Free The Clarendon Rose by Kathryn Anthony Page A

preferred to focus on how Tina must be epitome of propriety.
    When she wasn’t busy doing fine embroidery to supplement their meager funds, she was teaching Tina how to speak like “a girl of your rightful birth.”
    These lessons were, often as not, punctuated by burning glares.   “You will rise above this life, Tina—I promise you that.   And you must promise me you won’t let yourself sink to this level again.”
    If even a touch of the street cant slipped into Tina’s speech, Emily would fly into a rage.   “Being a proper lady is not a mere pastime, Valentina Merriweather!   If once you slip from the path, you will be lost.   Don’t let me hear you use that word again.”   Often as not, the admonishment would be accompanied by a slap, such that Tina soon learned to avoid picking up any of the street slang.  
    The unfortunate consequence of this was that the other children in the slum thought she was putting on airs and sought to take her down a peg or two.
    Big Ned had found her after the first time.   For all that he was a fright to look at, his battered face a tracework of scars, he had a soft spot for children and had been one of the few truly kind people she remembered from her childhood.
    “Ye needs ta teach the bullies a lesson, little starlin’,” he’d instructed.   “Once they’ve figured out that ye won’t be messed wif, they’ll leave ye alone.”
    And so he had taught her to find weapons in everyday objects and to use openings in an opponent’s defenses wherever they came.   He had taught her the dirtiest, most vicious aspects of street fighting, and before long, Tina was able to hold her own against the group of bullies who had singled her out.
    When Emily had seen her daughter’s cuts and bruises—and later, her bloodied knuckles and nails—her eyes had narrowed, but she had said little about the actions that would have engendered such injuries.   Tina was certain she had seen a gleam of satisfaction in her mother’s expression as she mopped at Tina’s hands and bandaged her knuckles, muttering, “A proper lady always keeps her nails clean.”
    Then, pausing in her ministrations, Emily pierced her daughter with a glare.   “And a proper lady uses whatever means necessary to guard her virtue and her person.”   Returning her gaze to Tina’s hands, Emily continued on a more familiar tirade, “You will not be ruined, Tina.   I’ll not allow it—“
    “Miss Merriweather?”   His tone was gentle.   His voice, dark and seductive.   He had followed her, as she supposed he was bound to do.   He stood somewhere close behind.   Tina squeezed her eyes tightly shut a moment, trying to bring her mortification under control—after all, he was right.   He had simply been complimenting her.   Her own ridiculous susceptibility to him, combined with the memory of her mother’s dire warnings, had prompted her to lash out at him like a paranoid spinster.  
    If the shoe fits, missy, came the tart rejoinder.   The realization provoked a reluctant smile.   At least I can still laugh at myself.   But much longer in his company and I might well lose my sense of humor.

CHAPTER FIVE

    Taking a deep breath, she turned and raised her chin.   The self-mocking smile still played on her lips.   “I apologize, Your Grace.   It seems I forgot my parasol this morning.”  
    His expression shifted from grave concern to startlement at her words.   “Your parasol?”
    “I was therefore unable to bash you over the head with it in my vain attempt to defend myself from your compliments,” she explained.   “I suppose I could have used one of the saddle bags instead, but that doesn’t seem quite so quintessentially spinsterish, does it?   It really is rather awful of me to assume the role without bringing along all the props, don’t you think?”
    A smile touched his lips as he offered her his arm.   She accepted, pushing aside her burning awareness of his proximity in her