Teasing Your Wicked Heart

CHAPTER 1

"Bloody piece of shoe," swearing malevolently, she trudged, pulling leg after leg towards the dampened hearth.

Lady Sarah Jane's mind was a mix of vicious intent and guilt as she realized that she ought to bite her tongue lest she be cast out of society for letting such words pass her mouth.

But it had rained; she thought with a frown, it had rained for the bloody third time today! Surely it was not much to ask to be able to walk through the strawberry fields of Thurstason, toil and garden peacefully, pick some berries and arrive home, dry as a bone, and without destroying another pair of perfectly good boots.

It had only come to her attention that the clouds were not in her favor when they darkened on her hike back home. She had ruined five—Yes, five—Five perfectly decent pairs of boots on her travels on that month alone.

Muttering more indecent words under her breath as she stepped on the front step of Regalia House.

She pulled her boots off and heavily shook as they were drenched foully with grime, dirt, and rain. She rubbed a wet palm on her equally drenched daily frock in a sad attempt to dry it, but failed miserably.

Her hand reached out for the door jamb, it's metal finish slippery beneath her damp fingers.

Surely, no one would begrudge her of being able to splutter one solitary innocent swear that—

There was a female shriek coming from the nearby window, and instantly she dreaded the scolding that was to befall her.

Her fingers grappled the door jamb more fiercely and ferociously wrenched the door open, its hinges protesting as the wood slammed to the wall behind it.

"Oh, dear child!" An old portly woman heavily wielded her way through the end tables of the hall and approached Lady Sarah Jane as she burst forth from the main door.

"What in heaven's name compelled you to venture outside in this weather," the old matronly woman asked while she plucked the blasted shoes from the lady's freezing hands.

They had been damaged beyond repair. She would need to go into town, a half-an-hour ride in a bumpy carriage, just to get to a perfectly respectable and decent shoemaker.

"I am worried about you dear girl," the old woman shrieked again, smudging off dirt and mud from her cheek vigorously, causing the skin to turn pink from the friction.

"Wherever could you have gone in such weather?"

She sighed, the feeling was all too familiar. Nurse Harpers had become her companion, lady's maid, and mother figure when her father had passed. She can't very well call her Nurse Harpers any more than she could call herself a green girl of six.

"It wasn't this weather this morning, Mathilda," she said with obvious exasperation, allowing a proud tilt of her chin to show that she did not at the least bit appreciate being talked to like a child.

"It had been bright, crisp and—"

A low gasp interrupted her, scolded her with a "My lady!"

A tall gangly man scowled at the sight of her dripping with rainwater on the priceless floor runner from India. His hands had dropped the empty buckets that were brought surely for the leaking rooms. It was a pity that the house, which was rumored to be as grand as any house of a king's relation, had crumbled to waste.

"You mustn't remain soaked in rainwater, my lady. One sick person in this home is already too much. We mustn't tempt the fates and make it two!"

Oh, she had heard this many times before. Old Robinson had a flair for exaggerating things.