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“I did, love,” Theran responded with his typical patience. “It was an accident.”
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Miss Sommerville,” Jordan intoned with a frigidness to rival his mother’s. “Nor does maliciousness you, Mrs. Bambrick. You shall leave my home and never return.”
A family feud.
Just what Theran had wanted to avoid.
Mortification cleaved Purity’s breast in two, and anger cramped her lungs. Blinded by tears, she stumbled into the passageway and frantically tried to gather her wits. Like a wounded animal, she wanted to hide—to protect herself.
“Come now.” Mrs. Bambrick gave an artificial laugh. “You would terminate a friendship of many years over the likes of her? She’s a nobody. According to Athena, her morals and parentage are questionable.”
“She has more decency, kindness, and integrity in her little finger than you do in your entire petty, self-centered, and cruel body,” Theran grated out.
“Oh my God. I simply cannot credit it.” Athena squeaked with such incredulousness that it might’ve been comical another time. “You…you actually care for her. Her?”
“I do. Very much, in fact,” Theran succinctly agreed. “In the future, I shall only receive Poindexter at Atherley Hall. Neither of you is welcome. Mother, please watch Bernadine for me.”
Upon hearing him stride across the drawing room, Purity dashed toward the entrance. She yanked the door open and, not taking the time to shut it, hitched her skirts to her knees and ran as fast as she could down the drive.
Miss Sommerville had vowed to get even. What better way than to destroy Purity’s reputation in front of her employer’s family?
Never mind that she also maligned Theran with her disgusting allegation.
Purity ran until her lungs burned and her sides ached. Her hair had come free from its pins and swung about her shoulders. Holding her ribs, she bent over, gasping. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a small, rustic cottage tucked into the wooded aspen glen.
No smoke rose from the chimney, but it was August, and that didn’t mean it was unoccupied. She prayed it might be and also that it would be unlocked. She could take respite inside for a while. Not only was she chagrined at being accused of prostituting herself, but she’d also lost her head and ran away, which only made her look guilty.
“Purity? Purity?” Theran pursued her. “Purity, where are you? Let’s talk. Please.”
Purity couldn’t face him just yet. By no means was any of this Theran’s fault. He was as much a victim as she. Yet it stung to be called a whore, that anyone would suggest she’d only attained the governess position by prostituting herself.
Purity had more pride than she’d realized and was capable of more rage than she wanted to acknowledge. In truth, she wished Athena Sommerville and Albertina Bambrick a swift journey to the lowest level of hell for besmirching her character.
In time, she might forgive them.
With a frantic glance around, she dashed toward the cottage.
The handle gave way with one push, and she shoved the door open.
“Hello?”
Venturing inside, she called again. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Only silence greeted her.
Relief washed over her, and she swiftly shut the door.
Rotating slowly, she inspected the deserted cottage. A stone fireplace, before which sat a dilapidated velvet wingback chair and a ratty footstool, took up most of the opposite wall. A cabinet and a humble table with two chairs occupied another beneath a window. A door led to another room on the last wall where several pegs protruded over low shelves. A bedchamber, she supposed.
Cobwebs clung to the ceiling corners and several of the fireplace’s stones. Her shoes stirring up dust on the floor, she advanced farther into the small space. She sneezed, then sneezed again. Withdrawing a clean handkerchief from her right pocket, she wiped her damp face and blew her nose before tucking it into her left pocket.
With a sigh, she sank onto the worn wingback chair.
Once again, she’d taken the coward’s way.
You…you care for her.
I do. Very much, in fact.
