The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page

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СКАЧАТЬ captivated by her soft, melodic voice. Cal figured, from the boy’s blush, he had a crush on Julia. He wasn’t surprised.

      Julia took something from the hamper. “This is from the village bakery. I bought some yesterday for you.” She held out a sweet-looking strawberry tart with a shiny glaze.

      The boy devoured it in two bites. “You should savor it!” Julia exclaimed.

      Cal grinned. That was just what his mother would have said.

      “I did sabor it. I could have eaten it in one bite,” the boy declared with pride.

      Julia shook her head. “That is just what my brother Sebastian would have done. Or my youngest brother, Will. Now, go and fetch your mother, young Ben.”

      As the boy ran off, Cal saw her brush away a tear. Quickly she smoothed her features into serene, ladylike loveliness, but he asked gently, “What’s wrong?”

      “He reminds me so much of Will, and we lost Will to the influenza outbreak after the War. He was fifteen.”

      “I’m sorry.” And he was. He’d assumed wealth insulated her from hardship. He could see he’d been wrong. “What about your brother Sebastian? I didn’t meet him.”

      Her whole face glowed when she smiled—even the smallest, gentlest smile. It was sweeter than seeing Paris glitter with light, more breathtaking than dawn in the northern wilds. “He is an artist, like you,” she said. “Sebastian went to Capri, but now he lives in Paris. As you did. He is rather like a bohemian, largely impoverished because he wants to support himself with his art, and he is very happy.”

      “I bet he is. I see the same streak of wildness in you.”

      She blushed. “Hardly.” Then she frowned. “I’m surprised Ellen has not come out to see us.” She lowered her voice. “Ben’s mother, Ellen Lambert, never married. Ben was born six months after she came back from the War. She had been a VAD and worked as an ambulance driver.”

      “It was a hell of a job,” he said. “A hard, terrifying job. There were a lot of intense romances in the heat of battle.”

      “You had one?”

      “I had several. Only one that really mattered.”

      Her face shuttered, showing no emotion. “Really? I’m sure the others might have meant a lot to the women involved.” Then she left him. She went through the living room to the rear of the cottage. He followed—as if he were tied to Lady Julia Hazelton by an invisible string. He just couldn’t let her out of his sight. Every moment with her was proving to be something special.

      He stayed behind Julia as she paused in the doorway to a tiny kitchen. A thin woman with short blond hair stood at a metal sink, scrubbing with ferocity at a pot. Her shoulders shook as if she were sobbing.

      “Ellen, what’s wrong?” Julia asked.

      He heard Ellen Lambert take a shaky breath. Then she half looked over her shoulder. “Nothing, my lady. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

      He figured there were aristocratic women who would be slighted because Ellen hadn’t rushed to the door and curtsied. But Julia was not one. “There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Julia asked.

      “No—”

      But Julia hurried forward, grasped Ellen’s shoulder, forcing her to turn. The woman’s right eye was surrounded by a large blue-and-purple bruise.

      “How did that happen?” Julia cried. She urged Ellen to sit in a chair at a tiny, rickety table.

      As she did, Ellen’s fingers went to the large bruise. “The daftest thing. I woke up in the night and I walked right into the edge of the door.”

      “I doubt it,” Cal said darkly. “That was done by a man’s fist.” His mother used to try to help women in their neighborhood who were beaten by their husbands. He knew all the excuses they’d used.

      “What man?” Julia said, her lovely eyes widening. “Was it one of your—your—” For all she had spoken so derisively about propriety, Lady Julia was now—sweetly—at a loss for words.

      But Ellen didn’t need the word spoken. She paled, but insisted, “It wasn’t. It was just a stupid accident.”

      “Now that I’ve seen it, why don’t we sit down and have tea? You’ve nothing to hide anymore,” Julia said firmly. “This is the Earl of Worthington.”

      Ellen stared at him. She stumbled to her feet. “My lord. Oh, I’m so sorry—”

      “Don’t apologize,” he said.

      The poor woman was white as a sheet. “I shall make tea,” she said, but Julia insisted she sit down. Hell, Lady Julia went to the stove and put the kettle on. That stunned Cal.

      While the water heated, Julia drew Ellen out of the kitchen into the small sitting room and gave her the basket and a small pouch.

      Ellen gave it back. “I can’t take this, my lady. And I don’t need to, my lady. I’ve enough for the rent.”

      “But I don’t want you to earn money as you have been doing,” Julia said firmly.

      “I would rather earn my money than be given charity.”

      That sounded just like his mother. Cal knew about a woman’s pride and stubbornness. But then, his mother had not had any other choice. Just like Ellen.

      “You do realize the house is supported by the money earned off the estate. Why then, should the house not support you?”

      Ellen started in shock. “I never thought of it that way.”

      “Well, it is the correct way. The way it has always been and should be,” Julia said.

      “There are so many who thought we would go back to happy times after the War,” Ellen said sadly. “I knew it wouldn’t be so. But I never thought there would be such poverty, such helplessness. I’ve tried to get work. But with Ben—with everyone knowing my story—no one will give me a decent position.”

      “Well, you need not worry anymore. I have an idea.” Julia outlined her plan to loan money for Ellen to open a business. “You may pay me back over time. First, we will find something for you to do. And Benjamin must go to school.”

      Cal leaned against the wall, watching Julia at work. Aware he was smiling.

      Ellen looked worried though, not relieved. “A good school will look at me and refuse to take Ben.” She lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “Perhaps I should give him away. He might have a better chance then. But I—I can’t bear to give him up.”

      There were only two times Cal had seen so much pain on a woman’s face. Once was in the War, when a village had been bombed and he had seen a woman who had thought she’d lost her children. He found them in the rubble of a collapsed house and brought them out to her. That moment alone had made his whole damned life worthwhile. The other time had been on his mother’s face when he was young—and he hadn’t understood back then that she’d feared losing him and David.

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