Page 1 of The Incident at Ingleton (Beau Monde Secrets #3)

May 1818

Lancashire, England

A fter the noises, smells, and bustle of London, the vicarage in Ingleton seemed unnaturally quiet. At first, Lady Hester Bracknell found it difficult to sleep in the unfamiliar guest bedchamber. By the third day of her visit, though, she’d come to appreciate the peaceful setting. She particularly appreciated it when she woke up with a pounding headache, which was not by any means an uncommon experience, though certainly an unwanted one.

In the Bracknell family’s London townhouse, it would have been hard to find a truly quiet place to rest during the worst of the pain. If there weren’t callers visiting all afternoon, there would have been errands to run or calls to pay, and people would have been dashing in and out of the house all day. Hester’s bedroom looked out into the street, which meant she heard carriages rattling along the road day and night.

Her bedroom in her older brother’s parsonage, on the other hand, looked into the churchyard next to St. John the Baptist church. The long-buried dead made for quiet neighbors, and the shadow of a towering yew tree blocked much of the afternoon light from her window. Hester put a cold compress on her forehead, closed her eyes, and listened to the soft sounds of leaves rustling in the wind and distant birdsong. They were far more soothing than the bustle of Berkeley Square.

She had nearly fallen asleep before her sister-in-law, Rose, popped her head into the room. “Are you quite all right, Hester? Can I get you anything?”

Hester moved the compress off her forehead and opened her eyes, though the sudden brightness hurt. “It is only one of my bad headaches. If you have peppermint tea or willow bark, that might help. Otherwise, I will just try to sleep it off.”

“I don’t think we have either of those.” Rose sounded genuinely regretful. “I do have some laudanum, though, left over from when Frank had a toothache. Would you like that?”

Hester sighed. “Only as a last resort. It can be dangerous, you know.” She closed her eyes again and returned the cool cloth to her forehead.

Her brother ought to know the dangers of laudanum. They’d both watched it take control of Aunt Patience’s life. Prescribed tincture of opium for her nerves, Aunt Patience took it daily, in greater and greater doses. If her supply ran out, she became restless, anxious, and sick to her stomach. Eventually, she died from accidentally taking too much laudanum.

At least, everyone said it was an accident. But how could they know for sure?

Hester refused to risk either the possibility of an overdose or of becoming dependent on the drug. The alternative methods of treating her megrims might be less effective, but they were also safer.

“Very well,” Rose said. “I can send a maid to the apothecary for willow bark and peppermint. But if you need anything else, let me know.”

I need my head to stop pounding! Hester kept that thought to herself, because there was nothing her sister-in-law could do to help. Sometimes a long afternoon nap put her megrims to rest. She had some hopes that the quiet coolness of her bedchamber might help sleep off the pain.

Unfortunately, sleep did not cure this headache. She woke up two hours later, her head still throbbing with pain. She blinked her eyes and looked around, so disoriented that she didn’t even recognize the room. When she sat up, the abrupt movement made her stomach roil.

But as she looked around, she recognized the room. She was in the guest chamber of Frank’s house, right where she should be. Someone—probably Rose—had placed a handbell next to the bed. Hester rang it, and though it took a few minutes, eventually one of the housemaids appeared.

“Yes, miss? I mean, yes, Lady Hester?” The young maid flushed at her error, then dropped a belated curtsy.

“I was wondering if I could have a cup of willow bark tea?” Hester whispered, because even the sound of her own voice hurt her ears.

“Yes, miss. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

How long, Hester wondered idly, did it take for a lamb to shake its tail? Certainly, nowhere near as long as it took to brew a cup of the apothecary’s headache cure, which included peppermint, willow bark, and a hefty serving of sugar. Hester considered the bitter taste well worth the relief the remedy brought. Even willow bark tea could not entirely defeat one of her “sick headaches,” but it pushed the pain back from a sharp throb to a dull ache.

Fortified by her drink, Hester forced herself downstairs to see if Rose needed help. She had been sent to Ingleton for the express purpose of helping her sister-in-law, since Rose’s expected date of confinement was only a month and a half away. Much help Hester would be if she spent every afternoon cowering in her bedchamber!

Hester found Rose in the kitchen, helping the cook with dinner plans. Rose’s golden curls had been confined to a severe-looking knot, and a long apron covered her morning gown. The apron protected Rose’s clothing, but she had still acquired a dusting of flour across her nose, and her hands were buried deep in a mound of dough.

Hester’s eyes widened at the sight of a lady in a delicate condition doing work that usually fell to servants. “Where did you learn how to cook?” she wondered aloud.

Rose’s father, Lord Rufford, was a baron. Though the Rufford family was neither as wealthy nor as high in status as the Bracknells, Hester had assumed that Rose’s upbringing must have been much like hers: a childhood spent in the nursery, followed by an education at the hands of an expensive governess, and concluded by a Court presentation to formally launch her into society. Though Hester had learned to embroider, net, and sew a hem, she’d never been taught the culinary arts.

Rose grinned at her. “Rather droll, isn’t it? I’ve learned a lot from Mrs. Barnes.” She nodded at the cook, who glanced up to return her smile before returning to basting a fowl. “I don’t always help in the kitchen, but when we have guests dining with us, all hands are needed on deck!” She wiped her face, but succeeded only in spreading the flour smear.

“Ah, yes! Your dinner party!” Hester’s heart dropped all the way to the floor. Somehow, she’d forgotten all about tonight’s dinner, though Rose had been chattering about it since Hester’s arrival.

“Of course, you don’t have to dine with us if you don’t feel well enough for company,” Rose assured Hester. “We can send a tray up for you, if you prefer.”

Hester very much preferred that option. When in good health, she enjoyed dinner parties as much as anyone. She liked meeting new people, because one never knew when one might make a new friend. But when she had one of her megrims, normally pleasant social interactions became a painful chore. She could not focus on conversations or remember new names when her head pounded the way it did today.

But it did not seem right to skip out on tonight’s dinner. Hester knew this was the last dinner party that Frank and Rose would host for some time. Rose’s accoucheur , Mr. Newman, advised all his patients to spend the last month of pregnancy resting. Rose and Frank, eager to do the right thing, intended to avoid most social events in the coming months.

“I don’t want to miss this party. It will be the perfect chance to meet a few of your neighbors.” Hester forced a smile, but the wrinkle on Rose’s forehead suggested she remained unconvinced. “Can I do anything to help?” she offered.

By now, Hester had already realized that her training as an aristocrat’s daughter hadn’t prepared her to take on the work of managing a household. She wasn’t sure how helpful she could really be during this visit. Still, she strove to be useful, so that some good would come of the scandal that drove her out of London for the rest of the season.

One of the maids, Daisy, showed Hester how to wash and dry dishes, and Hester took over the work in the scullery, leaving Daisy free to polish the silver. In a large country house, polishing silver would be the butler’s job, but Rose and Frank did not employ a butler: only a cook, two maidservants, and a man-of-all-work.

Hester had just put the last teacup in the proper cupboard when someone knocked on the door. The upper housemaid, Hannah, scurried into the kitchen. “Mr. Butler is at the door, and he has a question for Lady Francis about the Lady’s Aide Society. Where is she?”

“Lady Francis is dressing for dinner.” Mrs. Barnes glanced at Hester. “P’rhaps you could keep Mr. Butler entertained until her ladyship comes down? Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Um.” Hester quickly examined her morning gown, which had been thoroughly bespattered with water while she did the dishes. She shuddered to think what her hair looked like now. More importantly, she’d never met Mr. Butler. “Who is Mr. Butler?”

“The curate,” Mrs. Barnes answered succinctly. “Lord Francis’s assistant. He’s new here, hired just a couple of months ago. I expect he’s biding time ’til he gets a living of his own.”

“I suppose I could go talk to him,” Hester reluctantly agreed. It seemed highly irregular to converse with a gentleman to whom she’d not been properly introduced, but what else could she do?

She found Mr. Butler in the vicarage’s lone sitting room, a comfortable parlor decorated in soft shades of blue and blush pink. Bookshelves lined one of the interior walls, and Mr. Butler stood before the shelves, perusing the titles. He turned around when Hester entered the room, greeting her with a smile and a bow.

“How do you do, Mr. Butler?” Hester returned his smile, but as she gradually took in all the details of his appearance, her heart sank.

After the disastrous conclusion of her entanglement with Simon Lowell, Hester had vowed to stay far away from handsome gentlemen with more fashion than fortune. She’d thought the task would be easy, that such men would be thin on the vine in a rural town like Ingleton. But Mr. Butler looked like precisely the sort of young man she needed to avoid!

The young curate wore gray pantaloons, tall boots, a white waistcoat, and a sedate navy-blue tailcoat. He had tied his cravat in the Mathematical style, and his hair fell in artfully arranged curls. As for the rest of him, he was what novel writers called “tall, dark, and handsome.” He had coal-dark eyes, a straight nose, and a set of magnificent side whiskers.

“How d’you do, miss?” The young gentleman studied her for a moment, somehow giving the impression that he scanned her from head-to-toe without seeming the least bit forward or impudent. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of being introduced to you?” The graceful arch of his eyebrows turned it into a question.

“I am Lord Francis’s younger sister,” Hester explained. “Hester Bracknell.”

His face lit up with a bright, contagious smile. “Ah, Lady Hester! Yes, your brother told me you’d be visiting for a time. I hope you enjoy your stay in Ingleton. We are a friendly lot here, you know.”

“I am glad to be here.” That was a bare-faced lie. In reality, she felt miserable and wished she could hide in a darkened room again. Her headache had been temporarily subdued by the medicinal tea, but an ominous pulsation deep inside her head hinted that it was on its way back.

Hester did her best to chat politely with Mr. Butler, but it was nevertheless an enormous relief when Rose came down to speak to him. Hester made her excuses and hurried upstairs, wishing she’d taken Rose up on the offer of a dinner tray in her room. It might not be too late to change her mind, except that she did not want to cause trouble for Rose.

In just the few days since her arrival, she’d already seen how much harder Rose’s advanced pregnancy made even such simple chores as helping to carry a basket of laundry or picking vegetables from the garden. Hester didn’t dare add to Rose’s work by requesting special treatment tonight. She would just have to bear with the pain as best she could.

Not wanting to overdress for a country dinner, she donned a simple white muslin gown. She reached into her jewelry box for her garnet heart pendant, then hesitated. Simon had given the necklace to her as a love-token. He’d led her out to a moonlit garden, clasped the golden chain around her neck, and kissed her. She’d gone to bed that night with a heart overflowing with joy, certain that a proposal would soon be forthcoming.

No, she could not wear that pendant now . Maybe never again.

Tears stung her eyes, but she held them back, knowing that crying would worsen her headache. Besides, she couldn’t go down to dinner with reddened eyes or a tear-stained face. Everyone would see her distress, and wonder what was wrong. She couldn’t allow that. No one in Ingleton was supposed to know about Simon or the scandal that had driven Hester out of London.

Hester firmly closed the drawer holding the pendant, wishing she could as easily close the door on all the mistakes of the past six months. Instead of the little red heart, she donned a necklace of coral beads. That would be ornament enough. She studied her reflection one last time, nodded, and forced herself up from her chair. Time to go play the part of a proper young lady.

Would Mr. Butler be dining with them tonight? She held her breath as she pondered that. Under other circumstances, she would have looked forward to further encounters with a handsome and personable young gentleman.

A village as small as Ingleton could offer little by way of entertainment, especially when compared to the season her mother and younger sister were still enjoying back in London. In a summer that stretched before her like an endless, dreary fog, the promise of a new acquaintance sparkled like sun-lit crystal.

But Hester resolved to turn her eyes away from the prospect. No more handsome young gentlemen! That way lay heartache, shame, and disgrace. The Bracknell family could not afford another smudge on the family name, which meant Hester could not afford even the most innocent of flirtations. On the whole, she rather hoped that Mr. Butler would not be dining at the vicarage tonight.