Louise Allen - Moonlight And Mistletoe

‘I thought I recognised the name,’ Lady Broome said grimly. ‘But I could not believe my brother would so debase the family name by offering marriage to a kept woman.’

‘What?’

Hester dragged her eyes away from her accuser and stammered, ‘You said you knew. I tried to tell you and you said you knew.’ Guy’s face was rigid, but there was something in his eyes that she did not recognise and which filled her with dread.

‘No, I did not know.’ he said softly, ‘and I did not guess.’

‘How should you have?’ Lady Broome demanded, her colour high. ‘I would never have suspected if my friend Mrs Norton had not pointed her out to me as the hussy who insinuated herself into the colonel’s home and his bed and caused such an estrangement between him and his family. Butter would not melt in her mouth to look at her.’

Hester kept her eyes fixed on Guy. To look away, to let herself listen to his sister, would be to let her world spin out of control, to shatter into nothing. If he did not trust her, then nothing mattered.

‘Hester-why? Tell me. Why were you his mistress?’

It seemed the worst had happened and somehow she was still standing there and the room was still as it was. But the shock and the pain were being replaced-no, she realised, not replaced, drowned-by a rush of anger so intense she thought for a moment she could not speak.

‘This is unjust, untrue!’ Miss Prudhome, red blotches disfiguring her sallow cheeks, took a step forward and confronted Lady Broome. ‘You do not know-’

‘Thank you, Maria, that will do! Kindly ring for Ackland. Lady Broome, you are correct, my living with Sir John did cause a rift with his family, which lasted until his death. Lord Buckland, while I was ready to lay before you the truth of my relationship with Colonel Norton, I am most certainly not now going to justify myself to a man who is prepared to protest his love for me, hut who does not trust me.’ The door opened and she cut across the words Guy was beginning to speak.

‘Ackland, please show Lady Broome and Lord Buckland out. I am not at home to either of them at any time in the future.’ Ignoring Guy’s hand outstretched to stop her, Hester swept out of the room, past a startled Jethro and up the stairs to her room. She shut the door and turned the key, leaning back against it until the muffled sounds from the hail below died away.

Someone was tapping on the door. ‘Hester dear, let me in.’

‘No. Maria, not now. Leave me alone.’

‘Please, Hester.’

Footsteps pattered off down the landing and all was silent again. So it had happened. She had been right to believe her happiness could not last, right to tell herself that she had no future other than as a single woman. He had believed what his sister had said; not even protested, only asked her flatly, why?

The anger that had taken her out of the room and had given her strength to climb the stairs ebbed as fast as it had come, leaving her legs unsteady. Hester sank down on to the bed, wondering that this pain could be as sharp, as physical as the pain of bereavement. But of course, it was a death, the death of love and trust.

Suddenly the tears came and she curled up on the bed and wept. Guy; oh, Guy, I love you, I do love you.

She must have fallen asleep. Several times there had been a scratching at the door, the soft, anxious voices of Susan and Maria, but she had buried her face in the damp pillow and shut them out. Now it was night. Hester sat up, pushing the hair back out of her face and looked around her. The room was full of a chill, pure light. Unsteadily she went to the chaise where she could look out at the moon, its full orb cut only by the merest sliver of darkness, it glowed cold and white and serene, touching the frosted darkness below with an edge of silver. So beautiful, so cold, so utterly uncaring. I love him, Hester murmured, resting her hand on the icy glass as though to touch the circle of white through the pane. He said he loved me, but he does not trust me and now he never can.

I am so sorry, but the shock of seeing her-and she must have recognised me as a friend of Anne Norton’s. Did you see the expression of guilt on her face when I walked in?’

‘I saw a woman who looked as though she had seen a ghost, not one who had a guilty secret.’ Guy held the front door open for Georgy and shut his lips tight as Parrott came forward to take their coats. ‘We will be in the library, Parrott, and do not wish to be disturbed.’

He shut the door behind them and leaned back against it, unconsciously echoing Hester’s own movements. ‘I am a bloody fool.’ This was hurting, damnably, but it was hurting Hester a sight more, of that he was certain.

‘You cannot blame yourself for being taken in.’ His sister, a handsome woman in her mid-thirties, came and took his arm, urging him towards a chair. Guy cooperated, too intent on his thoughts to resist. ‘She looks so respectable, so well bred.’

‘I was not taken in, and she is all you have just said. I should learn to think before I speak. Georgy, I have kissed her, held her in my arms, and if Hester Lattimer is not a virgin then I am the Prince Regent.’ He had made his sister blush, he saw with a kind of bitter amusement.

‘But perhaps she is a very good actress. Mrs Norton said-’

‘How well do you know Mrs Norton?’

‘Well enough, for acquaintances.’

‘And had she any expectations from the colonel? Something that his relationship, whatever it was, with Hester could have jeopardised?’

‘I do not know.’ Georgiana sat silent, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Guy regarded the fire and wondered if there was any way in which he could have handled that scene any worse. Probably not.

‘They were cousins,’ Georgy said suddenly. ‘And he was unmarried. I think her son must have been his heir. You think that was it?’ She looked at him, eyes wide and anxious. ‘Have I made a terrible mistake?’

‘No, you have made an understandable mistake, my dear. I have made one which might be unforgivable. Will you excuse me? I think if I do not go out and ride hard and long I will yield to the temptation to go right back across to the Moon House and that will probably make things a hundred times worse.’

‘Can you make it better?’ Georgy was watching him with a troubled expression quite unlike her normal confidence.

‘I do not know. I only know that I love her, and that is suddenly not enough.’

He took a hunter from the stables and rode, as he had promised, both hard and long. Riding blind he found himself up on the downs where he had held Hester in his arms and where she had reacted with what, he now realised, was understandable revulsion to her suspicion that he was offering her a carte blanche. Then on, along the crest of the hills in the teeth of the bitter wind until at last he dropped down again, through the beech woods to a village whose name he did not trouble to ask.

An inn called the Valiant Trooper furnished him with punch and bread and cheese and left him undisturbed by the blazing fire while the day lengthened and the sky became darker. At last, Guy stood up and stretched. He had a plan, of sorts, he had his bitter anger at himself under control and he had some hope. Hope that Hester loved him as much as he thought she might, hope that her anger and bitter sense of betrayal was a measure of just how much.

As he settled up the tapster pointed out the pike road that led to Winterbourne and Guy rode back through the gathering darkness to the gates of the Moon House.

Some instinct made him look up and there, lit faintly by a candle, he could see Hester, her head bowed, one hand resting splayed against the glass as though to touch the moon that was reflected there.

‘Hester, I love you. I will make it right, I promise you.’

‘My lord?’ A groom was swinging the gates open.

‘What? Oh, nothing, just thinking aloud. Thank you, Wilkins. Give him a good rub down and extra oats, he’s done well today.’

Hester came down to breakfast the next morning filled with a kind of bitter energy that cowed her household into silence. As she met their anxious eyes her resolve almost faltered, then she took a deep breath and sat down. ‘I am not going to discuss what happened yesterday. You all know the truth, but l forbid you to offer any kind of explanation to Lord Buckland or his sister. You will not speak or have any kind of communication with them. Neither they, nor any of their servants, will set foot in this house. Do I make myself plain?’

‘But, Hester, if he knew the truth…’ Maria faltered with what Hester realised was considerable courage. Explaining felt like running a knife into her heart, but she knew she owed them that.

‘If I, or you, tell him the truth, how will I ever know he trusts me? If he cannot tell what and who I am, then I do not want him, or his love.’

‘Bastard,’ Jethro muttered, his face red with emotion. Hester could tell he was close to tears.

‘I am sorry, we will have to find you another mentor in place of Mr Parrott,’ she said gently.

‘I don’t care. If he works for him, I don’t want his advice, not no how.’

Silence fell, broken only by Susan mechanically lifting eggs out of the skillet on to a plate and Miss Prudhome tearfully making tea.

‘Are we going to move away?’ Susan ventured at last as they sat down and began to eat. Hester found that she could. It seemed that hunger, or at least hunger stimulated by the smell of frying bacon, could overcome even a broken heart. From somewhere a small, twisted gleam of humour tried to raise its head.

‘What? Cut and run? I think not. We have a party to prepare for and most of the gentry for two miles around invited to it. There will be two fewer guests than I had planned upon; we will not regard that.’ She looked around at their startled faces. ‘I have done nothing wrong. I do not intend skulking off like a pariah, especially after I have offered hospitality to friends.’