Page 43 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

“ M ama, he is here!”

Arabella’s excited voice startled Hester, and she half-ruined the petal she’d just finished. She turned in time to see Bella dash out of the drawing room and into the foyer.

Setting her needlework down, Hester rose and followed Arabella out, her heart in her throat.

“He is here, Mama, look!” Arabella bounced on the balls of her feet as Edison opened the front door.

For a moment, the world pulled taut around Hester’s ribs. She almost asked, “Thomas?” But there had been no word from him.

Hester arranged her features into something calm and efficient though her hands shook as she smoothed her skirt. “Stay close, Arabella,” she said.

Arabella was already moving to the door. “He is smaller than I thought.”

Hester blinked as she recognized the figure in the doorway, she allowed herself a tight smile, and she took up the pretense of composure.

Mrs. Smith’s silhouette crossed the threshold first, and behind her was Noah. He was still more bone than boy, and his hair a shock of pale gold. He wore an awkwardly mended coat and clutched a parcel in both hands.

Only now did Hester remember that she had sent for him and Mrs. Smith four days ago. Since Thomas was gone, and Arabella was hers to look after, she thought to bring Noah here to live with her.

As soon as the door was closed, Mrs. Smith gave Noah a gentle nudge. “Go on, boy. Her Grace is eager to meet you.”

Noah advanced then stopped and bowed.

Hester bent, bringing herself level with his gaze. “Welcome to Lushton House, Noah.”

Noah peered up at her through his hair, and she thought she saw a glint of fear in his pale blue eyes. Hester extended a hand. He looked at it then placed his hand in hers. Hester squeezed it gently.

“I am very glad to see you,” Hester told the boy. “You remember me from St. Brigid’s, I hope?”

Noah nodded, once.

“I wrote to you,” Hester continued, “because I thought you might like to live here. There is a garden and a library and—” She was about to promise more, but the words caught. She swallowed. “And Arabella. My ward.”

Noah’s lips parted then closed again.

Hester looked up at Mrs. Smith. “Thank you. I hope you did not find the journey too taxing.”

Mrs. Smith smiled. “The boy never once complained, Your Grace. He is… eager. Even if he does not show it.”

At this, Noah’s ears turned a slight shade of pink, and the corners of his mouth curved upward.

Arabella stepped forward. “I am Arabella.”

“I…” Noah glanced up at Hester, and she gave him an encouraging smile. “I am Noah.”

“Would you like to see the toys Mama bought me? I have a ballerina and a little house.” Bella held her hand out to him, and hesitantly, he took it. She dragged him up the stairs, chattering as she went.

“I must say, Your Grace, that Miss Arabella’s spirit is much revived.”

Hester nodded at Mrs. Smith. “Miss Wilmot is taking great pains with her.”

“I am sure Noah will be a good companion for her,” Mrs. Smith said.

“I hope so. I…” Hester caught herself. “Thank you for bringing him so quickly. I know the request was sudden.”

Mrs. Smith straightened. “It’s no burden, Your Grace. Better for the house to have a child in it than all the new upholstery in London.”

Upstairs, laughter rang out: Arabella’s then—surprisingly—Noah’s brittle voice.

There is hope yet… Hester stood for a moment, uncertain what to do with her hands or her heart. She was glad for the children, and she told herself it was enough.

But she looked toward the door, wishing, not for the first time, that a different shadow might be waiting on the other side.

“You cannot stay home tomorrow, Hester; I forbid it,” Nancy declared, waving a silver fork with enough force to launch her peas onto the tablecloth.

Hester set down her glass and made herself smile. “I will try to drag myself to the end of the lane if only to avoid a visit from the constables when you come to collect me.”

Anna, seated two places down, arched her brow. “It is not Nancy you need fear; she is all threat and no follow-through. It is I who will appear at your doorstep, carriage or no carriage, and physically carry you to my drawing room.”

Fiona, pressing a napkin to her lips, said, “She would, too. And she would not care who saw.”

“I would care,” Nancy put in. “But only because the world deserves to see such drama. We have a duty to Society to keep them entertained.”

Hester, flanked by Patience and her brother, Leonard, watched the exchange with a blend of bemusement and fatigue.

The dinner, meant to be cheerful and restorative, instead felt like an elaborate performance staged for her benefit.

Her friends knew what had happened; her family did not.

The pressure of so many eyes—solicitous, worried, expectant—made the walls of the dining room seem closer than usual.

Patience, whose appetite had returned along with her color, dabbed delicately at the corners of her mouth. “Are you ladies discussing an event?” she asked.

“A soirée,” Anna supplied. “Tomorrow at my house. All the best people will be there, of course.”

Nancy jumped in, “And your daughter will be the queen of it. We have arranged for the most outrageous charades, and I expect her to lead the charge.”

Patience beamed at Hester. “You must go, my darling. You have been indoors too long.”

Leonard, barely hiding a smile, added, “If you refuse, we will all die of boredom.”

“That would be a pity,” Hester said. “There are so few of you left, as it is.”

She felt the conversation drifting, the current of camaraderie meant to carry her with it. But beneath the laughter ran a deeper tension: a question waiting to be asked.

When the second course was served, Patience set down her fork with a decisiveness that silenced the table. “Where is your husband, Hester?” she asked. “I have not seen him in days.”

Nancy’s hand paused mid-reach for the decanter. Anna’s glass hovered an inch above the cloth, Fiona went very still. Leonard kept his face carefully blank.

Hester met her mother’s gaze. “He is at the estate in Dorset, Mama. There was urgent business with the tenants. I expect him to return within the week.”

Patience seemed to accept this, but her eyes lingered on Hester’s face a moment too long.

“Men are always chasing something,” Patience pronounced at last. “It is their nature. But they always return to the hearth in the end.”

Hester looked down at her plate. “I am sure you are right, Mama.”

After dinner, as the table was cleared, the women withdrew to the smaller drawing room. The fire was already burning though the evening was mild; Anna and Nancy flanked Hester on the settee while Fiona stretched out on the rug, content to be nearer the warmth.

Patience joined them with Leonard trailing a respectful distance behind.

“Will you really come tomorrow?” Anna pressed, lowering her voice so only the three of them could hear.

“If you are so desperate for my company, I will appear,” Hester said. “Though I cannot promise to be the life of your party.”

Nancy reached over and squeezed her hand. “We do not need a performance. We just need you.”

Fiona sat up, legs tucked beneath her. “Arabella is welcome as well. The child is a delight.”

“She will be there, then,” Hester said, glancing toward the upper landing where the sound of running feet could be heard.

Anna stood, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. “We should leave Hester to her family,” she announced. “I have ten thousand arrangements to finish before dawn, and Nancy will help whether she likes it or not.”

Nancy protested but rose all the same. “Promise me, Duchess.”

“I promise,” Hester said.

They hugged her—Fiona’s embrace soft and scented with lavender, Anna’s brief and brisk, Nancy’s a tangle of arms and laughter—and left as a cluster, coats swirling and voices echoing in the hall.

Hester stayed on the settee, watching the fire gutter as the door shut behind them. It took her a full minute to notice that Patience had not followed the crowd but instead remained in the far chair, hands folded in her lap.

Leonard drifted in and out, muttering something about correspondence and leaving the two women alone.

Patience waited until the house was nearly silent before speaking. “How are you, my heart?”

Hester kept her gaze fixed on the carpet. “I am perfectly well, Mama.”

Patience tsked. “You never did know how to lie. Not even as a child.”

This disarmed Hester; she let her shoulders fall, allowed herself to sink into the cushions. “I am tired,” she admitted. “That is all.”

Patience nodded. “Tired is not the end of the world.”

They sat in companionable silence, the only sound the clock marking out the minutes.

“I have been thinking of your father,” Patience said, abruptly. “How we used to quarrel. How I would say the most dreadful things, and he would storm out and refuse to speak to me for a day or more.” She smiled, wistful. “But every time, he returned. And every time, I let him.”

Hester glanced at her mother, startled by the clarity of her tone. “You never told me that.”

Patience shrugged. “It is not the sort of thing one tells a daughter. But I tell you now because you remind me of him. The way you look when you are hurt—the way you fight not to show it.”

“I do not think Thomas will come back,” Hester said so quietly, she was not sure the words had left her mouth.

Patience reached across the space, took Hester’s hand, and held it with surprising strength. “That is nonsense,” she said. “He loves you. Anyone can see it.”

Hester shook her head, bitter. “He left because I told him at the start that I did not want a true marriage.”

“Then ask him to come back.”

“It is not so simple.”

Patience laughed, the sound as bright and youthful as Hester remembered from before her father’s death. “It is, though. You just say it. You say, I want you, I love you, come home. And if he does not listen, you say it again and again until he does.”

Hester felt the tears build but held them back.

Patience squeezed her hand insistently. “Do not be so proud, Hester. I was proud, once, and it cost me time I can never get back.”

There was a thump overhead, Arabella’s unmistakable footfall, followed by a burst of laughter. Hester let it anchor her.

“I will think about what you have said,” Hester whispered.

Patience leaned in, kissing her cheek. “Think, and then do. Love is worth it, even when it hurts.”

Hester felt the tears break finally, silent and hot. She allowed herself to be held, to be small again, just for a moment.

When the fire died to embers, Patience stood and kissed her once more. “Good night, my darling,” she said, and left the room.

Hester sat in the hush, hands clasped tight. She thought of Thomas: how desperately she wanted to see him. She thought of her own heart and of how much she had denied it.

Could Mama be right? she wondered.

The question circled her mind as the clock chimed out the hour, neither answered nor dismissed.