Anne Barbour (26 page)

Well, damn and blast.

It would be a very long time before Barbara would be able to disengage herself from her court. In the meantime, Hester could not simply leave Robert pacing the floor in the small chamber, where her note had directed him to await the sender.

Sighing, she walked again to the small chamber. Robert was not pacing, but he gave every evidence of a man about to do so. His head swiveled abruptly as Hester entered the room.

“Oh,” he said, “it’s you. That is,” he amended hastily, “I was expecting—”

“I know who you were expecting, and she will not be coming.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

Hesitantly, Hester approached Robert. “I’m so sorry, but it was I who sent that note.” Ignoring his startled gasp and the disbelieving crease in his brow, she continued. “Believe me, Barbara wanted to come, but there was an accident. No, no—she is quite all right—just a little damp.”

She explained the contretemps that had prevented Lady Barbara from reaching his side. To her surprise, Robert spluttered angrily for some moments before replying.

“Do you mean,” he said at last, “that you were trying to engineer a meeting between Barbara and myself?”

“Why, yes. Isn’t that what I just said? Now, there’s no need to thank me. I merely—”

“Thank you! Why you interfering little busybody! What in God’s name possessed you to do such a thing? What could I possibly have to say to Barbara? Or she to me?”

Hester stared at him, dumbfounded. “But—”

Robert surged toward her and grasped her arm, shaking it a little. “Oh God, I suppose you meant well, but you must get it through your head that there is nothing between Barbara and me. Not anymore. Nor will there be in the future. The two people we were all those years ago no longer exist.”

Tears sprang to Hester’s eyes. “Oh no, Robert, you’re wrong. You were mistaken in Barbara when you left her before. She never felt anything for that wretched marquis. Don’t leave her again.”

In her dismay, Hester all but flung herself against Robert, tugging at him as if by sheer strength of will she might persuade him. He put up his hands to hers to bring them away from him, and she knew a sudden shame.

“Oh Lord, I’m sorry, Robert. Here, let me straighten—”  The words died in her throat as she glanced up to behold behind Robert several figures who stood in the doorway. The only one that fully registered on her consciousness, however, was that of the Earl of Bythorne.

His eyes seemed to catch the light of the candles that lit the room and they glittered with the added blaze of a rage Hester had never seen there. He strode into the room, and it was then that she saw he was accompanied by Gussie, Lord Bracken, and Barbara. John and Chloe brought up the rear. Hester felt as though she had been suddenly turned to stone, and she watched, unable to so much as lift her hand as Thorne advanced, fists clenched. He halted abruptly, however, as Gussie spoke.

“Why, Hester! Mr. Carver!” she cried in a pleased voice. “I had no idea things had progressed so far between you. Are we to wish you happy?”

Beside Hester, Robert made a faint strangled sound. Barbara, her face as white as the wine-stained handkerchief she held in her hand, also uttered a soft moan.

“No!” cried Hester, at last galvanized to action. “We were not—that is, it is not as—”

“Yes, of course. Lady Bracken.”

Hester whirled to face Robert, who held her hand in a bone-crushing grip. He turned to face Thorne, and when he spoke again into the silence that seemed to thunder about them, his voice was controlled, if a little breathless. “I suppose I should have applied to you first, my lord, for the lady’s hand, but she assures me that she is her own mistress and needs no one’s permission to wed.”

“Now, see here—” began Hester, but she was overwhelmed by Gussie’s tumultuous embrace. Lord Bracken, too, stepped up to bestow a kiss on her cheek, and within a few minutes, the room was filled with well-wishers from the drawing room who, with finely honed instincts, had sniffed out the scene in progress.

“This is ridiculous,” Hester was saying. “We were not engaged in the slightest impropriety, and I have no intention of marrying Mr. Carver.”

“Nonsense,” said Gussie briskly. “Now,” she continued, shooing those who had come to stare out of the room, “I think it is time for us to make our departure. We can begin making wedding plans later.”

“But—” began Hester once more, only to be grasped firmly by the elbow. “Your aunt is correct,” said Robert, propelling her from the room. “We can talk later—but right now it would be best to vacate the premises as quickly as possible, don’t you agree?”

With a glance at Thorne, Hester allowed herself to be swept into the corridor. In passing, she caught a glimpse of Barbara, standing pale and silent at the far end of the room. Her expression as she gazed at Hester was bitterly reproachful.

In a few minutes, Hester found herself ensconced in the Bythorne carriage. Robert, whom Gussie had insisted accompany them from the house, sat on one side of her and Thorne on the other. The passengers, who included, in addition to those mentioned, Lord Bracken, Aunt Lavinia, Chloe, and John, were thus severely cramped, but Gussie fairly bubbled with self-congratulations on her successful matchmaking and plans for the coming nuptials. Chloe sat, wide-eyed and silent, and Aunt Lavinia merely contributed a sort of litany of murmured responses to Gussie’s rhapsodies. Robert occasionally interpolated a remark, if not with enthusiasm, at least in agreement. Hester, however, was almost wholly focused on Thorne, who had said nothing since striding into the small chamber in Halburton House. She could sense the tension in the arm that brushed hers occasionally, but beyond that she could not fathom his reaction to the contretemps. Lord, surely he could not think that she had any intention or marrying Robert—or that Robert wished to marry her. He could not think that they had really been embracing one another.

Or, even worse, was he pleased at this turn of events? Did he wish to see her wed to Robert? Ridiculous! How could it matter to Thorne whether she married or remained a spinster to the end of her days?

Thorne could not believe the ferocity of his response to the scene he had just witnessed. Never in his well-ordered life had he experienced such a maelstrom of emotions in such a short space of time. His initial reaction on beholding what appeared to be a tender embrace between Hester and Robert had been one of such overpowering wrath that he thought he would be sick with it. Gussie’s exclamation of pleasure at the sight had abruptly brought to mind that he was supposed to be promoting just such a denouement for Hester. Her demeanor now certainly did not indicate the presence of the tender emotion in her breast, but why else would she have been standing there pasted to him like a sticking plaster?

They must be married, of course. Again, he was surprised at the sinking sensation this thought produced within him. It must be that he had become more used to her presence in his life than he had imagined. Or, perhaps—he smiled grimly—it was similar to the awareness of one’s own mortality engendered by the death of a close acquaintance. Perhaps now he would knuckle down to the inevitable and propose to Barbara. At any rate, it was no doubt all a good thing. He had become much too fond of his newly acquired cousin, and her departure from his household would provide an impetus for getting on with his own marital plans.

He would, he decided, smile on the projected union. He would render whatever assistance the happy couple required, which might, he reflected ruefully, consist of persuading the bride-to-be of the necessity of committing to the married state.

After several dubious sidelong glances at Thorne, Hester turned her attention to Robert. What in God’s name was the matter with the man? How could he sit there quietly accepting Gussie’s congratulations and those of Lord Bracken? Well, it was time to put a stop to this nonsense.

“Gussie,” she said in peremptory tone. “Gussie,” she said again as the flow of her ladyship’s excited chatter remained unimpeded.

“And, of course, the betrothal party will be held at Bracken House. I think—Yes, what is it, dearest?” she asked, becoming aware at last that Hester was tugging at her skirt.

“Gussie, there will be no betrothal party and no wedding.”

Gussie’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, but dearest—

“You must know perfectly well that there is a perfectly innocent explanation for what you saw. Robert and I—”

“—were caught in an extremely compromising position,” concluded Gussie baldly. “If a betrothal notice does not appear prominently in the Post within the next few days you will be ruined.”

“Gussie, you are mistaking me for someone who cares about that absurd nonsense. I—”

“Gussie is right,” said a voice at her elbow and she whirled in her seat to face Thorne directly. “It doesn’t matter what you were doing, you and Robert must be married.”

Hester’s mouth dropped open. “What! This—coming from you? You cannot mean you subscribe to this ridiculous notion.”

Gussie, too, stared at her nephew in some surprise and Lord Bracken eyed him owlishly through his quizzing glass.

“I’m merely saying—” began Thorne calmly, but at that moment the carriage pulled up in front of Bythorne House.

Upon entering the house, Hester declared her intention to seek her bed. “I am tired and I have the headache,” she claimed rather pettishly, “and I do not wish to continue this ridiculous discussion any more tonight. Robert—” She bent a minatory stare on her would-be betrothed. “I would appreciate it if you would call on me tomorrow at your earliest convenience. Good night, Gussie—my lord,” she said to Lord and Lady Bracken. “Aunt Lavinia, Chloe,” she added, inclining her head, and over her shoulder, she threw a last farewell. “And to you, Lord Bythorne.”

The image of his face, once again ablaze with a flash of anger, stayed with her as she stumped up the stairs, and when she reached her bedchamber, she stood for a long moment in the center of the room staring at nothing in particular before she rang for Parker.

Chapter Eighteen

Hester awoke, after a virtually sleepless night, to a disgustingly beautiful morning. The weather, she thought dismally, should at least reflect her mood. A middling typhoon might suffice, or even just a torrential rain. Oddly, it was not so much the predicament in which she found herself that had caused her to thump her pillow so restlessly through the wee small hours. She had no doubt of her ability to remain firm in the face of Gussie’s importunities and Robert’s misplaced chivalry. No, it was Thorne’s reaction to the situation that stung. The spark of what she could have sworn was anger in his eyes had been of such brief duration that she was sure she had imagined it, and afterward—she could not say why she had been so overset at his bland agreement with Gussie’s pronouncements. Had she somehow expected him to leap at Robert’s throat in a fit of lover’s jealousy? How perfectly absurd.

As dawn’s gray light began to illuminate her bedchamber, Hester came to the reluctant conclusion that Thorne, having accepted her as a member of his family, had become just like every other male to whom she was related. He considered that it was his duty to find her a husband and get her married so that she would start raising babies and stop making trouble for everyone with her radical nonsense.

This realization produced a profound depression within her, and wearily, she rose and splashed water on her face. Well, at any rate, she was not about to become betrothed to the wrong man. She would explain to Robert today that, while she appreciated his gesture, she was not going to marry him. Then, she would have to make her peace with Barbara. She recalled with a pang Barbara’s white, anguished face. Lord, she should have made it plain to her immediately that she had no intention of participating in this stupid charade.

In another area of the house, Thorne, too, was in the process of setting his life in order. His night had been sleepless as well, and now, as he stood in his bedchamber looking out at the sunlight that slanted through the streets of London, he came to a decision. Today, he would propose marriage to Lady Barbara Freemantle, thus putting to an end once and for all his unbecoming fascination with Hester Blayne.

He could not fathom the unpleasant sensation that still churned through him at the thought of Hester’s sudden betrothal to Robert Carver. He had already decided, after all, that Carver was a perfectly unexceptionable
parti
for his newfound cousin. True, he did feel a twinge of compunction at having allowed Gussie to maneuver Hester in such a fashion. On the other hand, Gussie was perfectly right. In allowing herself to tumble into Robert’s embrace, Hester had put herself into an untenable position. She might decry the absurdity of the social commandment that said, “Thou shalt avoid the incidence of impropriety,” but there it was. She had broken that commandment, and now she must pay the price.

Or, perhaps she would not find the price too much to pay. Hester obviously liked Robert. Why, after all, had she allowed the man to maul her in such a manner if she did not hold him in special affection? Was she an advocate of free love, as had been Mary Wollstonecraft before her? Well, by God, there would be none of Robert Carver’s butter prints running tame in Bythorne House if he had anything to say about it. The fact that he had, indeed, virtually nothing to say about either Carver’s butter prints or Hester’s declaration of her intent to leave Bythorne House eventually only served to exasperate him even further.

At this point, having roused his valet at an unaccustomedly early hour, he found himself fully clothed and cravated, leaving him with no other choice than to take himself down to breakfast.

Somewhat to his discomfiture, he found Hester there before him.

After awkward good mornings were said, Hester cleared her throat.

“About last night...” she began, and then trailed off as though she were uncertain as to how to continue.

“Yes?” Thorne’s tone was unencouraging.

Taking a deep breath, Hester launched into a somewhat disjointed explanation of her presence in the Halburton’s little saloon with Robert Carver and their subsequent, scandalous proximity.