by Anne Ireland
“All the presents I have been given shall be returned,” she said and then she went out. Hester did not look back as she slipped downstairs and out of the back door. She found a stone bench to sit on while she waited for the carriage to be made ready, and it was here that Richard Mortimer found her some minutes later. He took in the bag and her air of dejection, drawing the obvious conclusion.
“Where are you going, Hester?”
“I am leaving. I cannot stay here any longer. I have brought shame to Paul’s family and they will never forgive me.”
“I am sorry,” Richard said. “I came today only to wish you happy, but now perhaps I may be of service to you. I would be happy to escort you to wherever you are going.”
“You are kind,” she said, “but for the moment, I would rather be alone.”
Even as she spoke, the girl Anna came running towards her, carrying another small bag. She bobbed a curtsey and looked at Hester.
“Will you take me with you, my lady?”
“Do you really wish it?”
“Yes, my lady. Everyone is on your side. It’s wicked what has been said to you. You must not be alone. I want to come and take care of you, my lady.”
“Then you may, for I shall need a friend,” Hester said and smiled. “Thank you, Anna—but please, I would rather be called Miss Weston, for I am not really Lord Crawford’s wife. Our marriage will be annulled and then . . .”
The carriage had been brought round and she saw that her trunks were strapped to it, though Paul’s had been removed. A groom opened the door for her and helped Hester, then Anna, inside before closing it.
Hester sat with her eyes closed as the carriage moved away, for she could not bear to see the house she was leaving or to think of the happiness that had been so cruelly snatched from her.
Chapter Eleven
“Damn it, Paul, let me kill him for you!” Uncle Staunton growled. His generous moustache quivered with outrage as he looked at his nephew. “This is your wedding day. You should be with that little darling you married, comforting her rather than preparing to fight a duel.”
“I shall be with Hester as soon as I can,” Paul told him. “This is my fight, uncle, though I thank you for your good intentions. The man set out to ruin me from the start. I am not sure what I have done to him, except that I may have humiliated him once or twice in public—and I once took a woman he wanted for my own mistress.”
“Good grief, man!” Uncle Staunton said. “Men have murdered before this for less. Did it never occur to you that he might be your enemy?”
“Not until recently,” Paul said. “Hester gave me the clue, for she recognized his voice when he kidnapped her, but I could not quite believe it. I had blamed Richard Mortimer for the faulty cannon since it was he who Blackwater chose to be the go-between, though even he did not know his name. Mortimer was hired by one of Blackwater’s minions. And he redeemed himself by helping to find Hester—without his help I may never have recovered her.” The look in his eyes told his uncle just what that would mean to him.
He shook his head, his weather-beaten, ruddy face registering concern. “Well, my boy, this is a pretty kettle of fish, if you please. I dare say we shall brush through it—but not if the fellow kills you, and he will try. It is his chance to destroy you. He believes he has ruined your reputation and your happiness, and now he wants you dead at his feet.”
“Yes, I know. I am considered a decent shot,” Paul said, though he had never killed other than on the field of battle, and it turned his stomach to think of it now. “If anything should happen to me, uncle . . .”
“Consider it done, Paul. I think she is a prize worth fighting for, and in your place, I would do the same. I shall take care of her—but shoot to kill, my boy. The man hates you. He will not hesitate.”
Paul nodded grimly. His uncle and two of the wedding guests had instantly agreed to be his seconds. Two rather reluctant gentlemen had agreed to act for Blackwater, though with apologies to Paul. It had been agreed that they would meet near the lake in half an hour’s time, for it was thought best to have the affair over and done with so that the wedding celebrations could resume for the bride and groom—if that were possible.
Paul’s father had said nothing immediately after the confrontation, but he followed the others to the appointed spot, waiting at a distance with the doctor he had brought in case of an emergency.
Paul’s seconds had brought a case of duelling pistols, and Blackwater had his own, which he presented for inspection. When the seconds had consulted each other and the weapons had been chosen, the antagonists stood facing each other, Blackwater sweating slightly, and Paul cold, his eyes icy blue.
“Will you apologize to my wife, sir, and ask her forgiveness for what you have done this day?”
“I shall never apologize. You may lie until you are blue in the face, Crawford, but I know the truth—and so now does the world.” A sneer curved Blackwater’s lips. “How does it feel to be humiliated?”
“I am the happiest man alive to have married the woman I love and honor above all else,” Paul told him. “People may believe what they choose and be damned—but anyone who slights her is no longer my friend.”
“Is the duel to continue?” Uncle Staunton asked.
“Yes,” Paul said through thin lips.
“Yes,” Blackwater said, sneering. “Say your prayers, Crawford.”
“Stand with your backs to each other,” Uncle Staunton said. “I shall count to ten, and you will take ten paces forward. When I say turn, you will turn, and when I say fire, you may fire at will.”
He stepped back, his eyes narrowed and anxious as the men obeyed his instructions to the count of ten.
“Turn,” he said, “And . . .” Before the word fire left Staunton’s lips, Blackwater fired hitting Paul in his left shoulder. Paul staggered, bringing his arm up as his uncle said, “Fire.” His pistol barked out, and Blackwater staggered backwards, clutching at his arm, which had been winged by Paul’s ball. Then, to the horror of everyone watching, he took a smaller pistol from inside his jacket and aimed it at Paul as he slumped to his knees, the blood trickling from his wound. As Blackwater’s finger pressed back on the trigger, another shot rang out, and he fell to the ground, face down, twitching for a few seconds until he lay still.
All eyes turned towards the man who had fired the shot—a man who had not been of their party, but had followed and watched the events unfold. Richard Mortimer lowered his arm, standing his ground as the watchers gasped in horror.
“He would have murdered Crawford,” Richard said his face an expressionless mask. “I shot to save murder being done. Arrest me if you will. I shall not attempt to escape.”
Uncle Staunton had gone at once to the fallen man, ascertaining that he was dead. The doctor was attending Paul, and shaking his head over the wound, which had gone deeper than he liked.
“This fellow will trouble us no more,” Uncle Staunton said. He looked round at all the men gathered there as he got to his feet. “I believe we owe Earl Mortimer a debt of gratitude. Blackwater proved himself a scoundrel, for he meant murder. For myself, I would prefer that no action be taken against Earl Mortimer. I did not see who delivered the fatal shot—is there any here who did?”
“I dare say it was a poacher,” Sir Justin Maybury said. “As a JP myself, I shall investigate this unfortunate matter, but in the absence of any further evidence, I shall find a death by misadventure.”
“Lord Crawford must be got home as quickly as possible,” Doctor Allen said into the silence that followed this announcement. “I suggest that servants be called, and if the other gentleman could be conveyed to my home, my housekeeper shall arrange for him to be decently presented to any relative who cares to claim the body—after I have attended on my patient, of course.”
There was a murmur of agreement all round and Sir Justin nodded at Richard Mortimer. “If you would grant me a few moments, sir. I would like to clear this matter up, and then you
are free to go.”
“Thank you for your intervention,” Richard said. “I may be able to clear up a few things that are puzzling you about this affair and reassure you that Blackwater was a villain, a cheat, and a murderer.”
“Good, that is what I had hoped to hear. I must be able to present a good case lest this afternoon’s events are questioned in court, though I doubt it will happen. Strictly speaking, the duel was illegal—but such things are still dealt with leniently in most cases. I believe we may bury the details, but I would hear the story in case I need to bring it to court.”
Servants had arrived with a gate taken from its hinges to carry Paul home. He was unconscious and still bleeding, though the doctor had applied a pad to his wound. Richard Mortimer accompanied Sir Justin to the house, where they were closeted in the library for some minutes.
When he emerged, Richard saw Charlotte looking distressed and went to her at once.
“Countess Danbury,” he said looking concerned. “Have you news of Captain Crawford?”
“No more than you already know,” she said. “He has been carried to his room and the doctor is still attending him.” She gave a little sob of distress. “This is all so awful. Hester has run off because Lady Longstanton condemned her for bringing scandal to the family, and now Paul is ill and she ought to be here with him.”
“Would you like me to go after her?”
“Her brother has already done so. We can only hope that he catches up with her before she has gone too far—and that she will return. Hester can be very stubborn, and she believes that she has brought shame on this family.”
“She told me that she wished to be alone,” Richard said. “But will you tell me where she is going? If her brother fails to persuade her, I might succeed in his place.”
Charlotte looked at him doubtfully. “I have never been sure though I suspected . . . were you the one . . .”
“Yes,” Richard admitted. “I am to blame for all that has happened to her. It was not Hester’s fault. I was young and arrogant, and I have regretted what I did a thousand times. I care for her deeply. I cared then, and I care now. Please, tell me where I may find her if she does not return here.”
“I have given her a house in Norfolk,” she said. She took a tiny notebook in a silver case from her reticule and wrote down the direction. “Take this and act as you see fit. I pray that Hester will return and find happiness with the man she loves—but she believes she is fatally flawed and will bring him only shame.”
Richard inclined his head as he slipped the scrap of paper into his jacket pocket. “I shall wait and see what happens,” he said. “If Hester returns, I shall make no effort to see her, but if she does not . . .”
“Yes, well, that is for the future,” Charlotte said. “I am leaving as soon as my things are packed. Hester’s mother is in a state of collapse, and I am going to take her home and stay with her until we have more news. This has been a dreadful affair, sir. Quite, quite shocking.”
“Yes, ma’am, I believe it has,” Richard Mortimer replied. “I have suspected Blackwater for a few weeks, for I traced his man back to him, but I did not act. I wish now that I had found some excuse to kill the rogue before this, but I hesitated.”
“I wish that someone had killed him before this happened,” Charlotte said angrily. “I just hope that the Longstanton family can contain the scandal, though I doubt it. Some of the wedding guests have already left, and I dare say there will not be a club in London that does not know of this before the week is out.”
Richard held back his reply as they saw the doctor coming downstairs and went to him, inquiring for news of Paul.
“He is as well as may be expected,” the doctor said giving a little shake of his head. “The ball went deep, and I had to cut for it, which means there may be some infection. Had the shot been a little lower he would be dead already. However, there is hope. I shall return with remedies to help the fever and to ease his pain—but for the rest . . .” He shook his head once more. “It is in the hands of God.”
“Then we must pray for him,” Charlotte said, her voice breaking on a little sob. “They were both so happy and now this.” She turned and walked away, leaving the two men to look at each other in understanding.
“Crawford is a strong man,” Richard said. “He has everything to live for. He will fight, sir. In his shoes, I would find the will to survive, and I believe he will come through . . .”
If there were a faint hope at the back of Richard’s mind that it would make it easier for him to convince Hester to come away with him if her husband died, he suppressed it. He wanted her, but he was bound by his honor not to take unfair advantage while Crawford was ill—but if Hester did not return to her husband, he would go to her.
* * * *
Robert Weston cursed as his horse limped slowly beside him. The animal had cast a shoe a mile back, and the next village where he might find both a forge and a replacement for his horse was some distance.
He had already wasted an hour or more taking a wrong turning at the crossroads, for the milestone had been covered by grass and he had not seen the direction. He had gone straight ahead when he ought to have turned right, and it was not until he came to a coaching inn and inquired the direction that he was told of his mistake. Now, his favorite horse was lame, and he was forced to walk it as gently as possible to the next hostelry. In another hour or so, it would be dark, and he would have no chance of finding his way. It looked as if he would have to find somewhere to stay for the night, and that meant he would not catch Hester on the road. Charlotte had given him the address of Hester’s house, but it might take a bit of searching to discover the exact location, which was a dashed nuisance in the circumstances.
However, he owed it to his sister to catch up with her as soon as possible. She would naturally wish to return to her husband in the circumstances—or would she? Charlotte had seemed to think that Hetty had some bee in her bonnet about having brought shame on her husband’s family, but most of those he had spoken to seemed to be on her side as far as he could make out. Few of them believed Paul’s story, of course, but appeared prepared to give Hester the benefit of the doubt.
Young as he was, Robert had already discovered that there were two levels of behavior in society. All kinds of affairs might go on between married ladies and their lovers, but providing it was kept discreet, nothing was said and the lady was accepted into most circles. The scandal that had brought his sister so much pain was different, and had it been discovered before she was married would have led to her being shunned by all but a few of the society hostesses. However, she was married. Her husband was clearly prepared to champion her and to take the child as his own—and he had given them an explanation that, if they chose to accept it, meant that Hester would be seen as a forgiving woman who had accepted her husband’s by-blow. If she chose to return to him, of course. She had possibly done the worst thing by running off, which would seem to confirm her guilt—at least that was how it seemed to her brother.
Robert was as fond of his sister as of anyone he had so far met, and he had been pleased to see her so happy. He thought that if Blackwater had not already been shot, it would have pleased him to do it. All he could hope was that when Hester returned—if she agreed—her husband would forgive her for leaving him.
* * * *
Hester would not let herself weep while they travelled. Anna’s soft brown eyes were filled with sympathy as she tended to her mistress, fetching her a tankard of ale and some cakes when they stopped that night at an inn when Hester refused to go down and eat a proper meal.
“I’ll bring some food to the room, miss,” she told her. They were sharing a room, for Anna knew what was proper and it would not do for Lady Crawford to sleep alone in a strange inn, especially on her wedding night. This whole business was a scandalous affair, but Anna, who had heard what Lady Longstanton had said to her new daughter-in-law, was very much on her mistress’s side. “Don’t you worry, miss. Th
ings will work out all right.”
Hester gave her a sad smile. She did not see how anything could ever be right for her again. She had been given everything her heart desired only to have it snatched away from her before she had tasted its sweetness.
How could Henry Blackwater have done that to her? She had tried not to hurt him when she’d refused his own proposal, but if it were Paul he had set out to ruin, her own ruin had merely been the means to an end. If only he had spoken at some other time, Hester thought regretfully. Why did he have to spoil her wedding day, when everyone had been having such a good time?
It hurt her so much to know that not only had she brought shame to Paul and his family, she had also forced him to the point of risking his life to defend her. Her common sense told her that the duel was not just about her, that they obviously had a score to settle and this would have happened one day. But this way, it reflected on her, making her carry the blame for the whole sordid affair, and she felt wretched.
She wept softly into her pillow that night, trying not to wake the young girl who had accompanied her and slept on a truckle bed a few feet away. It was all her fault. If she had refused to marry Paul, Henry Blackwater must have found some other way to work his evil.
Hester prayed fervently that Paul would not be injured in the duel. She doubted that anything his mother or anyone else said to him would dissuade him from fighting, and she could only pray that he would not be killed or fatally injured. The thought of him wounded was like a dagger in her breast, but her pride and her sense of what was right would not let her have the carriage turned around. Paul loved her. He might call for her, need her in his distress if he were wounded, but she could only bring him more pain if she stayed. She had done the right thing in leaving, though it broke her heart. To go back now would only prolong the agony.
