Never before had she experienced such white-hot fury.How dare they do this to her.She’d presented her case in front of the magistrate, a requirementtheyhad put on her, and now, because they didn’t like the verdict,thisis the way they behaved? Children had better manners.
Gemma marched back to her room and dressed quickly. Her hands were shaking as she laced the back of her dress. Her braid was a mess after a night of sleep. She didn’t care. She put on her shoes without bothering with stockings.
Out in the kitchen, she opened the back door, grabbed a broom, and started shooing hens into the garden. There were three eggs in the new bowl Mrs. Warbler had given her. Another two on the table. One on the chair rolled off and broke. She would have to scrub the floor later or else it would smell.
However, right now she had something more important to do.
In the main room, Gemma shooed the chickens, including the arrogant rooster, out the front door—and then she began picking up eggs. She made a basket out of her skirt. There were nine eggs in total.
Holding her skirt so she couldn’t lose one of them, she set off for Mr. Thurlowe’s house, scattering chickens picking at the earth as she left.
The hour was early. There were few people up and about. Mrs. Burnham was sweeping her step while her husband was walking to the smithy. Jane, Mrs. Warbler’s maid, waved as she carried a bucket into the house.
A rider came down the road toward her—Mr. Thurlowe. How fortuitous.
He was obviously beginning to make his rounds. His wide-brimmed hat was set at a cocky angle. His boots were polished and he looked the very image of a country gentleman.
That was about to change.
With a grim smile, Gemma took up a station in the middle of the road and when she felt she had a good shot, she picked up one of the eggs from her skirt and threw it at him with all her might.
Chapter Thirteen
It was a beautiful March morning as Ned rode out on the day’s rounds. The air held an actual hint of spring.
Ned didn’t know what he was going to do with the Logical Men’s Society, but he was tired of worrying about it. Instead, Royce had found a bottle of decent port and, after two small glasses, Ned had gone to bed and had the best sleep he’d had since Gemma Estep had entered his life.
He’d even managed to not think of her once, which was a feat considering what had happened the day before. No, he had more pressing concerns, such as decidingifhe would hold the Frost lecture. He didn’t want to give it up and he didn’t want to change what he had envisioned, which had included The Garland.
Last night he decided he would ask Mars if it could be held at Belvoir. In fact, the more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea. Thenhe could establish the protocols for participation exactly as he wished.
No wonder he’d had such a good night’s sleep.
Not even the sight of Gemma Estep in her familiar black leaving The Garland could upset him. He might have to tip his hat out of courtesy, but he was not going to engage with her... although she appeared rather disheveled. She wasn’t wearing a hat and her wickedly red braid looked as if she’d just rolled out of her bed. She held her skirt as if she was carrying something. Probably herbs for more of her “potions.”
He sniffed his dismissal. His intent was to ride past her.
And then she took something from her skirt, pulled back her arm, and threw it at him with all her might.
A white object shaped like a round, smooth stone came flying through the air. Before Ned could move, it hit Hippocrates in the chest.
The horse startled, turned around. Fortunately, Ned had a good seat, and then, he felt something hit him in the back. He couldn’t discern what it was because Hippocrates had decided he wanted to return to the barn. Ned’s legs pressed his horse around, stopping him from bolting, even as another of her missiles hit his arm and broke into a wet, gooey mess.
Eggs?She was throwing eggs at him?
“What are you doing?” he shouted at her.
“Giving you back what you left behind.” This time the egg hit Hippocrates’s neck.
The gelding was not meant to be a war horse. He’d never learned how to stand his ground.
Realizing that he was losing the battle with his mount, Ned slid off before he was tossed off. Hippocrates didn’t wait but turned tail and went running for home.
Even then Mrs. Estep didn’t let up. She tossed two more eggs at him in quick succession. She’d moved closer and they hurt. She had a strong arm.
“Enough,”Ned ordered.
She picked up another egg, tossed it in the air, and deftly caught it in one hand. “Not even enough.” She threw the egg and it landed on one of his boots. The boots Royce had freshly polished. She’d aimed right for it.
