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Gasping, the little girl raised her tear-ravaged face. Huge, soulful green eyes, red-rimmed from weeping, gazed at her in shock and alarm. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, and she jerked away, cowering in the corner.

“It’s all right, dear. I shan’t hurt you. I promise,” Purity soothed in the same manner she had the two wild kittens a mama cat had deserted in the stables at Petherwick Court. Plump kittens, which now led a luxurious and pampered life in Petherwick Court. Smiling, she gently pushed a strand of damp red hair off Bernadine’s cheek.

“Is she your mama?” Purity asked, praying that wasn’t the case.

“No! No!” Bernadine whispered raggedly while giving a vehement shake of her coppery head. “But she wants to be. Then she’ll send me to a bored…” Forehead furrowed, she screwed her bow-shaped lips together. “To bord-ded school, far, far away.”

So, that was the way of it then. Boarding school for this poor child.

Did Bernadine’s father know how dreadfully the woman treated his daughter? Once again, Purity sent up a short prayer that he had no idea how contemptibly the woman who thought to become his wife treated his daughter.

It mightn’t be her place, and she’d be stepping over the mark, but impertinent or not, Purity fully intended to advise him of what she had overheard.

When she found out who he was.

Lower lip quivering, the child cut such a fearful glance toward the opening, Purity’s heart lurched once more.

What kind of monster had terrified this little girl so?

When Bernadine turned her face away, Purity spied the clear, angry red outline of a palm upon the little girl’s peach skin. An adult palm print.

Another wave of ire sluiced through her.

“I’m Purity, Bernadine. You can trust me. I shall keep you safe.”

For the next few minutes, but then what?

Surely any father, upon learning how despicably the woman had spoken to his child, would protect his offspring from further abuse.

“Bern-a-dine?” the woman called again, her angry voice grating like coach wheels upon gravel.

Bernadine remained stonily silent with her fearful gaze riveted on the garden entrance.

“Fine, you horrid little red-haired daughter of the devil,” the woman ranted. “I’ll explain to your father how you’ve been disobedient and insolent again. Perhaps being locked in your room for another three days, with only bread and water, will teach you to respect your betters.”

She locked the child in her room and only fed her bread and water?

Where in Hades was the child’s father when this occurred?

“I wasn’t dis-bead-inet or solent,” Bernadine mumbled, pushing her lower lip out and glowering. “That’s a lie.” She peeped up at Purity, obviously still uncertain she could trust her. “Papa says liars are the devil’s mouf-peach.”

Mouthpiece?

Hiding a smile at the child’s adorable mispronunciations, Purity quite agreed with that assessment.

“Your papa is a very wise man.”

Nodding, Bernadine sniffled and rubbed her reddened nose on her forearm. “Aunt Athena said she was going to be my mama. I said she wasn’t, so she slapped me.”

That appalling woman was the child’s aunt? And wanted to be her mother?

Heaven forbid.

It took all of Purity’s restraint to quell the ugly retort that throttled to the back of her teeth. Nonetheless, several unflattering descriptions of the woman tumbled around her brain. A few downright vulgar ones as well that would’ve sent dear Mrs. Shepherd into a swoon had any of her pupils ever voiced something so uncouth and unladylike.

“Here.” Purity pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her pocket.

Any governess worth her salt kept at least three fresh handkerchiefs on hand. She would’ve tended to the child’s nose and face herself, but as they were strangers and Bernadine was distrustful, Purity deemed it wiser to let the imp try herself.