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She folded her hands, assuming a calm expression. “Very well, sir. With whom was I supposedly gallivanting?”
“Kendrick. The doctor. You were seen with him down in Old Town, near the taverns—as well as sneaking back to your house. Disgusting behavior, and worthy of a doxy, not a lady.”
His words felt like a nail driven into the back of her skull. Pain shot out in barbed tendrils, making it hard to think.
“Dr. Kendrick is a member of the foundation’s board,” she managed. “In the last few weeks, he’s been kind enough to escort me to the occasional evening meeting. If I was seen with him, it must have been on one of those occasions.”
It was a desperate attempt, a lie that could be easily dismantled. But what choice did she have?
“That explanation is hardly better for your character than the rumors,” he replied. “No respectable woman would go about town at night with a man unescorted.”
“Sir, I am hardly a child, and I am also a widow. There is nothing scandalous in allowing Dr. Kendrick, who is an eminently respectable man from an eminently respectable family, to escort me anywhere. You certainly have no objection to Arthur Baines doing so.”
“Baines is a distinguished barrister from a good family. The Kendricks are practically hooligans,” he huffed. “And Highlanders, to boot.”
“As am I,” she gritted out.
“I am painfully aware of that fact.”
Suddenly, the door flew open. Unfortunately, the interruption was Felicity, who stalked into the room. Mrs. Johnson appeared a moment later, looking harried as she grimaced an apology.
Felicity paused only long enough to throw a searing glance at Beath before coming to stand in front of Samantha, turning her back to her grandfather.
“Why is he here?” she signed.
Samantha forced herself to clearly enunciate, so Felicity could easily read her lips and Beath could hear.
“Your grandfather has come to pay us a nice visit. Now, please give him a proper greeting.”
Felicity’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. Samantha held her gaze, willing her not to kick up a fuss. Thankfully, the girl finally turned and dipped a quite respectable curtsy to her grandfather.
Beath’s mouth twitched with disapproval. He ignored Felicity and addressed Samantha.
“Is this how you let my granddaughter come in to company? She’s as disheveled as one of your orphanage brats.”
Samantha was tempted to retort that herbratswere always neatly dressed—more neatly than Felicity was at the moment. Her sister-in-law had obviously been helping out in the kitchen on baking day. Sadly, she’d failed to remove her apron, which was liberally dusted with flour, and her long hair was pulled back in a single messy braid instead of being tidily coiffed.
“Shall I bring up tea, my lady?” Mrs. Johnson said, attempting a diversion.
“Get out and close the door behind you,” Beath ordered.
Samantha bristled. “Sir, there is no need to bark at my staff.”
“Since they are incapable of keeping my granddaughter in some semblance of respectability, they are in need of correction. I am most displeased, Samantha.” Beath waved a finger at his granddaughter. “And why is she dressed like a servant?”
Felicity signed him a sharp retort, one Samantha would definitelynottranslate.
“I don’t understand all that hand waving,” Beath irritably replied. “What is she saying?”
“It’s baking day, and Felicity was down baking pies. We will take some of them to the orphanage tomorrow.”
Now the old man looked genuinely aghast. “You take my granddaughter down to that benighted place? Have you lost all your wits, Samantha?”
She tried not to wince at the dig. “Only occasionally, and just to get out of the house. She is in my sight at all times, or she is with Donny. We would never allow any harm to come to her.”
“It is distressing enough that you go there, Samantha, but to take my granddaughter? I absolutely forbid it.”
Felicity, who had been reading her grandfather’s lips, blew out an angry sound. Palms out, she thrust her hands straight out from her chest and then sharply pulled them apart.
