Free The Winter Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) by Anne Gracíe Page A

so—too young to be making such a momentous decision. She’d no doubt change her mind. And even if she didn’t . . .
    “Even if you don’t choose to marry, there’s still no need to work at this kind of job. There are other alternatives for you, surely, more genteel positions than working in a noisome back alley.”
    “I like painting china.”
    “You could paint china and still be comfortable working as a—as a lady’s companion, for example.”
    She gave a kind of snort through elegantly flared nostrils.
    “What’s wrong with being a lady’s companion? Lady Beatrice would gladly employ y—”
    “Lady Beatrice is too kind and generous for her own good, which is why I will not sponge off her indefinitely. Do you think that’s what I want? To take and take and give nothing in return?” She rounded on him suddenly. “Why don’t
you
want to get married?”
    “What? None of your b—”
    She smiled. “Exactly. And yet marriage offers you so much: a wife to run your home and do your bidding—”
    Freddy snorted. “Do my bidding? You don’t know much about wives if that’s what you think.”
    “A companion, children—isn’t it your duty to produce an heir to continue the family name? What do they say, ‘an heir and a spare’?”
    Freddy loathed the expression.
    “Or is it women you have an aversion to? I know some men—”
    “I do
not
have an aversion to women!”
    “Well then, why
don’t
you want to marry?”
    Nettled, Freddy stared at her in frustrated silence.
    She gave a little grin. “See? Not so much fun when you get a taste of your own medicine, is it?” She took a few steps, then seemed to reconsider. “You’re going to tell Lady Beatrice about me, aren’t you?”
    He wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He shrugged. They walked on a little.
    She said abruptly, “Have you ever had nothing, Mr. Monkton-Coombes?”
    He frowned. “In what sense?”
    “In any sense. Have you ever had nothing, owned nothing, not so much as a penny to your name?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Well, I have—several times in my life—so don’t talk to me about ‘need.’ You look at me and see a girl who’s well fed, well dressed, comfortably housed and elegantly shod.”
    He couldn’t help but glance at the boots she was wearing. They were damn ugly and far too heavy for her.
    “Not these. I can’t very well tread the filthy backstreets of London in dainty slippers, can I? Especially not with the weather we’ve been having,” she said impatiently. “I mean in general, I appear to have everything I could ever want.”
    He nodded.
    “And you know from whom all this abundance comes, don’t you?”
    “Lady Beatrice and Max.”
    “Exactly—and don’t misunderstand, I love Lady Beatrice dearly and am deeply grateful for her generosity and that of her nephew—but what if, for some reason, Lady Beatrice or Lord Davenham turned against me? Where would I be then?”
    “They wouldn’t. Lady Beatrice adores you girls and Max adores Abby and Abby wouldn’t let him.”
    “Yes, but let’s say, for the sake of argument, they did. Or what if they died? People do die, for all sorts of unexpected reasons.”
    People did, Freddy knew that only too well. They walked on for a few moments in silence. What if she were left on her own? London streets were full of destitute people—it was one reason he insisted on escorting her. Without family, without a home or an income of some sort . . . Damaris living on the streets? It was unthinkable.
    “It’s happened to me twice in my life—twice! And I won’t let it happen again. I have to have money of my own, that I’ve earned myself and owe to no one. I don’t expect you to understand—people like you grow up with an assumption that you’ll always have everything you need—not everything you want, but what you need to live—”
    “I understand,” Freddy said. And he did. But he could see from her expression she didn’t believe him.