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Filled with that certainty, Hester stood from the bed and made herself useful. They’d present the play tonight, so there was much to do until then.
After leaving a message with Wakefield, the butler, she headed to work.
Later that day, Drake sat in his study, not so comfortable with the fact Hester had slipped away while he had gone out. She proved to be too independent, and he wouldn’t even blame it as it was one trait that he liked about her.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and in stormed his beloved mother, brandishing a note. “Tell me this is a distasteful joke,” she demanded.
He’d sent a footman with the news of his impending nuptials. He couldn’t very well marry without her knowing it.
As he stood from his chair behind the desk, his head signalled to a bristled Wakefield that her entrance was all right, and the servant left discreetly. “You came to congratulate me, I expect.” He did no such thing, but her opinion didn’t count in the big picture.
The forbidding expression on her face said it all. “For marrying a wh—?”
"Be careful now, mother,” he warned in a diamond-like tone.
His stance made her rethink her phrasing. “You can’t be serious about this!”
“Why, I’m doing what you’ve been wishing for years.” His brows quirked up as if saying he would heed her wish at last.
“For pity’s sake, Drake!” she exclaimed hotly. “Not an actress.”
He rounded the desk and towered over his parent. “It’s hard work, just like any other.”
“It’s work, befitting low-born commoners.” Her head lifted, and her identical eyes burned on him.
“What’s wrong with that?” His hands braced his hips.
The dowager didn’t deign to answer. “When you had the chance to choose the daughter of a duke.”
“Well, the daughter of a duke is not about to have my heir.” He threw.
Her brows creased with wrath. “You’re marrying for a bastard you don’t even know is yours?”
Even though her remark produced anger, he answered her. “I know it’s mine.” It came low and threatening.
“You can’t be sure.” She insisted.
“No man can, can he? How many bastards are passed down as legitimate in your precious ton?” When scandals arose, they tended to be merely the tip of the iceberg, signalling them to be more common than expected.
At that, her jaw dropped as her breath stalled. “That’s outrageous!”
"I'm settling down, and the doctor attested she's with child. The next generation is underway." He defended. "What else could you possibly pray for?"
“For you to find your wits before it’s too late!” Honora spat.
“I have them about me, no doubt,” he countered.
“Between your legs, it would seem,” she snapped.
“And you have thrown them away, it would seem.” He implied she was going too far in her rant.
“It’s not me bringing a disgusting tart and bastard to our midst.” She vented.
His anger turned to fury. "I suggest you take the offence back." He said with ominous calm.
Her chest rose, her nose higher in the air. “Never!”
With a jerk down of his head, he marched to his desk and put quill to parchment. "Your townhouse will be closed. You're to take residence in the dower house as of now." The dower house sat in the remotest estate.
