Page 32 of Once Ruined, Twice Shy

Hestia stood beside her husband in the gaily decorated entrance hall of Spyle Court, her heart full. Everything she could have hoped for had come to pass, but this was the final test—a Grand Harvest Ball, for friends, neighbours, and any of the local gentry who cared to attend.

Now was the moment when her past could come back to haunt her, when ladies would whisper behind their fans about the new Countess Corsbury, and gentlemen would sneer or leer at her, depending on their natures.

Conall squeezed her hand, and she gazed up at him and caught her breath—not for the first time that evening. He looked stunning, his dark evening clothes styled to perfection, emphasising the breadth of his shoulders, the flatness of his stomach, his narrow waist and hips. With his back ramrod straight, his height topped that of most of his guests, and Hestia was in no doubt he had set many a female heart a-flutter as their guests filed past them.

She stroked his fingers, reminding herself that this evening was as significant for him as it was for her. This was the first large-scale entertainment they’d attended as a couple, and their future success depended on it.

It was also the first time Conall had appeared at a social gathering without his eyepatch. She had eventually convinced him that his glass eye was a work of art, that his scarring had faded to mere shadows, and that most people would be hard put to it to notice he had anything wrong with his face at all.

From the admiring glances he was receiving, her confidence had evidently paid off.

There was a lull in the procession of guests needing to be greeted, so she reached up on tiptoe and whispered into his ear, “I think you are going to be much in demand tonight, Lord Corsbury.”

He smiled down at her. “I shall only bestow myself where I am most needed—by your side, with Mama, or with the Danceys, since they are guests-of-honour.”

The Danceys were the only family who had any idea of the adventures that had befallen the earl two years previously, during the course of which he’d met his future wife. Hestia had been keen to broker peace between the two families, and had exonerated Conall by revealing the cruel machinations of Andrew Calshott against him. She had bravely decided the only way to stem their enmity was to lay the truth before them, even though it incriminated her.

Fortunately, the Danceys were sensible people, and the chasm was crossed, the relationship repaired. Josephine’s parents now accepted that no one would ever know the full circumstances of her fatal fall, so there was no point continuing to blame Conall for it.

The hardest part had been to stop Conall from blaming himself. However, with the birth of baby Constance the previous September, he had stopped brooding, and drawn a veil over the past. He now thought a good deal about his daughter’s future, and that of any other children they might have, much to Hestia’s relief. Most of the estate management had been passed to his steward, so he could spend time with his growing family.

Conall still pursued his business interests, but they had taken a more philanthropic direction. The latest was a venture to create a new turnpike road between Spyle village and Laycott. If little Connie was to attend functions in Bath when she was older, he wanted her to be able to get there by good roads, without her carriage wheels getting stuck in ruts.

“I think most people have now arrived.” Conall crooked his elbow and invited Hestia to take his arm. “Any stragglers will just have to make do with being greeted by staff. Are you ready, Countess?”

At that moment, the one remaining clock in the hall chimed a quarter past the hour of eight. She looked up at her husband, eyebrows raised.

He responded with a puzzled frown, then his brow cleared. “Oh, you mean we’re a few minutes later than planned? It is of no consequence. It gives the musicians longer in which to tune their instruments, does it not? I’m sure no one minds that we’re running late.”

She allowed herself a secret smile. She’d managed to banish several of the clocks to storage in the attic because their synchronised chiming kept making her jump. Conall still liked to know what the time was, but he was no longer a slave to it.

They walked side-by-side through the door to the ballroom, and she thrilled at the sight of so many cheerful, expectant faces. Pride rose in her at the restored elegance of a place which had lain unused for so many years. She feasted her eyes on the complex waterfalls of crystal reflecting sparks of light from the chandeliers, and the warm points of brightness bouncing back from the sconces on the walls.

She and Conall were reflected in one of the vast pier glasses which lined the ballroom—she thought she’d never seen a couple look more resplendently happy. It had taken some persuasion to get her husband to restore all the mirrors to their rightful places—she’d used the excuse that both she and her mama-in-law, the Dowager Countess, needed them so they could look up to the mark at any given time. They’d be receiving company more frequently, now the earl was a married man.

“Why do you hesitate, my lady?” Conall’s breath feathered her cheek. With his lips so close, it was a torment not being able to dig her hands into his hair, and kiss him thoroughly.

“If you’re afraid Mr Andrew Calshott is going to appear like Banquo’s ghost and ruin the evening, let me assure you that transportation to the colonies is generally a permanent situation. If he sets foot on these shores again, he’ll be shot, as he would have been had his judges not chosen to be lenient. So, there is nothing at all to fear.”

As the orchestra struck up the first chords of the opening waltz, Conall took a step forwards and swept her into his arms. She basked in the heat of his love, oblivious to the other couples who followed them onto the floor.

She would never want for anything, or know fear again, while this man remained at her side. For Fate had cast them together.

And Fate was never wrong.