Etiquette With The Devil by Rebecca Paula Read Free Book Online Page A

walls of cream-colored plaster. A moss-covered pot of flowers bloomed by the granite step. A short stack chimney rose from the middle of a slanted slate roof. The tavern demanded recognition of its old age by its short and leaning stature.
    The group waited outside while Mr. Ravensdale checked if the tavern was serving food that afternoon.
    “Miss Clara?” Minnie asked, tugging at her skirts.
    Clara turned her attention away from the tavern’s door. He had gone inside with a simple question, one that didn’t excuse his absence for nearly ten minutes.
    “Yes, Minnie?”
    “I don’t feel—” The child lurched forward, opened her mouth, and spilled the contents of her stomach at Clara’s feet.
    The children belonged at home, under the proper care of a nurse. Clara apparently lacked the ability to supervise a simple walk into town.
    Mr. Ravensdale emerged red-faced, his hands in fists as they had been most of the morning. There was one difference as he walked closer. She noticed his shirt, wet and stained, as he growled a long string of curses.
    “What’s this?” he barked at the crying Minnie.
    “She’s been ill,” Clara snapped back, pulling Minnie to her side. He might be big, but she refused to be bullied about. She held his heated glare.
    His shoulders rose with each short, angry inhale. “Barnes,” he yelled, “we’re done in town.”
    “Minnie needs something to drink. They all do.” Clara stood resolutely, her arm wrapped around the small girl. If he was capable of compassion, he could at least show some for his niece.
    His mouth puckered, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. Clara almost reached out, almost brushed her hand against his as he had done with the unbroken horse earlier. “We’re not welcome here,” he rushed out. He tore his gaze away from her and stretched his neck all on another large exhale.
    “No?” She did not wait for answer. Clara grabbed Minnie’s hand and marched into the tavern. Mr. Ravensdale was a grown man; whatever feud he had with the townspeople was between himself and the village. For anyone to take it out on three small children was unacceptable. She would not stand for it.
    There was still a small rumble of laughter as she threw open the door and assessed the darkened room. A group of men, covered in dirt and smelling to high heaven, stared back.
    “Excuse me,” she said, dragging Minnie up to the bar. “I would like to pay for a drink.”
    “She’s a Ravensdale?” The man behind the bar was thickset and ruddy-faced. His eyebrows were wild nests of gray. Considering he was bald, it made for a funny contrast.
    “Yes.”
    “Then she’s not welcomed here.”
    “Sir, she’s a child—” Clara surprised herself with the strong tone in her voice. It had happened earlier when she spoke to the shopkeeper as well. “—and she is not feeling well. I am only asking for a glass of water. I will pay,” Clara said, holding up her purse as proof while trying to balance Grace on her hip. She opened it and started to fish for coin.
    “No need. The door is that way.” The small tavern filled with snickers and clinking mugs at the insult. It made the hair on Clara’s neck stand on edge. If they could be so cruel to a child, then what else did the village have in store for the Ravensdales, or her for that matter? If there was ever a search for her, there would be no protection here, not when the village seemed content to condemn the Ravensdales for simply existing.
    Minnie looked up at Clara with wide eyes, eerily similar to those of her uncle—a startling hazel.
    What other answer was there? “Then we shall wait until you change your mind.”
    “What’s all this fuss about?” A scarlet-cheeked woman came bustling out from the back of the tavern, beady-eyed and twice as stout as the man behind the counter.
    “The devil’s spawn is trying to get a drink. I told this woman no member of the Ravensdale family is welcomed here.”
    “He’s my