Page 14 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)

Hester hung back with her aunts, watching the reunion.

Lady Burrowes was everything aristocratic that Hester was not: perfectly groomed, exquisitely dressed, her iron-grey hair arranged in elaborate curls.

Yet there was genuine warmth in her embrace, real tears in her eyes as she held Freddie at arm's length to look at him.

"You're too thin," she declared. "But otherwise you look well, thank God!" Her gaze shifted to the other occupants of the room. "And your companions…?"

Freddie made the introductions. "Miss Hester Wynstanley and her aunts, Miss Cecilia and Miss Felicity Wynstanley. They found me after I suffered an accident and nursed me back to health."

Lady Burrowes clasped Hester's hands in her own.

"My dear girl, we can never thank you enough.

" Her eyes, a darker shade of blue than Freddie's but no less striking, studied Hester's face intently.

Whatever she saw there made her smile. "You must all stay with us, of course. I won't hear of anything else."

"You're very kind, my lady," Hester began, but Lady Burrowes was already ringing for tea and issuing instructions to servants about rooms.

"Anthony will be here shortly," she told Freddie, referring to her son, Lord Burrowes.

"He's been gathering evidence about Edmund's activities these past months.

Suspected something was amiss, though we never dreamed.

.." She broke off, composing herself. "But that's for later.

First, we must see to getting everyone settled. "

The next few hours passed in a whirl of activity.

Hester and her aunts were shown to a suite of rooms more luxurious than anything they'd ever seen.

Lady Burrowes' personal maid appeared with fresh and extremely fashionable garments for them all, explaining apologetically that her ladyship had had to guess at sizes.

"We'll remedy that tomorrow," Lady Burrowes announced at dinner. "I've already sent word to my modiste. She'll come first thing in the morning."

"Oh, but we couldn't possibly..." Hester protested.

"Nonsense. You'll need proper clothes for society. I won't have anyone saying my grandson's rescuers aren't appropriately dressed." Lady Burrowes' tone brooked no argument.

Freddie caught Hester's eye across the table and gave her an apologetic half-smile. He looked completely at home in these luxurious surroundings, Hester thought, as though the days at Plas Wyn had been merely an interlude in his real life.

The next morning brought Madame Celeste, who clucked and measured and draped fabrics around Hester while Lady Burrowes made decisive pronouncements about colours and styles. The aunts were similarly attended to, though they insisted they required less extensive wardrobes.

"You have excellent bones," Madame declared, circling Hester. "And such a lovely figure. We shall make you the toast of the town."

"I don't need to be the toast of anything," Hester protested. "Just something suitable for giving evidence about Lord Freddie's recovery, if it's required."

Lady Burrowes and Madame exchanged knowing looks. "My dear," Lady Burrowes said gently, "you'll be doing much more than giving evidence. You'll be entering society. We must do it properly."

Through an open door, Hester caught glimpses of Freddie conferring with Lord Burrowes in the library. Lord Burrowes was a serious-looking man with kind brown eyes, who treated his nephew with obvious affection. They pored over papers together, speaking in low voices.

"Edmund's been gambling heavily," Hester overheard Lord Burrowes say. "And there are witnesses who overheard a conversation between him and Montague, an argument really, in which Edmund insisted you must be dead and didn't sound in the least regretful."

"As he wouldn't be," Freddie answered. "Sebastian did his level best to ensure it."

Their voices faded as they moved deeper into the library. Hester turned her attention back to Madame Celeste, who was holding up lengths of blue silk and green muslin for Lady Burrowes' approval.

"Both," her ladyship decided. "The blue will look delightful on her. And the green will bring out the gold flecks in those pretty hazel eyes."

Later that afternoon, as Hester sat with Lady Burrowes while the aunts napped, the older woman studied her over her teacup.

"You know," she said casually, "I haven't seen Freddie look at anyone the way he looks at you since he was a little boy watching his mother play the pianoforte."

Hester nearly dropped her cup. "My lady, I assure you..."

"Oh, I don't think he knows it yet himself," Lady Burrowes continued serenely. "Men can be remarkably blind about their own hearts. But I know my grandson, and I see how his eyes follow you."

"He is the heir to an earldom," Hester said firmly. "And I am a country squire's daughter with barely enough income to maintain my home."

"I think you'll find neither of those things matter when it comes to the heart," Lady Burrowes replied. "Rank isn't everything, my dear."

But it was something, Hester thought as she stood before the mirror in her chamber a few days later.

The new blue silk gown, just delivered that evening, transformed her.

The modiste's skill had turned her height from awkward to elegant, had somehow made her sharp features look distinguished rather than plain.

Yet no amount of fine clothing could change who she was: a practical Welsh country girl who knew more about sheep farming than society small talk. Even if Lady Burrowes was right about Freddie's feelings, which she couldn't be, nothing could come of it.

Could it?

Hester pushed the dangerous thought away, took off the elegant gown and began plaiting her hair for bed. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and she needed her wits about her. She couldn't afford to dream impossible dreams.