Authors: Anne Ireland
“You flatter me, sir.”
“No, I simply tell you what I see,” Paul said. “Have you seen anything of Viscount Mortimer?”
“I do not think he has come,” Hester said. “At least, I have not seen him yet. Perhaps he was detained in London?”
“Yes, perhaps, though I believe he meant to come if he could.”
“Well, I dare say he may arrive later if he can,” Hester said as a way of dismissing a subject that was not one she truly wished to discuss.
“Yes, perhaps,” Paul replied. “We shall not be able to be private this evening I fear—but perhaps I may take you riding in the morning. Unless you will be too tired?”
“Not at all,” she replied, her heart beating faster. “I should like that above all things. You must know that I love to ride with you.”
“Is that all you love, Hester?”
“I am not sure what you mean?”
“Are you not? I had thought my meaning must be plain, but perhaps there is someone else you think of more warmly?”
“No, indeed not! Who else should there be? I promise you there is not,” Hester said before she could stop herself. “You know I . . . like you very well, Captain Crawford.”
“Good.” He smiled down at her, making her heart race. At that moment she wished she were a million miles away from this place and that she could simply melt into his arms and let him love her. “Because I like you very much, my dearest Hester. I may not say more yet, but tomorrow I shall have much to say to you.”
* * * *
Hester smiled and looked up at him. All her feelings were revealed to him in that moment, and he knew that he had not been mistaken in her, but she was afraid of something. Was it her mother? He did not believe that Mrs. Weston would put a stop in their way, and yet, he sensed that Hester was anxious about something. He wanted to whisk her away somewhere quiet, but their dance was ending, and it would cause too much of a stir if he took her away before her next partner could claim her.
“Thank you,” she said as he led her from the floor as the music died. “I have much to say to you, Captain Crawford. You may not be pleased with what I must say to you, but I beg you will hear me out first.”
“Hester . . .” he said urgently.
“I must go. My next partner comes. I shall not speak until tomorrow, for we must do nothing that might spoil Geraldine’s pleasure in the evening.”
Her words sent a chill through him. What could she mean? Was she going to tell him that she would not marry him? His mind told him to be prepared for it, though his heart answered that she was his. He was on fire with impatience for the morning and left the ballroom to seek some air. He would take a walk and hope that the air would relieve his sense of frustration. He should never have given his word to Mortimer! It was a stupid thing to do. If he had spoken, Hester might have been wearing his ring on her finger by now.
* * * *
As Paul left the ballroom another gentleman entered. He looked around for Crawford and could not see him, but he saw Hester at once. She was laughing up at her partner and looked so lovely that his heart caught, and he realized that for the first time in his life he had fallen in love. He wanted to make love to her, but more than that, he wanted her as his wife. He wondered if Crawford had kept his word to hold back until he returned. In his shoes, he would have taken every advantage he could and she would be wearing his ring, but as Hester waltzed past, he saw that she was not wearing a ring.
What a fool Crawford was not to have secured her while he could. Richard smiled as he cut his way through the throng of dancers and tapped the young man on the shoulder.
“My dance I think, Preston.”
“B-but . . .” the young man stammered as he was relieved of his partner. “I am sure it was my dance . . .”
Richard ignored him as he whirled Hester about the floor. One talent he had always possessed was cutting out the other men and making his partner accept the change by the quality of his dancing. He was an excellent dancer, much lighter and more skilled than the young pup he had cut out who had already stepped on Hester’s toes once.
* * * *
“That was wicked of you,” Hester said, but found she could not be as angry as she ought with him. “Mr. Preston was enjoying his dance.”
“But you were not, I think?” Richard’s brows lifted as she refused to answer. “No, I thought not. Will you not thank me for rescuing you from his clumsy attempts, Hester?”
“No, I shall not,” she replied. “You should not have done it. People are staring at us. They will talk . . .”
“Let them,” he said. “I can do nothing to harm your reputation, for we are under your mama’s gaze as well as a dozen other matrons.”
“You might do everything to ruin it if you wished.”
“You do not think I would?” He lowered his voice. “I know I threatened some such thing but that was before . . .” He shook his head as she would have spoken. “I know that you have good cause to hate me, Hester—but I have something to tell you that may earn me your forgiveness.”
“Oh . . .” Hester looked up at him. “What might that be, sir?”
“Come out to the terrace with me, and I shall tell you.”
“No, that I shall not. It would be noticed.”
“Let them stare,” he said. “We shall go no further than the terrace, and you may tell your mama that you had the headache and needed some air if you wish.”
Against her better judgement, Hester let him lead her out to the terrace. It was true that the air was pleasantly cool, and she felt better for it because the rooms had been stuffy, but she was not prepared to stay here long with him.
“Very well, tell me what you have to say. If you mean to blackmail me, I must . . .”
Richard shook his head, putting his fingers to her lips. “I know what happened to you after I left you that day, Hester.”
She felt a shiver of alarm. “How can you? My mother would not tell you nor would Charlotte.”
“I have made friends with your brother. I saved him from the toils of a card sharp when I was in London, and he told me some of it. I took a detour on my way here to discover the rest.” He paused, giving her a significant look. “It seems that we may have more in common than you might think.”
“I fear I do not understand you.”
“You had a child, did you not? My child—and that child still lives. Her name is Sylvia, and she is so like you that there could be no mistake.”
“No!” Hester clutched at herself as the shock brought her close to fainting. “That isn’t possible. She died. . . . My mother told me she was stillborn.”
“And that is a shameful thing to do to your own daughter,” Richard said looking angry. “I know how you must have suffered, my dearest Hester. Your brother told me that your father was cruel to you and that your mother blamed you for all the ills that have befallen your family—but to tell you that the child was dead was wicked.”
“You have seen her—actually seen her?” Hester clutched at his arm in her distress. She was shaking from head to toe, and she felt ill. How could her mother have done such a thing to her? To tell her that the child was dead when she knew that Hester would have loved it, but of course, they had been ashamed of her and the child. She had been allowed home because Charlotte had fought for her, but the baby . . .
“Yes, I have seen her. She is being well cared for, though I am not sure she is happy. She is intelligent, and they have not taught her to read.”
“Oh, my poor darling,” Hester said, and tears welled up in her eyes. She could not prevent them from spilling over and was forced to accept the handkerchief he offered to wipe them away. “That is so unfair—so unfair to her.”
“To you both,” Richard said. “Listen to me, Hester. I care for you deeply. I believe I always did, but I was too young and arrogant to know it. I thought I could do what I wanted and take what I liked—and I wanted you. That afternoon . . . I never meant to do that to you, please believe me. And afterwards, I might have made things right. I might have married you, but I couldn’t. I was already in trouble with my father. He had told me he was sending me abroad and would give me an allowance only for as long as I stayed on our cousins’ plantation. That lasted a couple of months. I shall not trouble you by telling you why, except that what happened there sickened me. I went to Europe, and I spent the next few years travelling, earning my bread as best I could—but I never quite forgot you.”
“You would have married Geraldine if she would have taken you.”
“I needed money. I still need money—but now that my Grandfather is dead, I shall sell the estate. I dare say I shall have enough left to live well abroad. Come with me, Hester. We can take our child and leave before anyone knows what we are about. We can marry in France and travel on to Italy as man and wife.”
“No, Richard,” Hester said. “I cannot do that—I do not love you. Once you meant everything in the world to me, but now . . .”
“There is someone else?”
“Yes. I am not sure if he will still want me once he knows the truth, but . . .” Hester faltered. “Forgive me if I hurt you, Richard. I would not do so for the world, for I have forgiven you. You helped to save my life, and I am grateful.”
“I do not want gratitude,” Richard said harshly, and for a moment the dark side rose up in him and he grabbed her by the arms, shaking her. “You are mine. You owe it to me to come—and to our child also.”
“I cannot,” Hester whispered, her face white. “What you are offering . . . Yes, I would take it if I did not love him, but I do. I must tell Paul the truth. I must . . .”
“He will turn from you if you do,” Richard warned. “Tell him if you must, but remember my offer. I do not withdraw it, Hester. When Crawford tells you that he cannot marry you in the circumstances, I shall be waiting.”
He turned and walked away, leaving Hester to weep on in the darkness. She was still there some minutes later when Paul came to find her.
“What is wrong, my darling?” he asked, and the softness in his voice made her sob with regret. She lifted her face and he wiped the tears from her cheek with his fingers, smiling down at her. “Has your mother upset you?”
“It is much, much worse,” Hester said in a whispery voice. “I must tell you something, Paul. It cannot wait until tomorrow. Please, is there somewhere we may go?”
“Yes, of course, my dearest. We can be alone in the summerhouse.”
* * * *
He took her by the hand, leading her across the lawn to the little folly in the shape of a Chinese pagoda. Once there, she moved away from him, standing with her back towards him as she fought for calm.
“Before you came, I received an offer of marriage from Richard Mortimer.”
“Did he upset you?” Paul asked feeling angry, his hands clenching at his sides.
“Yes, but not in the way you think. He cares for me—and he did something for me. He discovered something that I had been lied to about for years. He discovered that the child I gave birth to when I was barely eighteen is alive and was not stillborn as I had been told by my father and mother.” She gave a little sob as she turned to see the stunned expression on Paul’s face. “Richard was the father of my child, though I have never told anyone else but you. He wants to sell his estate now that his grandfather is dead, and then take the child and me abroad. He said we would be married and . . . but I refused him.”
“You did not wish to marry him—even though he told you that your child was alive and that he would claim it for you?”
“I would like to have my child. Perhaps I shall find a way of doing so now that I know she is alive. I would have kept her when she was born if I had not believed . . .” Her voice broke on a sob. “I know you must be disgusted, Captain Crawford. You thought me something I am not and I have disappointed you.”
“Yes, I suppose I am a little disappointed,” Paul replied slowly, and then wished he had cut his tongue out first as he saw her face go even paler than before. “But I do not censure you, Hester. It is just that I am surprised . . .” Stunned would have been a better word for he had not considered that she had a secret of such proportions in her past. “However, I believe that it will make no difference to my feelings for you once I have had time to adjust and—”
“Please, do not, I cannot bear it. I had always meant to tell you my secret if . . . you asked, but after Richard told me I could not bear it a moment longer. I know you cannot wish to marry me now. My father made it quite clear to me before he died.”
“What did he say to you, Hester?” Paul saw the anguish in her face and wished that he could hurt the man as he had hurt his daughter. No wonder she had shied away every time he had tried to speak to her!
“Father told me that no decent man would want to wed me once he knew my shame,” Hester said. “And I know that I did something terrible, but I was very young and I did not . . . it does not excuse me. I understand that and it pains me that I must disappoint you, Paul.”
“You would have disappointed me more had you let me marry you and then told me,” Paul said, and then as she gave a sob and tried to run past him, he caught her wrist. “No, you shall not run away until we have finished this, Hester. I will admit that I am surprised and, in truth, disappointed that I shall not be the first with you—but that is a man’s foolish pride and something I shall put aside. This secret you call shameful does not alter my feelings for you. I love you, Hester, and I still wish to marry you.”