Hester knew she should do something, but she did not know what. She had not yet recovered from her astonishment. Dudley’s fury had arisen with no provocation at all.
She reached out a hand. “Cousin—”
The fingers beneath her hand balled quickly into a fist. She jerked away, her eyes going wide, as he slammed it onto the table, overturning two glasses, and sending cards fluttering onto the floor.
“You think you’re so clev’r! But you won’ make a fool out o’ me! I won’ let you get away with it!” He struggled to rise, fortunately hampered by dizziness. His chair fell backwards with a crash.
Now, everyone turned. Their eyes flew to Hester’s table, and a range of emotions played across their faces.
Mrs. Mayfield, who had been studying her cards with the avidity of a confirmed gamester, gave a cry of alarm mixed with annoyance, making Hester aware that her aunt had witnessed such drunken scenes before. She stared daggers at her son, before turning a venomous gaze on Hester. Seated farthest from them, she had not noticed Dudley’s descent into moodiness. It was too late to pretend that his outburst was somehow Hester’s fault, though Hester made no doubt her aunt would try, if it became even remotely possible.
“What are you going on about, Mayfield? Have you lost your senses?” Harrowby’s outrage betrayed his embarrassment. He had not been an earl long enough to be indifferent to others’ opinions. But when Dudley swerved to face him, Harrowby’s bug-like eyes grew round in fear. “Ye gods! Dear me—!” He strove for authority. “My dear—dear Mayfield! I fear I shall have to ask you to sit down—my dear, dear fellow!” he ended in a quiver.
Dudley’s turn had thrown him off balance. He staggered two or three steps to one side before recovering his equilibrium. Then, he swore, gazing blearily down at the floor, as if forgetting why he had stood.
Sir William jumped to his feet, uncertain if his family were in danger or if his host had staged a sort of tasteless theatrical performance. His conclusion quickly reached, he narrowed his shrewd, tradesman’s eyes and shifted them from Dudley to Mrs. Jamison, Dudley’s mother, and finally to Harrowby, before addressing the last.
“So that’s your game, is it, my lord? To foist a madman onto me. Well, I’ll have you know that I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve never been taken for a fool, and I won’t be taken for one now. You’ll have to find someone else to take this young gentleman off your hands. I’ll not have a lunatic’s blood mingling with mine. You can keep your fancy titles—I’ll not sell my daughter or my name for tainted blood.”
“Sir William, please! I knew nothing about this.” Mrs. Jamison’s cry broke the ominous silence.
He ignored her. As he stepped around his table to collect his wife and daughter—both plainly eager to depart—Mrs. Mayfield let out a screech that drowned Harrowby’s feebler protests.
“Lunatic! How dare you call my son a lunatic? Why the Mayfields’ family tree goes back to Edward I—which you would see, if you was ever to go to Mayfield Park! Not that an upstart like you would ever be admitted to my house! How dare you insult a family so superior to your own?”
She turned to Harrowby. “Make Sir William apologize to me and to Mayfield right this instant!”
But Dudley had recalled the object of his ire and was lurching towards a frightened Sir Humphrey, ignoring the tables and chairs in his way. Until Hester saw him throw the furniture aside like so many twigs, she had not realized how strong her cousin was.
She was not big enough to stop him, unless she could find something to subdue him with. She glanced about for a hard object, but quicker than she, Lord Lovett darted to put himself in front of Sir Humphrey, directly in Dudley’s path.
Dudley swung.
Hester let out a cry. Isabella did, too—but neither was needed, as Lord Lovett gracefully ducked the blow before returning a well-placed punch to Dudley’s jaw. Hester saw her cousin’s head snap back. He wavered for a moment, then crumbled unconscious to the floor.
The silence was tense, as they all held their breaths to see if Dudley would rise. Then, as it became apparent that Lord Lovett’s blow had done its work, everyone stirred at once.
“My dear, dear Adrian!” Sir Humphrey clapped his saviour on the back with breathless relief. “That was very well done! I am in your debt, my very dear fellow. I cannot imagine what came over the lad!”
Confusion dimmed his baby features, as he stared down at Dudley, who had started to snore. “But a minute ago, he seemed as merry as you or me. An’t that right, Mrs. Kean? Mrs. Hobbes?” Unaware that the second young woman he addressed was being bustled out the door to the stairs, he went on, “The very next moment, he had turned so nasty that I was too startled to defend myself. I tell you—” Sir Humphrey’s relief overwhelmed his tongue.
“Think nothing of it.” Lord Lovett straightened the deep red cuffs to his blue silk coat. “If my memory serves me, you performed a similar act for me, not so very long ago. We shall call ourselves even.”
The reference escaped Sir Humphrey, who looked even more puzzled. Then, with a flush of pleasure, he recalled, “You are talking about that day in the carriage. But indeed, dear Lovett, I was not—”
“Please, do not be modest, or I shall accuse you of fishing for greater praise. I suggest we take our leave and give our hosts some peace, so they can recover from the evening’s excitement. Don’t you?”
Mrs. Mayfield had not been noticeably upset to see her son knocked to the floor, but had immediately turned on Harrowby to share her injured feelings. Now, as their guests made ready to leave, her voice carried to them all, saying, “I fail to see what right they have to be offended when a gentleman gets a bit too deep in his cups! And to call my son a lunatic—!”
Isabella, who had been holding back, with expressions ranging from annoyance to dismay—but neither surprise nor shock—spoke impatiently to her mother. “How can you say that, Mama, when you’ve always known what Dudley’s temper is! He should never be allowed to drink, when he is likely to spoil our fun.”
Even Harrowby, whose wits were not the sharpest, understood by this speech that Dudley had behaved in a similar manner before. With a look of betrayal, he started to berate Isabella and her mother for involving him with such a troublesome young man, even to the point of extracting an exorbitant sum to pay for a position at Court.
He had not got very far when Lord Lovett, with his customary sangfroid, managed to stem the bitter flow without appearing to have interrupted. “I trust you have no concerns on our account, my lord,” he said, including Sir Humphrey in his remark. “There was no real harm done. You have none but friends here now, and nothing Sir William says will spread very far where it counts.”
Ignoring the offence on Mrs. Jamison’s face, he took Isabella’s hand and, raising it to his lips, said with a secretive smile, “Shall we say goodbye, then, until tomorrow? We have an engagement at Vauxhall, I believe.”
“Lovett is quite right, my lord.” Magnanimous, now that he was feeling safe, Sir Humphrey said, “There was no harm done at all.”
Dudley made a noise in his sleep, and Sir Humphrey jumped. With a new wave of fury, Mrs. Mayfield rounded on Hester, saying, “What can you mean by standing there, when your cousin is clearly ill! Go fetch the footmen to carry him to his room.”
Hester would have left the drawing room gratefully, if she had not heard the two gentlemen and Mrs. Jamison taking their leave, which meant that they would descend the stairs behind her. She was feeling weak in the knees, and was afraid that a reaction to Dudley’s violence was about to overtake her.
She did her best to hold herself up as she walked down, but she was obliged to hold tightly to the banister. The guests had nearly caught up with her, when dizziness dimmed her vision and her legs gave way.
A pair of long, strong arms prevented her fall. Chagrinned to find herself in a gentleman’s embrace, she struggled to find her legs. She murmured an apology, but Lord Lovett, who had caught her, refused to let her go. He pulled her close by the
waist, causing her blood to heat for an entirely different reason.
In a cool voice, he said to Sir Humphrey. “You had better attend to your sister, Cove. Ladies are unaccustomed to violence. It can be too much for their nerves. See that Mrs. Jamison is settled, and I shall look after Mrs. Kean.”
Wakened from their posts by the sound of voices, two sleepy footmen had started to climb the stairs. Lord Lovett ordered them to attend the family in the drawing room, before half-leading, half-carrying Hester down to the small antechamber, where he forced her to sit.
“Pray do not disturb yourself on my account, my lord.” Distressed by the unaccustomed attention, Hester tried to convince him that she was perfectly all right. “I am fully recovered. Indeed, I do not feel the slightest bit faint. It was just that my knees failed me for a moment, when I was fine only a moment before.”
Looking down at her, Lord Lovett nodded, with an amused but sympathetic smile. “Shock, I should imagine. You have undoubtedly never seen a gentleman turn violent before.”
On the contrary, Hester thought, she had once witnessed a duel to the death with someone much dearer to her at stake. But that was a secret, so she lowered her lashes and gave her head a little shake. “I suppose it was. I do not know my cousin Dudley very well, but he has always seemed perfectly affable until now.” Concern over what Sir William had said made her raise her gaze to Lord Lovett’s handsome face. “You do not think—?” She caught herself before saying anything she ought not.
He had read her mind. “Do I think he’s mad?” His lips gave an ironic twist. “Not unless one gentleman in fifty is. He is not the first person I have known to lose his temper in his cups.” Then, he sobered. “That does not mean that this tendency will not pose problems for his family, or that he might not do something he will regret one day. I take it that you were unaware of his propensity for violence?”
Hester could not miss his implication. She felt a flush of discomfort for Mrs. Mayfield and Isabella, who had obviously been aware of Dudley’s tendency. She looked down at her hands. “As I said, I am only recently acquainted with him.”
To her astonishment, Lord Lovett cupped her chin and forced it up until she met his gaze. The warmth she saw there made her gulp. “You must not feel responsible for the faults of your family. Do you think I have not noticed how superior you are to every one of them?”
Hester’s mouth nearly fell open when he released her jaw. She could not have spoken for the life of her, so it was lucky that he did not wait for a response. He stepped back, gave her his most respectful bow, and then left, before she could recover enough to wonder if she had heard him aright.
She had been aware of Lord Lovett’s intelligence ever since meeting him and had formed a favourable impression of him because of his wit. His attentions to Isabella both in front of her husband and in his absence had bothered Hester, even as she had excused him for courting their influence. Her own attraction to him could no longer be denied, not when her pulse had raced at his touch, but that he should have noticed her—
Afraid that someone might find her in this incoherent state—unable to sort through her feelings—she gathered herself and started up the stairs. As she passed the door to the withdrawing room, she heard raised voices, telling her that Dudley’s performance would be the first source of friction between the new earl and his bride, with Mrs. Mayfield providing the tinder for a fire.
Hester had no wish to become a party to their squabble. She had enough on her mind to be grateful for the cover it afforded her, though, for they had obviously forgotten her in their fury. She took herself off to bed where she spent a good many hours contemplating what Lord Lovett’s attentions could mean. They so confounded her that they almost took her mind off her coming meeting with St. Mars.
* * * *
On Friday Harrowby brought home the news that Parliament had voted to impeach Robert Harley, Lord Oxford, and Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke, of treason. None of the Tories had dared to protest the charge against Bolingbroke, who had already fled to France, but Mr. Foley, Harley’s brother-in-law, and Mr. Jekyll did try to defend him. It would, perhaps, have been wise for Lord Oxford to seek safety in France, too, but he was indisposed with the Gravel and too ill to flee. He would be a given a chance to defend himself in the House of Lords on Saturday. Their lordships had not yet issued any charges against the Duke of Ormonde.
By that night, Harrowby had been comforted by the fact that no one on the Committee of Secrecy had once mentioned the former Earl of Hawkhurst. Exhausted by two strenuous days of sitting in fear, while the Lords debated charges of treason against their own members, he was primed for a bit of rowdiness.
Their party for Vauxhall contained only a few of the friends they had entertained the previous night, neither the Hobbeses nor Mrs. Jamison to be sure. After last night’s exhibition, it was doubtful that Sir Humphrey’s sister would risk her reputation as a matchmaker on Dudley, for despite what Lord Lovett had said, Sir William was quite capable of informing the other candidates’ families that she was conspiring to unload a madman on one of them.
Dudley had not been invited to join them. Harrowby was not yet ready to forgive him, and it would have been too soon to expect Sir Humphrey to feel at ease with his attacker along.
Nor did Mrs. Mayfield go, for she found strolling in the gardens tedious. She had accepted an invitation to play at cards. Now that she was presumed to have access to the Hawkhurst fortune, she was invited to card parties with what Hester could only consider an alarming frequency.
Before St. Mars had contacted Hester, she had even tried to persuade her aunt to join them in their exercise to divert her from losing his money, but the only result had been that Mrs. Mayfield had questioned her daughter on the need to have Hester accompany her and her friends.
“For you spoil her, Isabella,” she had said. Mrs. Mayfield never felt any compunction about discussing her niece in this manner, and had not evinced any discomfort when the subject had come up over the tea table a few days past . “I do not know why you persist in treating her so well. Hester is lucky enough to be a servant in this house. And so I remind her, whenever she gets ideas above her station.
“But when you constantly allow her to accompany you on all your diversions, you run the risk of giving her and others an elevated notion of what her situation is. Why, next—” she gave a snort of laughter— “you will find some poor, ignorant gentleman paying court to her! And you cannot tell me that you would ask Lord Hawkhurst to fund a dowry for her.”
“Why not?” Isabella said with her wide open eyes. “Why shouldn’t Hester have a husband?”
Before she was married, she never would have challenged her mother’s statements, but being a countess had given her the right to her own opinions. Not that these were ever very profound—in fact, often they were very silly—but on more than one occasion Hester had been grateful to Isabella for standing up for her.
Required to explain herself, Mrs. Mayfield was struck speechless. Before she could rally to reply, Isabella turned to Hester with an excited look in her eye. “What do you say to that, Hester? Should you like me to find you a wealthy husband? I think I can do it if he does not have to be very handsome. I’m sure I could talk Harrowby into giving you a dowry of some sort. He has so much money, we could never run through it all.”
Before Hester could respond politely, but negatively, to this, Mrs. Mayfield sputtered, “No!” Her colour threatened apoplexy at the very least. “You must never plague your husband for anything so foolish! You mustn’t wear out his generous nature.”
“But haven’t you asked him to contribute to Dudley’s settlement?” Isabella asked, in perfect innocence. She had never seen through her mother’s conniving ways.
“Dudley is your brother, which makes it right for your husband to do something for him. But you cannot be expecting him to throw his fortune away on every relation you have.”
“Not every relation, just Hester. Come,” She turned
to Hester eagerly. “Don’t you think it would be fun? And as Mama says, you can amuse yourself with whoever you want after you are married.”
Hester had judged it the proper time to put an end to their argument. “You are very good to me, Bella. Very kind and generous. But your mother is right. You should not trouble yourself with a husband for me.” She had not added that Isabella’s notion of a good husband would never be the same as hers, or that she would not appreciate having to fend off Isabella’s candidates.
But her answer had appeased her aunt and for once had gained her a grudging compliment. Mrs. Mayfield had called her a good girl who knew what was due to her family, and she had left off her complaints about Hester’s attending the outing to Vauxhall.
So tonight Hester was relieved that Mrs. Mayfield was not to accompany them. Her aunt would have been sure to notice the care Hester had taken with her dress and grown suspicious, and she would not have been likely to let her out of her sight. Hester had chosen one of Isabella’s tossed-off gowns, in a becoming shade of greenish blue with pale yellow embroidery on both the bodice and skirt, with three-quarter bell sleeves. She did not think St. Mars would recognize the dress, for the chemise lace had been removed from the sleeves to be used on another of her cousin’s gowns. Besides, Isabella had filled the garment in an entirely different way. For Hester, the bodice had had to be taken in and a modesty piece attached.
Isabella’s motive for including Hester was not entirely unselfish, she learned, as she helped Isabella prepare to descend the stairs. She straightened Isabella’s new satin cloak over the back of her skirt and took up the old one for herself. Then, as they went down, Isabella turned and said, in an urgent whisper, “I need you to keep Harrowby and Sir Humphrey busy, should Lovett and me wish to go off by ourselves. Can you to do that, Hester?”
Hester’s heart sank. How was she to keep the two gentlemen occupied and still slip away to speak to St. Mars?
She could not object to any request Isabella made on her own account, but the protest she finally did make was sincere. “Do you think that wise, Isabella? What if your husband begins to suspect you of something...not quite comme il faut?”
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