable corset, and every ridiculous restriction. But that is the world of theton.”
“I don’t care—”
“Let us say all of this is true. If you force the earl to recognize you as his legitimate granddaughter, what then?”
“I will have proof. I will be accepted.”
“Back in Hull, perhaps. With the vicar’s son, possibly. Not among the peerage.”
“I don’t care.”
“Then, why do it? You can return now and have those things. The paper from the registry is all you need. No one will question it.”
It was true. She knew it. If all she wanted was a life with Charles, then she could turn around now. But she’d never know anything about her father’s family. “You think if I pursue this, I will find it’s all a lie. That I am a bastard after all.”
He didn’t have to answer. She could see it in the clenched line of his jaw. “I know the life of a bastard,” he said. “It is not for you. Go home. Marry your vicar’s son. Do not—”
“I will see the earl.” She would have her questions answered for good or for ill.
“Maybelle—”
“And you will make sure he sees me.”
Mr. Hallowsby shook his head. “And why would I do such a thing? I exist carefully, Miss Ballenger, tolerated by the elite because I have a purpose. I will not antagonize a powerful earl.”
She touched his hand, stroking it as she used what wiles she had. “Bram, please. You will be bringing him his long-lost granddaughter.”
“Whom he doesn’t want to see.”
“You don’t know that.” She needed more persuasion. “I could pay you.”
He snorted. “You haven’t enough money for that.”
True enough. “Then do it because my mother was wronged. And you are a man who rights wrongs.”
He laughed at that, the sound derisive. She crossed her arms and matched him sneer for sneer.
“You have me all wrong, Miss Bluebell.”
“I don’t think so. I saw how you smirked at those awful gentlemen on horses a moment ago. I remember that you helped a lady who you thought was hurt through no fault of her own. What did you call the boys around here? Arrogant churls who believe they can do anything with no consequence.”
“You know nothing of me.” His tone was hard.
“I know you want to see me—a dairy maid—set up as one of their own. True or not doesn’t matter. Think on how my very presence will shame them because I will be more beautiful, more ladylike, and more proper than every single one.”
His brows arched. “You are a sow’s ear, Maybelle. You will never be one of them.”
She winced. She couldn’t help it. His words hurt even though she had been that and worse her whole life. “I will. You will see.” Then she leaned forward. “Please, Bram, help me.”
