“She’s sleeping right now,” Agnes said. “As soon as ye’ve eaten, we’ll wake her. Oh, she’ll be right s’rpised, Mellie. Can I call ye, Mellie? Penny calls ye Mellie.”
Maeve listened to Agnes ply Melinda with Penny’s antics, holding nothing back, including the dreams that woke the entire household night after night.
“Penny was always prone t’ bad dreams.” Melinda squeezed her eyes shut as water sluiced over her face. “She were in the room that night Mum had the babe. He were born dead. T’were terble and it t’weren’t the first time.”
Maeve’s heart broke with each story Melinda related.
Agnes soaped Melinda’s hair and Maeve spent her time washing the grime from her face and body, in fact, turning her from a street urchin to a sweet and pretty girl. Maeve wasn’t naïve. Melinda, in nefarious hands, would turn some dastardly bastard a tidy profit.
Mrs. McCaskle entered with a tray and set it on the table, filling the room with an enticing aroma of beef and gravy. Melinda’s stomach growled. A small fit of giggles erupted from her.
Maeve met Agnes’s eyes and they both grinned.
In unison, Maeve and Agnes hurried through the rest of Melinda’s bath so she could eat. The child was much too thin.
Ten minutes later Melinda gulped down the last of her milk and Maeve dabbed at her mouth with a serviette. “Did you get enough to eat, dear?”
“Aye, thank ye, ma’am. Might I see Penny now?” Her question reflected her lack of trust, her tone riddled with doubts. Now, sated, she worried for her fate.
Maeve was quick to reassure her. “Of course. Agnes, see if you can get Penny to my chamber without waking Mary. Melinda and I shall meet you there.”
“Yes, milady.”
Agnes disappeared from the room.
Maeve took Melinda’s hand and guided her back to the foyer. From there, she pointed out the formal parlor, the morning room, the dining room, the library. “Miss Bristol is the governess. She holds lessons for Mary, Stephen, Penny, even Agnes on reading, mathematics, writing, and geography. Have you attended school?”
“No, ma’am.” Her awe was touching.
Maeve patted her hand. “Penny adores it. Tomorrow, we shall see about ordering you a new dress. Penny asked for pink. Do you like any specific color?”
“Yeller. It’s reminds me of the sun.”
“Then yellow it is.”
The door to Rowena’s office was standing wide. Harlowe peered around the doorjamb. He hadn’t been inside the suffocating room since the night he’d stayed over before letting the house to Maeve. To his irritation and surprise, a candle sat on the desk, burning bright as you please. Maeve must have been in here when he hauled in the screaming Mellie. He went over to blow out the candle, but the flames danced and shimmered against shiny bits of glass.
Harlowe rounded the desk, and his insides dipped at the sight. Brilliant gems of all varieties winked up at him. One piece in particular struck him in the chest. The large ruby ring.
“I’m to paint your portrait, my dear. Rowena is right. The red of this stone rivals the red of your lips.”Harlowe strolled over to the table and placed Corinne’s elbows atop, arranging her hand just so. Then her bonnet.“You look exceptionally beautiful today.”
“Meaning, I don’t normally.”No one could pout better than Corinne Radcliff, the new Lady Harlowe.
Brandon couldn’t quite fathom how Rowena had instigated, and brought, his marriage to Corinne to fruition. Despite having been raised by the most notorious whore in London, Corinne’s upbringing had been extremely sheltered. A child who’d never have crossed his path, if not for the Widow Chancé.
The compromising situation he’d found himself in with Corinne had been orchestrated with brilliant precision. He couldn’t quite quell his resentment at being so manipulated. But he knew full well, Corinne had been played just as he had.
“Corinne is not the daughter of a whore, my lord. She is the offspring of Lord Maudsley’s first wife. A woman he murdered, Lady Hannah, right before my eyes.” Rowena had said. “Please, don’t hold my machinations against her.”
Displaying her guilt was a nice bit of acting, he thought, watching her fingers twist and her pacing to and fro. Rowena never paced. The woman was a block of control.
“She’d just given birth to Corinne. Corinne was her third child,” she said with a desperate edge. “Her two previous births ended in stillbirths, both of which were male. Maudsley was furious. You must believe me.”
Harlowe flinched at the venom emanating from her.
“You could not fathom it, my lord. He hit her.” She swiped a tear away. “She died instantly. Only the midwife and I were present. I stole the child and hid.” She smiled. It was harsh and bitter. “I’ll admit, I’m partial to Corinne’s name, as I was the one who selected it.”
Harlowe dropped into the chair behind him, stunned by her story. Rowena was renowned for her coldblooded calculations, but her words rang true.
