ROMANCE: REGENCY ROMANCE: HONOR THY HUSBAND (A Regency Holiday Romance) (Mail Order Brides)


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Being a woman never has and never will be an easy existence. My mother was the first to teach me this lesson when I was but a wee girl. My father was a cruel man. He was the sort who'd drink his entire daily wages away in a couple of hours after finishing the day without providing a lick of food for his family and then rage about why there wasn't any stew or bread waiting for him when he came stumbling home. My mother would sputter and spit, scrape and bow with trying to make the old lout happy, all the while he's cursing her and making her feel lower-than-low.

On more than a few occasions, he'd become violent and strike poor old mother. Me and my brothers and sisters would run and hide anytime the old sod came home red-faced, his belly full of brandy and rum (Rum always made him the angriest.), his filthy mouth spitting curses, his hands balled into thorny fists ready to blacken mum's eyes and make her lips all bloody. On these violent nights, I would cradle my little sister under our bed praying to the Good Lord that he'd strike the old man dead in his spot, just make his heart stop beating and have him fall to the rough wooden planks in a heap like a poppet with its strings cut. Or I'd pray that mum would find her courage and cut him to pieces with one of the pairing knives she'd inherited from her dear old mother.

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