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“Those outbursts.” He sighed and ran a hand through his curls. “Disconcerting, to say the least.”
“She forgets to gauge the volume of her voice if she’s startled or excited. You’ve been here a week and just discovered her secret,” Etta reminded him.
“Yes, but I drink a decanter of brandy a day, love. How can I put her on the market when she’s damaged goods?”
“What does that mean?” Foreboding settled over her like mosquito netting.
“It means I didn’t expect to be saddled with a lackwit. A penniless nobleman would laugh me out of Almack’s with her in tow, let alone a bachelor of prominent standing. No, marriage is out of the question.”
Etta gasped, her hands fisted on her hips. “There isnothinglacking in Tia. She is intelligent and witty and—”
“Deaf. Damned rotten luck.” Turnsley sighed and scrubbed his face. “Henrietta, I’m not a cruel man, but I cannot afford to pay for her care for the rest of her days.”
“Why can’t she stay with us?” Etta pleaded. “She’s my sister. She’s all I have left of my family.”
“I will be your family now. I plan on a horde of children. Besides, my mother would most likely have her drowned in the Thames like a stray cat once she finds out.”
Etta sucked in a breath. What kind of people lived in London?
Turnsley stepped closer and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. He fingered the delicate Vandyke points along her neckline. His hand snaked around her waist, pulling her against his length. She swallowed, eyes closed, heart pounding with fear. “I’m afraid the circles I move in do not accept, er, misfits. Do you want your sister to be a circus sideshow? Pointed at, laughed at?”
She shook her head and blinked back tears.
“Of course not,” he murmured. “My poor, sweet, noble Henrietta. You are indeed a diamond waiting to be polished.” He stroked her cheek and whispered in her ear, “And I promise to make you shine.”
*
December 22, 1813
The glass fellfrom his limp fingers with athunk.A soft snuffle floated from the prone body in the stuffed leather chair. Lord Turnsley wasn’t just jug-bitten this time. MacIntyre had added a few drops of laudanum to his brandy. Etta chewed her bottom lip, watching the golden liquid spread across the wool rug.
“You’ll make it bleed,” quipped Tia. “Do you feel guilty?”
Etta shook her head. Not enough to waver on the decided plan. She paced the room, avoiding the male lump and wet spot on the rug.
“Good. He’s lucky. I’d have run him through.” Tia glared at her snoring cousin. A bit of drool pooled at the corner of his open mouth, and she wrinkled her nose.
Fate—or MacIntyre—had intervened instead. A stranger had arrived several days ago with a letter meant for Lord Turnsley’s eyes only. The butler had informed the man that his lordship would be out until late that evening and warned there was sickness in the house. After some indecision, the messenger left his missive with MacIntyre. The ever-skeptical Scot had called on Etta with paper in hand.
Turnsley’sfriendfrom York turned out to be an administrator for the York Insane Asylum. In exchange for making good on a debt and a small donation, the “afflicted girl” would be well cared for under an assumed name. Two employees would be sent to retrieve “the patient” within a week.
Etta had been at sixes and sevens for two days, trying to keep their knowledge of the scheme quiet while they decided their best plan of action. Even now, she blinked back furious tears that Turnsley could be so coldhearted.
MacIntyre entered. “Is the blethering scunner out yet?”
Both girls giggled at his affected regal tone mixed with the colorful Highland brogue.
“Verra good. Yer luggage is on the carriage. There’s an inn just over the border. I ken the owner, and he’ll be happy to assist two bonny ladies on the run.”
Tia threw her arms around the stout man. “Thank you.”
Etta pulled her rabbit-trimmed mantle around her and followed her sister out the front door. They both looked up at their home, possibly for the last time. Life was not fair. Her family had experienced enough loss. Why would God let this happen?
Tia slipped her gloved hand inside her sister’s and squeezed. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Etta gave her a fierce hug. “Nonsense! I love you, and we must be together,” she said simply. “He’s a vile creature.”
MacIntyre handed them up the steps.
