Moonlight And Mistletoe

CHAPTER NINETEEN

An entire day at least to fill without Guy. Twenty-four hours without seeing him, without being held in his arms, without hearing that deep, flexible voice change from teasing to loving in the space of a breath.

Could he really love her? It seemed that he could and with enough passion to ignore her spotted past, ignore her relatively humble origins and make her his countess. Was it possible to be this happy and yet sit quite still, quite quiet and eat one’s breakfast just as one did every morning? Hester glanced across the table at Maria, who was attempting to read the Buckinghamshire Gazette while disguising the fact that she was sending anxious glances at her employer.

‘What is it, Maria?’ Hester asked, suppressing a smile.

‘His lordship has truly made you an offer?’ She put down the newspaper and sighed gustily. ‘It is wonderful.’

‘He has indeed, and I agree, it is so wonderful I feel I must pinch myself to ensure I am waking not dreaming. I only hope I meet with the approval of his sister, Lady Broome, who sounds most formidable. She is spending Christmas with Lord Buckland, you know.’

Miss Prudhome appeared daunted. ‘I do hope she will consider me a suitable chaperon for you. Oh, and what about gowns? Do you have the right gowns, for you are sure to be attending many social events in the next few weeks now, surely?’

‘I suppose so.’ Hester bit her underlip in thought. ‘I expect Guy will wish to introduce me to various relations.’ She was feeling as daunted as Maria looked. ‘I think my gowns will pass muster, but I must purchase new gloves and stockings, some more evening slippers, perhaps a fur tippet-why, all manner of things, now I think of it. And I have done nothing about Christmas presents or the party we are to hold. And I am short of ready cash. Maria, I think we must make an expedition to Aylesbury tomorrow to make the acquaintance of my new bank manager and to do our shopping.’

Maria frowned. ‘More roses are due then. Should we leave Susan and Jethro?’

‘I am really becoming quite bored with those dratted roses,’ Hester exclaimed, cutting into a piece of toast with some vigour. ‘Now we know who is behind them, they no longer have any mystery. I suppose the best thing is just to give the Nugents easy access to the house so they can deposit them-it will be four this time. On the other hand, I do not want them thinking they have the run of the place. Let me think.’

Hester brooded while Maria flicked through the pages of the paper, exclaiming from time to time over snippets of news or advertisements. ‘It says here that three murderers are to be hanged from the balcony of the Town Hall next Tuesday and their bodies cut down and anatomised! How frightful. Signor Olivetti, famed silhouette artist, wishes it to be known that he has established a studio in Aylesbury. A new silk warehouse advertises the fashionable and elegant silks at a price to please the most discerning lady. Oh dear, look at this, a child has lost his puppy and the parents advertise for its safe return.’

‘I know! Jethro!’

Jethro appeared, green baize apron wrapped firmly round his skinny midriff, one of Hester’s few pieces of good silver in his hand. ‘Yes, Miss Hester?’

‘Did you not say that Hector needed shoeing?’ Jethro nodded. ‘Very well, can you take him tomorrow, and Susan can go with you and do the marketing. Miss Prudhome and I are going into Aylesbury and I think it would be convenient to give the ghost the opportunity of an empty house to deposit the day’s roses without too much trouble.’

‘How will they know?’

‘I intend calling in and enquiring kindly if I can carry out any little commission for Miss Nugent whilst I am in Aylesbury. I will let drop what you are doing while I am about it.’

‘Driving what, Miss Hester?’

‘Oh, how foolish! I never thought. Well, there is nothing for it, Jethro, you will have to go over and ask Parrott if I might borrow a horse. His lordship must have something suitable for a gig, surely?’

‘Very well, Miss Hester.’

He returned ten minutes later, looking uncommonly flushed. ‘Mr Parrott says that, on his lordship’s behalf, he could not possibly lend us a horse for the gig as his lordship would not like you driving yourself all that way. He says he will have his lordship’s second carriage and a team sent round at ten tomorrow morning, Miss Hester, with two grooms and a footman.’ Jethro grinned. ‘I wish I could learn the way he has of talking, Miss Hester. He said he hopes he knows what is due to your consequence, even if I do not!’

‘Well! My consequence indeed!’

‘Perhaps he knows,’ Miss Prudhome ventured.

‘Mr Parrott knows everything, so I expect he knows about that,’ Jethro opined firmly, taking himself off to the kitchen to tell Susan the news.

Feeling very fine indeed, Hester found some amusement next morning at the expression on the face of the butler at the Hall when he saw the carriage, and even more at the hastily concealed expressions of surprise on Lewis and Sarah’s faces as she swept in, all smiles and chatter.

‘…so I thought, if you are perhaps not feeling quite yourself still, Miss Nugent, that there might be some small commission I might perform for you in Aylesbury. Embroidery silks, rouge, that sort of thing. Is it not kind of his lordship to lend me a carriage? I foolishly forgot that Jethro has to take the cob to the smithy this morning and Susan has to go marketing, so you may imagine what a boon the loan of a footman is as well.’

Five minutes later she remarked to Maria, ‘That was a very fat and obvious fly to cast in front of a trout, but I do not think they suspect I know what they are up to. Now, let us look over our lists and think how to make the best of our time.’

Hester eased her hands cautiously out of her tight gloves, smoothed down the lint that protected her grazed palms and took out her tablets and pencil. ‘It is a lowering thought, Maria, but shopping for presents and fripperies is a delightful way to make one forget almost everything.’

Not that any amount of list writing could drive the thought of Guy from her mind-or the worry of what to buy him for Christmas. What did a young lady buy an earl? What did one buy a man doubtless too rich to want for anything? It was too late to embroider slippers, which was one of the few unexceptional items she had once been told would be allowable as a gift to a man. Not that she could imagine Guy wearing slippers.

Her smile of pure mischief at the thought of him sitting before the fire, pretending to be at ease in a pair of embroidered slippers, faded as the picture led her imagination further, deeper, into much more disturbing byways. Guy with bare feet, Guy wearing an exotic dressing gown of heavy silk- and nothing else.

Hester felt her cheeks burning and fanned herself surreptitiously with her pocket notebook. He was so very male, frighteningly so for a young lady with no experience whatsoever, and the demanding passion of his kisses on the downs and in the barn that night promised something far beyond her experience. But not, she realised, her cheeks burning hotter, beyond her desiring. Her body responded now when she thought of him, recalled his caresses. It was as though she was aware of every inch of bare skin where it touched her clothes, of her breasts, strangely heavier and fuller, of an ache deep in her abdomen.

‘This is a comfort,’ Maria remarked, jolting her out of her heated imaginings. ‘I was dreading the journey in a closed carriage, but this is nothing like that frightful post chaise. You will live in such luxury-there are so many advantages to this marriage.’

‘Indeed, yes,’ Hester agreed, resolutely suppressing the thought of some of them.

They arrived back from their expedition weary, satisfied and more than grateful for the attentions of the footman who had stoically marched behind them all day, gradually vanishing under a mountain of shopping.

Hester felt the day had gone well. The bank manager had been attentive; she had distracted Maria long enough to buy her a fine Paisley shawl for Christmas; a pretty dimity dress length and three yards of lace were wrapped up for Susan and she had even managed to find a copy of the book of household management that Jethro coveted.

But her idea for a present for Guy was inspired, she felt, touching the hard package in her reticule that contained a silhouette of her profile, expertly cut by Signor Olivetti.

As for stockings, gloves and slippers, she could not help but feel she had been somewhat extravagant; but, as Maria pointed out, it would not do to present an off appearance and embarrass Guy when she met his relatives.

Susan and Jethro reported a quiet day after their return from the forge. A bunch of four roses had been duly found, although it had taken some searching, Susan reported. ‘They were in one of the clothes presses in your dressing room. It’s taken me an age to get all that nasty crumbly dead leaf out of the linen.’

‘Clever,’ Hester acknowledged. ‘If we hadn’t been expecting them, it would have been a while before they were found and we would not have known when they were put there. I cannot but feel they are only going through the motions now. I hinted that I was unsettled enough to consider what to do after Christmas, so perhaps they will stop when they run out of roses.’

Despite her calm words, Hester feared she was being optimistic-surely the closer the waxing moon came to being full, the more dramatic the Nugents’ hauntings would become. And if they were badly in need of whatever treasure they had convinced themselves was concealed within these walls, then they would want to turn her vague expressions of uneasiness into a desperate desire to sell up and leave.

What would they do when they learned of her engagement to Guy? Hester gave a little shiver of excitement at the thought of it. Would she ever become used to the knowledge that he loved her?

‘Is Lord Buckland returned yet?’

Jethro shook his head. ‘Mr Parrott says he does not expect him until dinner time at the earliest.’

Hester went upstairs to put away her purchases, then drifted over to the chaise where she could curl up and watch the road for the return of Guy’s carriage. It still seemed a waking dream, one that would not be real again until he was here and holding her in his arms. Then she could talk to him, find out how her life would change as his wife, begin a lifetime of learning about the man she loved. The early winter darkness fell, still with no sign of him, and at last Hester went downstairs.

Ben Aston was in the kitchen, dumping an armload of logs into the basket beside the range. He knuckled his forehead as Hester came in and remarked that it was looking like being a powerfully cold frost that night before nodding abruptly to Susan and taking himself off through the back door.

‘A man of few words,’ Hester observed.

‘He’s chatty enough.’ Susan tossed a log on to the fire. Her cheeks were red and Hester wondered what she had been cooking to keep her so close to the heat. ‘Is there any sign of his lordship yet?’

‘No, not yet. Susan, when I am married, I do hope you will stay on as my lady’s maid.’

‘Oh!’ Now what was the matter with her? The girl was looking positively flustered. ‘That’s very kind of you, Miss Hester, but won’t his lordship expect you to have a smart London dresser’?’

‘Then we will have to disagree upon it, because the last thing I want is a haughty dresser looking down her nose at me-I hear they are usually quite oppressively genteel.’

‘What about Miss Prudhome?’ Susan began busying herself with the pans of vegetables.

‘I hope with Lord Buckland’s connections I can find her a good position as a companion. As for Jethro, we will have to see what his lordship can suggest.’

A knock on the front door sent her hurrying down the hall. As she had hoped, it was Guy, his breath steaming in the frosty air, his lips cold as he swept her into a kiss.

‘Guy! For shame, kissing me on the doorstep-come in before half the village sees you.’ But she was laughing as she said it, her heart singing as she pulled him across the threshold and closed the door behind him.

‘Mmm.’ He buried his face in her hair, holding her tight. ‘So warm, so…edible.’ His teeth were grazing wickedly down her throat, making her want to sigh and giggle all at once. ‘Have you missed me?’

‘So much.’ Reluctantly she moved out of his embrace, ridiculously pleased when he simply turned her into the shelter of his arm and held her against him as they entered the drawing room. ‘Guy, I really do have to talk to you.’ It was no use simply assuming he had found out all about John-how could he know everything? It had to be discussed, for she doubted he realised the extent of the gossip about her.

‘Are you going to tell me all over again that you cannot marry me?’ His eyes were tender on her face and Hester found herself lost for words. It did not seem possible that he felt like this about her. ‘I have to tell you, Miss Lattimer, that to kiss a man as you have just kissed me and then refuse to marry him is quite shockingly forward.’

‘No, but, Guy-’ She broke off at a tap on the door and Maria peeped around it, her colour high with the embarrassment of interrupting what Hester suspected she would characterise as a tender interlude.

‘Yes, Maria? As you see, Lord Buckland has returned safely from his journey. I should have asked you at once, my lord, did you find Lady Broome well?’

‘Very well, thank you. Thoroughly revitalised by a few days of gossip and more than ready to organise my Christmas social life. She is, naturally, most eager to meet you, my love.’

Hester swallowed. ‘You told her?’

‘That I had met the love of my life and that she had accepted me? Yes. Georgy expressed herself gratified that I was at last settling down and amazed that I had found a lady foolish enough to take me on.’

Hester snorted, earning a cluck of censure from Miss Prudhome. ‘I imagine there are any number of ladies willing to do that, my lord. Should I call tomorrow?’

‘No, if I may, I will bring Georgy to call upon you. Shall we say half past ten?’

‘My lord.’ Maria, who had been fidgeting just inside the door, interrupted apologetically. ‘Your footman has just arrived and says that Mr Parrott sends his apologies, but believes that your lordship’s return to the Old Manor would be highly advisable.’

‘Oh, lord! That means that Georgy has already started trying to organise Parrott-and that bids fair to be a fight to the death.’ He bent and kissed Hester rapidly on the cheek. ‘Until tomorrow morning, my love. Sleep well.’

Ten-thirty the next day seemed to take forever to arrive, but eventually it came, finding Hester once again waiting in the drawing room with Maria, as they had on Guy’s first visit to the Moon House. Only now. Hester was gratified to know, the room was furnished in some style, a fire blazed brightly in the grate and, thanks to Ben Aston’s efforts, she could tug the bell pull with absolute confidence to summon refreshments.

Hester picked up her embroidery frame with its unfinished pew kneeler and tried to set a stitch or two. What are you worrying about? she chided herself. Lady Broome is Guy’s sister; she will be like him. You are certain to like her and she will become a sister and a friend.

‘They are coming up the front path,’ Maria whispered, as though she could be heard outside. ‘Lady Broome has a prodigiously fine bonnet.’

The knocker could be heard, then a murmur of voices in the hall. Jethro, in his striped waistcoat, would be doing his very best impersonation of Parrott. Hester felt her lips relax from the stiff smile of welcome she had assumed; everything would be all right.

‘Lady Broome, Miss Lattimer. Lord Buckland.’

Hester got to her feet and took a step forward, to greet the woman who would be her sister-in-law. Then she froze. Walking towards her was the woman from the slashed portrait-modern bonnet and furs did nothing to hide the perfect resemblance. Hester found the words of welcome drying up in her throat and felt the blood ebbing out of her cheeks before she collected herself. Of course, she had seen the resemblance to Guy-in a woman the likeness would be even more pronounced. But she could see from Guy’s expression that her shocked reaction must be noticeable and he stepped forward to retrieve the situation, directing a reassuring smile towards Hester.

‘Georgiana, allow me to introduce Miss Lattimer. Hester, this is my sister, Lady Broome.’

Lady Broome was staring at her, stony faced, her wide blue eyes, so like Guy’s, fixed on Hester’s face. ‘Miss Lattimer? Late of Mount Street and the household of Colonel Sir John Norton?’

The floor seemed to shake under Hester’s feet and behind her she heard Maria’s gasp. She could not move her eyes from the accusing blue ones in front of her, could not look at Guy. But he said he knew-why did he not then speak?

The silence seemed to stretch on for minutes until Hester found her voice. ‘Yes, I did reside in Sir John’s house in Mount Street.’

‘I thought I recognised the name,’ Lady Broome said grimly. ‘But I could not believe my brother would so debase the family name by offering marriage to a kept woman.’

‘What?’

Hester dragged her eyes away from her accuser and stammered, ‘You said you knew. I tried to tell you and you said you knew.’ Guy’s face was rigid, but there was something in his eyes that she did not recognise and which filled her with dread.

‘No, I did not know.’ he said softly, ‘and I did not guess.’

‘How should you have?’ Lady Broome demanded, her colour high. ‘I would never have suspected if my friend Mrs Norton had not pointed her out to me as the hussy who insinuated herself into the colonel’s home and his bed and caused such an estrangement between him and his family. Butter would not melt in her mouth to look at her.’

Hester kept her eyes fixed on Guy. To look away, to let herself listen to his sister, would be to let her world spin out of control, to shatter into nothing. If he did not trust her, then nothing mattered.

‘Hester-why? Tell me. Why were you his mistress?’

It seemed the worst had happened and somehow she was still standing there and the room was still as it was. But the shock and the pain were being replaced-no, she realised, not replaced, drowned-by a rush of anger so intense she thought for a moment she could not speak.

‘This is unjust, untrue!’ Miss Prudhome, red blotches disfiguring her sallow cheeks, took a step forward and confronted Lady Broome. ‘You do not know-’

‘Thank you, Maria, that will do! Kindly ring for Ackland. Lady Broome, you are correct, my living with Sir John did cause a rift with his family, which lasted until his death. Lord Buckland, while I was ready to lay before you the truth of my relationship with Colonel Norton, I am most certainly not now going to justify myself to a man who is prepared to protest his love for me, hut who does not trust me.’ The door opened and she cut across the words Guy was beginning to speak.

‘Ackland, please show Lady Broome and Lord Buckland out. I am not at home to either of them at any time in the future.’ Ignoring Guy’s hand outstretched to stop her, Hester swept out of the room, past a startled Jethro and up the stairs to her room. She shut the door and turned the key, leaning back against it until the muffled sounds from the hail below died away.

Someone was tapping on the door. ‘Hester dear, let me in.’

‘No. Maria, not now. Leave me alone.’

‘Please, Hester.’

Footsteps pattered off down the landing and all was silent again. So it had happened. She had been right to believe her happiness could not last, right to tell herself that she had no future other than as a single woman. He had believed what his sister had said; not even protested, only asked her flatly, why?

The anger that had taken her out of the room and had given her strength to climb the stairs ebbed as fast as it had come, leaving her legs unsteady. Hester sank down on to the bed, wondering that this pain could be as sharp, as physical as the pain of bereavement. But of course, it was a death, the death of love and trust.

Suddenly the tears came and she curled up on the bed and wept. Guy; oh, Guy, I love you, I do love you.

She must have fallen asleep. Several times there had been a scratching at the door, the soft, anxious voices of Susan and Maria, but she had buried her face in the damp pillow and shut them out. Now it was night. Hester sat up, pushing the hair back out of her face and looked around her. The room was full of a chill, pure light. Unsteadily she went to the chaise where she could look out at the moon, its full orb cut only by the merest sliver of darkness, it glowed cold and white and serene, touching the frosted darkness below with an edge of silver. So beautiful, so cold, so utterly uncaring. I love him, Hester murmured, resting her hand on the icy glass as though to touch the circle of white through the pane. He said he loved me, but he does not trust me and now he never can.