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“Thank you,” she said as she allowed him to accompany her to the appointed room. He’d taken her cloak and gloves before he did so.
As everything else connected with Worcester, the interior possessed that discreet elegance of old money. Hester had spent long hours admiring the paintings, sculptures and fine objects scattered around the townhouse.
She entered the vast drawing-room, the one they usually had their soirees in as opposed to the smaller one where they spent their cosy nights in. Five people stood in the centre, one of them Flynn. Brandy and green gazes collided with the predictable effect on her.
Drake clad his giant frame in lead-grey finery, pristine shirt, and cravat, standing out as the tallest and the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. The memory of their last mindless kisses was not far from her. At that moment, reliving the way he dwarfed her on the floorboards caused a ripple of awareness to run down her spine.
And she knew she’d made a foolish decision to fall for his charm and accept to come here tonight. But to be able to simply look at him transformed it in a sweet, sweet mistake.
His closest friends made their entrance. The Thorntons, the Darrochs, and the Brunswicks. Drake looked at her and extended his hand for her to near him to receive the guests. And the sense of the past coming back became stronger. Hester didn’t want this to happen. It ate at her, caused her to miss him so much more than she already did. But there’d be no refusal in front of everyone. Her sole option was to rest her gloved hand on his and stand by his side with a brittle smile on her face. The three couples greeted them affably as usual. Apparently, no one had got word of her vacating her mistress position.
“Hester, how good to see you!” Philippa, the Duchess of Brunswick, neared her and took her hands.
She and her husband, Titus, had visited Hester and Drake in the Worcester's country seat soon after their wedding. Titus and Philippa had been to a house party given by the Marchioness of Worcester years ago and didn't hide that the house held fond memories for them.
“Philippa.” Hester cheered. “I hadn’t heard you were in town.” The Brunswicks came to town for a few brief weeks a year as they preferred the country.
“Luckily we are and can enjoy one of your delightful soirees.” The duchess smiled at her, and Hester wondered at her friend’s open-minded disposition to treat an actress as an equal.
“And I’m happy to see you,” Hester answered.
“Not as happy as I am to see her every day.” The tall and dark Duke of Brunswick had come to his wife and put a possessive hand around her back. “Good evening, Miss Green.”
Hester smiled. “Your Grace.” She curtsied.
“You know we don’t like our friends to treat us with such formality.” The duke scolded playfully before they went to greet the others.
"Your soiree beat our luncheon together," Amelia Bolton said, making Hester turn to see her enter. "But I haven't forgotten about it."
“Miss Bolton.” Hester greeted. “You’ll gift us with your brilliant astronomical expertise, I hope.”
“Indeed.” And mocked a secretive tone. “Lord Worcester threatened not to invite me again if I don’t.”
“I can’t disagree with him.” Hester followed in the jest.
After the footmen served Champagne and canapes, everyone started moving to take their seats to listen to a violin player recently arrived from Germany.
A commotion at the door attracted Hester’s attention. She rounded her head to witness the Marchioness of Worcester coming in with no more and no less than Lady Millicent. A wave of coldness washed over Hester. She should have predicted that the dowager lady would close ranks with his intended, as she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to make a point and shame Hester in one skilled blow.
Drake neared them, a livid glare to his mother, even if he behaved impeccably towards the ladies. And swiftly joined Hester to offer his arm to accompany her.
“You didn’t tell me you’d invited your mother.” Anguish threatened to dominate her.
“I didn’t.” He growled in an arctic tone. “But she has the bad habit to make herself comfortable in any situation.”
“Should I leave?” She started to think it’d be a good idea.
“Absolutely not!” His rugged features crumpled. “I’m surprised Lady Millicent accepted to be part of it.” He added. “Her father wouldn’t be amenable to his daughter being in a soiree that started with a bad reputation in town.”
Hester agreed. When they first engaged in these functions, she felt much more at home. The artists and scientists attending had a progressive view of their metier. Few lords or ladies dared come, and she felt in her element. With time, though, more and more aristocrats joined, after the first few ones disabused the others of the scandalous nature of the gatherings. While their ranks increased, Hester’s discomfort also increased.
As she sat beside Drake to listen to the violinist, that anguishing feeling spread in her. These people from the ton didn't hesitate to use their power and influence to obtain whatever they wanted, right or wrong. At the time she had been a mistress, many targeted her because of her connection to a marquess. There were those courtesans that envied her position. The same who hurried to tell her the rumours about his intended. Other lords, thinking they might tempt her, propositioned if they caught her alone in the street. The elderly matrons wrinkled their noses in distaste at her if she walked by. Her fellow actors often showed disdain for thinking she'd
used her visibility on stage to aim higher.
People judged. All the time. Because you did something, or because you didn’t do it. And they gave themselves the right to call you on it even if they had nothing to do with that.
London’s upper crust was a horrible environment to live in. To have any contact with those whimsical lords and ladies threatened your peace of mind. And, listening to that magnificent Mozart’s music, she celebrated the fact that she’d go back to her tiny, humble home and have nothing to do with this world any longer. More than that, she promised herself not to have anything to do with it ever again.
