For a mad, delirious moment, Maddy had thought Nash had come back. But it was just Lizzie, racing to warn her. Maddy put aside the letters she’d been writing—trying to write. Trying to make herself write. She couldn’t seem to find the words.
“What is, Lizzie?” Though she knew full well.
“My uncle was having a drink in the inn yesterday and Mr. Harris was tellin’ anyone who’d listen that he caught you with a fancy man in your bed. And plenty did listen and believe him, miss, including Uncle Bill.” She gave Maddy a shamefaced look. “He didn’t at first. He’s never liked that Mr. Harris and so, when he came home last night from the pub, he asked me straight out, did you have a man living with you.”
She flushed. “It kind of took me by surprise, miss, and I told him no, but I’m no good at tellin’ fibs and he knew there was something. And so I explained that your gentleman was an ’elpless invalid, but Uncle Bill didn’t believe that. ‘No helpless invalid gave Harris that there broken nose,’ he said, and that was that.”
“I see.” Maddy sighed. The scandal had spread faster than she’d thought.
“It’s true, isn’t it, miss? I can see you’ve been crying.”
Maddy shook her head. “Mr. Renfrew did nothing wrong, Lizzie, and so you must tell your uncle and everyone else.” Not for her sake—she would be gone and what the villagers thought of her wouldn’t matter once she’d left, but Nash would be the main landowner in the district, and it wasn’t fair that he would be blamed for something that was her fault. Her choice.
Lizzie eyed her shrewdly. “If he done nothing wrong, then why were you crying?”
“He’s gone.” Maddy bit off the words and tried to look unconcerned. It was a miserable failure.
Lizzie’s face fell. “Oh, miss, you’ve gone and fallen in love with him, haven’t you?” she whispered. “Oh, miss.” Lizzie pulled her into a warm hug and the unexpected comfort of it set off Maddy’s tears again.
Stupid to be crying, she berated herself silently, when it was all of her own doing. It was just that she hadn’t known how it would feel, to feel so much . . . and then watch him ride away, knowing it was over . . .
After a moment she pulled back. “Don’t mind me,” she muttered, groping for a handkerchief. “I’m just a fool who fell for a handsome face.” And let herself dream secret, impossible dreams.
Lizzie wiped Maddy’s cheeks with a corner of her apron. “You and me both, miss,” she said. “That’s the trouble with bein’ a woman—we’re built to give our hearts away. I even married my handsome face and it still done me no good. Heart-break on two legs, that’s what my Reuben and your Mr. Renfrew are.”
Maddy gave a shaky laugh. Lizzie’s practical acceptance of her fate was heartening. She supposed all women did go through it. Mama had and so had Grand-mère.
“Uncle Bill don’t blame you, miss—he says it’s what all them fine gentleman are like: ‘Rakes one and all, and built to take advantage.’ But he says . . .” Lizzie screwed up her face in frustration. “He says I’m not to go and be a maidservant now, that if a fine gentleman can ruin a nice lady like you, then a girl like me, with a weakness for a fine-lookin’ man, hasn’t a hope of stayin’ virtuous.” Lizzie pulled a face. “But there’s no danger of that. My Reuben cured me of fallin’ for a handsome charmer. Plenty of lads have tried to have their way with me, thinkin’ me lonely, now that I’ve tasted the pleasures of the marriage bed—and that’s true enough . . .” Lizzie’s expression grew soft and distant, remembering.
Maddy tried not to think about the lonely nights that lay in her future. Her feelings were too raw and tender to express, but she knew exactly how Lizzie felt.The pleasures of the marriage bed . . .
How long had Reuben been gone? Nearly two years? He was never coming back, that was clear to Maddy. Yet all this time later Lizzie could still look like this at the mention of his name . . .
Oh God.
Lizzie continued, “But if I can’t have Reuben, I don’t want nobody.” She winked at Maddy. “Especially not some village bumpkin with sweaty great clumsy hands.”
Maddy managed a smile, but a sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Not a village bumpkin, but a fastidious old man with soft, white, powdery skin and perfectly manicured hands . . . She repressed a shudder.
How could she bear Mr. Hulme to touch her after Nash? But she must, she must. If Lizzie’s Uncle Bill, who had always been an ally, could think the worst of her . . .
She abruptly became aware of what Lizzie was saying. “He says I’m not to come here for lessons anymore, miss, that if your good name has been tainted . . .” She took Maddy’s hands in her own work-roughened grip. “Don’t look like that, miss. I’ll come anyway, you see if I don’t. And I don’t care what Uncle Bill says, I will too become a maidservant. I’m not going to live with cows the rest of my life. Or if I must, I’m determined they’ll be the two-legged sort with fancy clothes and airs and graces.” She winked.
Maddy gave a choked laugh. It simply wasn’t possible to stay gloomy with Lizzie around. “You don’t need any more lessons. And I’ve written you a character reference.” She took it from the mantelpiece and handed it to Lizzie. “Besides, I’m leaving the village.”
Lizzie tucked the precious document in her apron pocket, unread. “Thanks, miss. Leaving the village? Where for?”
“I’m going back to Leicestershire. To where the children used to live.”
“But I thought—” Lizzie stopped.
“Thought what?”
“I always had the feeling you never liked it there.”
Maddy made a rueful gesture. “I didn’t. But I’ve no choice now. I can’t stay here. Mr. Harris has seen to that.”
“The old baskit!” Lizzie muttered, but she made no attempt to argue. Her ready acceptance of Maddy’s leaving only confirmed Maddy’s decision to leave. “When do you go?”
