Their Wicked Ways Read Free Page B

now?”
     
    Nick shrugged dismissively.
“A leopard never changes its spots.”
     
    “Maybe she’s shopping for a
husband?  I can hardly credit it, but it’s been every bit of five years since
Isaac was killed.”
     
    “Possibly.  If she is, she
will certainly be in need of guidance.”

 
     
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    Bronte strove for patience as
her mother began her harangue yet again.  “You are far too young to content
yourself with being a widow.  I could understand it if you had been truly
devoted to poor Isaac, but you and I both know that that was not the case.”
     
    Bronte stabbed her finger
with her needle and bit back the urge to say something unladylike.  She had
never been much for needlework, but she was bored stiff and the weather was too
inclement for a ride at the moment.  “I loved Isaac.”
     
    “Of course you did, my dear. 
It’s a wife’s duty.”
     
    Bronte studied her mother for
several moments.  “Is that how you felt about my father?”
     
    Elizabeth Millford glanced at
her daughter uncomfortably.  “I had a great deal of respect for your father,
and grew to feel affection for him, as well, God rest his soul.”
     
    Bronte studied the mess in
her lap.  “The Americans often marry for love.”
     
    Elizabeth Millford snorted. 
“I would not be surprised in the least … upstarts.  I hope they have not put
such silly notions in your head.”
     
    Bronte sighed. “No,” she said
somewhat doubtfully, working at untangling the silken threads she’d mangled. 
“But it is a great trial only to be a ‘duty’.”
     
    Her mother seemed to mull
over the comments for a few moments.  “I knew it was a very bad notion for you
to go and live with my sister.  She has put this silly notion in your head
about not remarrying, hasn’t she?”
     
    Bronte rose abruptly, tossing
her abandoned needlework into the seat she’d vacated.  “It is not silly,
mother.  It’s … practical. I’ve no need to wed again, after all.  Besides....”
     
    When she didn’t continue, her
mother favored her with a piercing look.  “Besides?” she prompted.
     
    Bronte wrung her hands.  “The
doctor tells me there’s a very good chance that I’m barren.  I did not provide
poor Isaac with an heir.  It would not be right to marry when I cannot give my
husband children.”
     
    Elizabeth snorted.  “In the
first place, doctors rarely know what they’re talking about.  In the second …
why you needn’t wed a man in need of an heir.  We shall just put our heads
together and make up a list of men who already have their heirs and are looking
for someone to mother their children.”
     
    Oh joy, Bronte thought,
trying not to look as revolted by the notion as she felt.  She had no interest
in becoming a free governess or nanny.  “I would far prefer to remain a widow
than to become someone’s duty or a nursemaid to tend their obnoxious brood
while they trot off philandering.”
     
    “A gentleman will respect his
wife and practice discretion,” Elizabeth pointed out.
     
    Bronte lost her temper.  “If
they will not honor their vows, I see no reason to take them myself,” she
snapped irritably.
     
    Elizabeth’s brows rose. 
Despite her reproving look, however, Bronte saw that her mother was truly
shocked to hear such a concept sprout from her daughter’s lips. She looked very
much as if she was suddenly uncertain that Bronte actually was whom she claimed
to be, as if an impostor had dropped upon her doorstep.  “Yes, well I am sure a
woman’s place is a sad trial to us all, but … My dear!  If it were left up to
men we would all still be living in caves!
     
    “It is a woman’s place to
provide the comforts of home and family, and if you are clever, you can keep
your man from straying … overmuch,” she added after a significant pause.  “In
any case, if they did not, every female of childbearing years would be with
child nine months of every year.