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

But I guess it ain’t for us to judge,” the stooped-shouldered woman in a faded blue pelisse replied.
    “Who would leave a young child with such a man, after what he done?” red cloak continued, poking a veined hand amongst the apples. “Hope these ain’t too soft inside like last time.”
    “There musta been no other livin’ relatives. And they never proved he done anything, after all.” The woman in blue delicately sniffed one of the apples. “Seemed a decent family enough, afore them rumors.”
    Like a cat, Kerra noticeably pricked up her ears, sidling closer to the women.
    “Well, still, up in that gloomy place, what’s the boy to do there? It be a cryin’ shame is all I can say.” The red-cloaked lady huffed, then glared at a wizened man behind the produce. “’Fess up, Hedley, these the best you got?”
    The one in blue sighed and replaced her apple. “Let’s pray that everything works out for the better. Mr. Camborne’s parents was good, God-fearin’ people.”
    “’Scuse me, but what might we be talking about?” Kerra, never one to be shy, interrupted at last.
    The woman in red threw up her hands. “Ain’t you heard? Mr. Camborne’s sister passed away and her son’s come to live with him. He be only nine years old, this boy. And you know ’bout Mrs. Camborne’s disappearance. Now the nephew’s living all alone with that man? I tell you, something bad’s gonna happen.”
    Kerra poked her face forward. “So do tell.”
    “Kerra, pay no attention to this gossip. It is unkind,” Bettina said in a surge of disgust. The scowl from the woman in the red coat made her shudder.
    “If that ain’t the screw,” Kerra said when they toted their purchases back to the inn. “Them two old biddies be from outlying farms, and they hear the gossip afore me.”
    “There is probably no truth to those ugly rumors.” Bettina wanted to believe that a man gallant enough to come to her aid couldn’t be a scoundrel.
     
    * * * *
     
    Prying open the floorboard, Bettina counted her saved wages. She’d been forced to buy a pair of sturdy leather half boots, her old slippers full of holes and thin as paper. Out of necessity, she had also purchased warm worsted stockings in ugly black, an itchy woolen petticoat, a thicker but used blanket for her bed. This, along with the upkeep of the horse, had devoured most of her money. Perhaps she’d have to sell the nag, but then Kerra owned part of him, and she’d feel trapped completely. She intended to give the old gelding to Maddie as a parting gift.
    She shoved the board closed, crawled out, and hit her head on the bed frame. Grimacing, she rubbed her scalp. Her greasy hair caught in her fingers. Disgusted by this and her body smell, she strode to the kitchen, snatched up a bucket and carried it out the back door.
    Bettina dropped the bucket under the spout and wrenched down the pump handle. After a squeak, the water trickled out as she watched her hands turn pink with cold. A gush of anger swept through her at the jaded aristocrats she’d heard ridicule the laziness of the poor when she lived in France. The truth was the poor worked hard with little to show for it. But she’d never have known this without suffering their day-to-day existence.
    “Someone’s inside, asking about lessons ,” Ann, her long, rangy figure on the back step, interrupted these gloomy musings. “Lessons, is it? Don’t know why they’d bother. What could you teach anyone?”
    “Is this true? You are not teasing?” Bettina jerked the pump handle again, then recalled that Ann had little inclination to jest or tease. She’d never seen the woman rearrange her face into a smile.
    “In the taproom, don’t keep him waiting.” After her acerbic reply, Ann turned, jumped, and made an awful screech.
    “What is the matter?” Bettina asked, flexing her red fingers.
    A small creature near Ann’s foot hopped off, croaking. “A toad on the step. Means we be ill-wished. Means bad luck