Page 14 of The Secret Daughter
“Oh.” She dipped a corner of the bread into the stew. “And do you have a family? A wife? Children?”
She was a curious little cat, but he wasn’t born yesterday. If she was angling for a husband, well, he had ways of dealing with that kind of thing.
“Yes. Three wives, and—”
Her spoon fell into her bowl with a clatter. “Threewives?” she exclaimed. “Three?”
“Yes,” he said placidly. “And four—no, what date is it? Probably five children by now. One of the wives was due to give birth this week.”
She stared at him. “But that’s illegal.”
“Giving birth? I don’t think so.”
“No, having three wives.”
“Why shouldn’t I have three? Or four if I want. What business is it of anyone else’s, as long as the wives don’tmind? And they don’t—they each have a house, and I support them and the children well enough.”
“How? By ‘doing this and that’?”
He grinned at her indignation. “Exactly. Now, I’m afraid there’s no dessert, only apples.” He pulled two out of his pocket and tossed one to her.
She caught it deftly, then eyed it with suspicion. “These look like the apples that were growing a mile—a kilometre or so back.”
“Do they?” he said innocently. “They’re delicious.” He bit into it.
She hesitated.
“If you don’t like apples, you can give that one to Rocinante.”
She eyed him disapprovingly, but bit into the apple.
“See, delicious, isn’t it? There they were, lonely and unloved. A shame to have left them hanging over the roadway where anything could happen to them.” She was delightfully easy to tease. Clearly she was, at heart, an honest little soul.
The meal finished with, she offered to clean the dishes, and he left her to it, saying he had a little local business to see to and that he would be back in an hour or so. “You won’t be frightened, will you? If you’re nervous, just get in the wagon and bolt the door. I’ll knock to let you know I’m back. Or if I’m late, just go to bed and lock yourself in—here’s the key to the outside door in case you’re worried about being locked in from the outside—and I’ll see you in the morning.” On that thought he took a couple of blankets from the wagon, and the piece of canvas he used as a groundsheet.
She hesitated.
“You’d trust me with your belongings?”
He laughed. “I do—you have an honest face. Besides, there’s nothing in there worth stealing.” It wasn’t true, but she didn’t need to know that. His valuables were alreadysecurely locked away, and he wasn’t offering her those keys. “So, I’ll see you in the morning.”
She nodded and accepted the key, though her expression remained doubtful. Reynard repressed a smile: no doubt she thought him off on more nefarious adventures, like stealing apples.
He had no doubt she would be there when he returned. She had nowhere else to go, it seemed.
He strolled away into the night.
The stream was not far away—Reynard had chosen a good spot to camp. Zoë went to check the horse had enough water, fed Rocinante her apple core and filled a bucket from the stream. She heated a fresh pot of water and used it to wash the dishes. When she’d finished, she heated some more water and washed herself and dressed in her spare clothes. She rinsed out her underclothes and sponged down her dress. Finding a leafless, but bushy fallen limb nearby, she dragged it close to the fire and draped her washing over it to dry.
Now what? she thought. She sat staring into the flames and pondered her options. She’d done what she’d come to do—see her mother’s old home for herself—so in the morning she would make for the nearest town that thediligencepassed through and head back to Lucy and Gerald in Paris.
Which was closer? The town where Marie had caught thediligence, or one farther ahead? To go back was to pass the place where those vile men had chased her. They might live close to the road. So she’d go forward to the next town that thediligencepassed through.
And then what? Prepare for returning to London, where she’d make her come-out into society. She shivered. The whole idea made her nervous. So much depended on people not finding out she was yet another bastard daughter of SirBartleby Studley. Her half sister Izzy had managed it—despite the whispers—but that had more or less ended when she’d married Leo, Lord Salcott, whose reputation was that of a very high stickler. But when Zoë appeared, she was sure her strong resemblance to Izzy would cause tongues to wag again, even though she’d be presented as a French cousin.
For herself, she didn’t much care what people thought of her, but she was utterly determined not to have the shame of her irregular birth rebound on the sisters who’d given her love and acceptance and so much more.
She added more wood to the fire and turned her clothes around to speed the drying.
