“I’ll be scarred. Forever. He’ll pay for this. He owes me for this—I’ll never find a good protector now!”
“Calm down, Sadie. I’ll take care of this,” Sin growled. She deserved something to make amends for what he’d done.
The maid appeared, puffing, carrying a large porcelain basin filled with steaming water. Aware she was struggling with the weight of it, Sin lifted it out of her hands and carried it to the vanity. The maid followed, towels over her arms. Her gasp of shock made Sadie start crying again.
“Look how horrified she is! I’m ugly now.” Sadie’s hands flailed and she began to slap her own head.
Portia grasped her hands, stopping Sadie from hurting herself. “The marquis did a terrible thing, but it looks worse now than it will be. We will tend to you. That way you can begin to heal. If necessary, I can stitch wounds and that will help them heal.”
“You can do that?”
“I’ve done it for children in the foundling home—that I once was in.” She added that swiftly. A smart and quick reaction. Sin was fairly sure she hadn’t given herself away.
“A surgeon taught me how to do it, so I can do it very neatly,” Portia continued.
But Sadie peered at her. “A foundling home? I was in a foundling home. A long time ago. It was run by a family.”
Portia jerked. Sin saw her sudden reaction. She was soaking a cloth and water sprayed. She looked startled.
“Do you know of it?” Sadie asked her.
What would Portia say?
Softly, she said, “I knew of homes like that, of course, because I grew up in one.”
Not a lie, but not the exact truth. Delivered smoothly. Sin had no idea Portia could lie so well. With him she always seemed to be completely honest. Brutally honest at times.
“What family ran the home, Sadie?” Portia asked softly.
“They were named Woodcock.”
“Oh, that was not the one I lived in. But of course, if we had been in the same one, we would have known each other. Now, you must lean over the bed and grip the sheets,” Portia instructed. “If it hurts, do try to bear it. It’s important to clean the wounds. But let me know if it is too terrible.”
With a cloth, Portia began to bathe the wounds. Sadie cried out in pain.
“Too much?”
Sadie nodded.
“Can you bear it? We must clean them. I could give you brandy—”
“I will be all right,” Sadie muttered.
Portia set back to work. Suddenly Sadie said, “If you were in a foundling home, I guess you never knew your mother or father either. Were they dead or were you just abandoned?”
He saw a look a panic flash on Portia’s face. She could lie, but he saw she didn’t like it.
“I know very little—”
“They told me almost nothing about my past.”
“Perhaps they didn’t really know,” Portia said softly.
“It’s hard not knowing who you are. I used to dream—” Sadie broke off abruptly. She looked scared, and he thought it was not just because of her wounds.
“It was hard to not know my mother,” Portia said. “To know she would never come for me, but to wish I could see her. And of course I entertained silly thoughts that she had been forced to give me up, but she would come back to me.”
Sin could tell Portia hated to lie. He was astounded that sounded so believable. So natural.
“But she didn’t, did she?” Sadie asked bitterly.
“No. But were you happy there? At the Woodcock home.”
Sadie winced. “I don’t know. How could I have been happy? They wanted me to do lessons and be respectable. They told me I must hope to become a governess or nurse or companion. But that’s really just a servant. I wanted so much more than that. And now . . .”
She began to sob.
“Shhh,” Portia admonished. “I am almost done cleaning you. You don’t need many stitches. The wounds are not large. Not as terrible as I thought.”
“But they will scar, though, won’t they?”
Sin watched Portia command boiling water from the maid. “I don’t know if I can ask for that in the kitchen now, miss. Mrs. Kent told me not to disturb her.”
“Mrs. Kent must accede to my request. I am sure she is busy, but I must ensure the thread and needle are both clean.”
“She won’t like it. She acts like a duchess, that one. And Humphries has given me a million tasks to do—”
“If you could do this for me, we shall speak to the butler and insist that you can no longer be run off your feet. And that Mrs. Kent behave decently to you.”
The maid shook her head. “He won’t do a thing. One maid there is—me!—and he acts as though there is a staff of twenty!”