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

uncle,” Minnie said, rising on her tiptoes to peer over the bar counter. Her small arm waved accusingly at the man. “I’ll be sick in your tavern if you don’t give me a drink of water.”
    Clara fought back a laugh at the girl’s tenacity. Apparently, another family trait.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the woman cried, slapping the man with her towel, “the girl’s only a babe. Give her a drink.” She studied Clara next, waddling closer to the counter. “What did the girl say? Her uncle?”
    “Uncle B—,” Minnie said, between a hungry sip of water.
    “Yes,” Clara confirmed, although annoyed that Minnie could not keep her mouth shut. They would need to work on the art of conversation. After they had a lengthy discussion on tone and propriety and how to conduct one self’s in public. It was going to be a long list with Minnie, Clara feared.
    “My, my. Is he with you lot? Is he outside?”
    “Yes,” Clara said as Minnie and Grace battled over the glass of water for another sip.
    “Well,” the woman exclaimed. A wide smile spread across her face as she bumbled out from behind the counter and toward the tavern door. Clara hefted Grace higher on her hip and followed the woman, tugging Minnie behind her. It appeared there was at least one villager who did not despise Mr. Ravensdale.
    “Oh, my dear boy, you’ve come back to us,” the woman cried. She stood on her toes to pat Mr. Ravensdale’s cheeks with enthusiasm as if he were still a boy. He pulled back, stiffening under the woman’s excited touch. “Oh, I’ve missed you, you rascal!” She pinched his face before kissing his cheek.
    “Mrs. Gibbs,” he said, his speech halting.
    “My, my.” A grin stretched ear to ear across her round face. “Look at you. Oh, and who are these loves?”
    “This is the Earl of Stamford,” he said, pointing to James. “And I believe you have met Lady Grace and Lady Minnie.” Mr. Ravensdale tugged at the ghost of his coat collar, then pulled at his shirt, shifting from foot to foot.
    “They’ve the look of their father,” Mrs. Gibbs announced, her voice softening. The donkey bayed and the horse grew restless. Mr. Barnes held onto the reins of both as Grace now tottered at her uncle’s feet.
    “And this is Mr. Barnes, a travel companion,” Mr. Ravensdale continued, glossing over Mrs. Gibbs last words. “And Dawson—” he cleared his throat, “— Miss Dawson, the children’s governess.”
    Clara gave a small nod. She was not entirely certain about the character of the plump woman who caused Mr. Ravensdale to behave as if he were dangling above the fires of hell by a thread. He picked up Grace just then and squeezed her belly until she erupted into giggles, forgetting his shirt collar but still restless on his feet.
    “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Gibbs,” he said, beginning to turn away.
    “Wait.” The woman boldly grabbed his arm.
    He withdrew from her, hurt flashing across his face. His eyes grew cold, his jaded smile lost its sharp edges and faded, his tapping boot stilled. “It’s a long way back.”
    “I’m well aware of the distance. I walked it all my years of working at that house, Bly, dear.” She dropped her hand, wringing it in the filthy fabric of her apron. “Until the last year, that is. Until you left.”
    Mr. Ravensdale shook his head at the woman. “Don’t start, Tilly. What’s past is…”
    “Is it though? You’re back after all these years, but I can read the fear in your eyes. Let me come and help with sorting out the house at least. I owe that much to you…and your mother.”
    He passed Grace off to Clara and mounted the horse in a great leap, settling into the saddle. Mr. Ravensdale waved his hand out to James to join him.
    “I don’t need help with the house, Mrs. Gibbs. You’ve helped enough as it on that account.”
    James mounted the horse and adjusted his crown, peering down at his subjects with disdain. “Uncle, can we go back to India with