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Honora directed a sour look at him since she relished life in London. Drake wouldn't take it from her, naturally, but she had to keep in mind that her actions had limits, and more importantly, consequences.
“Lady Millicent will produce a flawless heir to your title.” A hardened ring coated her statement.
In a way, Drake pitied Honora. She’d followed every single rule that made sure to browbeat any debutante into swallowing their bitter fate with meek acceptance. No love, no physical pleasure, no freedom, only duties and a womb to go with them. No woman who bought in men’s standards would be willing to admit to such a waste of time and energy. He saw clearly how much his mother had sacrificed as a woman to put him in this world and be done with it.
“Whatever you say.” He dismissed. This was no time or place to drag out this issue.
Honora pursed her mouth. “One day you’ll remember this gratefully.”
He seriously believed he wouldn’t, but said nothing. Life might prove her right or wrong, useless to worry about such trifles. His choices weren’t a cold scientific theory, and he didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.
Drake endured a few minutes more until he took his polite leave.
That evening, after the play, Hester stood in the dressing room for the actresses putting away costumes and make-up. The actors and stagehands had already left to whatever tavern they’d relax in after a hard evening’s work.
Their theatre didn’t boast the luxury of individual dressing rooms, not even for the main actors. It contained one for the men and another for the women. The company had announced the end of this play and the debut date of the next, which made people flow in before this one ceased its presenting. The rushing in and out of scenes made the dressing room a mess.
“I did think I’d find you here, Miss Green.” A haughty voice said behind her.
Startled, she whirled to see the Duke of Haddington at the threshold.
She’d spotted him alone in his box during the shifting of the flats, wondering at his presence at the same play so soon. Well, now she had her answer, and the man presaged nothing positive. In the back of her mind, she calculated her father and brother would be in the office sorting the ticket money. One call and they’d be there if she needed help.
“Your Grace.” She curtsied. It didn’t do to treat any patron rudely, even less a duke. Nobility could make or break a small theatre company like this one. Still, she eyed him, straight spine, chin tilted up.
She imagined his appearance not to be disagreeable with his greying black hair and the good shape of his frame. Even though he seemed to be here to talk to her, she didn’t fathom about what.
He shifted his walking stick from one hand to the other so ostensibly it resembled a weapon. Hester didn’t trust his stance one bit.
“I do hope you heard of my daughter’s impending betrothal.” He started as he stepped into the room uninvited. Clearly, he didn’t deem an invitation from a woman necessary, from an actress he must positively never have contemplated.
His overture made understanding hit her. As much as his reputation preceded him, Worcester’s did, too. Relief flooded her as she judged the subject harmless enough.
“I did, Your Grace.” She thanked her training for the stage, which made her voice come meekly despite her weariness for the man, and for his arrogance in assuming he could interfere in any manner.
“And I expect the marquess to severe his liaison with you.” It came as nothing short as an order.
Temper flared inside Hester. She wanted to tell him very bluntly what he should do with his meddling but masked it.
“There’s no question about that, Your Grace.” If she had to repeat the address once more, she’d be sick
. Someone like him didn’t deserve the deference, though he was unfairly born to it.
“Good.” He gloated, as his lecherous gaze raked her from the practical bun rolling her hair, to the unremarkable working dress, to worn-out boots. “Not a hardship, I suppose. Worcester seems to have neglected to take proper care of you.”
This time, Hester couldn’t help the vexed flush surfacing on her cheeks. The fact she’d chosen to be the mistress of the only man ever to get under her skin didn’t give this nobleman before her the right to judge her or anything about her choices.
“I beg your pardon.” She lowered her head to hide her temper and look suitably compliant at the same time. “But I must finish my work for the evening.” And gave a step forward, indicating she’d leave the room. The duke didn’t move from where he stood some five feet away.
"When he ditches you, I'll be taking over from where he left." The duke informed without a single consideration for her opinion on the matter.
A duke had access to the Prince Regent, meaning he availed the chance to convince the prince to take away the theatre’s license to function. If crossed, the man before her wouldn’t hesitate to throw his weight around and destroy the Green Theatre Company. Hester harboured no illusions about the consequences of saying no to him, but there was no powerful man in this world who would dictate her life.
“My gratefulness for your offer has no depth.” Hester started in a sweet voice. “But I regret to say that I will require no keepers after the marquess.”
Haddington would surely think her former keeper would provide for her future, a factor he would be powerless to prevent. His murderous expression said as much.
“We’ll see,” he answered haughtily and moved to go. At which, Hester gave a deep curtsy, more fuelled by relief than by her respect for ranks.
