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“Understood, sir,” the man dryly replied before hurrying off to deal with the mess.
Donella handed him the remnants of a broken teacup she’d retrieved from the floor.
“Thank you, miss. I’ll take care of all this.”
She gave him a sweet smile before again addressing Mrs. Ferguson and her friends. “Ladies, my sincere apologies. I do hope I didn’t ruin your afternoon. Why, I would never forgive myself in such a case.”
Mrs. Ferguson let out an angry snort. “It’s no wonder Lord Riddick packed you off in disgrace. Why he allowed you to come home now is beyond me. You should have remained in that stupid convent, out of sight. Just like your mother, you are. Not fit for decent company.”
Donella flinched and took a step back.
“You’d best think carefully about what you’re going to say next, madam,” Logan growled, preparing to intervene.
Donella quickly recovered. “What an ugly comment to make, Mrs. Ferguson, especially when the season of charity and mercy is upon us.”
“How dare you lecture me, you unrepentant hussy,” Mrs. Ferguson retorted.
Hussy?What the bloody hell was the woman talking about? The lass had almost become a nun, for God’s sake.
Donella sighed. “The quality of mercy isgenerallynot strained, ma’am. In your case, however, it seems to be broken. How unfortunate for your husband. I absolutely pity the poor man.”
Logan had to swallow a laugh, because the lass had hit the nail on the head. Everyone knew old Ferguson lived in mortal terror of his harridan wife.
Donella turned to Logan and Joseph. Her expression was placid, but he saw turbulence roiling in her emerald gaze. “Are we ready to go, gentlemen?”
“After you, Miss Haddon,” Logan said.
She took Joseph’s hand and led him from the shop. Logan followed, smiling blandly at the avidly curious patrons. The scene was sure to generate astounding levels of gossip.
In other words, it was another typical day for the Kendrick family.
Chapter Eighteen
Joseph tugged on Logan’s hand. “Slow down, Papa. I can’t keep up.”
“Sorry, laddie. I keep forgetting you’re not as tall as I am yet.”
“No one’s as tall as you,” Donella said with a wry smile as Logan slowed his pace.
“Grandda says you’re like one of those giants from the stories about the ancient”—Joseph frowned, searching for the word—“Picts.”
Thank God the lad was talking again. After leaving Monroe’s, Joseph had withdrawn into himself, head down and gaze fastened on his feet. Donella, bless the lass, had kept up a cheerful stream of comments on harmless subjects, as if she’d not just upended a table on a bunch of old biddies.
Logan had also fallen quiet, thinking through how to manage the gossip sure to arise from today’s ugly episode. He also couldn’t help pondering Mrs. Ferguson’s cryptic remark about Donella’s mother. That veiled dig had obviously hit Donella full on. He had no idea why, since he didn’t know much about the girl’s history.
No one in Riddick’s family had ever mentioned Mrs. Haddon. There was obviously a reason for that, and he guessed it wasn’t a happy one.
“A Pict, am I? Let’s be grateful I don’t run around the house with blue paint on my face.”
“Maybe we should all wear blue paint on our faces,” Joseph said, perking up. “That might be fun.”
“I bet you the twins would agree,” Logan said.
“Not the ladies, though,” Donella said. “I don’t think your aunt Vicky and I would look very nice in blue paint.”
Joseph shot her a worried glance. “We don’t have to do it if you won’t like it.”
Donella smiled. “I’m teasing. You can wear as much blue paint as you like.”
