The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page

Finally, I made up my mind to sell this car. She would have fetched a tremendous amount of money and I need it for the women I’m helping. It would have utterly broken my heart to do it, but I would have done it.”

      “Darling, I would never let you sell this car.”

      She glanced briefly at him. Then looked back to the narrow road. “The only money I can even call mine is my dowry and that is locked up as tight as Fort Knox in America. But my sister-in-law Zoe is going to provide the financial backing and I can use that to help women begin businesses or run their farms so they can feed their families. My brother and his wife take great care of the families on the Brideswell estate, but those on the Worthington estate have needed help.”

      “The Duke of Bad Manners didn’t like the idea of mixing with the poor.”

      She giggled and it was a lovely sound. “You mustn’t call him that. But too many people feel that way. It’s rather frustrating.”

      “You still do it.”

      She turned, flashing a smile that made his heart stop beating. “I am a duke’s daughter.”

      “You’re not what I expected of an aristocrat. Why do you do it, when you have to fight so hard?”

      “Once, I would have followed duty and rules, but not now. People lost so much in the War. It is wrong to let children go hungry and women lose their homes! These men gave everything to protect our country, to protect our way of life. I lost Anthony to the Somme and I grieved him for a very long time. Then I realized I needed to find purpose in my life. I didn’t want to go back to a life of dinner parties and presentation at court. I wanted to do something of value. It made the pain of losing Anthony go away.”

      “You’re the bee’s knees, sweetheart. A dame with a good heart, and a real Sheba.”

      Her eyes widened. “No one has ever said that to me before. What does it mean?”

      “You know what a dame with a good heart is. A Sheba is a girl who oozes sex appeal.”

      The car jolted in a rut. It was the first time she’d hit anything. Good. It meant he was getting to her. Finding the ways to get under her skin.

      Lady Julia turned off onto something that looked like a cart track. Apple trees stretched as far as he could see. “This is part of your orchards,” she said.

      “We’re not on a road, Sheba.”

      “We are. This is the lane to one of your farms and it also passes several small cottages.”

      A cottage came into view and she drew off to the edge of the lane. “This is the first family I want you to meet. I was coming here when I received a message to see Diana.” She turned off the engine and got out. Then she plucked a basket off the rumble seat behind her—filled with food, he saw—hooked it over her arm and firmly pushed open the small wooden gate in front of the stone building. It was tiny, with a short door flanked by two small windows. Roses budded all over the front.

      “These are your tenants,” she said. “Your estate encompasses about thirty thousand acres.”

      “Yeah. That’s what the lawyer told me. It’s a different thing when you actually see it.” But there was something he didn’t get. “Why are you looking out for the tenants and not Lady Worthington? Does the countess ignore the lowly peasants? Or is this another promise to my cousin?”

      “The countess took very ill after her son John died in the car accident.” She hesitated. She wasn’t looking at him, which made him curious. “She has experienced so much loss. It was so hard on Lady Worthington. You must consider that—”

      “Yeah, but she still hasn’t developed an ounce of compassion. Couldn’t she have sent her daughters to do what you’re doing?”

      Julia took a deep breath.

      “What is it? What are you hiding from me, Julia?”

      “This tenant—Ellen—has had to...to sell herself to men to earn money. That means all respectable women are supposed to shun her. They are not allowed to show kindness.”

      He knew exactly what she meant. “But not you. You aren’t afraid of anything.”

      “That is not true. But some things are simply more important.” She reached up to rap on the door. But it was yanked open.

      A kid stood there—a kid in short pants and a cap, who looked as skinny as Cal had been as a boy. The child shouted, “I guessed it would be you, my lady!”

      “You are very clever, Ben.” Julia smiled.

      The little boy looked captivated by her soft, melodic voice. Cal figured, from the boy’s blush, he had a crush on Julia. He wasn’t surprised.

      Julia took something from the hamper. “This is from the village bakery. I bought some yesterday for you.” She held out a sweet-looking strawberry tart with a shiny glaze.

      The boy devoured it in two bites. “You should savor it!” Julia exclaimed.

      Cal grinned. That was just what his mother would have said.

      “I did sabor it. I could have eaten it in one bite,” the boy declared with pride.

      Julia shook her head. “That is just what my brother Sebastian would have done. Or my youngest brother, Will. Now, go and fetch your mother, young Ben.”

      As the boy ran off, Cal saw her brush away a tear. Quickly she smoothed her features into serene, ladylike loveliness, but he asked gently, “What’s wrong?”

      “He reminds me so much of Will, and we lost Will to the influenza outbreak after the War. He was fifteen.”

      “I’m sorry.” And he was. He’d assumed wealth insulated her from hardship. He could see he’d been wrong. “What about your brother Sebastian? I didn’t meet him.”

      Her whole face glowed when she smiled—even the smallest, gentlest smile. It was sweeter than seeing Paris glitter with light, more breathtaking than dawn in the northern wilds. “He is an artist, like you,” she said. “Sebastian went to Capri, but now he lives in Paris. As you did. He is rather like a bohemian, largely impoverished because he wants to support himself with his art, and he is very happy.”

      “I bet he is. I see the same streak of wildness in you.”

      She blushed. “Hardly.” Then she frowned. “I’m surprised Ellen has not come out to see us.” She lowered her voice. “Ben’s mother, Ellen Lambert, never married. Ben was born six months after she came back from the War. She had been a VAD and worked as an ambulance driver.”

      “It was a hell of a job,” he said. “A hard, terrifying job. There were a lot of intense romances in the heat of battle.”

      “You had one?”

      “I had several. Only one that really mattered.”

      Her face shuttered, showing no emotion. “Really? I’m sure the others might have meant a lot to the women involved.” Then she left him. She went through the living room to the rear of the cottage. He followed—as if he were tied to Lady Julia Hazelton by an invisible string. He just couldn’t let her out of his sight. Every moment with her was proving to be something special.

      He stayed behind Julia as she paused in the doorway to a tiny kitchen. A thin woman with short blond hair stood at a metal sink, scrubbing with ferocity at a pot. Her shoulders shook as if she were sobbing.

      “Ellen, what’s wrong?” Julia asked.

      He heard Ellen Lambert take a shaky breath. Then she half looked over her shoulder. “Nothing, my lady. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

      He figured there were aristocratic women who would be slighted because Ellen hadn’t rushed to the door and curtsied. But Julia was not one. “There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Julia asked.

      “No—”