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“We barely started, woman!” And headed upstairs while she couldn’t censor a rather nitwitted giggle.
The days that followed, they completely dedicated to rehearsals as Oliver set the opening of The Plight of Sarah Borne for the following week.
The season would be right underway then.
Hester and Drake had been working in stunning harmony since the night in the study. Their conversation seemed to have cleared the air, allowing them enough space for their theatre endeavour. Which meant the company hurried with scenarios, figurines, and the smoothing of the edges of the play itself.
Even in this hectic period, Hester couldn’t help but feel her life had made a turn for the better. No one had heard of the Duke of Haddington of late. In reality, he seemed to have vanished from the face of the Earth. Even though Bruce followed close everywhere she went, to her chagrin, and Drake’s insistence. Not that Hester was complaining at the duke’s disappearance. It brought a huge relief. She planned to return to her own home after the play premiered. Contentment summed her feelings at that moment, she rejoiced as she sat to eat her luncheon; the actors dispersed to taverns and Drake talked with Eli in his office. A tiny window of solitude didn’t go amiss with Bruce also taking his break at that hour.
“It took some time, but I finally caught you alone,” said none less than the horrid Duke of Haddington from behind her in the backstage.
Hester's blood froze in her veins as it leeched from her face. Her heart galloped in a rush of fear and anxiety. Calling again on her stage skills, Hester stood and turned to the repellent man. "Your Grace," she curtsied hopefully in an elegant manner.
He dressed impeccably in a burgundy superfine that gave the false impression that he was a real gentleman. Those dark, narrowed eyes measured her from hasty bun, to simple day dress, to worn-out boots.
"You don't show fear," he commented, looking at her from up his nose. "I do prefer my women a tad shaky."
Of course, he did, that's from where he derived his misplaced sense of power. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Except I'm not your anything." The coldness in her voice was completely fabricated. Inside, the need to flee mingled with the one to stay and finish him up in any way possible.
“Not yet, as I already stated.” He gave slow steps towards her, the predator closing on the prey. “You dared enter a place the likes of you should never even think of going.” Hester didn’t move back and eyed him full on. “Used the marquess to humiliate my daughter, transformed her in a joke. Not even my title will restore her marriage prospects.”
“Lady Millicent is a fine lady.” Unbidden admiration carried in her tone. “She won’t lack for suitors.” Though Hester understood the girl’s reticence towards marriage. With a father like this, she wouldn’t risk unhappiness.
Wrath blazed on him. “Her name isn’t for filthy mouths like yours.” This came dripping in contained rage. “Your mouth serves only one purpose.”
He halted two feet from her, and she swallowed grit with the terror that threatened to take her cool head over. With a gigantic effort, she produced a deriding smirk. “Yes, my lines on stage.”
“Little cheeky light-skirt,” he shot with utter disdain.
If he thought to insult her, he failed miserably. In her point of view, men caused prostitution. They were the ones using the power and riches they didn't share with their mothers, wives, or daughters to take advantage of vulnerable women, and then blamed these women for their own exploitation. And dared call the offspring they engendered in these exploited women whoresons, as though they had nothing to do with the making of those innocent children. How pathetic.
But Hester didn't answer, her entire body on alert for what he'd do next. She didn't have to wait long. He extended his arm and grabbed her hair bun to bend her head. She took advantage of his distraction to use her knee in a decisive, mighty kick like her brother had taught her. The middle-aged man bent, a hand on his crotch, a surprised grunt escaping his foul mouth. The momentum afforded her the chance to twist upwards the hand that had been on her hair but had slipped it. More grunts of pain echoed in the acoustic place.
The noise attracted Oliver, Eli, and Worcester who came running. At the sight of the duke and what it meant, Eli sprinted forward and grabbed the older man by his collar to discharge successive punches. The duke didn’t have a chance. He fell on the wooden planks nearly passed out. As Eli would go down for more punches, Worcester held him. A commoner would easily be thrown into prison for beating a duke. When her brother had calmed his laboured breaths, the marquess stood over the man on the floor.
"Haddington." The older man could barely open his eyes to look at him. "I advise you to take a long break in your country seat." His tone was harder than diamond and as cold. "If you come less than a hundred yards from Miss Green, I'll take legal action against you. Are we clear?"
Even though a marquess stood below a duke, they were peers of the realm, and the justice system would treat them as such.
Haddington directed a murderous glance at Worcester but nodded after several seconds.
“Eli,” Worcester called. “Help me put the rubbish out.” They took the older man’s arms and dragged him through the front entrance where several people witnessed his condition before his carriage arrived to collect him.
When they came back, Hester reported what had happened. “I’ll be forever grateful for the lessons you taught me to defend myself,” she told Eli with a faint grin. Still scared, she felt relieved to be able to put that man in his right place.
Her brother gave a curt jerk with his head. “Anytime, little sister.”
Next day, the gossip mongers were abuzz with reports about the duke.
CHAPTER NINE
“Haddington has not been attending parliament sessions,” The Earl of Thornton said to his friends in the club.
“True enough.” The Duke of Brunswick confirmed.
“I suggested he take a long break at his seat.” Provided the Marquess of Worcester.
“Why is that?” Mr Darroch asked.
