Page 25 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

“ Y ou two were all anyone could talk about yesterday at the ball,” Craton declared, raising his glass before setting it back down with a pleased thud.

Hester’s hands stilled briefly on the tablecloth. She looked around at her guests—all seated comfortably at the long mahogany table in their dining room—and felt a quiet rush of satisfaction.

Everyone had come, just as she’d hoped. Anna and Colin. Fiona and Isaac. Nancy, always in the center of any mischief. And of course, Thomas at her side, looking far too at ease in a world he claimed not to understand.

“Not just at the ball,” said Colin, helping himself to more wine.

“They’re still the subject of town gossip.

As we were leaving, I overheard a most animated discussion about whether the Duke and Duchess of Lushton might return to the season…

or whether they’d simply disappeared into matrimonial bliss. ”

“Matrimonial bliss?” Hester echoed under her breath, lifting her glass to conceal the faint curve at her lips.

Thomas gave a low chuckle beside her and shook his head. “The way ye English folk fashion gossip into currency ought to be studied. Proper scholars and all.”

“Then perhaps you should study it,” Craton grinned. “You’re the one proposing research.”

Thomas tilted his head, feigning solemnity. “I know my priorities, thank ye kindly.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Craton asked, his brows lifting in mock offence.

“I believe he means to imply that we have no such thing,” Colin offered, slicing into a cut of lamb with all the seriousness of a judge handing down a sentence.

Laughter passed around the table like a shared toast.

“Careful there, Lushton,” Anna said, setting down her glass. “Your wife is English.”

“Indeed,” added Colin. “One poorly chosen word and you’ll find yourself exiled to the library.”

Thomas turned toward her now, one brow raised ever so slightly. “Ach, I know well enough how to get into trouble with my wife,” he said. “And out of it too, if it comes to that.”

His gaze met hers—and lingered. There was something in his expression, something unmistakably wicked beneath the civility. Hester’s cheeks warmed before she could stop them.

“Oh, I daresay he enjoys getting into trouble,” Craton said, exchanging a pointed look with Colin.

More laughter. The table seemed to echo with it, the room warm and close from candlelight and company. Thomas only offered another indulgent shake of his head.

“Honestly,” Nancy sighed, dramatic as ever, “everyone around me is pairing off. I shall have no one left to cause scandal with at this rate.”

“Are you collecting us like a line of porcelain dolls, Nancy?” Fiona asked from the far end where she had shown far more interest in the roast duck than the conversation.

“My, isn’t that an idea,” Nancy mused aloud, her grin too bright to be harmless.

“Sounds ominous,” Hester murmured, her own laughter rising again.

Dinner passed in a whirl of wine, wit, and teasing remarks.

And later, as they retired to the drawing room, Fiona took to the pianoforte with ease.

The music drifted through the air—light and clever, like the mood that hung between them all.

Glasses clinked, cushions shifted, and conversation resumed with the sort of comfort only old friends shared.

Hester found herself drawn aside by Anna, who offered her a glass of ratafia and a look far too perceptive.

“Are you quite well, Hester?”

“Never better,” Hester replied, careful to keep her voice level.

Anna said nothing for a moment. Just watched her. Hester busied herself with smoothing the silk skirt at her lap.

But the truth was another matter.

She wanted to feel in control. She had told herself as much, again and again. Her days were ordered. Her speech measured. Her heart protected.

And yet… her gaze drifted toward the hearth where Thomas stood with Colin and Craton, his glass in hand, his laughter warm and full. He looked utterly at ease, as though this world had always belonged to him. And she?—

She wanted to be the reason he laughed that way.

The thought landed like a stone in her chest. Where had it come from? Why did it feel so perilous?

She recalled the way he had looked at her last night at the ball. Calling Paisley a King’s fool. Narrowing his eyes when Alderton requested a dance. He had said little. But he hadn’t needed to.

Heaven help her, she had liked it. She turned away quickly, her heart pounding.

“Do not try to force change, Hester.”

Hester blinked, pulled from her thoughts so abruptly it took her a moment to focus. “What?” she asked, brow furrowing as she turned her full attention to Anna.

Her friend stood near the open drawing room window where a faint breeze stirred her skirts.

Anna touched a hand lightly to her own chest. “In here,” she said. “Whatever you feel, leave it be. Embrace it for what it is. It does not respond well to being tampered with.”

Hester studied her carefully. The candor in Anna’s eyes, the sudden depth to her tone—it was unlike her. Or perhaps Hester had simply never looked closely enough. Anna had always been the thoughtful one. The intuitive one. And now, she was speaking truths Hester had not voiced even to herself.

Her lips curved though it felt slightly forced. “Oh, I do believe you are worrying for nothing, Anna dear. All is perfectly well with me.”

Anna’s silence said otherwise.

Still, Hester gave a soft chuckle, the sort one offered when the matter had grown too serious and needed to be quickly whisked back to comfort.

She would not follow the thread of Anna’s meaning.

She couldn’t . That path would lead to questions she had no intention of answering. Not tonight. Perhaps not ever.

She turned instead toward the fire, watching the shadows shift along the hearthrug. Whatever Anna had meant to say could float on, unguided and unanswered.

Hester had chosen her path. And she had no intention of picking up any sentiments that might slow her step.

Later, when the hour grew late and coats and shawls were collected, Hester stood at the door embracing each of their guests in turn.

“Oh, I shall miss you more,” she said warmly as she hugged Anna tightly. The others echoed the sentiment with smiles and more kisses on cheeks.

They were all to return to town come morning. The thought gave her a slight pang, for the evening had felt… full. She would dearly miss that.

As the party made their way down the steps, Hester paused just inside the doorway, watching Thomas speak with Copperton and Craton near the carriage.

“I’ll have the new contract drawn up and sent to you both before the week’s end,” he was saying.

She tilted her head, curious. Craton and Copperton nodded along, clearly familiar with the matter.

“Oh, it’s been five years, and you’re still just as maddeningly efficient,” Craton laughed. “There’s no need to rush, Lushton. We’re happy to wait.”

Hester’s brows lifted. Five years?

She hadn’t realized Thomas and Craton had known one another for so long. Nor that their business ties predated his ascension. What sort of work had occupied him before he’d inherited the dukedom?

What manner of wife was she that she knew nigh on nothing about her husband? Sighing, she tucked the thought away.

“Very well,” Thomas replied, and the men clasped hands before parting.

She turned and walked back into the castle. In the drawing room, she perched on the edge of a settee. Silence fell for a beat before Thomas joined her.

“Ye were unsurprisingly remarkable tonight, Duchess,” Thomas said, approaching her with the ghost of a smile.

Hester’s lips lifted in response. “I never cease to amaze you, do I?”

“Indeed,” he said. “Though it appears you are quickly forgetting yer humility.”

“Well, you are terribly contagious, Thomas. It was bound to happen.”

They both laughed before his expression softened. Then, just as swiftly, it sobered.

“I ought to tell you this now,” he said. “I’ll be leaving at first light.”

“Leaving?”

The word escaped her before she could temper it, sharp and far too revealing. Hester straightened at once, willing her spine not to betray her sudden unease. But the feeling, low and cold, had already curled deep in her stomach.

Thomas nodded. “There’s been trouble at Norwood. The river rose and took part of the bridge with it. Two tenant cottages were damaged as well. I must see to it.”

She stared at him, her thoughts briefly muddled by the mention of a place she barely knew. Norwood. One of the estates listed in the documents of his possessions she had seen after their marriage but little more than a name to her.

“I ought to have left this morning,” he went on. “But I did not wish to leave you to manage the hosting alone.”

She shook her head though whether it was in denial or discomfort, she couldn’t quite say. “You needn’t have stayed on my account.”

But even as she said it, her chest gave a strange little pull.

It was foolish. He wasn’t going to war. He was not vanishing to the West Indies. It was a simple matter of duty, and he was being responsible. Attentive, even. Yet the very thought of waking to an empty chamber, of moving through the house without his voice somewhere in it, left her… unsettled.

Was she?—?

No. Certainly not.

“I’ve already written with instructions ahead of me,” Thomas said, watching her now. “The steward will have the work begun by the time I arrive. It needn’t be more than a few days.”

She gave a slow nod, her throat tight. There was nothing to say. Nothing sensible at least.

He watched her for a moment longer then added, “I shall return before the week’s end, Hester. That much I promise.”

She offered him a small smile.

By the time she awoke the next morning, the castle held a silence that felt too cold.

She dressed without her usual deliberateness and declined breakfast altogether. Her feet carried her from one end of the castle to the other without aim, until she found herself in the gallery where the wind rattled against the windows with an insistent sort of warning.

“Close those windows,” came Mrs. Smith’s voice from down the hallway. “And the ones on the second floor of the East Wing’s main hallway. We shall not have rain inside this place, not if I can help it.”

Hester paused near the windows and looked out. The sky had turned a miserable pewter. Candles had been lit throughout the halls though it was barely noon.

A storm, surely. How appropriate.

She returned to her study and took up her embroidery though her fingers moved sluggishly, and her eyes kept wandering to the window. Thomas had only been gone a few hours. Could the storm reach him? Would it hinder his journey? What was this restlessness? This sour mood she could not seem to shake?

She stabbed the needle through the fabric, only to find she’d tangled the thread. Letting out a quiet sigh, she set the hoop down and stood, smoothing her skirts with unnecessary precision.

That was when she heard muffled voices and hurried footsteps. Her heart lurched.

Something had happened.

Hester left the room swiftly and moved into the hallway. The sound grew louder then came Mrs. Smith’s voice as she said, “Oh, this is a most unfortunate thing!”

She reached the top of the staircase and descended. In the front hall, a small crowd had gathered. Mrs. Smith, the butler, and two footmen were standing just inside the open doors as the wind blew over them.

“Did you find her?” Mrs. Smith asked a young footman who had just returned, drenched.

“No,” the footman gasped, his shoulders heaving as rainwater dripped from his hair onto the marbled floor. “Not a trace of her. We searched the hedgerow and the road back to the woods.”

Mrs. Smith let out a breath that was sharp and irritated. “You do not mean to tell me she has vanished into thin air. Not after what she’s left us.”

“What is going on here?” Hester asked as she crossed the last few feet to them.

The small cluster of servants parted at once. And there, just within the doorway, stood a child.

A girl.

She could not have been more than five or six.

Her frock,thin and soaked through, clung to her slight frame.

Her boots were caked with mud, and her hair was matted and dark with rain, strands clinging to her cheeks like vines.

Hester stared at her piercing blue eyes, a thousand questions swirling within her.

The girl said nothing and simply stood, clutching a worn satchel with both arms as though it were the only anchor she had left.

“There was a woman,” Mrs. Smith began. “She arrived without warning, asked for no one in particular, and left the child just there on the doorstep. She disappeared before anyone could stop her. We believe she must have been the mother though why she came here, of all places, remains a mystery.”

Hester stepped forward slowly, heart tightening in her chest. She lowered herself until her eyes were level with the girl’s.

“What is your name, little one?” she asked, her voice gentle.

No reply. The girl merely blinked, the fingers around her satchel clenching tighter.

What sort of mother left her child like this? And in such weather?

“There is no use, Your Grace,” Mrs. Smith said. “She has not uttered a single word. Not her name, not a sound.”

Hester’s gaze remained on the girl for a moment before her thoughts moved to Noah.

He was another child who had been left behind. But while Noah had been entirely withdrawn, this little girl seemed utterly aware. Watchful. As though assessing the rules of this new world she’d been dropped into.

Without a word, the child released her grip on the satchel and unfastened the flap. From inside, she pulled out a folded piece of parchment, already damp at the corners.

She held it out to Hester with a trembling hand. Her brows drawn, she accepted the note and unfolded it.

Lushton,

Here is the burden you left me with. I can no longer bear it. You must look after your daughter now.

Hester stared at the words.

Daughter? Lushton’s?

She looked up at the child again, her vision swimming. The ground seemed to tilt ever so slightly beneath her feet.