Did Maxine of this world get sick at six?
Maxine of this world.
God, my mom was having to take care of another me, one whowas terrified, confused and not well.
But she looked exactly like me.
And Mom had to do this in a prison cell.
I noticed that he realized he’d said too much, his faceclosed down, and he reminded me coolly, “You handle this meeting with aplomb,they get mattresses and pillows, more blankets and an extra meal.”
I gritted my teeth.
And then there was that.
I was informed they got breakfast “gruel” (whatever thatwas, but it didn’t sound nice) and bread and broth for dinner.Plus water.
That was it.
And their blankets were scratchy wool, hopefully warm, butthin.
And their cots were just cots, no padding, nothing.
“You handle thisweekendwith aplomb, keep thebetrothal intact, and we begin preparations for your wedding, they will bemoved to a small cottage I own.There, they will stay until you finish yourpart of the deal.They will remain under guard, of course, but they will havemore room, far more amenities and will be treated as my guests.”
His daughter, treated as his guest.
He was repugnant.Totally a bigger dick than my dad.
The carriage made a turn and shuddered to a halt.
“Are we agreed?”he pressed.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You have no choice but tobehere.Thus, I’ll hearyou say it,” he demanded.
“Yougottalet me do this my way,”I returned.
His brows shot together in alarm.“Pardon?”
“I know you probably don’t get this concept, but I love mymother more than my own life.And I have a heart, so I don’t know your girl, Ijust know she needs to be somewhere not where she is now.If, for the nexthowever long this takes, it’s a cottage instead of a prison cell, with beds andgood food and room to move, I’ll take it.In other words, I’m not going to fuckthis up.”
He shot forward and snapped, “You’re Lady Dawes, Countess ofDerryman.You don’t speak in that manner.”
“Fuck you,Dad, and chill out.I got this.”
And on that, before he could annoy me any further, and so Icould get this show on the road and out of close proximity to him, I threw openthe door, rose from my seat, put out my (cute, I had to admit, in a bright andhappy steampunk kind of way) baby-blue, kitten-heeled, buttons-at-the-side bootand stepped on the step that the footman who was there had folded down.
I looked toward the pink house…
And nearly fell flat on my face.
The footman caught my hand and I somehow made it down thesteps.
There was an attractive, tall, straight,still-broad-shouldered, white-haired, older man making his way to the carriage.
But behind him, leaning against a column by the front door,the drooping wisteria nearly mingling with his thick dark hair…
