Page 25 of A Rogue to Cherish

“My Aunt Mairid, she and I need for me to work. We need the money.” Wren tried to change the woman’s mind.

Berta nodded. “I am aware.” She pulled a small envelope from her apron pocket. “But this can’t be helped. You must leave here. Here are your wages and a good recommendation for your next employer.”

The woman left the shed then, and Wren sank into the chair stored in a corner of the shed. Tears overflowed her eyes, and she covered her face. Her aunt was going to be so disappointed in her.

*

“I worried thatshe would have seen you. At least she gave you a recommendation. That is something.” Aunt Mairid held the envelope. “Wren, I think you are best suited to work in a shop and not in a household.”

When she told her aunt about the dismissal, she had not been surprised. It seemed Berta had spoken to her already. Since they’d known each other for almost thirty years, they had a friendship of sorts.

Truly, if Wren was honest, she was glad not to have to work at the estate. Her aunt was right, she was not meant for domestic work. A busy shop, interacting with others who were of her same class, was more the type of work she could better perform. “I will do better, I promise,” she told Mairid. They’d already eaten supper, so Wren began cleaning up. “I will wash up, Aunt Mairid. Tomorrow, I will go to Lars and ask for his help with a new position.”

Mairid nodded and held her cup of tea to her lips. “Very well. And whatever you do, please try to avoid Mr. Murray. Nothing good can come from it. He will only break your heart.”

Wren was glad to have her back turned to her aunt. She’d not told her about seeing him the night before and thankfully, her aunt had not brought it up.

Hopefully, his plans to come to see her had been spoken while he was dazed from his head injury. Besides, why would a gentleman like him wish to call on her? It made little sense. Berta was right, men like him could not possibly be interested in someone of her low stature. He played a game. That was all.

“You never told me,” her aunt suddenly said, and Wren closed her eyes, begging God that the subject be something easy to reply to. “How did you get home last night?”

Lying was not an option, and it was better to face the issue and move forward. “I was chased by two ne’er-do-wells down the street.”

Her aunt gasped and her hands clutched the cup more tightly.

“I was not afraid. Not horribly because I can run fast, but they were almost to me and the doctor’s house was within sight, but still a bit of a way.”

“Oh my,” her aunt exclaimed. Wren frowned when her aunt put her cup down with a thump and covered her mouth with both hands, looking up at her. “Go on,” she said, her words muffled.

Wren pressed her lips together, deciding how best to continue. “A carriage came by, and it was Mr. Murray.”

Her aunt’s head went backward, and her chin lifted; she stared at the ceiling as if in silent prayer for what could come next.

“He called off my pursuers and took me to the doctor’s house.” She left off the fight, the injury, and having gone to his home. And she most definitely left off the kiss. “His driver then brought me home.”

Her aunt’s eyes narrowed. “Wren. Please tell me that is it and you will not see him again.”

Just then she caught sight of a rider approaching outside, and Wren’s stomach pitched. Not only with butterflies from seeing the handsome rider but the accompanying panic from how her aunt would inevitably react, especially after her warnings not to see him again.

“I will water the plants outside after tossing this dishwater. Relax, Aunt, and enjoy your tea.” She hurried out, doing her best to not slosh water over the brim of the large bowl and onto the floor.

Unfortunately, as she reached the door and wrenched it open, the movement caused the water to spill over the sides. In her hurry, she slipped on it and went flying, water spilling all over her. Wren cussed and got up on all fours facing the exterior.

She stared down at the toes of two shiny black riding boots. She didn’t need to look up to know who stood in front of her. “Oh no.”

“Mr. Murray,” her aunt greeted him as he bent to haul Wren up to her feet. His gaze scanned over her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, then looked to her aunt. “Mairid.”

Wren stepped back and looked down at her dress; she was a soaking mess. Dirty dishwater plastered hair to the side of her face, and something slimy and cold hung over her forehead. She reached up to bat it off and discovered it was a potato peel that had flown into the dish when she’d worked at helping her aunt ready the tubers for dinner. Oh no. She was worse than a mess.

Without a word, she moved past Grant and went out to the small garden to fetch water from the well to rinse off. Her aunt would no doubt have things to say to him that she’d rather not be witness to. It was humiliating enough to be seen in such a state and now, her aunt would point out to him that he was not welcome.

It was a terrible ending to the most horrible day ever.