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“I want you to know that should you need anything, anything at all, you can come to me.” The girl was little more than a child and already sounded as though she had no dreams.
She eyed him with a tinge of suspicion before a small smile graced her disenchanted stance. “You’re a good friend, Lord Worcester.” Her hands twisted in her lap as she lowered her head. “You don’t seem to be the rake people believe you to be.” Her gaze lifted back to him.
“I had my moments back in the day.” He admitted wryly. Before Hester happened and he became horribly focused on only one woman.
The rest of the ride elapsed in companionable silence.
Later that afternoon, Hester left the theatre after helping Oliver and Eli with their chores. She carried the printed play with her to do her markings this evening. Her house lay five minutes away, so she ambled calmly.
With the ideas about the play rolling in her head, she nearly collided with another woman. Her hands held the other woman's shoulders to prevent her from falling.
“Miss Bolton.” She greeted when she saw who it was.
The Boltons were habitués at Lord Worcester's townhouse. Amelia proved to be a brilliant mind as she gave a lecture in one soiree.
“Miss Green.” Amelia returned with enthusiasm. She appeared not to harbour most women’s prejudices about actresses. “Splendid to see you again. How have you been?”
“Rather busy of late.” The answer came as Amelia joined arms with her. The other woman’s warmth felt soothing. “And you?”
“Just back to London after a brief stay in Northumberland.” The younger woman smiled unreservedly.
“I’m for home. Would you care to join me for tea?”
“It’d be delightful.” Amelia cheered.
They sat at Hester's tiny drawing-room cum dining room chatting animatedly until Amelia moved to take her leave as it'd be turning dark in about an hour.
"Oh, this has been my lucky day," Amelia said gleefully. "I took a walk in the park with Lady Thornton, had tea with you. I even saw Lord Worcester riding with a girl whose name I don't recall."
Everything in Hester sank to bleak levels. The dratted man swore it was all rumours when in reality, he was courting the debutante.
“Oh, my, oh my!” Amelia wore a horrified look to her face as she stared at Hester, a hand clamped on her mouth. “Hester, I’m so stupid.” She said mortification all over her. “I shouldn’t have…sorry, sorry!”
Hester rested a hand on her upper arm. “Don’t worry. It’s no secret to anyone in this city.” Bravely, she held the other woman’s gaze.
“Lady Thornton told me the news and I just—oh!” She lamented again, slumped shoulders, then pulled Hester in a hug.
Hester took solace in it, grateful for having a real friend. “It’s better to know than not to.” She reassured Miss Bolton.
“Let’s have luncheon together, shall we? We’ll talk only about positive things.” Amelia squeezed Hester’s hands in hers.
"That would help a good deal," Hester replied.
“It’s settled then.” And the women said their good-byes.
Hester closed the door and leaned on it, a hand rubbing her brow. Emotions swirled inside, mingling disheartenment and anger, so much anger. How could she have cheated herself to the point of accepting his proposition? And with only a drop of resistance, less than that. Drat, what a vulgar cliché she became! The meaningless actress and the powerful lord who did whatever he wanted just because he could.
Her eyes burned with the need to shed tears, but she tamped them down with forceful intent. What good did they do? None whatsoever. She lost everything! Lost herself, lost her dignity, her self-worth, her mind. Such a waste of time!
And now that she sought to rebuild her life, the blackguard inveigled himself in the new play. Work would have been welcome in this healing process, but he left her not even that. There was nothing to it, she reassured herself. The best she could do was to reach top performance so rehearsals would be fewer, the sooner for him to be away from her.
With this to direct her mind, she sat with the play to do the markings. The faster she went through them, the faster the whole process would run. There were support roles to assign, but the cast was experienced, and they wouldn't be a hindrance.
The actors set for the play roamed the stage while Worcester observed them interact with each other. They greeted one another, talked, listened carefully to what someone said. The whole bunch looked pretty much as they would in a firm in the City, London’s financial centre, for instance. Work colleagues going about their day.
Drake had a passion for the theatre. He’d devoured every play he’d found in Eton’s or Oxford’s libraries, frequented Drury Lane as often as possible, and watched the same play or opera more than once. His time with Hester had been the most enjoyable in that they kept close contact with arts in general, and theatre in particular. That artistic effervescence of new ideas and creativity always amazed him.
The production of a play though made him dive in an entirely different world. Here, he had the chance of seeing everything from the inside, the making of it from scratch, the daily life on the backstage. And Hester. As he awoke in the mornings, the perspective of seeing her and spending the better part of a day in the same place as she filled him with an energy he'd not taken notice before though it'd been there in every single moment he spent with her.
