Conall rose and went to stand by the fireplace. “It could be worse, ma’am. Your daughter could have been raped, or sold to a bawdy house once she was beyond her family’s protection. Forgive my plain speaking, but, knowing the man in question, you may consider yourselves lucky he merely lived with her as his mistress.”
“Then you are not married?” Mama dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“No, thank heaven.” Conall’s expression was hard. “He would have utterly destroyed her. I’m sorry, Hestia, but that’s the truth as I see it. I have every hope your daughter will be happily married soon, however. To me, assuming she can ever forgive me for dragging her back to a place to which she was most unwilling to come.” His expression softened as he looked at her.
Mama dropped her handkerchief in astonishment. “A countess? Did you hear that, William? Our daughter is to be a countess.”
Hestia narrowed her eyes at Conall. Presumptuous wretch.
Catching her expression, he cleared his throat and continued, “Let us not get ahead of ourselves. I simply need you both to know that your daughter will be loved and provided for, whatever occurs between the four of us tonight.”
Before any more could be said, the refreshments were brought in. The food tasted like ashes in Hestia’s mouth, but the port was welcome, giving her the courage to take up the story herself. Before the manipulative Earl of Corsbury trapped her into an engagement to which she was by no means ready to agree.
She told of her first meeting with Frederick, their trysts, his courtship, their elopement, and subsequent existence. When the furious look on Papa’s face made her falter, Conall took up the tale, laying before her parents in no uncertain terms the immoral nature of Frederick, his own dealings with the man, and the plot against him in which Frederick had involved her. By the end of his explanation, both her parents were staring at him, round-eyed.
“My poor child!” Mama stood up and bent over Hestia, smothering her face with kisses. “My poor, dear child!”
“Sit down, Margaret. This is no time for hysterics. I quite understand, my lord, why you wished to bankrupt the scoundrel. I’d have had him horsewhipped.”
“He’d been flogged already,” Hestia said, as Mama’s effusions subsided. “I suspect while he was in the army, but he never told me what it was for.”
“Flogged, you say?” Her father sat forwards. “You say he’s called Ebbworth. I had a fellow in my regiment with the same name. But I heard he died at Waterloo, unfortunate fellow. Cannonball sliced right through him. Oh, I beg your pardon, Margaret.”
How peculiar. Frederick had never mentioned anyone killed at Waterloo. In fact, he’d mentioned no family at all. Hestia had always assumed he was an orphan.
“Are you sure that was his name? Could he have given you a false one?” Papa was staring at her intently.
“We did wonder if he might be called Andrew,” Conall responded. “We found a locket in his Bath lodgings, initialled A.C.”
“Andrew?” All the colour fled from her father’s face. “Andrew Calshott? That damnable rogue? I should have had him shot when he deserted, not merely flogged. He never followed orders and was forever fomenting discontent in the regiment. Got into a deal of hot water over at least one woman too, if I’m not mistaken. If ever there was a devil disguised as an angel, Calshott was that man.”
An icy hand clutched Hestia’s throat, stifling her breath. She’d been even more of a fool than she thought. Frederick was not Frederick. He’d given her a false name and had once been flogged by her very own father. Oh, why, why had she not thought to question him more closely before running off with him? If only her heart had been less vulnerable, her head more clear. She ought to be punished herself—for her stupidity.
But then, she had been punished, hadn’t she? Frederick, or rather, Andrew Calshott, had ruined her life. And wounded her parents, which had doubtless been his intention all along.
There was no sound in the room but the ticking of the clock and the rapid beating of her heart, which pulsed so loudly, she was sure the others must hear it.
Everyone seemed shocked into silence. Conall recovered first. “I believe, Colonel, that, like myself, you have been a victim of this vengeful man’s wiles. What better way to punish the officer who humiliated him and had him flogged than by stealing his daughter, incognito, and ruining her? I hope, now you know the circumstances, you’ll forgive Hestia her indiscretion, and welcome her back into your lives.”
Hestia, close to tears, was grateful for his words. The bastion of her stubbornness crumbled a little. It was possible—just possible—he’d done the right thing in bringing her home. Though she could never forgive him his methods.
“Now you’re here, you must certainly stay the night, both of you,” Mama announced. “There is so much to be said, we cannot make up for a whole missing year in one night. I’ll have some rooms readied.”
She rang the bell and asked Nancy to make up a spare bed, and to open up Hestia’s old room.
Papa had gone very still. A frosty pallor had replaced the ruddy anger in his cheeks.
“Papa, are you alright?”
“Yes, my dear. Only… I am contemplating murder at this precise moment, so I apologise if my expression is grim.”
“I quite understand your feelings, sir.” Conall moved away from the fireplace and came to stand behind Hestia’s chair. His heat warmed her back, buoying her up. “But it will not answer. Allow me to deal with the renegade, if you will.”
She suddenly felt terribly tired. It was all too much to take in. Had there been no truth whatever in the things Frederick had said to her? Had he never cared for her at all? How had he managed to keep up the pretence for almost a year? She dreaded to think what might have become of her had she not met Conall.
And what might become of her now.
“Thank you for the excellent supper, Colonel, Mrs Normanton. I suspect we’re all somewhat overwhelmed by what we’ve just discovered. Might I suggest we retire early? We can decide what’s to be done in the morning when we’re refreshed.”
Conall had taken command, his confidence having a calming effect on them all. Which was just as well, since she knew her father’s rage, once roused, knew no bounds. Almost, she pitied Frederick, with two such ruthless men set against him. But she also feared for both Papa and Conall, and prayed neither would do anything that could rebound upon themselves.
It wasn’t until she was safely ensconced in her own room, that the enormity of Frederick’s perfidy struck her. She’d given up her home, her family, her body and her soul—all for nothing. She’d wasted a year of her life, a year of her prime.
She fought against self-pity, but the well of unhappiness was now full to overflowing. Frederick had betrayed her, Conall had fooled her. She was stupid and worthless. Throwing herself face down on the bed, she used her pillow to stifle the onslaught of a series of dry, racking sobs.
She was certain she’d contained the noise, and was therefore horrified when there was a soft knocking at the door of her chamber.
Pressing the tears from her eyes, she padded across the room and laid her ear against the wooden panel.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.” Conall’s voice, soft and low. “Will you let me in, please, Hestia? We need to talk.”
Chapter 15
Hestia let him in. There were one or two things she wanted to say, as well. She waited while he turned up the lamp and pulled a chair close to her bedside. At her frown, he explained, “So no one hears us talking. Otherwise, your Papa will be re-loading his gun.”
“I doubt it. I have no honour left for him to defend.”
How sour that sounded. Bother—she’d decided not to pity herself. And she didn’t want anyone’s sympathy either.
“It would make me the happiest man alive if you would allow me to return that honour to you, restore your reputation, by making you my wife.”
The earnestness on his face melted another chunk o
f the ice in her heart. But she’d been duped once. She was in no hurry to be duped again.
“All in good time.” She hoped she sounded matter-of-fact, not sulky. “What are we to do about Frederick? He still has a hold on me, can still tarnish my good name, and stigmatise my parents.”
“Having met your father, I dare anyone to say a word against him. All your neighbours must tremble at the knees if he so much as glances in their direction.”
She granted him a faint smile. “But you faced him undaunted, armed only with a walking cane.”
“I have been practising fencing left-handed. A man never knows when he might need to defend himself. But I digress. I intend, as you suggested, to find Ebbworth and negotiate with him. I have seen what the thirst for revenge can do. Too many people get hurt. My actions have, inadvertently, driven you into penury, and I can’t forgive myself for that. Nor can I escape the fact that, had I allowed Josephine to return to her first love without a fight, all this could have been avoided. She might even still be alive.”
He was speaking sound sense. And Hestia began to see that perhaps, ultimately, she would have to forgive his sins too. But not now. Her feelings were still too raw.
“But that is not the man you are, Conall. I can’t see you ever giving up something that matters to you without a fight.”
“A man can change. Or find less demanding ways of fighting for just causes. I mean to return Ebbworth’s IOUs to him. He can honour them himself, with whatever means he has at his disposal. I will also abandon any business interests I have, which may be damaging to his.”
Very magnanimous. But would Frederick accept?
“And what will you ask in return?”
“That he lays no further claim to you, and never impugns your honour. In fact, I’d prefer it if he never mentioned your name at all, in connection with his.”
“But what of Mrs Ebbworth, of 66 Great Pulteney Street, Bath?”
“We’ll let him concoct his own explanation for her disappearance. He’s more likely to stick to a story if he’s thought it up himself.”
“It all sounds so fair and reasonable, Conall. Do you honestly think it can work?”
“It must work, my darling. I want you to feel happy and secure. I can’t answer for your father’s behaviour, though. I only hope whatever action he takes will be discreet.”
Frederick’s home was in Bath. Which meant Conall would be returning to Spyle Court soon, so he could be closer to his quarry. Leaving her alone with her parents.
“I wish to be involved in the negotiations.” After all, she knew Frederick far better than Conall.
His face hardened. “Too risky. Such things need to be settled man-to-man.”
“I don’t care about your accursed codes of chivalry, or honour or whatever—I’m an injured party too, and I want to have my say.”
He abandoned his chair and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his. “I quite understand. But I beg of you, please let me do this my way.”
Wanting to control everything again—how typical. She snatched her hand away.
He turned his head aside, so all she could see was the eyepatch and the damaged side of his face. Why had he turned away from her? She needed to know how he was feeling. Hurt? Angry?
It was frustrating. “When are you going to take that wretched eyepatch off? I’m fed up with only being able to see half your face.”
He reacted as if he’d been stung, and she wished she could take back the words, which sounded harsh, even to her own ears. “I mean, if you still wish to marry me, should I not know what lies beneath?”
The air warmed as Conall treated her to his disarming grin. “You are considering my offer, then? I feared by my actions today I’d lost you entirely.”
“Not entirely. But don’t congratulate yourself yet. I’ll need a good deal of persuading. As will Papa.”
“If I show my face, it will discourage you. An act of the utmost folly for an ardent suitor.”
“You’ll have to do it sooner or later.”
“Very well.” He sighed, and reached behind his head to undo the eyepatch, before turning slowly towards her.
His undamaged eye was downcast—she knew he feared seeing disgust or pity in her face. Determined to be guilty of neither, she traced her fingertips gently over the silky red and white scars in the flesh around the eye socket. His eyelid was browned, a few stumps of lashes visible—perhaps in time they might grow again. He kept his eye closed, the eyelid trembling where it met the ravaged flesh of his cheek.
“Is there a void?”
“Yes. They thought it best to remove the eye itself, for fear of infection.”
“It is not so bad as I had expected. I’m no judge, but I’d say it was healing well.”
“You’re not revolted?”
“Of course not. It looks strange being empty though. Would you not consider wearing your glass eye?”
“Perhaps. When I’m brave enough to remove the patch.”
“You have already been brave enough. Consider it. Just think of the faces, the expressions you can make when you have two eyes.”
He tipped his head back, and she pulled her hand away as he let out a mirthless chuckle. “More likely, I will terrify our children.”
Their children? She hadn’t agreed to marry him yet.
“You assume too much.”
Why had she said that? She wanted children more than anything. But she also wanted to have a choice. She’d been a caged bird all her life—why immediately swap one prison for another? Could she trust Conall to give her the freedom she needed? Or would he want to be in control all the time, as he had been today?
“I thought you might want children.” He tied the eyepatch back in place.
“Of course, I do. But are you the man with whom I wish to have them?”
He looked at her, stunned. His lips moved, but no words came out. Then he rose, saying, “I quite understand. I’ve broken your trust today and should not expect too much of you when you’re tired, hurting, and feeling betrayed. But understand, Hestia, second chances come but rarely. And forgiveness, it seems, is even rarer.”
He turned away and left her chamber without another word.
She lay down and pulled the bed-clothes around her ears, disquiet gnawing at her. She’d definitely drawn blood, but was it because his pride was hurt, or had she dealt a blow to his heart? He was right—she was weary, she did feel let down, cornered, out of options. In the morning, she’d feel better, and more able to see things clearly.
Time enough to make her peace with Conall on the morrow. She’d sleep now, and give him a response to his proposal after breakfast.
Assuming she hadn’t hurt him so deeply, he no longer felt obliged to offer for her.
Chapter 16
After a sleepless night, Conall rose early. So many emotions warred within him, he felt dizzy and needed to clear his head. Superimposed on all the guilt, love, anger, and frustration was an overriding sense of fear. He’d shown Hestia his deformity. She didn’t care for him enough to overlook it. Had he cast his love on barren ground?
Again?
Somewhat to his surprise, he found the colonel already at breakfast, assisted by a very sleepy maid.
“Lord Corsbury.”
“No, don’t get up. And please, call me Conall.”
“I have a good many questions for you, sir, about the time my daughter spent in your house.”
“As a guest, chaperoned by my mother.”
“I certainly hope so.” The Colonel speared a devilled kidney and conveyed it to his mouth.
Conall grimaced. He wasn’t sure he felt like eating today. “I think we need to settle the issue of Frederick Ebbworth before we concern ourselves with anything else. Including Miss Normanton’s future.”
The Colonel remained silent, chewing on his mouthful. If anyone could be said to be eating with menace, this old soldier was doing it. But Conall was not easily deterred. “I mean to find him forth
with.”
Hestia’s father raised a grizzled eyebrow. “And call him out?”
“Not at all. I mean to seek terms.”
“Pah! Such a fellow will stop at nothing. Regardless of what he calls himself now, he’s a deserter. Let the military decide what’s to be done with him. I shall tell our constable to keep an eye open, should the mongrel return to Essex.”
“What would bring him here?” Conall helped himself to a soused herring and some bread, then sat down and stared at his plate.
“He’s a local man. I recall he had an elderly father in the poor house at Saffron Walden, so I assume that is from whence the Calshotts come. It wouldn’t surprise me if Ebbworth pursues Hestia here, now she’s escaped his clutches. You’d best be on your guard, my lord. As a soldier, he never fought by the rules.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” Would their mutual enemy really follow Hestia all the way to Essex? What would he hope to do when he arrived? Seduce her again? That would never work. Make trouble for her family by exposing her sins? Yes, he was vindictive enough to try that.
“Sir, I mean to return to Bath in search of Frederick Ebbworth, or Andrew Calshott, or whatever name he happens to be going by. Should he come here, I’d advise you to incarcerate him and let him speak to no one. Please send word to me at the earliest opportunity.”
The colonel’s face darkened. “You think I can’t deal with him myself?”
“Nothing of the sort. Only—it’s a delicate matter, with your daughter’s reputation at stake. I have an idea to mitigate against word getting out, however, but you must instigate the rumour immediately, so we can steal a march on Ebbworth. Or maybe your wife and servants could be entrusted with the task.”
“What rumour?”
“That Hestia contracted a deadly illness—smallpox, for example. She was sent away to convalesce and wait for the scars to heal. You did not wish to alarm people by admitting to there being smallpox in your household—no one else had developed the illness, so you saw no reason to inform the authorities.”
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