Page 17 of The Incident at Ingleton (Beau Monde Secrets #3)
July 1818
F rank finally returned, melancholy from having ministered the final communion service to his dying friend. On the last day of June, Neville Butler departed Ingleton, hopefully forever. Hester said a few silent prayers of gratitude once he was gone. All this time, she’d been waiting for his next move. His leaving without having done anything after all was a pleasant surprise. Perhaps she’d overestimated the depths of his malice.
Rose was in much better spirits now that she had her husband back, though her baby still refused to make his or her appearance. “Maybe,” she suggested one morning, “the baby is delaying so I have enough time to knit more stockings for it.”
Hester giggled. “Don’t you already have twenty pairs of stockings ready? How many feet do you expect this child to have?”
“You never know,” Rose said darkly. “What if it’s twins?”
The two women exchanged uneasy glances. Because they were so small, twin babies often did not survive. Hester silently hoped that her sister-in-law carried only one baby.
Before either of them could break the silence, one of the housemaids stepped into the room. “Lady Hester, there’s a letter for you.” She held out a thick packet appearing to contain more than the usual single page of correspondence.
“Oh?” Hester hadn’t expected a letter, given how recently she’d replied to her mother’s last message. “I hope it’s not bad news.”
Her father, Lord Reading, suffered from a condition that caused terrible pains in his legs and made all his movements clumsy. He had difficulty walking, even with a cane. None of the physicians’ recommendations had brought him any relief, and everyone lived in fear of his condition worsening.
But when she saw the address on the envelope, she realized that it had been written by her father, not her mother. How odd! She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a letter directly from her father. Normally, her mother passed on any messages he might have for Hester.
Hester drew a deep breath and broke the familiar Bracknell family seal. The letter was long: her father had indeed used two pages. By the time she finished reading, she’d gone cold and numb from head to toe.
My Daughter,
When your mother sent you to Lancashire to visit your brother, it was with the understanding that you would behave with utmost propriety so as to avoid further discrediting the family name. Your mother and I believed that some time away from the temptations and pitfalls of London would be to your advantage. Though I had rather have called you home to Shropshire, your mother thought you could be of use to your sister-in-law.
I now regret that I agreed with her. You may imagine my dismay when I received word that you had been once again caught in a compromising situation, this time with the son of a sugar-merchant! I cannot imagine what madness compelled you to risk your reputation again, so soon after the last incident.
If you mean to seriously encourage the advances of a conceited young mushroom, I urge you to reconsider. Though marriages between people in trade and in fashionable society have sometimes been successful, you must consider that when a gentleman marries a woman of lower station, he elevates her to his station, whereas when a lady marries a man beneath her, the marriage degrades her rather than elevating her partner. Young Mr. Haworth is not even the son of a gentleman, let alone a nobleman. A marriage to him would remove you from your current elevated position and reduce you to the company of tradesmen and their families. Is that the life you want? I urge you to think very hard on the matter. You can have no conception of how your life would change if you marry Mr. Haworth.
In any case, the current state of affairs cannot be allowed to continue. If you intend to accept a proposal from Mr. Haworth, I must request that he call upon me at Bracknell Hall at his earliest convenience to discuss the terms of the marriage contract.
If, on the other hand, you meant only to flirt with a suitor whom you did not intend to accept, I must inform you that those tricks won’t answer. You cannot afford another scandal, Hester. Unless you are about to repair your reputation through matrimony, I must insist that you return home.
Kindly reply by the earliest post to inform me of whether I may expect a call from Mr. Haworth, or if I am to send a carriage to Ingleton to collect you. At this point, your own folly has eliminated any other option.
Despite my disappointment I remain your loving father,
Reading
Hester stared blankly at the notepaper, frantically trying to figure out what series of mistakes could have resulted in this response. She hadn’t flirted with anyone the entire time she’d been in Ingleton! Nor had Mr. Haworth given even the slightest sign of romantic interest in her. He’d certainly never attempted anything resembling a flirtation with her. On the contrary, he’d always behaved with the utmost propriety.
Now, if the letter had mentioned Mr. Butler , she would have understood what her father meant. Neville Butler had certainly tried to win her hand in marriage by hook or by crook. Someone might very well have reported the birthday party incident to her father. But what could possibly have led her father to think she had encouraged a suit from Mr. Haworth?
She was shaken out of her musings by a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hester? Hester? Is something wrong? Is it bad news from home? Is someone unwell?” Rose peered down at her, concern written in every line of her face.
“Not exactly.” Hester put the letter down on the nearest table and rubbed her hands together, trying to rid herself of that cold, clammy sensation. “That is, it’s not good news, but no one is ill. It... it must be some sort of misunderstanding.” She swallowed a lump in her throat and blinked her eyes rapidly, realizing she was on the verge of tears. “I need to talk to Frank.”
“He has a meeting—”
“I know,” she interrupted, not caring how rude she was being. “But it is rather an emergency. Please, can you go get Frank?” Her brother would know what to do. He must know what to do!
*
That evening, Hester stood by the parlor window, looking out anxiously into the late summer twilight. Frank, after hearing her story, had insisted that they needed to speak to Walter Haworth, to see if he knew what this was about. Mr. Haworth had only that day returned from Bristol, but he agreed to drop in after dinner.
Hester had not been able to eat more than a few bites at dinner. Not surprisingly, the stress of receiving her father’s letter had triggered one of her bad headaches, and the accompanying nausea meant she could not stomach a hearty meal.
Really, Hester ought to be lying in bed with a cold compress on her head. Better yet, she ought to be home in her own room at Bracknell Hall, resting while her sister or mother read aloud to her. She could not follow the plot of a novel when her headaches were at their worst, but sometimes the regular rhythm of metered poetry comforted her. Her mother liked to joke that she felt like young David, soothing the evil spirit out of King Saul with his music.
Well, it seemed she’d be going home soon enough. Once again, she’d be running home in disgrace; this time, for something she hadn’t even done. She had willingly kissed Simon at that ill-fated ball, but she had done nothing to incur censure now. The unfairness of it brought tears to the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away, knowing that crying would only make her headache worse.
Voices in the front hall warned her that Frank had returned. She had just enough time to dash the tears away from her eyes before greeting her brother and Mr. Haworth.
Rather than take a seat, Mr. Haworth walked right up to Hester and took hold of her hand. He did not beat about the bush, but got straight to the point. “Lady Hester, I am so sorry if anything I have said or done has inadvertently led your family to erroneous conclusions. But I assure you that I did not spread whatever rumors your father may have heard.” A flush rose on his cheekbones. “I would never spread malicious gossip about someone.”
Hester squeezed his hand, as if he were the one in need of comfort. “I know you would never do such a thing, Mr. Haworth. But I cannot understand how my father could have gotten so confused. If he had accused me of flirting with Mr. Butler, now, the mistake would have been more understandable...”
Mr. Haworth sighed. He took his hand away so that he could remove his spectacles and examine the lenses, though they’d looked perfectly clean to her.
“As to that, I have a theory.” He glanced at Frank and hesitated.
“A theory that seems plausible to me.” Frank sounded angry. “Go ahead and tell her.”
Mr. Haworth turned back to Hester. “I believe Butler himself may have originated this rumor in retaliation. The last time I spoke to him, he tried to get me to promise not to tell anyone about his trickery the night of the party. I refused to make any such promise.” He scowled briefly. “And then he made some strange comments that seemed to suggest he thought I was courting you. Which was not the case.” He flushed bright red. “Given that conversation, I suspect Butler was the source of whatever rumor or innuendo upset your parents so much.”
“I see. I suppose your theory makes sense.” She could readily imagine Butler stirring up trouble this way. It seemed consistent with his character, though she could not see how it would benefit him.
“He is even more of a scoundrel than we thought,” Frank growled. “If I weren’t a clergyman...” He let his voice trail off, apparently having thought better of whatever he meant to say.
Hester probably ought to be as angry as Frank, given that her reputation was at stake. Instead, she still felt numb. The only sensation that intruded on her awareness was the throbbing pain in her head. She put a hand to her forehead, wishing she could brush away the pain.
“You seem unwell, my lady.” Mr. Haworth sounded less confident now. “Perhaps we should finish this discussion tomorrow?”
That prospect tempted Hester. She would very much like to lie down and rest. But she also wanted to get this conversation over with. “Is there much more to say? I still have many questions, but I suppose I won’t get any answers until I speak to my father.”
Mr. Haworth cleared his voice. “Of course, if you think it best to go home...”
Hester’s eyes widened. “What other option do I have?” The words of her father’s letter echoed in her mind: “ your own folly has eliminated any other options.” He was right about the lack of options, but wrong about the cause. “Neville Butler has taken away all my options. He has ruined me.”
“Frank,” Mr. Haworth said, “do you suppose I could have a moment to talk to your sister alone?”
“Oh?” Frank looked puzzled for a moment, then shrugged. “Of course.” He turned to Hester and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see if someone can brew a cup of your peppermint and willow tea for you. That’s what you take for your bad headaches, isn’t it?”
“Yes, thank you.” She forced a smile, though her face felt stiff from pain. After the door shut behind Frank, she glanced uncertainly at Mr. Haworth. What on earth could he possibly have to say to her that he didn’t want her brother to hear? And why was Frank letting him speak to her without a chaperone when there were already rumors circulating about them? A meeting alone with Mr. Haworth would only make matters worse!
Mr. Haworth clasped his hands behind his back, looking unexpectedly nervous. “Lady Hester, I think perhaps we should sit down for this conversation. It may take some time.”
A wave of foreboding crept over Hester. Her hands still felt frozen into lifelessness, but her heart began to pound heavily. Somehow, she knew what he would say, though she hadn’t previously anticipated this development.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I think I had better sit down.”