by Carola Dunn
Jamie was equally taken aback by the martial light in his normally composed sister’s eye. His own dislike of the gesture paled to insignificance.
“I’m sure he meant well,” he said uncertainly. “He obviously expected us to refuse, or he’d not have given it to Geoff. You can’t really consider it an insult, Hester, not when he did it in that way.”
“Oh, can’t I? Mr. Fairfax is a fine gentleman and pays his debts with delicacy, to spare the embarrassment of those who have provided services to him! Well, Mr. Fairfax will get his money back as soon as I arrive in London. I’ll throw it in his supercilious face!”
She seized the bag from Geoffrey and marched into her office. Her brothers heard the clink of coins as she banged it down on her desk. They looked at each other and shrugged helplessly.
Anger turned out to be an excellent antidote for lovesickness. By the time she had prepared dinner, Hester was her usual self. After the meal, she went to see her grandfather and told him about the money.
“He’d not willingly offend you, lass,” said the old man. “Can you not regard it as a gesture of friendship, as ‘twere meant?”
“I don’t want his friendship,” answered Hester crossly, but her first fury had passed.
* * * *
The days and weeks that followed were no less busy for the loss of one of her charges. As time went by, she forgave him, though still keeping the bag of sovereigns separate from her supply of ready cash. As the latter dwindled and Alice’s wardrobe gradually filled with evening gowns and walking dresses, delicate muslins for morning wear, and a grand silk for balls, Hester was tempted. Christmas approached, and she took out the heavy bag and weighed it in her hand, then shut it away in a drawer with a sigh. Six weeks he had been gone, and not a word. The briefest of friendly notes would have melted her resolve. What a Christmas they might have had! But he had forgotten them, having no further need of them, having paid his debt.
Six weeks, and the aching void in her heart was still there—when she allowed herself to recognise its presence. In another six weeks, she and Jamie would go up to London to hire a house for the season. And in the meantime she must hide her megrims and give the children a merry Christmas.
* * * *
Christmas found Lord Alton in town, after the emptiest month and a half of his life. A week in London discussing the death of Princess Charlotte in the House of Lords, a fortnight at Alton Court dealing with estate matters, hunting in Leicestershire with his friends until the frosts of mid-December made the ground too hard. In truth, he had only been out with the hunt twice. His leg hurt in the cold, but a more potent dissuasion was a vision of Hester nursing an injured rabbit. He had never relished the sight of a fox torn to pieces by bloody-mouthed hounds, and now he turned his face from it, sickened.
He drank to pass the time, to kill the pain, to drown the visions. He gambled wildly at cards, which had never interested him, and won endlessly until his friends refused to play with him. The all-male society of the hunting boxes was leavened by a select few members of the muslin company. Lord Alton, whose mistress had deserted him during his long absence, ran off with his host’s opera dancer.
“Dash it, Alton,” protested that gentleman on meeting his rival in White’s a week later, “is nothing sacred?”
“You can have her back with my blessing. A tedious wench; I’ve found another.”
The second was no more satisfactory. He tried a flirtation with a society matron who had had her eye on him for some time. She was an accredited beauty, a lively, witty young woman, and she bored him to desperation. He returned to the bottle, the cards, and the lightskirts of Covent Garden, who made no demands on him that a few sovereigns would not take care of.
Mr. Barnabas Rugby watched with increasing concern as his friend and client seemed to be rushing straight to the devil. The brief account he had heard of Lord Alton’s enforced stay with the Godrics suggested no reason for such a course, yet it was too much of a coincidence that it came hard on the heels of his return to society. Mr. Rugby called in Hanover Square at all hours of the day and found his lordship asleep or not at home. At last, after consulting his wife, he resolved to sit himself down in his friend’s library and refuse to budge until he had seen him.
It was the first week in January. Lord Alton had made a night of it, as had become his custom, and in the chill grey light of dawn he wandered homeward through Covent Garden market. Country women were setting up their stalls; baskets of cabbages and brussels sprouts, crates of wrinkled apples and shiny pears were wrestled from the farm carts by cursing men whose breath steamed in the frosty air. A few early housekeepers pinched and poked at the produce, haggling over a bunch of carrots or a braided string of onions. One or two of the market women had begun to cry their wares.
“Turnups, white turnups!”
“‘Taters, sixpence a bushel, fine ‘taters!”
“Sweet lavender, on’y a penny for a bunch o’ lavender!”
Lord Alton stopped. His head felt muzzy and he shook it to clear it.
“Lavender, penny a bunch, sweeten yer linen, sweet lavender!”
“Here, girl, give me a bunch.”
“‘At’s a guinea, sir. Oi don’ ‘ave no chinge.”
“Keep it, keep it,” said Lord Alton impatiently.
“Cor, ta, ducks. ‘Tain’t no bokay, luv, just dried lavender.” He took the bundle of blue-grey stalks she held out to him and buried his face in their fragrance. Then he raised his head and looked around him as if startled to find himself there. When he walked on, his slouching ramble had vanished, replaced by a purposeful stride.
“Cor stone the crows! Oi better set up fer a ‘pothecary!” exclaimed the lavender seller.
As Lord Alton let himself into his house, a maid was crossing the hall with a scuttle of coal.
“Morning, your lordship,” she greeted him in a cheerful whisper. “Mr. Rugby’s asleep in the library. Should I make up the fire?”
“Yes, go ahead . . . What? Barney sleeping in my library?” His mind far from the present, his lordship had not lowered his voice. As the maid pushed open the door, Mr. Rugby himself appeared—a short, tousled figure in creased evening dress.
“Barney, you’re a mess. What are you doing here? Bella throw you out?”
“Certainly not! It was the only way I could think of to be sure of seeing you. Do come in here, there’s a good chap. It’s past time we had a talk.”
“By all means, if you insist, but I’ll be happy to come round to your office later on . . .”
“Oh no, I’m not letting you go now I’ve caught you.” Mr. Rugby noticed the gaping maid, shooed her out, and closed the door. “Sit down, David. It’s bloody cold in here, and you have demmed uncomfortable chairs, but you can just put up with it for a few minutes.”
“They’re not made for sleeping in,” pointed out his lordship reasonably. He raised his hand to his face, and Mr. Rugby noticed that he was carrying a bunch of lavender. A secret smile touched his lips as he inhaled the odour—a tender, reminiscent smile. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”
Mr. Rugby collected his thoughts, fixed a stern look on his tall friend, and launched into the speech he had been preparing for several days. “David,” he began severely, “I realise you were confined to your bed in utter tedium for three months, and that you have been making up for lost time, but the ruinous course—”
“Tedium?” queried his lordship dreamily. “That was not tedium.”
“Well, then, what possible excuse have you for your behaviour which has set the whole town talking and worried your friends to distraction!”
Lord Alton returned to earth with a jolt. “Has it been that bad? Yes, I suppose it has. Barney, I was trying to forget, trying to persuade myself I did not care. When returning to my old way of life did not serve, I tried to banish her image in every way I could think up. But none of it was real. Nothing has seemed real since the day I left, and I have only just realised that I should
have given the girl a fiver.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. The point is that now I know what I want, I shall do everything in my power to win her. Collingwood shan’t have her!”
“Who?” Barney was totally bewildered.
“Didn’t I tell you? Hester Godric, of course. My lavender lady.”
Mr. Rugby shook his head despairingly, but it was a different kind of despair from that which had prompted the interview. After a moment’s silence, he looked at his friend and found that without warning his lordship had fallen asleep, a sweet smile on his face.
“Hester Godric,” he murmured. “So that’s what it was all about.”
Chapter 10
“Hester, if you won’t come, I’ll go alone. I don’t think informing his lawyer of our address in London is throwing ourselves into his arms. It will not in any way oblige him to visit, after all.”
“But do you not think it strange that we have had no word from him in all this time? That and the money make it obvious that he has no wish to look on us as friends.”
“He gave me Mr. Rugby’s direction,” repeated Jamie obstinately, “and it is certainly common courtesy to let him know we are in town. After that it will be up to him. How do you propose to return the money if we do not give him a chance to contact us?”
“Oh, very well,” Hester sighed. “I daresay I had best come with you. I should be very dull shut up in my chamber, and the streets are so very busy that I don’t like to go out alone.”
The Staple Inn, a well-preserved Elizabethan hostelry, was situated in Holborn. Its upper storeys, with their oriel windows projecting over the street, lent it a quaint, old-fashioned air, but its chambers were comfortable enough. The coffee room was frequented by a noisy throng of fashionable bucks and their hangers-on, and Hester had been glad to find that a separate dining parlour was provided for residents.
Since their arrival two days before, she and Jamie had already found a small house in the village of Paddington that would suit both family and budget to admiration. On the outskirts of town, it was comparatively quiet, yet within walking distance of Lady Bardry's residence in Holles Street. They could move in the following Monday, the ninth of February, and Hester was anxious to return to Henley to complete the preparations for their removal.
Now Jamie was insisting on leaving their new address with Mr. Fairfax’s lawyer. Hester had very mixed feelings on the subject. On the one hand, she shuddered at the prospect of giving him reason to think that they were pursuing him; on the other, the thought of never seeing him again was unbearable. She had hoped that a meeting might come about naturally, through Alice. Had he not said that his sister was acquainted with Lady Bardry? But Jamie would not wait for fate to intervene. Secretly, she was quite glad to have the decision taken out of her hands.
They walked the three-quarters of a mile to the offices of Rugby, Rugby, Jones, and Rugby in the City. Hester was inclined to think that she would never become accustomed to the crowds in the streets, the noise and the bustle and the smells. She was happy to escape into the dim, fusty waiting room on Threadneedle Street, where a cheerful fire belied the general appearance of comfortless gloom.
Mr. Barnabas Rugby was delighted to be informed that Mr. and Miss Godric requested an interview on personal business. At last he would see the young woman who had driven David to the depths of dissipation and then raised him therefrom to the pinnacle of virtue without lifting a finger. For a month he had watched bemused as his lordship, abandoning his former haunts and occupations, had thrown himself into the redecoration and refurbishing of both his houses. Nothing, it seemed, was too good for Hester Godric.
“But how can you be sure she will have you?” he had protested.
“I shall make myself indispensable. Once she comes to see me as something more than just another chick to be taken under her wing, anything is possible. I’ll make her love me. It’s a matter of necessity; I can’t live without her. Barney, she’s an angel!”
Mr. Rugby was surprised to find that the angel possessed no extraordinary degree of beauty, though she was certainly no antidote. She displayed none of the airs and graces of a lady of fashion, but bore herself with a natural dignity which, he could see, might prove attractive to a gentleman who had spent years fighting off the wiles of sophisticated debutantes.
On the whole, he was inclined to think that David had fallen in love with her simply because she had taken care of him when he was ill. It seemed more than likely that a second meeting would disillusion him. He hoped the girl would not be hurt in the process.
“Pray be seated, Miss Godric, Mr. Godric,” he invited. “I have been expecting your visit. Have you succeeded in finding a house to your liking in London?”
“Yes, sir,” Jamie assured him, and gave the direction. Then he added shyly, “My sister requests that you not tell Mr. Fairfax unless he specifically asks for it. We do not wish to appear encroaching.”
“Of course, Mr. Godric.” Barney did not see fit to mention that David enquired after them daily. “Am I correct in believing that this is your first visit to the metropolis? How do you like it?”
“We have not had time to see a great deal. We are staying at the Staple Inn in Holborn, so we saw St. Paul’s Cathedral on our way here this morning. My brother Geoffrey and I intend to visit every place of interest when we are settled in Paddington.”
“And you, Miss Godric?” Mr. Rugby turned to Hester, who had been silent so far.
“I confess, sir, I find the traffic and crowds in the streets rather alarming,” she answered, smiling. Her voice was low and sweet, and the smile, reflected in her eyes, lit her face like a ray of sunshine. The lawyer became conscious of a faint scent of lavender. It suddenly seemed possible that David might be seriously attached to this young woman.
“My wife feels the same,” he said. “I think she would like to meet you. May I bring her to call on you when you return to London?”
“Oh, thank you, sir, but . . . No, of course I should be happy to make Mrs. Rugby’s acquaintance. We must not take up any more of your time now. Come, Jamie.”
Mr. Rugby shook Jamie’s hand.
“When do you leave for Henley?” he asked.
“Tonight, on the Oxford stage. Hester is in a hurry to get back to the children and packing. Good-bye, sir, and thank you.”
“I expect his lordship may wish to call at your inn this afternoon. May I tell him—”
“His lordship?” interrupted Hester. “There is some mistake. It is Mr. David Fairfax of whom we were speaking.”
“David Fairfax is the Earl of Alton,” said Mr. Rugby gently. “He asked me to break the news to you in a circumspect manner. I’m afraid I have shocked you.”
After a moment of disbelief, Jamie flushed to the roots of his hair. Hester, as white as he was red, put out her hand blindly and caught at the edge of the desk.
“Shocked,” she murmured, “yes, shocked. To be so deceived! I trusted him, thought I knew him . . .”
“And all this time he has been laughing up his sleeve at us!” exclaimed Jamie bitterly. “Poor fools that we are, to have aspired to friendship with a Peer of the Realm. Hester, we must go.”
“No, no, you misunderstand,” insisted Mr. Rugby, appalled at the effect of his words. “David did not mean . . . he had no intention . . . Oh, bother him,” he muttered at their retreating backs. “He will have to explain for himself. A right mull I’ve made of it. A lawyer lost for words! Father must be turning in his grave.”
Scarce three hours later, a smart curricle drew up before the Staple Inn.
“Walk the horses, Jerry,” the driver ordered his groom as he jumped down. “I’ll not be long, I fear.” Entering the lobby, he gave a passing maidservant his card and a shilling. “To Miss Godric,” he requested. “I’ll wait here. Or Mr. Godric,” he added quickly.
Lord Alton felt curiously unsure of himself. On hearing the Godrics’ reaction to the revelation of his title, he ha
d roundly cursed Barney, then apologised shamefacedly and cursed himself. The minutes that passed now did nothing to reassure him, and he pictured a heated debate above the stairs, wondering whether Hester or Jamie was taking his part. Possibly they were merely discussing how best to reject his overtures.
A dark-haired gentleman, dressed with exquisite taste in the latest fashion, emerged from the coffee room.
“Ho, Alton!” he greeted his lordship. “Sold those chestnuts yet? I’ve been looking for you this fortnight past. I’ll make you a good offer for them, but I’d like to try their paces for myself first.”
“Certainly,” replied Lord Alton. He was about to propose a suitable time when he saw Hester descending the stairs. “I cannot talk now, though. Will you be at White’s this evening? I’ll discuss it with you then, Rathwycke.”
“Very well.” He turned away as Lord Alton moved to meet Hester.
“Miss Godric!” His lordship had expected to be greeted with coolness, but the shocked distaste on her face was inexplicable. Neither noticed the dark gentleman swing round at the sound of her name and subject her to a close scrutiny.
“My lord,” said Hester with cold reserve, “I have come down to return to you this purse. The contents are intact, I assure you.”
He had come prepared to humble himself, to plead for forgiveness. Now he found his gift thrown back in his face, and he was suddenly aware that Rathwycke had not discreetly taken himself off but was standing close by, drawing on his gloves in a leisurely way. Hurt and embarrassed, he drew himself up.
“My dear girl,” he said with condescending hauteur, ‘that is not at all necessary. I beg that you will keep the money against future need. Good day, ma’am.” To his own horror, he found himself stalking out.
With Rathwycke’s sardonic gaze upon him, he could not run back to throw himself at her feet and attempt an explanation. Curse the man! he thought savagely.
Hester’s worst fears were borne out. She had hoped against hope to find her dear friend unchanged. Instead, along with his title he had assumed the proud and haughty air of aristocratic arrogance. The man she loved was gone. What matter, then, that she had heard him address in the friendliest manner the villain who had ruined Grace Collingwood? Birds of a feather, she decided cynically. Was it possible that only his injury had saved Alice from his disastrous attentions?