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‘I would not abandon my mother.’
She looked down. ‘She knows you would not mean to. It is your duty. She understands.’
‘You are... I am... That is unacceptable. You are a liar of the worst sort. You will return to Whitegate.’
Perhaps that would be safest for them all. For her—because if she discovered how society would truly perceive her, she might be crushed. For his mother—because she did not need a woman near who would take her jewels while spreading lies. And himself—for a reason he did not wish to consider.
Bellona’s jaw clenched. She jumped to her feet, and moved to the bell-pull, her boot under one arm. ‘I will send for a carriage. I will not have to read at Warrington’s house.’
He could not believe it. His bell-pull. In his house!
‘Cease,’ he commanded, hand out in a halting gesture. No one except he or his mother touched this bell-pull. And he would not let this thief leave with his mother’s jewellery.
She stopped, still clutching the boot. ‘I’m leaving. Even the walls are sad here. No one laughs. No one plays. It is all reading and embroidery and dressing of hair and clothes.’ Her nose went up.
‘I will see that you do leave. A carriage will be readied.’ He waved an arm. ‘Come with me. I want my mother to know what you have said about my father.’
‘You first,’ she said impudently.
He did not want her to dart away with the earrings. ‘I insist. You first. I am a gentleman.’
‘Then do as I wish.’
He would not stand and argue with her. ‘Do not dare run for the door.’
‘You tell me to leave and then tell me not to go.’
He stepped forward, but kept an awareness of her and held out his arm for her to precede him. She rolled her eyes, but flounced from the room.
He gave a quick rap on his mother’s door and strode inside. She sat in her chair, but instead of the prayer book... He stepped closer. Fashion plates.
She glanced up at the two of them, but then returned to the books. ‘Oh, Rhys. I do not know how this poor child will ever be saved from herself and I have such a short time to mend her because I am going to send her packing any day now. She does not listen. She is worse than you are and I never thought anyone could be worse than you...’
He stared at her.
She clucked her tongue, examining the engravings. ‘I send her a maid to fix her hair and she complains. I gave her gold earrings and had to insist she wear them. Gold. What woman thinks gold is unsuitable?’ She held up a plate so he could see. ‘Child...’ She held the drawing so Bellona could see. ‘This is the gown I had made for me in blue to match my eyes. I don’t want yellow for you, but I cannot decide.’
‘I do not need any new clothing.’ Bellona’s words were clipped. ‘I am leaving.’
‘Nonsense,’ his mother commanded. Then his mother’s eyes caught on Bellona’s boots. She gasped, eyes wide. ‘Un-for-giv-able. Where are the slippers I found for you?’
‘I hate them. They pinch. I cannot wear them.’
Rhys watched. He just watched.
His mother’s fingers shook so that the papers in her hands made a fluttery sound. ‘Your stockings are dirty. Were you raised in a stable?’
‘Above one.’ That goddess nose tilted up. Rhys thought she might not have any of the society airs about her, but her nose and eyes could manage well enough and needed no lessons.
‘Now. Go. Put on fresh stockings and get those slippers and return to me. I wish to see you wearing them now.’
‘You are just like Gigia.’ Bellona frowned. She looked at Rhys. ‘She is just like Gigia. I will never drink too much around her.’
‘Then you were very lucky if you knew someone like me, but obviously you did not pay her enough heed,’ his mother said. Her eyes tightened on Bellona. ‘And you are just like my daughter was—may the angels hold her tight in their embrace. I thought never to get her wed to the right man.’
Bellona pursed her lips and blew. ‘I do not need anyone to find a husband for me.’
‘Bellona. I cannot believe it.’ The duchess sat, closing her eyes. ‘What did I tell you about being a lady?’ She shook the paper towards Rhys. ‘And you are in the company of a male.’
‘But he is only the duke and has already tossed me out.’ She shook her head. ‘I must return to Whitegate. You must give me my bow and arrows so I can leave.’
Only the duke? Rhys tried not to be offended. That was a phrase he had never heard in his life.
‘I forbid it,’ the duchess said firmly. ‘You are running amok and you have no mother to train you. You cannot leave until I tell you to. You will never have that bow and arrows if you do not do as I say.’ His mother turned to him. ‘Rhys. She cannot leave until I tell her.’
