“Very well, My Lady.”
Hestony took a deep breath. Making any sort of stand for herself, even a perfectly sensible one against the housekeeper, was so utterly foreign to her that she felt sick doing it. She was half-inclined to recall the whole thing, and agree that her mother should spend as much as she liked on feeding thirty guests. But some small part of her was hard now, and she was not going to back down lightly anymore.
“Thank you,” she said.
She spent another moment or two finalizing the menu. They would cut the guests back to twenty-five, she decided. At such short notice, that would be tricky, but not impossible.
“At least I did that much.”
She just wished that, instead of guests and dinner, she could make a stand about her own life.
“Mrs. Hendersley? I…oh.” A man stopped halfway into the kitchen, catching sight of Hestony where she sat at the table. He looked at her and seemed to momentarily forget how to speak.
“Her ladyship is here discussing parties,” the cook said pointedly. If she had actually told him to remove himself, Hestony thought, he could not have been more explicit. She pushed back her chair, ready to leave.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hendersley, Mrs. Brookes. I think we are in order? If there are any further matters, I will inform you.”
“Very good, My Lady.”
“Please do, My Lady.”
Hestony headed across the flagstones then paused at the inner door. An overwhelming curiosity possessed her. Something about the gardener who’d entered looked vaguely familiar, so she lingered at the door, listening interestedly.
“Mills? It’s late. Where have you been?”
“I was back at the top field,” the man explained. “I brought the turnips.”
Mr. Mills? Hestony felt something jog her memory with that utterance. She stepped back into the shadows, but kept listening. Something about the man’s name nagged at her mind.
“You went up there, eh?” Mrs. Hendersley murmured. She sounded worried.
“It’s not there now,” Mr. Mills replied. “I reckon I didn’t see anything after all.”
“Not what you said when you were here last time,” the cook’s voice continued. She sounded almost scornful.
“Hush,” Mrs. Brookes said, sounding irritable. “You know there’s no reason for that sort of talking.”
“Well, I do sometimes wonder why he was coming in here making such a noise about it,” the cook continued firmly. “This is my kitchen, and I won’t have people making disturbances. Just because he thinks he saw some sort of ghost.”
“Hush. You know it’s bad luck to joke about that sort of thing.”
Hestony felt her blood freeze. That was why she recognized the name! Mr. Mills was the gardener who saw him. The highwayman. She fought the urge to run after him, to question him. Then she heard the cook and housekeeper talking in quiet tones.
“You reckon he saw him again?”
“I don’t reckon he saw him even once,” the cook laughed. “I reckon he’s been supping on the cider.”
“Mills?” the housekeeper asked. “The fellow’s clean as a whistle. Not him.”
Hestony heard one of them coming. She tensed and shrank back into the hallway. She didn’t want to risk being discovered. But she couldn’t stop thinking about what they said.
Mills had seen something, that much was certain. The only question was whether or not he’d seen it again.
Hestony closed her eyes. She might have a lot to worry about, but they had just reminded her of the one extra thing.
Strangely, even with the concern of an outlaw in the garden, her sorrow and helplessness were still greater worries, and still hurt her heart even more.
Chapter Twenty-One
A Soiree
The drawing-room at Amhurst was filled with guests. The candles sparkled from the mantelpiece and set about at regular intervals, but the room still seemed darker in contrast than usual – rationing the candles had been Hestony’s idea.
Guests started to gather – the conversation was a low murmur as the local gentry stood about with glasses of cordial, discussing the work of Byron, among other writers. Hestony stood at the edge of the drawing-room, feeling at once fiercely vindicated and oddly empty.
It’s the first time Mama has listened to me.
She watched her, in the center of a group of guests, wearing a green dress and talking animatedly with Lady Huntsford about trees. They were discussing the best sort to shade a croquet-lawn, without risking it being made bumpy by the roots.
“I declare, Lady Huntsford! A pine would be perfect.”
Hestony looked away, feeling a strange mix of sorrow and relief. Her mother was sparkling, enjoying the party. She looked around and threw a smile at Hestony, who returned it, but only with a polite baring of teeth. It did not warm her expression. At the same time, she couldn’t help but feel satisfied: her mother had never shown her the slightest gentleness before, and this softening of her attitude seemed to make everything worthwhile.
“Hestony,” her mother said, coming over, lowering her voice. “Do you think you could keep an eye on Lady Huller for me? I need to go downstairs to ensure Mrs. Brookes knows when to serve the sandwiches.”
Hestony glanced to where her mother indicated an older lady. She nodded stiffly.
“Of course, Mother.”
Inside, she wanted to explode. But, what could she really say? She had frozen inside since the news about Lord Osburne’s courtship, and now all she intended to do was her duty. And her mother was being so nice. She had to agree.
She waited until her mother had disentangled herself from the crowd, and then headed over to keep her important guest company. The brocaded silk was stiff around her legs and she walked awkwardly, the circlet of pearls in her hair a heavy-seeming thing.
“Ah, hello, dear,” Lady Huller said, gray eyes crinkling with a smile. “Now, your Mama tells me you have an interest in Maverly?”
“Um…I have heard of the place,” she said, feeling sick. Had Mama told everybody she was being courted already?
“Strange family,” Lady Huller said. She gave her a shrewd look. “You’re not happy about them?”
Hestony swallowed hard, feeling awkward. Had it been that obvious?
“Now, then, there’s no need to be awkward,” Lady Huller replied. “One bit of advice I can give you, dear – and I’m an old lady now, so believe me when I say I’ve seen a lot and lived a lot – and that is to value your youth. Don’t throw it away for anybody.”