Page 15 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)
Chapter Eight
Hester had never felt more out of place than she did crossing the threshold of Lady Arabella Grey's morning room.
The gilt-edged mirrors lining the walls reflected back a young woman who, despite her new London-made gown, looked every inch the country mouse she truly was.
She clasped her hands tightly together, willing herself to maintain the composure expected of a guest in such refined company.
She hadn't wanted to attend this gathering, but Lady Burrowes had insisted it would look odd if they refused the invitation.
"One must maintain appearances," her ladyship had said firmly. "Besides, we must show Edmund we have nothing to hide."
So here they were, Hester in her new green muslin, her aunts in lavender and grey respectively, while Lady Burrowes made serene conversation with their hostess.
Freddie moved through the crowd with easy grace, though Hester noticed he kept himself positioned where he could see both his uncle and the door.
He'd already cautioned them that none of their party should eat or drink anything in this house.
Lady Arabella Grey was everything Hester had imagined a doyenne of Society to be: thin as a rake, with a permanent sneer of superiority on her round face. She held court from a gilt chair like a queen on her throne, dispensing frigid smiles and cutting remarks with equal precision.
"Miss Wynstanley," Lady Arabella called suddenly. "Do come here, my dear. I've been positively dying to hear all about your little establishment in Wales."
Hester approached with caution, feeling rather like a mouse being summoned by a cat. She was uncomfortably aware of the attention of the entire room.
"Whatever does one do to keep busy, in… Wales? I cannot imagine anything more dull." Lady Arabella smirked.
A titter ran through the assembled ladies. Hester felt colour rising in her cheeks but kept her voice steady as she replied, "We find plenty to occupy our time, my lady. The countryside has its own particular charms."
"Oh yes, I'm sure. Do tell us about these... charms. I understand you keep sheep?"
"The tenants keep sheep," Hester corrected gently. "I merely manage the estate."
"How fascinating." Lady Arabella's tone suggested it was anything but. "And you do this... management... yourself? Without a steward?"
"We cannot afford such luxuries," Hester admitted. There was no point in pretending otherwise; her circumstances were what they were.
"Indeed." Lady Arabella turned to address the room at large. "Ladies, is it not remarkable? Miss Wynstanley here performs the duties of a common steward. Such industry is quite unprecedented among young ladies of gentle birth."
The implications hung heavy in the air. Hester fought to maintain her composure as whispers and meaningful glances passed between the assembled women. A young lady seated near her actually shifted away slightly, as though Hester's reduced circumstances might be catching.
"I understand you even assist with the actual shepherding sometimes," Lady Arabella continued relentlessly. "How... novel. Do tell us, Miss Wynstanley, does one require special attire for such activities? I cannot imagine anything in my modiste's collection would be suitable."
"Old clothes suffice well enough," Hester said, striving for brevity. Words were weapons to this woman. She would not give any more than she must.
"How fascinating it must be," Lady Arabella continued, "to live so... rustically. Do tell us, what does one do for entertainment in such a remote location? Besides nursing mysterious strangers back to health, of course." Her thin lips curved in what might technically be called a smile.
"We find plenty to occupy ourselves," Hester replied evenly. "Books, music, conversation with neighbours."
"Neighbours? Oh, how delightful. And are they all farmers, or are there some people of... quality ... in the area?"
The implied insult hung in the air. Hester lifted her chin slightly. "We're fortunate in our neighbours. Quality, my lady, takes many forms."
A titter ran through the watching crowd and Hester felt briefly triumphant. Lady Arabella's eyes narrowed.
"How democratic of you," she said sweetly. "Perhaps you'd favour us with a demonstration of Welsh country entertainment? Do you play the pianoforte?"
"A little," Hester admitted cautiously. She could see Freddie starting to move toward them, but he was trapped behind a cluster of elderly ladies.
"Oh, you must play for us!" Lady Arabella clapped her hands. "Sebastian, do escort Miss Wynstanley to the instrument."
Sebastian Grey appeared at Hester's elbow, his resemblance to Freddie marred by the malicious glint in his eyes. "It would be my pleasure."
Hester had no choice but to allow herself to be led to the pianoforte. She knew the instrument was far superior to her old one at home, knew equally well that she wasn't nearly accomplished or well-practiced enough to do it justice. Her fingers trembled slightly as she settled on the bench.
"What shall it be?" Sebastian asked loudly. "A Welsh folk song, perhaps? Something... rustic?"
Hester's cheeks burned. She began to play a simple country air, one she knew well enough to manage despite her nervousness.
But the unfamiliar touch of the keys, the watching eyes, the knowledge of the trap she'd walked into, all conspired against her.
Her fingers stumbled, producing a jarring discord.
"Oh dear," Lady Arabella's voice cut through the silence. "Perhaps music isn't quite the same priority in the country as it is in town."
"I believe Miss Wynstanley's talents lie in more practical directions," Sebastian added. "Sheep-farming, perhaps?"
Hester's hands fell still on the keys. She could feel tears threatening and blinked them back fiercely. She would not give them the satisfaction.
Before Hester could formulate a response that wouldn't further damage her dignity, the door opened and Freddie entered.
He looked particularly handsome in a well-cut morning coat, his fair hair catching the sunlight streaming through the tall windows.
His presence caused an immediate stir among the young ladies present.
"Ah, Frederick." Lady Arabella's tone warmed considerably. "How fortunate. Miss Wynstanley was just enlightening us about her unique approach to estate management."
Freddie's blue eyes met Hester's across the room, and she saw in them a flash of understanding and anger. "Indeed? Then I'm sure you're all thoroughly impressed by her capabilities. Miss Wynstanley's management of her estate is exemplary."
"Quite." Sebastian Grey's cultured voice held a note of mockery. "Though perhaps not quite what one expects from a young lady of quality ."
Hester watched as several of the young ladies present preened, clearly hoping to present themselves as more suitable alternatives to a shepherd-girl from Wales. The contrast between their immaculate appearances and her own simpler presentation had never felt more stark.
"I find capability extremely attractive in a woman," Freddie said firmly, making his way to Hester's side. "Far more so than idle accomplishments practiced solely to attract a husband."
Several of the preening young ladies wilted visibly. Lady Arabella's expression soured, though she maintained her social smile. "How progressive of you, Frederick. Though surely you must agree that certain standards of behaviour are expected in our circles?"
The emphasis on 'our' was subtle but unmistakable.
Hester felt the full weight of what she was up against: not just Lady Arabella's disapproval, but generations of ingrained social expectations and class distinctions.
Even with Freddie standing supportively beside her, the gulf between their worlds seemed vast and unbridgeable.
"I believe I can judge for myself what standards matter," Freddie replied coolly. "Miss Wynstanley, might I escort you to view the conservatory? I believe you mentioned an interest in exotic blooms."
Hester gratefully accepted his arm, though she could feel Lady Arabella's disapproving gaze boring into her back as they withdrew. In the relative privacy of the conservatory, surrounded by verdant foliage, she finally allowed herself to tremble slightly.
"I apologise for my aunt's behaviour," Freddie said quietly. "She can be quite..."
"There's no need to apologise," Hester interrupted. "She only spoke the truth, after all. I am not of your world, Freddie."
He turned to face her, his expression serious. "My world could use more people like you in it. People who understand the value of honest work and genuine capability."
Hester's heart squeezed painfully in her chest. His kindness only made things harder, for it allowed hope to flutter where she knew it should not. "Nevertheless," she said softly, "your aunt is not wrong about the differences between us."
"The only differences that matter are the ones we allow to matter," Freddie insisted, but Hester could hear the slight uncertainty in his voice. He might wish to ignore society's strictures, but they both knew it wasn't that simple.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of subtle snubs and pointed comments, each one a small cut to Hester's dignity.
By the time she finally took her leave, her composure felt as fragile as the fine china they'd drunk from.
The carriage ride home gave her time to reflect on the vast social gulf between herself and Freddie, and the near-impossibility of bridging it.
Yet when she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of his presence beside her in the conservatory, still see the earnest conviction in his expression when he'd defended her. Perhaps that made it all worse, for it gave her heart permission to hope when her head knew better.