“By no means,” Hestony said, accepting the cup of tea that Lady Raymonde poured for her and sipping it, wincing as her stomach lurched queasily. “I simply questioned myself as to your meaning. It seemed – let me be frank – that you were indicating an interest in me, on behalf of your brother. I would like to know more.” Her cheeks were warm, and she kept looking at the spot behind Lady Raymonde’s head.
“Ah. Yes.” Lady Raymonde took her time to answer the question, avoiding Hestony’s gaze and buttering a slice of the cake. She set her plate aside, then leaned back. “I wished you to know that Lord Osburne had expressed interest in you, as you said. And, knowing him as I do, I understand that which he wants, he tends to obtain – one way or another.”
“I see.” Hestony felt truly sick now. She set her teacup on the table, her hands balling into fists. She had a desire to run from this place. This polite drawing-room with its tall windows and a dusty silence, which was broken only by the ticking of the clock. “Excuse me, I…” She stood, a hand on her stomach, walking to the window. She was truly afraid she might be sick. Somehow, the subtle warning was too much for her, delivered, as it was, so politely.
“He said only that he considered you a fine example of a lady,” Raymonde demurred. “And one whom it would be a pity to see wasted on a lesser gentleman.”
“I see.” Hestony felt a slight relief in that. Of itself, there was no menace in what he said. It was a compliment, and one which appealed to her. She took a step back from the window, turning again to face Lady Raymonde. She was still sitting where she had been, as still as one of the trees in the painted scene behind her.
“I am sorry if I alarmed you,” Lady Raymonde said gently. “My brother is a difficult gentleman. I tend to see his remarks as more pointed than they mayhap are.”
“I see.” Hestony nodded. She had noticed an antagonism between the siblings – rather, she had noticed an utter domination by Lord Osburne, who barely allowed his sister to speak without disparagement, in company or no. “He does seem…rash.”
Lady Raymonde laughed. It was not a happy noise. In the silent drawing room, it seemed harsh and almost frightening. Hestony shivered.
“My dear, you may speak plainly with me. Lord Osburne is difficult beyond what the word can express. I maintain no illusions about his nature. He is willful, proud, and obstinate. He is also an excellent match, in many ways. And one which you might consider, if you have your eyes open to his faults.”
“I see,” Hestony nodded again. It felt like her whole world had been narrowed to those two words, which meant comparatively nothing. She could see nothing at all – in this still, dusty drawing-room, the whole world was upside-down for her.
“I meant no harm, nor to counsel you or sway your mind in any sense,” Lady Raymonde demurred. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, leaving a trace of rouge, crimson as blood. She held Hestony’s eye, her own seeming to hold a depth of sadness. “I wished you to have the facts, that’s all. What you choose is your choice.”
“Yes,” Hestony said. “It is.”
They fell into silence, and Hestony sipped at her tea, her mind trying its best to assimilate all she heard. Lord Osburne thought her a model society-lady. He was interested in her. He said it was a shame for her to be wasted on someone else.
And he is wealthy, and influential, and a fine gentleman.
Hestony shuddered as she recalled his cold eyes, his static politesse. He was a strange gentleman, one who disturbed her profoundly. But, given her circumstance, how could she not consider it.
“So,” Raymonde said, her face brightening. “Are you staying for the Season? There is of course another ball at Almack’s next week. I would be pleased if we could attend together.”
“Thank you,” Hestony said softly. “Sadly, I have to return to the country tomorrow. If you will excuse me? I feel I must lie down.”
All she wanted at this moment was to escape from this room, this restrained politeness, this strange feeling of despair. She shifted in her seat, but Lady Raymonde cleared her throat, raising a hand to stay her.
“Hestony. This has been a shock to you – I’m sorry,” Lady Raymonde said gently. “Let me call Brownley – he can make up a chamber for you in the guest-suite?”
“No, thank you,” Hestony said, setting her tea aside and lifting her purse where it sat at her side. “I need to be at home so I can supervise the planning for the return journey tomorrow. If you will excuse me? I would like to go home.”
She had to get out of this house.
“Of course,” Lady Raymonde said, putting her teacup back on the table. “This way, please.” She led Hestony back down the stairs and to the vaulting entrance. At the door, after sending Mr. Brownley to call a Hansom for her, Raymonde frowned. “Please, don’t hate me?”
Hestony swallowed hard. “Lady Raymonde,” she said gently. “Of course not. Why should I?” She frowned at the strangeness of the comment.
Lady Raymonde said nothing, but turned away, heading back to the stairs. “If you ever have need of anything, please think to call on me. I will always be at your disposal.”
“Thank you, My Lady” Hestony replied. She was still pondering how to respond to those odd words when Lady Raymonde continued up the steps and the butler came in, calling her down.
Hestony thanked him and accepted the driver’s hand-up to the coach. On the way back, she wished she could sleep, but her mind was as unquiet as a lake under a tempest.
Lord Osburne has an interest in you. He is difficult. He is an ideal match.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Lady Raymonde’s words blurred with images of Lord Osburne – his grave face, his smile, his gentility. He was, in all ways, exactly the gentleman Lady Melior would choose for her. And he was interested.
“There is only one thing I can do,” Hestony told herself firmly.
But how? Her heart belonged to someone else. And would it not be a crime to forsake the longings of her heart?
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
The coach pulled up at Hartfield and she had no more answers than before.
Chapter Fifteen
Seeking Answers
Hal walked to the coach, carrying a small case of his own luggage. He handed it wordlessly to Mr. Emms, who strapped it to the back of the coach in silence.
Behind him, Hestony came down the steps, her maid carrying a small cloth bag of luggage. Hal frowned as he scanned Hestony’s glass-like face. She was clearly sad, but her face was as still as a porcelain ornament. She had been quiet since they came back from the solicitor. Now, she was withdrawn in a way that worried him, almost as if she’d had some horrible shock.