Hestony sat on the chair in the upstairs parlor. The light shone in through the long French windows and lit the place with a soft golden light. With silk wallpaper in white, the room was tranquil and lovely. A fire crackled in the grate, making thin shadows dance on the parquet by the rug. It should have been a peaceful place, yet Hestony’s heart was sore.
“Emilia…I just don’t know how much longer I can stand this.”
She looked across at her cousin, who was bent over her sewing.
“I know,” Emilia said soothingly. “I understand.”
“It’s just…with Mama, and…and everything…” Hestony covered her face with her hands, unable to finish the sentence. She didn’t know how to express what she was trying to say, except that something within her felt as if it was crumbling under the weight of her worry. The debt, the money…it was too terrible to contemplate.
“Have you told her about what Mr. Lewis said?”
“Not exactly,” Hestony hedged. As it happened, she had told her mother only the barest outline of the trouble, hoping to be able to avoid a direct explanation. If her mother truly knew of how dire matters were, then she would make life more difficult for everybody with her anger and her sorrow, something Hestony did not think she had the strength to face.
If she could only think of a way to solve it, before it became obvious!
The harder she tried, however, the harder it became
“You should tell somebody,” Emilia advised. “If you like, we could go to Luke. He knows many people in Goldsmith Street…”
“Please, let’s not tell Luke. Not yet,” Hestony asked. “If we tell him, then he might tell Mama.”
Emilia nodded. “As you wish.”
Hestony could see from her cousin’s frown that she was concerned about her. She didn’t like the thought that she had caused somebody sorrow. She stood and came and sat beside her on the settle.
“Emilia…I’m so sorry,” Hestony murmured. “I didn’t mean to distress you. Perhaps, we can talk of lighter things?”
Emilia smiled. “It’s alright,” she said gently. “You needn’t be so careful with me. I’m not made of glass…at least, not for months yet.”
Hestony grinned. Thoughts of the baby were a distraction that cheered her up. “When will you think about a name?” she asked.
Emilia smiled. “We have a few ideas. I want to call him Luke, of course – if he’s a him. But Luke wants to call him Alexander, for his father. Or Barton, of course.” She gave a small smile.
“And if she’s a girl?”
“Oh. I don’t know, then. Arabella, Lilla – we thought of Hestony, too, of course.”
“Of course?” Hestony felt her cheeks go pink with pleasure. “Emilia! You couldn’t!” She was smiling, and her heart was joyful again.
“I would love to,” Emilia said gently. “You’re like my sister.”
Hestony felt her throat close up with a big lump. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge it. “Emilia…” she whispered. “You are such a wonderful friend. Yes – just like I imagine a sister to be.”
Emilia patted her hand and Hestony let a tear slide slowly down her cheek.
They sat together for a long time in the silence. Hestony shut her eyes a moment, letting herself relax for the first time in weeks. She had harbored a horrible tension inside her since the moment the news had come from London. Ever since then, it had been getting unbearable, until now she was almost frozen inside. It was only Emilia’s gentle kindness that had thawed her heart.
“Hestony?” Emilia said gently.
“Yes?”
“You are planning to come to the party this evening?”
“Party?” Hestony shot upright in surprise. “What party?”
Emilia smiled softly. “The soiree I planned for this evening. We are inviting Mr. Puget, the new poet – but I promise, we shan’t have a reading.”
Hestony started laughing. Of all her friends, Emilia best understood Hestony’s dislike of poetry readings. Energetic by nature, Hestony found it hard to sit still for more than half an hour without fidgeting, and after an hour of even first-rate poetry, she would be in a state of high agitation.
“If you can promise no reading, then I will be there happily,” Hestony replied.
“Well, then. Since you’re here, perhaps you can help me decide what to wear?” Emilia asked with a frown. “I have two dresses that I might wear – a cream and a yellow – and I cannot decide between them.”
“I’d be happy to help.” Hestony nodded. She let her mind wander to her own wardrobe, and what she might wear to a poetry reading. She had four new dresses – cream, peach, white, and blue – and no idea which would be best.
“Good. You truly are like a sister,” Emilia murmured, and slipped her arm through Hestony’s as they went slowly upstairs.
“You, too.”
Hestony tiptoed into a long room lined with cupboards, where Emilia kept her clothes. Emilia’s wardrobe-room was alongside a boudoir in white, with flocked satin wallpaper, a beautiful white divan and white satin curtains. Hestony sat down on the divan with her friend and they looked through the possible evening-dresses.
Eschewing the fashion for married women to wear dark, bold colors, Emilia had stuck more closely to the palette of her earlier years, and still favored yellows and pale blues.
“I love the blue on you,” Hestony murmured, “but the yellow brocade is truly striking.”
“I love it, too,” Emilia agreed, running a slim finger down the creamy brocade of the gown. The design was elegant and well-fitted, with an oval neckline and elbow-length sleeves that widened and narrowed into a tight cuff. It was mature, but pretty at the same time.
“I think you’ll look the perfect hostess.”
“Thanks.” Emilia giggled. “Which makes me remember that I ought to tell Cook that we’ll be needing more of those delicious sandwiches for this evening. If you’ll excuse me – I should tell her now, while I still remember.” She got to her feet, grimacing a little as her back took the weight.
Hestony smiled. “Of course. I should probably return home, too.”
“If you like?” Emilia looked at her with concern. “You can stay here, too…we could send to Amhurst to have a gown fetched?”
Hestony smiled. As tempting as that sounded, she knew she ought to go back home – she should practice the pianoforte and write to her friend, Lady Linnet. She also understood how busy Emilia would be that day, planning the evening, and felt a need to get out from under her feet.