by Deb Marlowe
--from the Journal of the Infamous Miss Hestia Wright
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Stoneacre had been frantic until he discovered that Hestia had been dragged out of the house outside Clevedon and dropped at Lady Cartweld’s townhouse. Then he’d been furious that she’d left there without him.
He’d been forced to stay in Bath for two days, calling in help from the local revenue men and excise officers to break up and track down Marstoke’s smuggling contacts. But finally the last of the opium had been confiscated and the men he could identify had been taken in, as well. As soon as he could, he set out with all speed for London.
He barely rested on the way, stopping only to change horses or sleep a couple of hours before pressing on. He meant to go straight to Half Moon House, but Crawford was waiting for him at the Kensington tollgate.
“The Prince Regent is in a slavering fit, waiting for you to come and give your report,” his man told him. “You are to proceed to Carlton House right away. He doesn’t even wish you to go home and wash off the road dust.”
“Was Hestia’s report not enough?”
Crawford shook his head. “The Prince received your note, but nothing further. No one has seen Hestia in London, that I know of.”
Seething with frustration, Stoneacre rode to Carlton House. It took hours to give his full account, to answer the Prince Regent’s many questions and to endure his crowing with triumph, as if he’d been the one to rid the world of Marquess of Marstoke.
At last, though, the Prince was satisfied—and Stoneacre, tired and anxious, took a hack to Half Moon House.
“She’s not here,” Isaac said, on answering the door. “But she is safe and as well as can be expected.”
“Where is she?”
“She has a special place. She goes there when things get hard to bear or when she needs a bit of peace.”
Stoneacre recalled their discussion at Cross Bones, the place where she’d agreed to work with him and told him of the Bishop of Winchester’s geese. She’d mentioned her own private place. “She’s there?” he asked. “The place where you’ve laid to rest the ones you’ve lost?”
Surprise showed on Isaac’s face as he nodded. “I think she’s gone there to give you a chance to think about it all. To get back to your real world and see if your feelings have changed.”
Stoneacre shot him a look and silently they communed over the utter daftness of such a notion.
But then Stoneacre frowned. “And Beth? Where is she?”
“We’ve hidden her away. She’s safe, for now, but some of Marstoke’s more belligerent fools are howling for her blood.” He shrugged. “We may have to send her abroad.”
Stoneacre didn’t care, as long as Hestia never had to deal with her again. He sighed. “I need to see Hestia, Isaac.”
The butler held his gaze for a long moment. He nodded. “I’ll write down the directions.”
Isaac went off and Stoneacre sank down onto the bench by the door. He leaned his head against the wall and might have fallen asleep, but he startled awake when someone settled in next to him.
“Oh, good afternoon to you, Molly. How have things been, here at the House?”
“Quiet—except for me. Things are happenin’ fer me, sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Did you hear? I’ve a family now. Of sorts.”
He lifted his head. “Do you?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot! I’m not supposed to tell.”
“I’ll keep your secret. I promise.”
“I knew you would, sir.” She sighed. “Lady Diane cannot take me in, but she’s settin’ me up in a shop, right in the village near her home.” She wiggled a bit. “Can you see it? Me? In a shop? I can scarcely wait.” Her smile faded. “But I’m frightened, too.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s a big change, to leave London and all. It’s only natural to be a bit frightened of change.”
He paused. Was that was why Hestia was avoiding him? Did she believe her life would have to change if they married?
“You know, you’ve had a good teacher, Molly. The best. All you have to do is think, whenever you are frightened—What would Hestia do?”
Molly nodded. “She’d learn how to keep those books, she would. And she would remember to talk to the customers without throwin’ in a bit of a flirt.”
“She would indeed,” Stoneacre agreed. “And she wouldn’t let fear keep her from her dream.”
“No. She’d tackle it head on and beat it down until she’d made it hers,” Molly said with a laugh.
“Yes, so she would. And so will you.”
And so would he.
Hestia sighed. How she loved it here. The river moved at a sedate pace, the lawns were green and springy beneath the feet and the trees were glorious overhead. In one corner of the acreage lay the graveyard, fenced off, with each stone lovingly marked and tended. In another corner, a little folly had been built, a small, pillared structure with a stone roof to serve as shelter in the rain.
She preferred to sit beneath the cherry trees. They provided shade from the sun and just now, when spring was starting to turn to summer, pink petals wafted loose in the wind and drifted down to land softly across her skirts.
This was the place that brought her calm and peace.
Usually.
This time, though, she waited, her nerves on edge, a part of her unable to settle her mind enough to read her book.
Perhaps he wouldn’t come.
No, he would.
She spent the morning careening between opinions, all the while holding tightly onto hope.
When he did come, the sound of the water masked his footsteps. She was unaware of him until he sank down onto her blanket and stretched out beside her.
She stared.
He breathed deeply and let it out on a sigh of satisfaction.
And the jagged blade of worry in her chest smoothed instantly away. She grinned at him and he smiled back and all was right with the world. For a moment, she could not see him through joy and relief and the first swell of tears.
“You were right,” he said. “This place is pretty and peaceful.”
“I am often right,” she told him.
“A deplorable habit.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Will I?” he asked. He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “I feared you ran away to this place because you didn’t want me.”
“No. That wasn’t it.”
“Isaac said you were giving me a chance to get over you. When I was done laughing, I took his directions and set out. I’ve had a number of disturbing thoughts on the way.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I know you for a fighter. So, at first, I worried that you perhaps thought I was not worth fighting for.”
“I should think you would know better.”
“I did quickly discard the notion—especially once I spoke to my mother.”
That gave her pause.
“And I discovered you’d already been fighting for me.” He shook his head. “I knew you were brave, Hestia, but damnation, even I would hesitate to take on my mother. And how on earth did you conquer her, I’d like to know?”
“Conquer her? I came out of there rather feeling she’d ravaged me.”
“I don’t think I wish to know the particulars,” he said with a shudder. “But I went there expecting a row and instead found her as meek as a lamb.”
“How . . . surprising.”
“So, in any case, I knew that wasn’t it. So I wondered if you believed that I wouldn’t fight for you.” He reached up and touched her cheek. “I know your family did not, all those years ago, but I promise you, I will always be there. You aren’t alone, Hestia. I’ve been fighting for you—fighting myself and trying to stand back and let you come to your own conclusions about the inevitability of us.”
“Inevitability,” she mused. “I suppose it is true.”
“It was the hardest damned thing I’ve ever done,
but I’d suffer it all over again. And I will suffer worse in the future, if need be. And you must know, I’ll always stand behind you and support you in your endeavors.”
“I know. I knew it the moment you walked alone into that house to confront Marstoke and his minions. It was the single most brave and foolish thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I meant to get you out of there or die trying.”
She shuddered. “It was a near thing for both of us.”
“It’s over now.” He shook his head. “Can you fathom it? He’s gone and his evil ways with him. Riding to London, I wondered what on earth I would do with all of that time I’ve been spending, tearing down his empire. I made splendid plans as I rode. And then I talked to Molly about change—and it struck me. Perhaps you were worried I would ask you to change, should we come together.”
“Come together?” she asked with a smile.
“Marry. I mean to marry you, Hestia Wright—but I was trying to ease into it.”
“Ah.” She laughed. “That sounds nice.”
“The marrying? Or the easing?”
“Both.”
He sat up a little straighter. “I want you to marry me. But there are conditions.”
She straightened, too. “Conditions?”
“Yes. Expectations. For example, there’s to be no easy, pampered life of a countess for you, my dear. I expect you will continue to run Half Moon House—and I expect I’ll be helping you. I expect you’ll allow me to use my considerable talents to help you find the rest of the women on your lists. I expect we’ll eventually expand the work—perhaps we can buy a hotel or a factory to provide a safe place to employ the women who come to you for help.”
She sighed, utterly charmed by each of those ideas. “That is a lot of expectations.”
“I expect you’ll meet them all with no problem.”
“I expect I will.” She frowned suddenly. “But what if I want the easy, pampered life of a countess?”
“Then you shall have it,” he answered promptly. “For all of the two hours that such a wish would last.”
She laughed. “That sounds about right.” She leaned down, then, and kissed him, with warmth and soft, pleased leisure, feeling strong and sure in the knowledge that there would always, always be time for this, for the two of them, together. He dug his hands into her hair and kissed her back for a while, and then he pulled away and made a face at her.
“I suppose we shall have to delay the wedding until Rhys and Flightly return from their bridal trip.”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I will want my son to give me away.”
He nodded, looking glum.
“But I expect there is no need to delay the bedding,” she whispered, caressing his strong jaw.
His eyes brightened. “I expect not.” He drew her down to him.
And so they didn’t.
Afterword
Thank you so much for reading the Half Moon House Series! I hope that you have gasped and laughed and loved as much as I have on this adventure!
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About the Author
USA Today Bestselling author Deb Marlowe adores History, England and Men in Boots. Clearly she was destined to write Historical Romance.
A Golden Heart winner and Rita nominee, Deb writes Regency Romance and Young Adult Fantasy Adventure.
A proud geek, history buff and story addict, she loves to talk with readers! Find her discussing books, movies, TV, recipes from Deb Marlowe’s Regency Kitchen and her infamous Men in Boots on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest.
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Connect with Deb
www.DebMarlowe.com
[email protected]
Also by Deb Marlowe
The Half Moon House Series
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The Novels
The Love List
The Leading Lady
The Lady’s Legacy
The Lady’s Lover
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The Novellas
An Unexpected Encounter
A Slight Miscalculation
A Waltz in the Park
Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
Beyond a Reasonable Duke
Lady, It’s Cold Outside
The Earl’s Hired Bride
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The Castle Keyvnor Pixies
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Lady Tamsyn and the Pixie’s Curse
Lord Locryn and the Pixie’s Kiss
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Writing as D.M. Marlowe:
The Eye of the Ninja Chronicles
Eye of the Ninja
Obsidian’s Eye
The Fire in the Ice
