“I’ll go back. I have some chores to do,” she said softly.
“Of course,” Emilia took her hands. “Well, there’s no hurry…please wait here until your coach arrives.”
“Thank you.” Hestony nodded. “I will.”
She stayed where she was on the divan as Emilia left. It was a safe haven and she felt reluctant to leave it. A bird sang outside the window and she closed her eyes, letting the fragrant peace of the place seep into her soul.
Her thoughts were troubled. London, and all the events that had happened there, were foremost in her mind. Mr. Lewis, the troubling encounter with Lord Osburne, his sister, Lady Raymonde…all of their faces seemed entangled and entwined in her thoughts. She couldn’t forget the horror of discovering that she was entirely destitute. She and her mother had been cushioned from that reality – out here in Yorkshire, all the traders were sending bills to London, expecting them to be paid. It would be a few months before the truth came out.
The horror of that was too much for her and she felt her hands clench into fists. She had to do something! There was only one way she could raise money quickly, and that was by finding somebody wealthy to wed.
She closed her eyes, wishing that she could simply erase all of it. Thoughts of Hal came up, mixed with snatches of the ball, memories of dancing.
“Bella? Can you mind that stool, please…I’m trying to get into this wardrobe!”
Hestony jumped as voices sounded in the room next door. She was surprised by how alarmed she felt. She stood and peered around the door into the wardrobe-room.
Emilia’s maid was in there with another assistant, busily packing Emilia’s winter clothes. Hestony returned to the chaise and tried to feel at peace again, but she couldn’t quite ignore the sounds of busy work and she stood quietly to leave.
“Lady Hestony.”
She whipped around, hearing someone speak.
“Lord Hal!” she stared in surprise. Of all the people she had not been expecting to see here, Hal would have been foremost had she jotted a list. She felt a flush creep into her face as he looked down at her, eyes glowing with warmth.
“Lady Hestony. An unexpected surprise.”
She curtseyed as he bowed, feeling shy. “It is, yes,” she agreed. “I did not know you were at home today.”
“I didn’t know I would be, either.” Hal grinned. “I’d planned a long ride, or a visit elsewhere. But it didn’t go as I intended.”
Hestony wondered why he looked upset by that. She was going to ask, but Hal shrugged.
“Now that we’re here, should we go for a walk about the grounds? It’s cold inside, but out on the terrace, there’s wonderful warmth.”
“I need to return at midday – the coach is coming for me,” Hestony said softly.
“It’s only eleven o’ clock,” Hal said, consulting a small pocket-watch. Hestony hadn’t known he had it – she’d never seen him use one before. It was surprisingly delicate, burnished to a rosy-gold finish. She thought it fitting that he should have something of such delicate beauty.
“Well, then,” she said, then swallowed uncomfortably. “We could spend time walking?”
“We could.”
Hal offered her his arm. She linked hers with his, and they walked down the steps together. Hestony could feel his warm body through his coat and she felt her heart soar.
So much had passed between them, that she had no idea what to say. They crossed into the garden through a side door. It was warmer outside; he was right – the sun poured down onto the croquet-lawn. A lark sang overhead. She felt her spirits lift, and took a slow breath.
“I miss London,” Hal said softly. “It was a pleasant journey.”
“It was,” Hestony agreed in a small voice.
He stopped in front of her, and she stared up into his brown eyes. In sharp contrast with his hair, those dark eyes seemed hard to read today, filled with questions and, she thought, with words unsaid.
“I meant to say…” he began carefully, “that our time in London was precious, because it was spent with you.”
Hestony swallowed hard. All her tender feelings for Hal – which she’d tried so ruthlessly to ignore – suddenly welled up within her again. She cleared her throat, wishing that she didn’t feel this terrible obligation to have to leave him, to have to find somebody else who could support her and her mother. Oddly enough, right now, she couldn’t deny her heart.
“Oh, Hal. If you say that, then…then I’ll wish things could have been…longer.” There. She had said what she’d longed to say.
Hal grinned lopsidedly. “I wish that, too. In fact, that was exactly what I was going to say.”
Hestony felt like springtime had visited her heart. She almost started crying, and blinked hard to stop the tears from falling.
“Hal…” she murmured. “I just…I wish things were different. That they could be easy, and as we wish they were.”
Hal smiled. His eyes crinkled at the edges. “I wish that, too. More than I can express.”
“Well, then,” Hestony said, feeling bolder. “I reckon we can pretend things are as they should be. At least for today?”
Hal nodded, though she saw the sorrow was back in his gaze. “We can,” he said softly. “For today.”
Hestony cleared her throat to try to remove the lump that blocked it now. She forced herself to smile. “Are you coming to the party tonight?” she asked. “Emilia promises no poetry.”
Hal grinned. “For a poetry-free evening-party, and Emilia’s recipe for sandwiches? Yes.”
Hestony started to giggle, and this time it was entirely natural. She grinned up at him, and a tear trickled down her cheek, but this time it was for a happier reason. “Well, then,” she said softly. “I will see you at six of the clock, this evening?”
“I look forward to it.”
He accompanied her to the front of Westmore House, where the carriage waited to take her back to Amherst.
Hestony rode home, feeling better than she had for quite some time. She tensed as they passed the track where she had seen the highwayman – on the way there, they had taken a different route, and she had not needed to pass it. Now, her heart started to thump as they went past, and she felt her hands make fists. She was surprised by how shaky she was when she alighted from the coach. Even Mr. Emms noticed.
“Is everything well, My Lady?” he asked in his broad York dialect.
“Yes, Mr. Emms.”