Yet one thing was abundantly clear. Farley was a fighter. That she appreciated, admired, and understood. But he had to learn right now she would fight back, and in her house she would win. Illness or no, destitute or not, she wouldn’t allow his insolence to continue without taking him to task about it.
“Young man,” she said, resting the backs of her hands on her hips. “You are a guest in this house, and I am mistress of it. I am not old, and I am most certainly not a hag. While you are in my home, you will address me properly or I will have you put in the barn until you are well enough to leave. And take my word for it, you will not find a soft bed with warm covers on it in the barn, nor will anyone come in to keep a fire going for you and bring food to your bedside. Now, I am Miss Quick, and don’t address me in any other fashion.”
His eyebrows twitched. “I don’t care if ye the Queen of England. I’m not drinking that gutter water ye trying to feed me.”
“It is medicine, and it will help your cough get better.”
His expression remained angry as he struck his thumb in the center of his chest and blurted, “I’d rather die, harpy.”
Stunned, Loretta blinked rapidly. His language was abhorrent and his temperament spiteful. Was there no gracious bone in this youngster’s body? Where was the softness in the child who had whimpered and called her his mama?
Loretta would have known how to deal with fear, the kind she’d seen on his face the night he’d appeared at her door, but not this raw anger. The only thing she knew to do was continue to be strong without being harsh.
“You will die one day,” she agreed in a calm voice. “But it won’t be today and it won’t be in this house. And there are other things we don’t do in this house, and you’re going to learn them right now.” She frowned tightly and bent over him. “Listen to me. We don’t call each other unkind names, and we don’t usually throw people out just because they are angry, but we will if they remain disrespectful.”
To her surprise Farley started laughing, which caused him to start coughing, which caused him to start choking for breath. Loretta grabbed a handkerchief to cover his mouth and rubbed his back, hoping to calm the spasms racking his whole body. When at last he quieted and lay back against the pillow gasping for breath, she plopped down on the side of the bed, almost as spent as Farley.
He wasn’t going to be easily won over. She wasn’t going to give up. Farley may not care whether he lived or died right now, but Loretta did.
It would have been consoling if she could have called on Paxton to help her from time to time. Even though he’d said he’d take charge of the lad, her brother had been almost useless concerning Farley. There was always a reason Paxton couldn’t sit with him or check on him for her.
She knew it wasn’t that Paxton didn’t care. He encouraged Loretta and the staff to do all they could for Farley, but her brother wasn’t good at offering comfort himself. The two or three times he’d been in Farley’s room all Paxton had done was look at him, and say he hoped the lad recovered soon. Paxton later admitted he had no idea how to cope with sickness and suggested that Loretta should leave the care of the boy to the servants.
That would have been the proper thing to do, and Mrs. Huddleston tried to insist upon it, but Loretta had so few things to fill her time as it was. Helping with Farley, as worrisome as it had been to tend a sick child, had been a bright spot in her life. She didn’t want to stop the attention she was giving him.
After Farley’s breathing had calmed, she reached over to the table, picked up the cup, and extended it to him. “Now will you trust me that this will make you feel better and drink it?”
He stared at her. The anger was gone from his watery eyes, and in its place was a pitiful blank stare. He took the medicine and downed it all without stopping to frown, wince, or complain about the foul taste, and then handed the cup back to her without so much as a hint of thanks.
Farley wasn’t making it easy for her to like him, but she did. In a way, he reminded her of the Duke of Hawksthorn. When she’d first met the duke, he certainly hadn’t made it easy for her to like him, either, but she had.
Very much.
Too much.
Shaking those troubling thoughts from her mind, Loretta turned her attention back to Farley and said, “Now, I’d like for you to answer some questions for me.”
Her guest made no comment, and she took that as a good sign. At least he didn’t say anything vulgar to her.“You told me your name is Farley. Is that your surname or your first name?”
He shrugged but said nothing.
She tried again with a different angle. “What is your first name?”
“Farley.”
“What is your last name?”
“Farley.”
Well, this line of questioning wasn’t getting her anywhere. Did he really not know who he was or was he simply being uncooperative in order to frustrate her?
He started laughing again, which led to another spell of deep, choking coughing, but thankfully this time it wasn’t as bad or as long as the last.
“Where is your family?” she asked when his breathing settled down again. “Someone must be worried about you and wondering what happened to you.”
“I’m all the family I got,” he answered in a hoarse whisper, averting his gaze from hers. “I take care of myself.”
As she and the duke had suspected but hoped wasn’t the case. “That’s commendable. Where are you from?”
