Lavender Lady (27 page)

“You are incapable of understanding, I daresay, that no mud can besmirch a character such as hers.” His tone was expressionless, but Sir Hubert’s dark countenance paled. The earl was perfectly capable of destroying
his
reputation in such a way that he would be forever unable to show himself in society. Quickly changing the subject, he said, “I suppose the parson you brought with you is the interfering Collingwood himself?”

“Yes. I rather think that young man will one day be my brother-in-law. I should not like to hear that anything had happened to him or to his family. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ is a favourite motto of mine at present.”

“I take your point, Alton. England becomes positively
ennuyant,
do you not find? So respectable! I believe I shall try the French side of the family for a change.” Recovering his sangfroid, Sir Hubert flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “I may even settle there,” he continued. “They say Louis is fond of the English.”

“The Channel is an overrated waterway, in my opinion. I was thinking more in terms of the Atlantic. I understand America is full of opportunities for the enterprising.”

“My dear fellow, you go too far, positively too far!” For the first time since the mention of Hester, the eyes of the two men met. “Oh, very well, if you insist. I have heard the belles of New Orleans are not difficult to please.”

Lord Alton smiled and stood up. “Bon voyage,” he said, and went to find Alice and her vicar.

He found them in the kitchen. A shamefaced manservant took advantage of the diversion caused by his entrance to slink out of the back door.

“All the living-in servants are men,” Mr. Collingwood informed him, “and a villainous lot. Not a single maid to support my poor dear. Without your noble intervention, her plight had been sorry indeed, and she must have succumbed at the last, I fear.”

At the thought, tears poured once more from Alice’s beautiful eyes.

“I doubt it,” said his lordship callously. “Like me, Rathwycke cannot abide weeping females. Will she ever stop?”

“I don’t mind it, and when she is happy and busy with me in Somerset, she will have no cause to cry.”

“I would not count on it. Come, let us leave this place.”

“What of Rathwycke?”

“He has decided to shake the dust of England from his feet and try his luck in the New World.”

“I will not ask how you persuaded him. I am certain I could never have done so, and all my future comfort I owe—”

“Have done, man. I suppose you know I did not do it for you, nor for Miss Alice’s pretty face. I ride for London immediately. You had best take the girl up before you on Orangepeel, and you may hire a chaise in Hemel Hempstead.”

Orangepeel and Jettison were confided to the care of the ostler at the Crown, who rarely saw such bang-up bits of blood and bone and swore on his mother’s honour to treat them like royalty till Jerry could fetch them. Alice and John Collingwood sat down to a neat dinner, but his lordship was anxious to relieve Hester’s mind of worry on her sister’s behalf—and determined that Mistress Florabel should not spend another night under her roof.

He hired the best nag the village could provide and headed back toward London, glad that daylight lingered long at this time of year.

Hester had at first had little leisure to consider the consequences of Alice’s possible loss of virtue. After waving good-bye to Lord Alton and Mr. Collingwood as they rode off, she had turned back into the house, feeling very much in need of a few quiet moments for reflexion.

Robbie was coming down the stairs, clad only in a large blue towel, clasping a bundle of soggy clothing and shivering. She hustled him into the kitchen, where James had lit the fire, and between them they bathed him.

Hester was glad to find that Jamie had apparently been too busy to hear Lord Alton’s hurried arrival and departure. She wanted to keep his sister’s disappearance from him for as long as possible.

They took supper on a tray up to Rob’s room. As they passed Florabel’s chamber door, Hester thought she heard strange sounds within, but she decided not to investigate, hoping her cousin was not ill. The boys’ room was on the other side of the corridor, and she heard nothing while they ate. Not that she ate very much. Dora’s cooking seemed particularly unappetising that evening.

Robbie fell asleep in the middle of his meal. Jamie carried the trays down, and Hester went to write a quick note to Lady Bardry. It took some argument to persuade James, without revealing the whole story, that it could not wait until tomorrow, but at last he went to deliver it. She took some mending and retired to the parlour.

Now she had time to think, and the full horror of Alice’s abduction hit her. Her sister had been in the power of that ruthless libertine for hours, more than long enough to ruin her if rumour of it ever reached the scandalmongers. Even supposing Lord Alton and Mr. Collingwood found her in time to save her, how would they stop Rathwycke’s lying tongue from destroying her reputation?

Hester could think of only one way. To her fear for Alice was added an awful dread that even now his lordship might be lying lifeless after challenging Sir Hubert in defence of her sister’s honour.

Unbidden, the memory came to her of his expression when he had discovered that Collingwood and Alice were betrothed. Not blighted hope but relief, delight even. And then he had looked at her in such a way that her heart had turned over and she had lost her breath. Had she, could she have misinterpreted that look? If Rathwycke had killed him, she would never know. And if he had killed the blackguard, he would be forced to flee abroad. Either way she would never see him again.

Desperate, she sought another solution. She could see only a choice between the loss of the man she loved and the destruction of her sister’s happiness. Thank God the choice was not hers to make.

She paced up and down, abandoning the mending. Restlessly, she went out into the garden, which glowed in the last rays of the setting sun, but its beauty could not soothe her now. She went back into the house and picked up a book, staring at the first page for ten minutes before she realised she had not read a word.

There was a knock at the front door.

Hester picked up her skirts and ran.

It was a stranger: a stout, florid-faced young man whose green and purple waistcoat was so startling that it caught Hester’s attention in spite of her disappointment.

“Kindly inform Florabel that Teddy is here,” this apparition instructed her, and held out a shilling.

“Certainly not!” she exclaimed. “I—”

“Hoity-toity, miss! Landlady, are we? Here’s a crown then.”

“That’s not necessary,” said Hester helplessly. Rather than become involved in an argument, she agreed to tell Mrs. Stevens of his arrival, and went upstairs.

She knocked on the door. There was a scuffling sound and then silence. Afraid that perhaps her cousin really was ill, she knocked again and walked in.

Florabel was sitting up in bed, very dishevelled and clutching the counterpane to her ample bosom. Near the dresser an equally dishevelled gentleman was hurriedly climbing into his nether garments, a look of alarm on his face.

Speechless, Hester felt behind her for the doorpost and leaned against it before her knees could give way.

“Sorry, dearie,” said Florabel sunnily, “but you was supposed ter be out tonight. A girl can’t always be running about the town.”

Her visitor had buttoned his breeches, found his hat and pulled it low over his scarlet countenance, and was tiptoeing toward the door, carrying shoes and stockings. Hester automatically moved to let him pass, and he scampered down the stairs.

“Better leave,” he advised Teddy as he passed. “Got a feeling there’s a storm about to break.”

Teddy gaped. “Got an appointment,” he said uncertainly. “Oh well, Flor ain’t the only ladybird on the town. You think . . .”

“She’ll be changing her address, if she don’t end up in Bridewell. Come on!”

Every word was audible above stairs, as was the slam of the front door behind their retreating backs. Hester found her voice at last. “I think you had best follow them,” she said quietly. “I will send your bags.” She turned to go.

Florabel, huge in a tent-like diaphanous nightgown, heaved herself out of bed and flung herself on her knees, seizing the hem of Hester’s dress.

“No, no!” she cried theatrically, “yew cannot be so crule as to thrust a pore widder out of doors at this time of night! Alas, Ebenezer, what will become of me?”

“Get up. I have been patient with you all these weeks because I thought you respectable, though I have long doubted your sincerity. I have been blind, but my eyes have been rudely opened. You will leave my house this evening.”

She stepped out of Florabel’s room and closed the door. Robbie was emerging from his chamber, rubbing his eyes, and James, just returned from his errand, appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Rob,” Hester said, “go back to bed. I’m sorry the noise disturbed you darling. Jamie, I must talk to you.”

She took his arm and led him down to the hall, where they stood watching the staircase.

“What happened?” he asked apprehensively.

“There was a man in her chamber.” Hester was shaking now. “She is a . . . a Cyprian, a woman of the town. Jamie, how
could
I have been so blind?”

Her brother crimsoned and looked at his feet. “I guessed,” he admitted. “Well, I was not sure, but she often had visitors on Sunday evenings when you went out. Only I did not know how to tell you or what to do. If only I were not such a coward!” he cried despairingly.

“Hush, my dear.” She put her arms around his thin shoulders and kissed his cheek. “I can imagine how difficult it must have been, how you shrank from such embarrassment. Do not reproach yourself. I am sure I am much to blame myself for always taking in any waifs and strays without enquiry as to their antecedents.” She essayed a smile.

“You need a man to protect you,” said Jamie, a new determination in his voice. “I think I had better—”

Before he could disclose his intentions, Florabel swept down the stairs in her least indiscreet gown and all her jewellery, a pair of orange ostrich feathers nodding in her brassy curls. She had not abandoned her pose of outraged innocence.

“Mai dearest cousin,” she wailed, raising a lace handkerchief to her eyes, “yew are too harsh, too unforgiving. How can yew torment me so? Ai am all alone in the crule world with no ‘and—hand—stretched forth to my assistance but yours. Do not withdraw your gracious bene . . . bene . . . kindness from me, or Ai am lost!” Having managed to force a few genuine tears, she lowered the handkerchief and allowed them to roll down her rouged cheeks, with unfortunate effects.

Jamie’s determination apparently did not stretch to sheltering his sister from this onslaught. With a strangled “I’ll see that Rob is all right,” he disappeared.

“I shall not change my mind,” said Hester steadily. “I’m sure you do not expect it. I take it you are not really my cousin, by the way?”

“Oh no, ducks. It was that Rathwycke put me up to it. Free rent, ‘e says, and ‘e paid me ‘andsome too. Just a little joke, like, ‘e says. ‘E’s a wicked one, ‘e is. I knowed ‘e were up to mischief. But don’t you worry, dearie. I told all my gentlemen as ‘ow you was innercent as newborn babe. ‘Don’t know the time of day,’ I says, ‘or I’d be out on me ear quick as winkin’.”

“I suppose I must thank you for that at least,” sighed Hester. Her head was aching, and she longed for news of Alice and Lord Alton. “Now will you please go? You can send someone for your belongings in the morning.”

Florabel, it seemed had abandoned her role only temporarily.

“Alas, Ai am undone!” she declaimed, striking a pose. Hester was beginning to think she did it merely to display her Thespian talents. “Is there no charity left in this wicked, wicked world? Oh, Ebenezer, how—”

A peremptory knocking on the door silenced her. Lord Alton walked in.

In a last dramatic outburst, Florabel threw herself at him, buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed noisily. For the second time that evening, his lordship was forced to disentangle himself from a damp feminine embrace.

This time, he simply shoved his assailant out of the front door, closed it, and threw the bolts. He looked down sadly at his riding jacket, where to the ravages of Alice’s weeping had been added the devastation of Florabel’s rouge.

Hester had not moved a muscle since he entered.

“Alice?” she asked with painful anxiety as he approached.

“I left her enjoying dinner in Hemel Hempstead. Collingwood will bring her here for the night.”

“And Rathwycke? I was afraid—”

“That we might fight? No need, my dear. The man is only brave where defenceless females are concerned. He will worry us no longer. You are very pale; come and sit down.”

His supporting arm about her waist, he led her into the parlour and made her sit by the window. In the last lingering light, her eyes seemed huge as she looked up at him.

“I’ve not been coping very well, have I?” she asked shyly.

He knelt beside her and took her hand in his.

“Hester, marry me.”

The tender passion in his voice startled her. Even as she answered, she knew her resistance was only token. Still, she must be sure.

“But what about the children?”

“I’ll be happy to take them on, too, and Grandpa Stevens if necessary.”

“It is too much . . .”

“Hester, I want to take care of you for the rest of my life, even if I have to take care of the rest of the world to get you. I love you.”

Exhausted, overwhelmed, and dazed with happiness, she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears on his still miraculously immaculate cravat. Kissing her damp eyelids, he found he didn’t mind a bit.

Copyright © 1983 by Carola Dunn

Originally published by Walker

Electronically published in 2004 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED