Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) by Cheryl Holt Page B

intended to carry out Mother Superior’s plan, to convey them to the convent and settle them there. But she actually had no authority over them—except that she was willing to exert some influence. She wasn’t their guardian. They weren’t her wards.
    Rowena had joined the trip to serve as their nanny on the journey home. If she chose to attire them in a manner Faith didn’t like, was it Faith’s place to chastise Rowena? She assumed it was, but wasn’t certain. Rowena was much closer to them than Faith was, and she believed herself to be in charge of their routine activities.
    What to do? What to do?
    It was a question that constantly vexed her.
    She reached the grassy courtyard just as the girls were leaving with the servants to have a snack. Rowena was leaving with them, and Faith called, “Rowena, may I talk to you for a minute?”
    Rowena turned and when she saw Faith, she straightened and stood belligerently, as if daring Faith to mention her clothes. Surely Rowena couldn’t expect that Faith would ignore it. Faith had no right to order Rowena to behave, but a gentle reminder seemed appropriate.
    Rowena waited until everyone was gone, then asked, “What is it? If you mean to complain about my outfit, please don’t. I’ve been hot and miserable for weeks. A maid showed me these colorful garments folded away in a trunk, and I’m finally comfortable. While we’re here, I’m not putting on my habit. I won’t.”
    “Fine.” Faith couldn’t bear to bicker. “But should you dress like this, Rowena? Have you thought about it?”
    “Yes, I’ve thought about it, Faith. I’m not a dunce.”
    “I realize that. It’s simply that we’re a long way from home, and it’s easy to forget who we are.”
    “I know who I am. I am Rowena Bond. I am a novitiate at the Sisters of Mercy convent located near Edinburgh, Scotland, but it’s been totally against my wishes. At the moment, there’s no one to judge or condemn me, and I’m making my own choices.”
    “Are you planning to forsake the convent?”
    “No, how would I?”
    Rowena’s reply was very firm, but she glanced away, giving Faith the definite impression she was lying.
    “So you’re… what? Playing? Loafing? Pretending you’re someone else?”
    “Yes, precisely. I’m pretending to be someone else. You should try it yourself. You might be surprised by how much you’d enjoy it. I guarantee you’d be much cooler.”
    “What about the girls?” Faith said, raising a different argument.
    “What about them?”
    “I’m not sure we should let them run about half-naked.”
    “Honestly, Faith, who is there to tell us we shouldn’t? Their dresses are filthy, and they’ve been wearing them for weeks. The maids are washing them. Would you rather I had them running about in nothing at all?”
    “No, of course not.”
    “You exhaust me. Stop worrying so much.”
    “I can’t help it. It’s wrong for us to stay here.”
    “It doesn’t feel wrong to me. It feels quite grand.” Rowena walked by her. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I’m having dinner with Mr. Robertson.”
    “In those clothes?”
    “Yes, Faith, in exactly these clothes.” She kept on, but at the last second, she peered back. “By the way, where’s your wimple? It seems, fussy Faith, that you’re relaxing your own rules.”
    “I was hot too,” Faith petulantly said.
    “So was I. Remember the old adage, Faith? It’s about glass houses and throwing stones.”
    Rowena stomped off and, torn and conflicted, Faith dawdled in the quiet.
    She was no one’s guardian or nanny. She was just Faithful Newton, who understood more clearly than ever that they needed to get moving. The villa, with its lush courtyards, bubbling fountains, competent servants, and spectacular views, lulled a person into a dangerous state of languor.
    Mr. Hubbard and Mr. Robertson were men, so they could dawdle without consequence. But she couldn’t, and neither could Rowena. Fraternization was perilous,