Free The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah by Catherine Gayle

know where men put it all.”
    He let out a bark of a laugh at that. “Quite right, ma’am—”
    “Joyce,” she interrupted with a twinkling grin. “And I know I am.”
    “Right?”
    She nodded.
    Roman chuckled.
    “It would do you well to remember that I’m almost always right, my lord.”
    “Duly noted.” Before he could make an embarrassment of himself by devouring another bowlful of her soup, Roman pushed away from the small table. “Thank you, Joyce, for the meal. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
    “About as much as we appreciate all you’ve done for us, I’m sure.”
    All he’d done? “I’ve only begun to repair your fence,” he said, bewildered.
    With that, Joyce set down her implements and looked him in the eye, with a deadpanned and utterly serious shake of her head. “No, Lord Roman. You’ve already done far more for us than that.”
    Before he could take the time to sort out what she meant by that statement, she was brushing her hands over her apron and hurrying over to him.
    “Off with you now, so you won’t keep Lady Rosaline waiting.” Joyce took his hat and coat from the rack by the door and pressed them into his hands. “We’ll be looking for you at tea time, my lord.”
    And now, he wasn’t just being dismissed by the little slip of a woman, but also by her servants. What a muddle.
     

 

    Red silk satin, today. For the second time in only three days, Aunt Rosaline was wearing red. And again, for the second time in three days, Lord Roman had been able to convince her that Christopher Jackson had merely been delayed.
    It was nothing short of miraculous.
    The increase in these incidents, however, was more than just slightly alarming to Bethanne. She tried to hide her discomfiture by taking a sip of tea.
    “You’ve been to the colonies, then,” Aunt Rosaline said determinedly, looking expectantly across at their guest. “Are there truly savages there, sir? I can’t imagine why those rebels want to be there in the first place.”
    Before he responded, Lord Roman passed a brief glance over to Bethanne. He’d finished repairing the fence yesterday, and today had not arrived at the cottage until teatime.
    Bethanne had felt his delay to be a welcome reprieve, and yet she’d also felt an inexplicable sense of loss at his absence. She shifted uncomfortably on the divan and gave him a tiny nod of encouragement. It felt odd to encourage the man to lie to her aunt, but the truth caused more harm than good.
    “Yes,” he said after her gesture. “I fought in the colonies alongside your Lieutenant Jackson. And the savages you speak of are called Indians by the locals. Some of them are quite civilized, however.”
    “Civilized? They run around barely clothed in animal skins, shooting bows and arrows. Christopher has told me all of that and more in his letters. How is that civilized?” Aunt Rosaline picked up the quill from the writing table beside her. Not to write—her vision was too poor for such a task—but to fiddle with it. She drew it through her fingers the way she always would with a cheroot. Her nerves had to be nearing the fraying point for her to be thinking about smoking.
    Bethanne’s nerves had passed that point more than a year ago.
    Indeed, her entire life of late had been a lie, so why not allow yet one more person to become complicit in one of them with her? This lie, at least—allowing Aunt Rosaline to believe Lord Roman had been in the colonies with Lieutenant Jackson—was harmless. No one would be hurt by it one way or another. The same could not necessarily be said for the other lies she’d told or the secrets she’d kept. She hoped no one would be hurt, but…
    Lord Roman smiled at Aunt Rosaline. “Is that truly more savage than a society which would treat an unmarried mother as a leper?”
    Bethanne flushed, a rush of heat racing over her cheeks. She wanted to leave. She wanted to stand up, escort him out and bid him never to return, and then