“Hal,” she began.
“Yes, my dearest?”
She tensed. He had never called her that before. It took her breath away. She forgot about her worry and smiled.
“Nothing,” she said.
He smiled back and folded her hand in his, tenderly kissing the back of it. Then, hands clasped, they walked together back to the hall. Hestony forgot all about the dark presence and only remembered him briefly as they slipped back into the ball, and then only to think how insignificant it all seemed in the face of the wonderful excitement she felt this moment.
Chapter Two
A Trip to London
Hal bit his lip. He stood on the step, his stomach a tight knot of sadness and pain. He put his hands on Hestony’s shoulders and looked into her eyes.
“I shan’t be away for very long,” he said. Inside, he felt utterly empty. If he had been riding away for some unknown period of time, he couldn’t have felt worse. He wished he didn’t have to go! A plague on business!
“I know,” she said, giving him a brave smile. “It’s not as if London is far away…”
He smiled back, though his heart ached to do it. “It’s only three days.”
“I know.”
He would be gone for just a week. He planned to ride back as fast as possible, changing horses as often as he could. Maybe he could make the ride back in two days? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be away a second more than needed.
“Well, then,” he breathed in, trying to keep his expression calm. “I will see you soon. Take care? Be good, in my absence.”
She made a face, then smiled. “I’ll be good. It would be no fun to be anything else, if you’re elsewhere.”
He laughed and tried to resist the urge to pat her cheek. In the end he lifted his hand, cupping her face gently with his palm. His lips hovered away from her soft, moist ones, and he fought the urge to kiss her. He wanted to with every fiber of his being. He could feel the coachman watching impassively from the driver’s seat on top of the carriage, and he wasn’t about to give the staff cause to gossip about Lady Hestony.
“Take care,” she called, as he stepped down the stone stairs towards the waiting coach. “Go safely and come back as soon as you can. Have fun!”
“You too,” he called back, drawing in a deep breath and holding in his feelings. What he wanted to do was let his tears slide down his cheeks, but he couldn’t afford the risk of being so unrestrained.
He smiled and waved as she waved with her handkerchief, then closed the coach door, aware that his eyes were misting up. He bit his lip and kept his face stiff until the coach had turned in the drive, still waving at her on the steps until she was a small figure out of sight. Then he turned away, letting the window-blind fall over the coach window, shutting out the light.
“Confound it, Hal! You’re not at the races,” he swore, as his coachman set a jarring pace over the cobbles. All the same, it was his own fault – he’d requested that he take as little time to get there as possible.
He sighed. He wished his father had chosen a less-inconvenient time than the middle of his holiday with Cousin Luke to request him to check on the London accounts. Their solicitor operated from Goldsmith Street in London, and the only way to find out about the inconsistencies in the reports from the bank was to go directly there.
“Father can’t go himself,” Hal reminded himself crossly. “He’s not well enough for it, as you know.”
His father’s health had been very bad for months – he had made a surprising recovery when Hal finally got himself down from their estates in the Borderlands and back home to the estate. All the same, a three-day coach-trip and a stay in London in July was not going to be attainable for him.
And so off I go. Back to London, when everything in me wants to be here right now.
He sighed and leaned back in the coach and tried to sleep. As it always did, his mind fed him imagery of Hestony as he fell asleep, which, under the current circumstances, was not particularly helpful as it made him saddened.
It’s only eight days.
The coach trip down took three days. On the evening of the third, Hal stumbled out of the coach and into the inn, feeling like his legs had been beaten all over and then lightly ironed. He could barely walk, and his legs ached as he went up the stairs, threatening to cramp up.
“A room for one, please. And could you find accommodation for my coach and team, and a place for my coachman to stay the night?” he asked the man behind the desk. He checked that he had his wallet with him, relieved, as always, that he could afford to pay for a good-quality room for him and the team. Traveling was so much easier when one had enough cash to do it comfortably.
He barely stayed awake through supper, which he took in the parlor of the inn, away from the taproom and its crowded noise. Once finished, he went straight up to his room, where he soon fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
“It’s you!” Logan greeted him as he walked into the tea-shop on Broad street the next day.
“Hello, Logan,” Hal greeted his friend as he shook hands. He felt dreadful – so tired that he could barely open his eyes, his belly churning with hunger.
“You look terrible!” Logan said cheerfully. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on.” He pointed him to a seat and they sat down opposite each other at a small, elaborate wrought-iron table.
“Thanks,” Hal said with a grin. “As ever, you compliment me. How have you been?”
“Not bad, not bad,” Logan grinned. “I’m finally back from Cambridge, though I’ll be going up there again after the summer – the place gives me a good excuse to stay out of my home as long as possible,” he chuckled.
Hal smiled. Logan had been avoiding his authoritarian father ever since Hal had first met him at Cambridge, four years ago. Hal had no idea how Logan had contrived to stay there for so long, but, as the third son of a duke, it seemed Logan had small enough responsibilities on his shoulders and the ability to spend his time as he chose— at Cambridge, all year, except the summertime.
“I’m glad that you are as you ever were.” Hal smiled. “I’ve been well. My father’s poorly – as I mentioned in my last letter – which is why I’m down here to check on the accounts, despite wanting to be elsewhere.” He made a face.
“You have your own Cambridge, eh?” Logan asked, brown eyes twinkling.
“Not exactly,” Hal said carefully. For Logan, Cambridge was a cross between a retreat and a den of hedonism. He spent half his time living the most dissolute life Hal could imagine, and the other half being almost monastic, shut away with his reading.