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And yet, there she was. Doing precisely that.
Miss Sommerville twisted her mouth into a semblance of a brittle smile. She’d not liked Mr. Rutland clarifying her position. From the annoyance she struggled vainly to hide, not at all.
Purity filed those interesting facts into a corner of her mind.
“Athena, may I present Miss Purity Mayfield. She found Bernadine and was in the process of bringing her to the house when I came upon them.”
An insincere smile stretching her face, Miss Sommerville tilted her artfully coiffed blond head in what she no doubt believed was a regal angle, but which instead made her look as if she had a painful crick in her neck. “How fortuitous for everyone.”
Purity didn’t miss the shrewd assessment in the woman’s brown eyes or the way she sidled to Mr. Rutland’s side and laid a possessive hand on the forearm cradling his daughter.
She might as well have bared her teeth and hissed, “He’s mine. Stay away.”
Purity gave the barest inclination of her head in greeting. Never had she been so impolite, but this woman…this, this creature… Nay. Athena Sommerville, for all of her outward beauty, didn’t deserve civility.
The planes of his chiseled face taking on a flinty edge, Mr. Rutland looked between Purity and the new arrival. A warning flashed in his indigo eyes beneath his slanted midnight eyebrows.
Did he object to her impoliteness?
Well, why shouldn’t he?
Purity had been rude. A first for her, and the feeling was quite novel.
Theran Rutland was no dimwit, however. From the keen way he assessed her and Miss Sommerville, he obviously sensed the tense undercurrent.
“Yes, Bernadine is fine,” he said at last, wrapping his arms more securely around his daughter and dislodging Miss Sommerville’s hand.
Deliberately.
Unless Purity was mistaken, and she very much thought she was not.
Now, wasn’t that an interesting turn and a wholly welcome one too.
It only confirmed that Purity wouldn’t be telling an infatuated man his future wife was a hateful and abusive monster.
A frown of irritation furrowed Miss Sommerville’s countenance before she swiftly arranged her features into such serene tranquility, one might believe her Madonna act. Except, Purity had heard what this shrew was capable of with her own ears.
“I am so very relieved,” Miss Sommerville purred, gazing at Bernadine with contrived adoration.
What a brilliant actress.
She’d missed her calling, by George. Miss Sommerville should’ve taken to the stage.
For her part, Bernadine kept her head tucked into her father’s shoulder and refused to look at her aunt as they neared the terrace.
“Well, after all of this excitement, I’m sure Bernadine is ready for a nap, aren’t you, my dear?” Miss Sommerville touched Bernadine’s leg, and the child flinched and pulled away.
Mr. Rutland blue eyes darkened to navy-blue and narrowed minutely at the edges.
He’d seen his daughter’s reaction.
Good.
Purity’s initial assessment of him had been correct. He was astute and observant. Apparently, he was a loving father, too, from her brief observation.
As they neared the terrace doors, Lady Mumford and her youngest daughter, Forsythia, exited. Both females wore vibrant, multicolored gowns, generously swathed in layer upon layer of bows, ruffles, and lace. The effect was…unforgettable.
The countess’s other daughters, eighteen-year-old Delphine and sixteen-year-old Amaryllis, tended to wear equally generously adorned gowns. In point of fact, the three daughters, named for flowers, often resembled blossoms themselves.
