Someone Perfect (Westcott Book 10)

by Mary Balogh

  “Did I hurt you terribly?” he asked.

  “Not terribly,” she said. “It was lovely beyond belief. And if that look on your face means that you are about to feel qualms of conscience, forget them and refrain from being tedious. It was fully consensual, Justin.”

  “Not just sympathy because I wept?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “It was joy,” she said. “Because you were finally able to forgive your father and yourself. And were free to be yourself again. Justin, the darkness is gone.”

  At which moment the candle died without further warning and they were plunged into total darkness.

  She laughed, a sound of pure glee. And he laughed with her, hugging her tightly to him and rolling with her until he could kiss her properly and silence both her and himself.

  “You must not miss them,” she said after a while. “Take me with you.”

  “Stay there,” he said as he turned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll find the tinderbox and give us some light. If you do not hear from me within the next five or ten minutes, send out a search party.”

  “I will convene the family committee again,” she said. “They have had some recent experience.”

  Was this how their life together would be? he wondered as he felt his way to the tinderbox on the bookcase. Full of light and laughter— and passion? As his mother and father’s marriage had been? Would the lives of their children be as joy filled as his own had been? And was it true, what she had just said?

  … you were finally able to forgive your father and yourself. And were free to be yourself again.

  Justin, the darkness is gone.

  It had not been quite as late as Justin had feared. There had been time after they dressed to return briefly to the house for Estelle to run to her room to tidy up before a mirror and make herself comfortable and change her shoes to stouter ones.

  This was not the best of ideas, he thought as she joined him again in the hall and they left the house together. The likelihood of her being seen with him when it was still really just the middle of the night was strong. And it would take only one groom or servant or laborer— or house guest for that matter. Nevertheless, it felt good to know that she wanted to be with him, that she wished to meet Wes. It promised well for the future. He took one of her hands in his.

  They went to the stables first, where Captain greeted them with the usual ecstasy and a sleepy groom was able to assure Justin— with a sidelong glance at Estelle— that the horse Wes Mort had brought with him yesterday was still in its stall. Then they walked up the road to the top of the hill, Captain prancing along beside them. Estelle exclaimed in the lessening darkness over the beauty of the cluster of cottages around a village green and the farm buildings and cultivated fields, meadows, and garden plots stretching off into the distance.

  No one appeared to be stirring in the village. But when Justin knocked softly upon the door of the blacksmith’s house, Wes himself opened it and Justin stepped inside, while Estelle remained out by the garden gate, with Captain sitting on his haunches beside her.

  “They are both still sleeping,” Wes whispered, frowning and none too happy to see his friend.

  “Get your boots on and we will go outside, then,” Justin whispered back.

  Wes looked even less happy when he saw Estelle. He frowned ferociously even as he patted a panting Captain on the head.

  “Wes,” Justin said, keeping his voice low. “This is Lady Estelle Lamarr. My friend.”

  Poor Wes looked as though he did not know whether to bow, pull on his forelock, or flee back inside the house. Estelle stepped forward, her right hand extended.

  “Mr. Mort,” she said. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. Your brother is an absolute delight.”

  Wes looked at her hand, visibly hesitated, and then grasped it and pumped it once before releasing it. “Ma’am,” he muttered.

  “Let us walk back toward the stables,” Justin said, “before we wake everyone up. Ricky is still sleeping,” he told Estelle.

  “I left him where he was until I was ready to go,” his friend explained. “I was about to get him up. I’ll just fetch the horse, Juss, and we’ll be on our way.”

  They did not talk again until they were back on the road down the hill.

  “You enjoyed Bill Slater’s company last evening?” Justin asked. He had placed himself between his friend and Estelle, but he was holding her hand. “And at the smithy yesterday?”

  “The blacksmith?” Wes said. “He’s a pleasant fellow. Easy to talk to. He’s good with Ricky.”

  “He is also very eager to retire,” Justin told him. “His only son went off years ago and joined an infantry regiment. His daughter and son-in-law want him to stop working and go live with them and their three young girls, all of whom adore him. But he does not want to hand the smithy over to just anyone.” Justin glanced sideways at his friend. “I remember you telling me once that as a boy you were apprenticed to a blacksmith and thought the job was like a dream come true.”

  “A long time ago,” Wes said.

  “But you left,” Justin said, “because your father was making life impossible for Ricky.”

  “He was brute and devil all rolled into one, that man,” Wes said. “And I say so even though he was my father. After I was twelve I was able to stand up to him on my own account, but Ricky couldn’t. I wasn’t able to turn my back without the poor lad getting cuffed around. I used to take him to the smithy with me whenever I could, but it wasn’t always possible. And then … Well. Ricky got his arm broken and I took him away and we stayed away. He’s safe with me— except when he takes it into his head to run away and help a man who is too daft to choose his words more carefully to look for his sister, who was not even lost. You’ve taken ten years off my life with that one, Juss.”

  “It was like a dream come true, that apprenticeship of yours,” Justin said. “It could still happen, Wes.”

  “No, it couldn’t,” Wes said. “If you are suggesting …”

  “Well, I am,” Justin said, and his hand tightened about Estelle’s. He desperately wanted to find the right words to use with a man whose pride was prickly, to say the least. “Hear me out, Wes. You gave me a job years ago when I could not have been more unsuited for the work if I had tried. You gave me a chance— and a home. You are not destitute now as I was then. But I can offer you the job of your dreams and a home all three of you might like. You could complete your apprenticeship here and then take over the smithy. I have talked to Slater about it, and he is all in favor. I pay my workers well, Wes, as my father did before me. I keep their homes in good repair and give them good pensions when they retire. I give pensions to their wives if they are widowed. I see to it that there is a doctor to tend all of them when they are ill or hurt. I see to it that their children, boys and girls, go to school. I did not earn any of all this, Wes, but I can and do take my responsibilities seriously. All this is mine so that I can make it possible for a whole lot of other people to live decent, productive lives with the security of knowing that neither they nor their families will ever starve or be homeless.”

  “Bloody hell,” Wes Mort muttered— probably loudly enough for Estelle to hear.

  “Give it some thought,” Justin said. “Talk it over with Hilda and with Ricky if you wish. Wes, you are my friends, all three of you. You are too far away there in Gloucestershire. Give it some thought.”

  They had stopped walking not far from the stables.

  “Damn,” Wes said. “Ah, I beg your pardon, ma’am. Juss, I’m set to marry Hildy at the end of next week. The oddest thing has happened after all these years. There’s going to be a little one. She used to cry every month when it didn’t happen, but then she got used to the notion that it wasn’t going to happen at all. Then suddenly it did. Are you going to stand there grinning like a fool, or are we going to the stables to get the horse?”

  “I am grinning like a happy man,” Justin said. “And because
you are squirming with discomfort. Wes! I am delighted for you both.” He was too. Hilda would be an excellent mother. And Wes would be a good father. Consider the way he had always looked after Ricky, never losing patience with him, never belittling him, always loving him. Even though he had had to give up his dream job to keep him safe.

  Estelle was smiling, Justin could see.

  “If it’s a boy,” Wes said, “I don’t want him doomed to working all his life in the quarry. And if it’s a girl, I want her to live in a place where there’s green grass and trees and where her hair and her dresses aren’t always gray with dust. I want her to have … prettiness in her life. It’s what I’ve always wanted for Hildy too. But wanting isn’t always getting. And there’s a school here? For girls as well as boys? Girls are often brighter than boys. Hildy is brighter than I am. Which wouldn’t be difficult, I suppose.”

  “You will give this job some thought, then?” Justin asked, almost holding his breath and aware that he was squeezing Estelle’s hand only when she winced slightly.

  “Damn you, Juss,” Wes said. “Beg your pardon again, ma’am.” His eyes came to rest upon her, quite accidentally, it seemed to Justin. “Damn, Juss, but you know how to pick the pretty ones. Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

  Justin was laughing then, as was Estelle herself. It was novel to see his large friend squirm with discomfort. He released her hand in order to hug Wes. “You and Hilda getting married,” he said. “Next week. I am going to find a way of being there, whether I am invited or not. How does Ricky feel about it all?”

  “Oh, good God, we haven’t told him yet about getting married,” Wes said. “He would be asking twenty times every day if this is the day yet. When he knows about the little one, he’ll be pestering poor Hildy all day every day about her health and whether she ought to be lifting that pot or poking the fire. He will drive us both out of our heads.”

  “He will be a wonderful uncle,” Estelle said.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of, ma’am,” Wes said. “He’ll be forever shushing me and keeping me away from my own baby.” He laughed suddenly then. “There will never have been a more doting uncle.”

  “Stay another day,” Justin said. “Have a good talk with Bill Slater. Let Ricky say goodbye to all his friends— there must be dozens, in the house, in the kitchens, in the stables. Get some rest. I will see you on your way early tomorrow. And next week I will see you at your wedding.”

  “Ah, bloody hell,” Wesley said before apologizing to Estelle yet again. “We don’t want no fuss.”

  “You do not,” Justin said. “I’ll wager Hilda would not mind a bit of one. Go on back up to the cottage. Get some sleep. I bet you have not had a wink all night.”

  “I was afraid of sleeping in,” Wes said. “I—” He gave Justin a hard look, shook his head, and turned to make his way back up the hill.

  “I believe he will return and bring his wife and Ricky to live here,” Estelle said as they watched him go.

  “His wife,” Justin said. “It seems strange to hear Hilda referred to that way. They had already been together a year or two when I went to live with them ten years ago. I often wondered why there were no children. Neither of them ever spoke of it.”

  “Which is hardly surprising,” she said, sounding amused. “I think your offer of employment came at the perfect time. But it was not made just out of kindness, was it?”

  “Kindness?” He shrugged. “Wes has a steady job, and he is good at it and well respected by his bosses and his fellow workers. Ricky has work. They have a home, though it is in a bleak place. They can manage, even with a family. No, not kindness. I want them here because they are my friends,” he said.

  “Because they are your family,” she said. “And because you knew of his dream.”

  He took her hand in his again. It was still early, but it was definitely morning now and any number of early risers might be looking out through a window and see them in the gray predawn light. A servant might step outside at any moment. The sound of their voices, even though they had kept them low, had probably woken a few people up in the village. A groom had already seen them in the stables. Setting a decorous space between themselves as they walked back to the house would have been a bit ridiculous. Rather like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.

  In fact …

  “The sun is going to rise soon,” he said, nodding at the eastern sky, already streaked with pale pink. “Shall we go and watch it from the bridge?”

  “I have crossed it a few times since we came here,” she said. “But I have never stopped and actually looked at it— or from it. It is beautiful, just as the Chinese bridge at the lake is in a different way. Yes, let us see the sunrise as we stand upon the bridge.”

  Twenty-three

  They crossed the valley, Captain trotting after them, and walked halfway along the Palladian bridge before stopping. Estelle looked up and about at the intricately carved stonework overhead and on either side. It was like a small Roman temple with pillars and large openings on either side to afford views over the river. They stepped up to the side that looked east. The sun had not yet shown itself over the horizon, but both the sky and the water now were alight with varying shades of pink and gold. Her free hand, slim and delicate, was resting on the broad stone balustrade. Her eyes squinted as she looked out into the brightness.

  “I am reminded of standing with you on another, far more modest stone bridge,” she said. “Was it really only a few weeks ago?”

  “Somewhere between Prospect Hall and Elm Court?” he said. “But just as lovely as this one.”

  At the time he had been happy to know she was coming here— for Maria’s sake. He had been trying to convince himself that it was in no way for his sake too that he was glad. He had been aware of her dislike, even revulsion.

  “Oh, look!” she cried suddenly, awe in her voice. “Look, Justin.”

  The sun, unnaturally huge, exaggeratedly orange, was coming over the horizon, and the river turned color with it.

  “Why, oh why, do we not get up early enough every morning to watch this?” she asked.

  He watched her instead, sunlight on her face, sparkling in her eyes, her dark hair pinned high on the back of her head, but inexpertly, even a bit untidily. She looked breathtakingly lovely. “Why indeed?” he said, and she turned her head to smile at him.

  “You are not even looking,” she said.

  “Oh, yes,” he assured her. “I am. Estelle …”

  She turned to face him fully then and took her hand off the balustrade to set it in his. He clasped both her hands and raised them one at a time to his lips.

  “Yes?” she said.

  He had had two weeks to prepare a speech that would improve upon the one he had given at the summerhouse. It ought not to have been hard. It would be difficult, after all, to compose one that would be more disastrous than that had been. He had procrastinated, however, and now his mind was quite blank. He had so wanted the perfect moment, and he had it. They both turned their heads to watch the sun clear the horizon and begin its daily journey across the sky. He heard her inhale as she watched it. And he had so wanted the perfect words.

  “I am not going to talk about the equality of our birth or our relative age parity,” he said. “Or about duty. Or the fact that you must allow me to make an honest woman of you, though of course you must.”

  It was not a good start.

  “Thank you,” she said, and she was gazing into his eyes again. “What are you going to talk about? How is that sonnet coming?”

  He grimaced. “I believe the sonnet was your idea,” he said. “But I have been working up something. How about Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

  “Hmm.” She tipped her head to one side. “It has promise. Depending, of course, upon the type of summer day to which you mean to compare me.”

  “Thou art more lovely and more temperate,” he said.

  “Well, thank you,” she said.


  “Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,” he said.

  “I like that phrase— the darling buds of May,” she said. “That was clever of you. But shame upon the rough winds.”

  “And summer’s lease hath all too short a date,” he said.

  She frowned and pursed her lips. “Do you know?” she said. “This is beginning to sound vaguely familiar.”

  “I suppose,” he said, “some dastardly poet has already stolen it from me. That Shakespeare fellow, for example.”

  “Maybe you should forget the poetry and speak to me in plain prose,” she said. “I believe I would rather you not go on to tell me that every fair from fair sometime declines. But oh, Justin, you should always smile like that. You do not need to cower behind that granite facade any longer, do you?”

  “Cower?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Hide,” she said. “You do not need to hide any longer. You can be the Justin Maria remembers and all your relatives and hers. The Justin your father knew and loved. But with the added experience and fellow feeling that have grown in the twelve years since you left here. You can be the Justin I have come to know in the past couple of weeks, and so much more.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  She smiled, and the light from the sparkling river flickered against the side of her face. “The best poetry of all,” she said.

  “I want you in my life,” he told her. “Forever. Or at the very least until I die. I do not want to have to live without you. You are the light of my life. Will you make me happy and marry me?”

  “Oh,” she said, and her eyes were bright and she was blinking them, but one tear trickled down her cheek anyway. “Am I, Justin? The light of your life? Do I make you happy? You were quite right in the summerhouse that first time, you know. I have been waiting for love and wondering if it would ever happen for me and if I would recognize it if it did. I am glad I have waited, for I have found it at last— and recognized it. I do love you so much.”

  “Broken nose and all?” he asked.