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I shall not be attending supper on the twenty-eighth of August so that you may introduce me to your hand-selected prospects. I shall be attending a house party.
I implore you, Mother, cease your meddling. You know Father would not have approved.
~Devin Everingham, in a note to his interfering mother,
Mrs. Desdimona Everingham
An interminable five seconds later
Mr. Rutland’s flagrant scorn ignited a spark of ire. Purity bit the inside of her cheek and forced a steadying breath into her lungs. There it was. The expected double standard. A person of Miss Sommerville’s pedigree wasn’t capable of despicable behavior, but because Purity was a servant, her word was in doubt?
“I do not lie, Mr. Rutland. In point of fact, your daughter told me that you say liars are the devil’s mouthpiece. I am of the same opinion. Furthermore, my faith prohibits me from deceitfulness.”
“Faith?” He gave a derisive snort. “What does your faith have to do with anything? For decades, I attended services weekly with hypocrites who professed one thing on Sunday mornings, but the rest of the week behaved as satan’s own spawn.”
Attended.
As in past tense.
“As have I. Nevertheless, amongst congregations, some are decent and upright every day. Those whose faith acts as a moral compass, if you will,” Purity boldly countered. He had awakened a pugnacious tendency in her. “A person’s breeding, station in life, or church attendance does not determine their character.”
She’d just said something similar to Miss Sommerville.
“I’ll thank you not to preach to me, Miss Mayfield,” he snapped, those black eyebrows crashing together in displeasure. “Keep your pious, sanctimonious opinions to yourself.”
Flabbergasted at his antagonism, Purity eyed him.
What had caused him to become so bitter?
The loss of his wife?
“If that is all…” The boorish lout gave the door a pointed glance.
Purity was half tempted to depart without telling him the rest, but her conscience and concern for Bernadine would not permit her such selfishness.
“It is not.”
His jaded appraisal pinned her to the wall.
“Of course it isn’t,” he drawled, pointing his gaze ceiling-ward. “You seem to have a penchant for carrying tales. Why am I not surprised that someone who affects such piety also has a propensity for gossip?”
“Carrying tales? Gossip?”
Purity nearly choked on her outrage. He was deliberately goading her. Poking the bear, as it were. And blast him to Hades, his tactic had worked.
Purity was good and truly incensed.
When was the last time she’d been this fuming mad?
Had she ever been this outraged?
Chin notched high, she glared daggers at him. “I take great care to only speak the truth. It is not my fault you are reluctant to hear it or that your blindness to your child’s plight has put her in harm’s way.”
“Enough!”
The word uttered with lethal vehemence had the effect of a thunder bolt striking Purity.
Oh, she’d gone too far. Much too far.
