Her Wicked Marquess: Imperious Lords 4

by Lisa Torquay

  In the dressing rooms, actors, stagehands, and production staff celebrated with champagne while many patrons came to congratulate them.

  Worcester, Oliver, and Eli entered the room, eliciting a wild cheer from those present. The marquess neared Hester with flowers in hand and offered them to her before taking her hand and bowing to kiss it. The cheers became deafening. They also dedicated a special moment to Flynn, who did a superb job as well. Both Duff and Hester said a few words to thank their colleagues.

  As people went back to their drinks and chatting, Drake neared her. “Come back with me tonight.” He rasped only for her ears.

  Her heart skipped a beat and sped up with eagerness and excitement. It'd been a week since she returned to her home near the theatre. The rush with the premiere meant that they had little time together. Correction, no time together. More than once, she reprimanded herself for insisting on leaving. This past week, the only chance of meeting would be in the night. But they didn't even have that because, exhausted, she headed to her home and he to his.

  But all this hustle and rush of the premiere had got her a tad under the weather. She wouldn’t be a good company. “Unfortunately, I believe I must go home and rest.” Her gaze conveyed she regretted it.

  “Can I come and rest with you?” He asked. “All this enthusiasm made me very enthusiastic.”

  Hester couldn’t refrain a little laugh. “All right, you win.” Obviously, there’d be little rest to be had, but she missed him next to her, his warmth, and his cuddling.

  Those amber eyes glittered with satisfaction as he offered his arm, suggesting they leave. In need of a little downtime, she waved to everyone, and they headed to her tiny abode.

  But as soon as Hester hit her modest bed only in chemise, she fell asleep. Drake lay beside her in shirt and breeches, cuddling her in slumber.

  At first light, Hester jumped from the bed even before being fully awake and ran to the privy where she cast up her accounts, little as she managed to eat of the food Drake had brought from a nearby tavern.

  “Hester, what’s the matter?” Drake came behind her as she sat on her feet, head bending over the pot.

  As her heaving slowed, she answered. “It’s been going for a few days.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me anything?” He held her hair. “We should call the doctor.”

  “I thought it was nerves for the premiere.” Though it had never happened before.

  He found a washcloth and moistened in in a bowl with clean water. “And now?” He wiped her sweaty, wan cheeks.

  She raised her eyes to him in utter bewilderment. “I think I might be with child.” The idea struck her like lightning. How many times had she seen it happening to the women surrounding her?

  The expression on Drake's rugged features could only be described as radiant. "Hester." He murmured in awe. His strong arms wrapped her, making her head nest on his shoulder. "That clears one of your misgivings," he said as his hands stroked her dishevelled hair. "We'll head to Worcester House and call a doctor post-haste." He determined.

  Too weak to discuss, she allowed him to help her dress before he called a hackney. He didn’t use his own carriage the previous night, as there was no predicting how long he’d stay. He’d not risk stranding the driver and the horses.

  Drake observed as Hester reclined in his bed after the doctor had left, the latter having confirmed that she was with child. The colour had returned to her beautiful face, and she looked as healthy as ever.

  He, on the other hand, was having a hard time not exploding with self-satisfaction. That Hester was expecting his child caused him to want to rush to the street and shout it on the top of his lungs. “How are you feeling?” he asked, regardless.

  Her eyes flashed on him. “In perfect condition to go to work.”

  His features crumpled in vexation. “But you’re—”

  “—a woman who’s not sick.” She interrupted him.

  “Clearly, but you must take care of yourself.” He neared the bed and eyed down on her, hands bracing his hips.

  “I need not step down from my life to do that.” Her insistence was getting to him.

  “As my marchioness, you will receive all the care I wish you to.”

  Her brows pleated mouth agape. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll procure a special license, and we’ll marry in a few days.” Determination infused his voice.

  Her torso detached from the pillows supporting her back. “I’ll not—!”

  “This is my heir you’re carrying and by no means it’ll be a bastard.” It was his turn to cut her.

  “It may be a girl.” She defied.

  “Whom I’ll raise legitimately.” He countered. Legitimate and with a trust fund, so she’d have all the choices in life.

  “You know as well as I it’s ludicrous.” Her delicate hand rubbed her brow.

  With a deep intake of air, Drake sat on the edge of the mattress facing her. “Hester, this is not about us anymore.” He took her hand and rubbed her fingers. “Would you rather our son or daughter be stigmatised? They can have everything a child will ever need.”

  “And it only takes a piece of paper, you mean.” She sighed forlornly and lowered her head.

  “Is the idea of marrying me so distasteful for you?” He took in every single reaction coming from her as her lashes lifted, and their eyes met.

  “Of course not!” she answered firmly. “But we come from different worlds.”

  His lips stretched in a side smile. "Well, strictly speaking, we're both humans and we live on this planet. Not such different worlds, I'd say."

  She grinned at his scientific-like argument. “You understood my meaning.” For a long time, their stares locked with a hundred undercurrents running between them. “Yes, all right.” She finally yielded.

  He couldn’t refrain a smile of victory. “A wise decision.”

  Behind the victorious smile though, his insides felt like someone had lit the brightest torch ever seen. The happiness at the knowledge that Hester carried his child added to the one she’d also become his wife. Everything was working out like magic in his viewpoint. All he needed now was to bring her into his way of thinking. The prospect didn’t appear bad. Look at them. She’d been his mistress, then a paramour of sorts, soon to be his marchioness. Not that he’d boast it to her, lest she change her mind about marrying a too-inflated man.

  “But I’ll finish the season for ‘The Plight’,” she reiterated. “And after the birth, I’ll resume work. And that’s non-negotiable.”

  Drake was not surprised at her focus on her work. In fact, he even expected that. In time, he hoped she’d realise that her position as a lady would demand a large chunk of her days. Which might make it difficult to juggle both. But it seemed too early to raise any expectation. First, he had to legitimise his heir or daughter.

  “I’ll agree for now, but things may change quite fast.” And didn’t give her time for a rebuttal. “I’ll arrange for the license.” He kissed her hand and left.

  In the hallway, it took a certain willpower for him not to kick up his heels as he went out.

  Hester watched as Drake closed the door and released a pent-up breath. Life had a way of twisting one’s plans spectacularly. Her head lowered to her midriff with tenderness. It was not that she didn’t want the child, much on the contrary. The notion of having Drake’s son or daughter melted her in a way she never imagined it would.

  But the fact Hester would become his wife wrenched her insides with a kaleidoscope of emotions. The one lancing through them all was fear. Yes, she had to admit, even if only to herself, that becoming legally attached to Drake scared the hell out of her. If the ladies’ reactions at the Brunswick ball was anything to go by, she was in dire trouble. Married to Drake, she’d have a foot in each world. And how she would navigate them, she hadn’t got the slightest idea. In between those, there would be a child. How the blasted ton would regard it would a
ffect the little one for life. The possibility of a negative reception caused utter distress.

  Bleak as it might appear, raising a family with Drake generated a whole set of different sentiments. Never in the entire history would she have predicted such a thing would happen. When she accepted to be his mistress, she possessed a full awareness of what it entailed. A woman of humble origins enlisted to serve a lord’s whims temporarily. Not even for a second had she imagined it would amount to anything more than that. And here she sat, in his townhouse, confirmed that she carried his child, his legacy. And coaxed into marriage, no less.

  Nonetheless, she trusted that she'd be able to walk through the maze that her new situation would surely beget. She wasn't a pampered ninny, she'd struggled in life, despite the fairly safe upbringing she had: Parents with a regular income, who loved each other and their children. Nothing had come on a platter though. Life would never be easy for those coming from the lower ranks. Her family had faced hard choices for housing or schooling. Whatever came her way, she'd be sure to fight her corner.

  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.

  Drake understood he wouldn’t be able to stop the malice that would inevitably raid through his peers. And he’d do everything to shield his future wife and child from it, starting with his venerable mother.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” she said with a hint of despair in her voice.

  After he’d scribbled on the parchment and folded it, his eyes arrowed to her. “You’re so fond of aristocracy’s infallible rules, aren’t you?” He rang for Wakefield. “This is the aristocratic male power over the women in our ranks. Since you show fondness for it, abide by it!”

  Naturally, she’d been provided for by her late husband. But the settlement was enough for a comfortable life in the country, not a house, servants and allowance in London. The latter, Drake provided out of respect for her.

  In came Wakefield. “My lord,” and bowed.

  “Please, have this sent to my solicitor.” And extended the letter to the other man. “And accompany Lady Worcester on her way out, will you?”

  “Certainly, Lord Worcester.” And moved to allow the lady to walk past him.

  "If you think by shutting me up, you're silencing the others, you're sorely mistaken," Honora said.

  "No, but you're the closest and loudest by far," Worcester answered. "Goodbye, mother."

  Without an option, she turned and strode woodenly out.

  The carriage lurched to a stop, causing Hester to wake up from where she slept leaning on Drake’s shoulder.

  “We’re here.” He said as he stepped down to help her.

  They decided to spend a few days in the Worcester Seat in Hampshire after the wedding.

  Their tying of the knot had been a simple affair. They only invited their closest friends and Titus stood as the groom's best man. Hester felt happy for Amelia accepting to be her maid of honour. Miss Bolton expressed utter delight at being called to do so.

  Hester counted herself lucky for being free of stomach unease as the wedding breakfast offered by Mrs Darroch was delicious. Otilia had said that eating small pieces of dried bread helped with the unease. Hester did that with positive results.

  Drake and Hester would spend a few days here as Oliver had called for a recess of the play. The news of their wedding had astonished her father when Drake came to ask for her hand. Ely expressed the same reservations Hester had, promptly reassured by Drake.

  But Hester and Drake didn’t break the news of the child as yet, agreeing to wait for a few weeks to do so.

  Hester looked up at the Georgian portico. They hadn’t been here for some time because of her work and then her decision to end their liaison. Which had led her to believe she’d not travel here again. With a sigh, she realised she’d missed the country and the greenhouse she’d refurbished.

  Drake came to her and lifted her in his arms, eliciting a yelp from her. “Come, Lady Worcester, let’s do this in style.”

  His uttering of her new title caused her to swallow grit as colour leeched from her cheeks. But the butler was already opening the door, and Drake took her through it.

  “Thanks, Brown,” he said and set her on the first step of the stairs that led to the second floor. “Please, gather the servants,” he continued. “We have an announcement.”

  Five minutes later, Drake and Hester stood on the step as the servants lined on the hallway.

  “Allow me to present Hester Aldridge, my wife, the new Marchioness of Worcester.”

  The servants were familiar with her, and she’d befriended more than a few of them
as she brought the greenhouse back to life. At that moment, every single one of them held a dumbfounded expression on their faces. She’d been the actress-mistress, the ‘upstairs’ servant with specific tasks. And now, she’d become the Mistress of the Manor. Even commoners grew up with the social set ingrained in them. Their surprise was understandable as social mobility wasn’t a concept royalist England praised.

  "Welcome to the Worcester Seat, my lady." They murmured despite the sudden news. Well, the king is dead; god save the king, she thought rather acidly. They'd slotted her in the box marked 'marchioness' and would treat her accordingly.

  With a grateful smile, she thanked them as Drake took her hand to lead her up. “We’ll be taking dinner in the small dining room, Brown.” Drake ordained after everyone congratulated him.

  “Very well, my lord.” And directed his gaze to her. “My lady.” And bowed.

  In the bedchamber they’d spent so many a night, Drake was taking off his dusty coat. Hester sat on the chest placed in front of the bed.

  “Perhaps we should hire a governess to walk me through this nobility thing.” She started.

  Drake halted, his hand on his cravat, his valet not yet arrived, and eyed her. “Sure, if it’s what you wish.”

  Her brows pleated. Wish had nothing to do with it. "The upper echelons of society have so many rituals. Different addresses to different titles, the number of waltzes I'll be expected to dance, invitations I should accept and make. I know nothing of it." She raised her insecure glance at him. "I don't want to embarrass you."

  His strides brought him to stand right before her, his hands bracing his hips. “I care nothing for any of this.” He rasped. “But if it makes you feel more confident, I’ll do it.”

  “We must care.” She emphasised. “It’s how they’ll receive our child. If we don’t make an effort, they’ll shun him or her.”