Page 36 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

“ M y darlings! My darlings!” Patience sang out as Hester and Thomas crossed the threshold into the Hightower drawing room. “Oh, come to me at once, both of you!”

She looked resplendent in a dark green dress that was several years out of fashion, and she rushed forward with arms wide as if she meant to sweep her daughter and the Duke up in one fell embrace.

Thomas stepped forward and caught Patience’s outstretched hand, bowed smartly, and pressed his lips to her knuckles before she could even issue the command. Hester let herself be enveloped in her mother’s embrace.

“You look very beautiful, Mama,” Hester said.

Patience beamed. “So do you, my dear. Doesn’t she, Thomas? Isn’t she the most graceful creature in London?”

“I would not argue the point, My Lady,” Thomas replied.

“See?” Patience grinned as Leo came forward and bowed.

“Welcome to our home.”

“I’m honored to be here,” Thomas replied.

Patience, who had never required more than the faintest breeze to be swept into action, clapped her hands twice and declared, “Dinner is to be served in the small dining room. I thought it would be cozier, don’t you agree? Come, come, let us not stand on ceremony!”

Hester smiled because in that instant, her mother appeared to be her former self.

Patience herded them down the hallway, past the marble bust of Sir Francis Bacon, saying, “your father’s favorite philosopher, Hester, you remember?” and into the dining room where a small, circular dining table waited.

As the first course arrived, Patience wasted no time in setting up the dinner conversation. “I want to hear everything. How is the castle? Have you begun making improvements? Hester, did you not find the Dorset air better than Town? Country air always did wonders for your father’s lungs?—”

Hester held her breath as her mother stopped abruptly and blinked as though she was trying to recall something while Leonard winced.

“Lushton Castle is splendid, Mama,” Hester replied, silently praying that her mother would not slip into her haze of grief.

“The castle is thriving. Mostly thanks to your daughter, who has remade the place entirely in her image. She’s become something of a legend in Dorset.”

“Well, I should hope so! My darling girl deserves her own legend. It is what I always wished for her. And I am grateful to you, Thomas.”

Leonard smiled across the table. “If you’re not careful, Hester, your new husband may become the favorite child.”

“Oh, he’s already the favorite,” Patience said. “He writes me letters, did you know? Letters! Entire pages, sometimes two.” She shot a look at Leonard, who feigned deep offense.

“I was under the impression,” Leonard replied, “that you preferred the suspense of not knowing my whereabouts for weeks at a time.”

“You wrote her letters?” Hester whispered to Thomas, and he only smiled and raised his wineglass. “To the best family in England, then.”

“To family,” echoed Patience, tears already threatening to make a ruin of her powder.

The soup was cleared, replaced by roast fowl.

Toward the end of the course, Patience set her fork aside with a sigh.

“You are so well matched,” she said, eyes sweeping over Hester and Thomas.

“It is exactly as I always dreamed, Hester. You’ve found a man who will love you forever. Your father is certainly very proud.”

There it was—the trapdoor. Hester felt it give way beneath her, but Leonard leaped in before she could.

“Mother,” he said, “let’s not?—”

But Patience overrode him, her gaze growing sharper with every word. “Your father is delayed of course. He wrote yesterday—did you see his letter, Hester? He is in Liverpool still but expects to return in a week, perhaps two. I don’t know how we shall manage the garden party without him.”

Hester’s hands clenched beneath the table. She could hear Leonard’s breathing change, could see the warning signs in his jaw, but she kept her eyes on her plate and willed the moment to pass. She didn’t dare look up at Thomas.

“He has never missed your birthday, Hester, not even once,” Patience continued. “I remember your third year, when the fever was so bad—I was sure we would lose you, but he sat by your bed every night and read you poetry until the fever broke. Do you remember it, my darling?”

She did not. She had never remembered it. But she nodded because it was easier than the alternative. Thomas’ large hand reached for hers underneath the table and squeezed. Hester closed her eyes.

Leonard cleared his throat. “Mother, it’s time for your?—”

But Patience cut him off as her smile turned brittle. “Do not interrupt, Leonard. We are celebrating. And your father will be home soon. I know it.”

The silence that followed was not merely awkward but alive, crawling across the table and latching itself onto every living soul in the room.

“I think,” Leonard said, rising, “that we should give you a moment, Mother.”

Patience’s composure buckled in an instant. Her hands flew to her face, and she began to sob, the sound strangled and hiccupping.

Hester shot to her feet, meaning to rush to her, but Leonard was already there. He kneeled beside their mother, wrapped his arms around her trembling frame, and murmured, “It’s all right, Mama. I know. I know.”

Thomas was sitting perfectly still when Hester dared to look at him. He neither looked surprised nor horrified.

“You are so like your father, Leonard.” Patience, lost in her storm, wailed. “You are so willful, so difficult. Go to the nursery at once. I cannot bear to see you until your father is home. Go!”

Leonard closed his eyes, nodded once, and rose. “I’ll see you soon, Mama,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. He slipped out of the room, not meeting Hester’s gaze.

Hester stood, moved toward her mother, and wrapped her arms around her. Patience calmed as abruptly as she’d fallen apart. She wiped her face, summoned a smile that looked as if it had been sewn on with thread, and patted her cheeks. “Forgive me, darling. I am always so silly these days.”

“You are never silly,” Hester said, and meant it. “You are the strongest woman I know.”

Patience looked at Thomas as hopeful as a child would. “I am so glad you have her. She was always so lonely before, weren’t you, Hester? Always reading, always sewing. I feared for her.”

Hester’s own voice seemed to come from another room. “Let us get you upstairs, Mama.”

Thomas rose, moving to her side in two silent strides. Patience’s smile collapsed and reformed before falling again. Hester helped her to her feet and guided her up to her chambers with Thomas following slowly behind.

When she was settled into her bed, she waved a hand at Thomas and Hester. “Go, go. Enjoy yourselves. I need to rest.”

Hester did not resist. She let Thomas guide her from the room, down the hall, and into the front foyer where Leonard leaned against the wall with his head bowed as if composing himself.

“Leo,” Hester whispered.

He straightened and tried to smile, but it faltered. “I’m all right. Is she?—?”

“She will be,” Hester said and wanted to believe it. She touched her brother’s arm then let her hand fall to her side. “I’m sorry. I should have?—”

He shook his head. “No one could have done better. It’s just the way of things now.” He ran a hand over his face then mustered a better smile. “You handled that well, Lushton. I think you might actually be the favorite child if you keep it up.”

Thomas allowed a small smile. “I find myself in excellent company.”

Leonard laughed, a short, grateful sound. He kissed Hester’s forehead, nodded to Thomas, and disappeared up the stairs.

The carriage was already waiting outside. Thomas helped Hester in, settled beside her, and gave the driver the signal to start.

For several streets, neither spoke. Hester pressed her face to the window, watching the city slide past in watery bands. She could see, in the reflection, Thomas watching her. She tried to offer him a smile, but her lips did not move.

At last, Thomas cleared his throat. “Ye did well, Hester.”

She shook her head, the words caught in her chest. “It’s not enough. I do not know how to help her.”

“She has ye and Leonard and now me,” Thomas said. “We’ll take care of her.”

“I know,” Hester said though she didn’t. Not really.

They fell silent again. Now and then, a memory of her father’s laugh, her mother’s voice, Leonard as a child—these would drift through her mind as insistent and formless as a mist.

When they reached Lushton House, Thomas helped her down and led her inside, up the stairs, and he waited until she was safely in her room before leaving her to the night.

She shut the door behind her, braced her back to the panel, and pressed her palms to her eyes. She did not weep. She would not. Tonight had reminded her of why she should never love a man.

“You will ruin your eyes if you squint with that much effort.”

Thomas looked up to find Hester in the library doorway, her hair a halo of brown curls around her shoulders and cascading down her back. He set the charcoal aside and rose. “If I were to choose between blindness and boredom, I’d take the blindness,” he said. “Come in, Hester.”

She entered, folding her arms for warmth. “You could not sleep either?”

He shook his head. “I’m better with work than with waiting. And I know what you’ll say—I should have left it till morning, but the hand wishes what the hand wishes.”

Hester smiled and perched on the edge of a nearby armchair. “What are you working on?”

Thomas turned the page so she could see the quick outline of a child that was unmistakably Bella with her hands raised to the sky as if conjuring a flock of birds overhead.

Drawing closer, she ran her finger along the edge of the sketch. “This is very good.”

Thomas shrugged. “I was bored often as a lad and drew on the walls of barns.”

She seemed to consider the drawing. “Bella will like this. She will see herself, I mean. Not all children can recognize their own faces in a picture.”

He took her in, measuring her exhaustion, and poured a splash of whisky into a small glass.

Hester accepted the drink. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence, the sort that only happened late at night when neither party could bear pretense. Thomas knew there was something on her mind, and he waited for her to speak.

“My mother,” she began after a while, “has been like that for years now. Sometimes she wakes in the morning and expects my father to appear at breakfast. Other days, she barely recognizes Leonard or me. There are stretches where she is entirely herself, and then the rest…” She gestured at nothing.

Thomas listened without comment.

“I thought it would get better with time,” Hester went on. “But it doesn’t. It’s like the house—some rooms are bright and busy, but the rest are locked away and left to the dust.”

Thomas refilled her glass. “Ye were close to him? Yer father.”

“Very,” she said. “He was the only one who understood me. Leonard belonged to the world, always, but I was his creature. Even after he died, I would catch myself—” She stopped as if fighting off the memory. “I never expected to have a husband.”

Thomas grinned. “Well, thank ye for lowering your standards.”

She almost laughed. “I do not mean it like that. I only—when the doctors said there was nothing more to be done for her, I thought I should take care of Leonard and her, and… and then you appeared. Or rather, the offer did.”

He looked at her carefully. “You agreed to marry me to make your mother happy.”

She nodded. “It seemed the only thing I could do. She was obsessed with the notion of her daughter married. It kept her anchored. And you were more pleasant than I thought you would be.”

He gave a low laugh. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received from ye, Hester.”

She smiled then sobered. “I almost chose someone else first.”

He straightened, a new alertness in both his mind and his posture. “Who?”

“The Marquess of Townstead,” she said, her cheeks coloring very slightly. “I was foolish enough to think he would pay me any attention, but he would not even dance with me.”

Thomas felt his jaw clench. “Was he the same one who made you cry the first night we met?” he asked.

She looked up, and her eyes widened a fraction. “I… yes, that was him.”

Thomas shook his head, as if dismissing the Marquess altogether. “He’s a fool. Though I suppose I ought to thank him. Had he not been so blind, I’d never have the pleasure.”

She stared at her hands while he straightened. “Ye should try to sleep,” he whispered.

Hester nodded but made no move toward the door. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the air between them growing dense with a question neither wanted to ask.

Then, with a gentleness that surprised her, Thomas put an arm around her shoulders and drew her in, holding her close. For a while, she leaned against him, and he could feel the thump of her heart.

“You are very warm,” she murmured, and Thomas tightened his hold.

“Ye’re not bad yerself.”

She snorted. “Is that another compliment?”

“The highest,” he said.

They stood that way until the flame in the hearth shrunk. Hester peeled herself away and cleared her throat. “Good night, Thomas.”

He nodded but did not watch her go. Instead, he turned back to the drawing and added a shadow to Bella’s chin. A sigh rose to his throat but refused to be released, and his chest tightened.

God help me, I want her to stay.

He knew the rules they had set, and he was keenly aware of the approaching time when she would walk out of his life as suddenly as she’d entered.