Page 5 of His One and Only Lady

Bernadine accepted the cloth, her lips tilting up at the corners at the bluebird in the corner. “A birdy. It’s pretty.”

“It is.” Purity bent her mouth into an encouraging arch. “Wipe your face and nose. You won’t harm it.”

Bernadine did as bid and then bashfully held out the crumpled square. “Thank you.”

The child had pretty manners.

“You are most welcome.” Purity accepted the wadded cloth and tucked it into her empty pocket. A trick she’d learned long ago.

Right pocket—clean handkerchiefs. Left pocket—soiled ones.

Listening intently for anyone’s approach, Purity considered the situation.

She had no idea who the woman searching for Bernadine was, but immediate and profound dislike had sprung up inside her for the mean-spirited creature.

Was she one of the houseguests?

Was Bernardine?

“Who is your father, Bernadine? What is his name?”

Bernadine turned her spiky-lashed emerald-green eyes on Purity. Love and admiration promptly filled her innocent gaze. “Papa.”

“Yes, he is Papa to you, but what name do others address him by, dearest?”

Screwing her face in concentration, Bernadine stared at her fingers entwined in her lap. She suddenly brightened. “Theran. Aunt Athena calls him Theran. Mrs. Spraggs—she’s our cook and makes yummy tarts—calls him Mr. Rutland.”

Theran Rutland.

Not a peer if his staff addressed him as mister.

Purity didn’t know him, but that wasn’t a surprise. She knew few of the people the Mumfords had invited to their annual country house party.

“Shall we search for your papa together?” She held out her hand. “I promise to keep you safe until we find him.”

Even from that witch out there.

Head canted, Bernadine stared at Purity for a long, assessing moment. At last, as if Purity had passed some sort of silent test, the child nodded and extended her tiny hand as she hopped off the bench.

The show of trust warmed Purity’s heart.

Now, where to begin the search for her father?

They exited the hedgerow, and Purity skimmed her gaze over the area, looking for the hateful woman. Several guests wandered the greens in the distance, but no one—especially a spiteful female—stomped about nearby.

Or flew about on her broom.

Thank goodness, because this time Purity wasn’t sure she’d be able to bridle her tongue. The harpy might find herself on the receiving end of a tongue lashing like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

As they slowly walked toward the impressive manor house, four stories of windows sparkling in the sunlight, Purity asked, “Are you and your papa here for the Mumfords’ house party?”

Nodding, Bernadine wrinkled her little nub of a nose and pulled a face. “Aunt Athena too. I was hiding from her.”

After Purity told Theran Rutland what she’d overheard, he’d have to be a numbskull to entertain any notion of marrying that horrid woman. Purity pointedly disregarded the nagging voice that whispered her impertinence might not be well received.

Or if Mr. Rutland complained to the Ceddes, she could lose her position.

She would be without employment soon anyway.