“I can take care of myself . . . if you will give me the money I deserve.”
“That’s the point, Gemma,” his lordship said. “You don’t deserve any money.”
That was an outrageous statement. “You purchased a new coach off the money my marriage brought to this family—” she started, only to be cut off.
“I purchased a coach with my money.” He spoke with finality, his gaze cold. “By the good grace of the law, I inherited my brother’s estate. He inherited your father’s, and he did so with your father’s blessing. If your father wanted you to have money, he should have made a provision.”
“He trusted Paul,” she said, the words almost choking her.
“No one should have trusted Paul. He was a fool, eager to make a fool’s decisions. Everyone knew Sir Michael valued the affections of his wife and was a crack shot.”
Heat rose to Gemma’s cheeks.
No, it was not news to anyone in London that her husband had died dueling over another man’s wife. However, it was unkind of him to bring it up now, especially with such an audience.
Gemma wrapped herself in pride. “And does everyone in London know you kept the news of my husband’s death from me until I came here looking for him? He’d been dead, what? Six months?” Her voice shook with the shame she wanted to heap upon him. “Dead and buried and his widow was not told? Is this how you take care of me?”
Lord Latimer’s thin lips quirked to one side. “Perhaps I wished to save you from tragic news.”
“Perhaps you didn’t wish me to challenge your claim on my fortune?”
“It was never your money, Gemma. You were never a consideration for your father or your husband. That being said, my wife and I took you in out of the kindness of our Christian hearts and this is how you repay us? You foolish, foolish girl.”
The magpies tutted their agreement. Of course they would side with him, and the world of man-made laws.
Gemma squeezed her hand around the letter, the weight of frustrated tears behind her eyes, refusing to let them fall. “Give me my portion.”
He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You’ll receive nothing from me. Now, return to whatever duties my wife wishes of you and in the future, be more appreciative. Without us, you and your precious herbs and spells would be out on the street. Ah, yes, I know what you have been about. Selling potions to houses around the square. I let you do it because several neighbors have mentioned how thankful they are for your help. You may dabble all you wish, until I tell you to stop. Do you understand?”
He referred to the teas, tonics, and salves she made. She’d learned about healing from summers spent with her gran in Glasgow.
Then, leaning forward and in a voice so low only she could hear, “You should also be kinder to me.”
“Never,” Gemma shouted. “You will never touch me.” Nor would she let any other man. She was done with the lot of them.
“Such a pity,” was his response. Nor did he act humiliated by her outburst. Instead, he turned to his wife. “Come, my lady, let us take your guests back to the sitting room to sample more of that punch Barstow enjoys preparing.” He offered his arm to her.
Lady Latimer took it without hesitation, sending a sniff in Gemma’s direction, a gesture immediately imitated by the other ladies. Barstow trailed behind them, one hand on his side where Gemma had viciously elbowed him.
She watched them walk down the hall until they disappeared into the sitting room. They would be talking about her now, listening to Lord and Lady Latimer spread whatever story they wished. They would not be kind to her.
Gemma turned on her heel. She dashed blindly for the back stairs. She climbed as fast as her legs could carry her and did not stop to even draw a breath until she was in the haven of the small room tucked under the eaves. She slammed the door, then opened it and slammed it again harder, knowing no one could hear her here.
The action broke her temper and before she could think, she crumpled to the floor by her miserly cot and gave in to a good cry. She wept bitterly for her father, who had always wanted the best for her as long as she followed his will; she wept for her husband, who had not been the