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Astounded, Hester stood quickly. “My lady.” She curtsied, unsure how a girl with such poise could have a father like hers. It went to prove that expensive finishing schools were very, effective.
“She offered to chaperone me to the new Countess of Bradford and her much older husband’s dinner. Only to plead indisposition and drag me here.” The lady had a placid stance, hands joined in front of her. If her interlocutor paid detailed attention, they would find a mere drop of discomfort under her layers of perfect manners.
"I'm not surprised," Hester admitted. "Lady Worcester is a seasoned Admiral." The older lady seemed to regard her quest as nothing less than a military campaign.
A hint of mirth came to her weary eyes. “I suppose we could call her that.”
“I’m sure she strategized every single move beforehand.” Hester jested.
“No doubt.” The girl eyed Hester with a mild admiration. “First, she spread rumours about a match. Now she’s manoeuvring right into it.”
Hester gazed at her and had to make a conscious effort not to gape. What Drake said about the rumour
s was true. “And she’ll certainly succeed.” Hester blurted for lack of a better reply.
“Not if I have a say in it.” The lady stated adamantly. “At my request, Lord Worcester agreed to keep the ruse. There’ll be no betrothal, however.” And waved an elegant hand dismissively.
The information made Hester speechless. Come from a debutante, it sounded impossible though the girl’s eyes focused directly on hers. Her message came loud and clear. The gossip possessed no real basis, and Hester had nothing to worry about. Lady Millicent might be rarefied ton, but with this, she showed consideration for other people’s feelings, even if they were lowly born into a theatre company.
“But—” She blurted and was interrupted before she could conclude.
“Excuse me.” Duff neared the women and bowed to the debutante. “Hester, it’s our turn.” He alerted they should do their part in this soiree.
“Let us take tea sometime, Miss Green.” The girl invited.
With time for a brief nod, Hester curtsied again and took Flynn's stretched arm.
The last thing she’d expected from this lofty lady was an invitation for tea, even if she must have said it out of politeness rather than the real intention of doing it.
Worcester observed as Flynn helped Hester up the small dais where they’d deliver the lines from the play. The actor had a besotted smile on him, and with a flourish and a sweet glance, he helped her sit on one chair before he took the other. They wouldn’t be acting the play in earnest since they weren’t in costumes.
The sour taste that the sight of both on the dais gave him nearly caused him to call it off. And worse, call the Irishman into the garden and practice some boxing on him. It proved to be difficult enough to see them together during the rehearsals. Drake harboured no doubt that, given the chance, the actor would try his luck with his woman. While Flynn might be the right actor for the play, he was the wrong man for Hester. Any man on this planet was wrong for her. And he’d call all of them out if they so much as looked at her.
He well understood that in the play Hester and Flynn had to act according to their parts. Keeping it in mind all the time though took a toll on him. Especially when the distance between him and his woman became a torment that he had to endure every hour of the day.
The sight of his mother treating her with less than the respect owed to another human being made fury burst in Drake. It had been beyond him not to join them and put his mother in her place. He had no qualms in inviting her to leave. He would have overseen the fact she came uninvited. That she treated Hester badly was unacceptable. His venerable mother comprised the cause Hester shunned him and remained irreducible. His parent's meddling went beyond the reasonable. Perhaps he should banish her to the country and be done with it, though he thought it cruel to take away the life in town which she enjoyed so much. If she overstepped the boundaries again though, he’d have to take action.
Drake made it a point to stand and go fetch Hester himself when she finished the reciting, which had elicited enthusiastic applause. He held her hand as she stepped down the dais and offered his arm to accompany her to their seat before Miss Bolton took the stand for her talk on comets.
Intent on staking his claim over Flynn, Worcester didn’t think people might read this as an affront to Lady Millicent sitting by the Thorntons. Tongues would go wagging regardless.
As the evening drew to a close, Drake and Hester wished the guests good night one by one. After Amelia Bolton, a painter exposed a few of his paintings and explained the new techniques he used. The last had been a French medical student explaining a very recent invention across the Channel, the stethoscope.
“That went well,” he said as they bid farewell to the last one.
She turned to him, eyes wide as she worried her cushiony lower lip, causing his guts to react. Her head gave a tense nod. “I’ll call Bruce and—”
“Shall I offer you sherry before you leave?” He didn’t want her to go so soon.
“I—sure.” She accepted as her tongue darted out nervously to lick those tormenting pieces of delicacy.
Damn it all to blasting hell! He’d been kissing her for a year, and it invariably felt like the first time. He might kiss her for the next hundred generations, and he didn’t imagine he’d tire of it.
“Have a seat.” He invited as he strode to the sideboard for the drinks.
Her presence here reminded him of the times they stayed in after the soirees and conversed about the artists and scientists who gave their contributions.
He brought the sherry and a brandy for himself and sat by her side on the settee. She’d taken the corner, straight spine and laced fingers on her lap. Reluctantly, she extended a hand for her drink.
