Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“You are promised to another man, daughter. The last thing this family needs is for you to be out cavorting with Heartstone’s eldest son. At least he was smart enough to have a maid with you.”
“You were out with The Mutt?”
Her mother’s gasp reverberated through the entryway, which now had her siblings in it.
“Don’t call him that,” she snapped back, anger rushing forward. “He’s the son of a marquess, an earl and a human being. He is not a mutt!”
Crack!
She didn’t even see the hit that rocked her head to the side coming. Tears springing into her eyes, she held her burning cheek.
“You will never speak to me in that tone.” Her mother’s face flushed with anger as she stood there, chest heaving. “He’s a half-breed. Not one of us. And no matter the amount of money he may or may not have, that doesn’t change that he’s not pure.”
Her father stepped between them. “This isn’t helping anything. She also can’t be seen with a handprint on her face.” He waved her away. “Go to your room.”
“With pleasure,” she growled and walked off. Her siblings watched her, and not a single one of them had sympathy in their expressions. In fact, the three of them were decidedly entertained.
She continued up the stairs, ignoring the light pitter patter of slippers on the wood behind her. There wasn’t any reason to turn around, she knew exactly who it was. The favored child. Her sister, Henrietta. A perfect replica of her mother where, both women took great pleasure in reminding her, constantly, Rosamunde was not.
Pushing into her room, she didn’t even bother closing the door, knowing it wouldn’t keep Henrietta out. Shivering, she walked to her closet and pulled out another article of clothing to warm her up further.
What I wouldn’t give to have that thick wool coat of Bryn’s around me. Of course, having him near her had been lovely as well.
“You were hanging out with The Mutt?”
Rosamunde shook with fury and rushed her sister, thrusting her against the wall. “You’re not Mama, don’t think I will let you talk about him like that. Show some respect.”
Her sister sneered at her. “You let him rut you? I heard The Mutt will stick his wick in anything, just like a dog. He’d probably take you with a bag over your head. Assuming he could find what he wanted between your fat thighs.” A shrug.
Rosamunde smacked Henrietta across the face. That shocked Henrietta. Like she’d not expected her to actually hit her. Much as Rosamunde had done when she’d been hit by their mother, her sister cupped her cheek.
“You hit me.”
“Don’t talk about him like that. He’s not a mutt. And if you’re so sure about calling him that, go to his mother or father and say that. A marquess and a princess.”
“Stop acting like you know them and could go there if you wanted.”
“I just had a meal with them, so I could.” If they would let her in or not she wasn’t sure, but her sister didn’t need to know that.
“You’re still fat and ugly.” Her sister stomped away, slamming the door behind her as she exited.
Dropping the cloak she’d yanked from her closet, Rosamunde made her way to the bed and burrowed beneath all the blankets, succumbing to the tears that had been threatening since she’d been hit with the knowledge that her family truly hated her.
Since this morning.
A disappointment? Sure. But lately their behavior toward her had become such an intense hatred and little regard for her happiness. Today had been too much. Her face ached and the tears didn’t seem to want to stop.
Time didn’t mean anything and when her brother woke her, he watched her with an impassionate gaze.
“You’re late for the evening meal.” No expression change as he gave the edict. “I was ordered to come get you. Mother said she figured you would have been first for the food.” A lazy lift of one shoulder. “Given your size.”
At one time his words had had the power to hurt her. Sometimes even shame her. Now, nothing.
She sat up, pushing him away with one hand. He had about four inches on her, at least, despite being younger than her by two years. Lovell Bradford Fletcher looked so much like their father, only without the paunch or broad shoulders. His body still in the awkward young age.
“I’ll be down shortly.”
His blue gaze, a bit watery, stared at her until without a word he turned and walked away, leaving quietly. Her palm throbbed and she turned her hand over to look at the injury.
What had been nothing more than a splinter this morning now seemed red and puffy. She’d avoided looking at it when she’d removed her gloves at the Heartstone town home, opting to keep her hand curled in her lap. But now, in the fading light of day, she saw that she’d not gotten all the splinter out and now she was dealing with the results.