Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) by Diane Scott Lewis Page A

rugged, windswept shore. She shivered, as if the wind could scour through her skin.
    “Sometimes. But why waste time on that? Only chews up your innards, not the one you be mad at.” Kerra lay back on the blanket, her arms behind her head. An owl hooted in the distance. “Mighta been huffed for being dumped from the coach, but not to let it fester for long.”
    Bettina warmed to Kerra’s blunt, if erratic, manner. She admired her resilience, and, to a point, her defying of convention. Suddenly she understood her new friend’s—were they friends?—wild nature as nurtured by this region. Bettina stretched her neck and shoulders, her muscles unknotting, and smiled for the first time in days. She had to allow a similar resilience to soak into her like the bath oils she craved.
    The mist cleared by mid-morning of the following day. Bettina stiffened when Kerra jabbed her in the back. The saddle creaked with her fidgeting. “Fie, we be as good as there now. Down there, take that road to the right.”
    Bettina steered the horse onto a smaller track that veered close to the cliffs. As they rounded a bend on the left at the base of a hill, a two-storied whitewashed stone building slid into view. Under a slate roof, six small windows with diamond-shaped panes winked in the sun. A weathered sign out front read Maddie’s Ace as it squeaked on rusted chains. Above the large black letters, a simple painting of a dark-haired woman holding the Ace of Spades stared out.
    Past the inn, the road sloped to a humble village of granite, clob and slate cottages, hugging the hill on one side and the sea cliffs on the other.
    “Here’s my old Sidwell.” Kerra slid off the horse with a thump and ran inside the building. “Mads, I’m home! Now don’t get uppity about where I been.”
    Bettina dismounted near the inn’s front door and scrutinized the modest village—a drab comparison to Bath. Up on the hill, directly behind the inn, sat a mansion half obscured by trees. At the hill’s foot, two birds Kerra called curlews probed a clump of bracken with their sickle beaks. Bettina rubbed her sore back and wished like Kerra she could cry ‘I’m home’.
    “Come inside.” Kerra poked her head out the door, her cheeks flushed.
    Bettina entered into a spacious room with a huge stone fireplace, the smell of smoke and roasted meat assaulting her. Wooden tables with worn benches and chairs were scattered over a timber floor stained dark brown. Along the wall to the right stood a line of barrels with planks across them like a platform. Several casks with spigots sat atop the planks. Spirits in bottles of amber and green lined the shelves of an old cupboard to the right. Pewter tankards hung from pegs on rough-hewn beams that bowed under a low ceiling. The room looked rustic but orderly. Bettina relaxed at the clean underlying scent of vinegar.
    A woman stalked toward them. She had the same coloring as Kerra, but a fuller figure with none of her sister’s sharp edges. In the softer features of this taller woman lay the beauty Kerra’s visage only hinted at. Though no delicate bloom, her face showed years of hard work.
    “I'm Maddie Tregons,” she said, thrusting out her hand.
    “Bettina Laurant, my pleasure to meet you, Madame.” Bettina let her arm be pumped by a grip worthy of a man’s.
    “Kerra says you need work. Could use the help. Two of my employees left to get married and work in Plymouth. Gifford and Caroline … aye, Kerra, they finally done it. Can’t pay much, but you can stay in one of the rooms in back and eat with us. If you got gumption, there be plenty round here to keep busy. I’ll give it a week or so an’ hope you work out.”
    “Merci.” Bettina flashed what she hoped was her best smile, unsure if she had ‘gumption’ or not. She prayed it wasn’t contagious. She glanced around again, stomach queasy, and considered, in her distress over the Littles, she’d been hasty to travel to Cornwall.
     

 
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