Page 8 of The Incident at Ingleton (Beau Monde Secrets #3)

W alter had trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that Lady Hester had laughed with him. He hadn’t realized she was even capable of laughter, at least not genuine, spontaneous laughter. For a moment, she looked and acted like any other young lady of his acquaintance.

By the time they sat down to tea in the dining room, though, Lady Hester had gotten over her fit of giggles. She poured tea and passed the bread and jam with her usual quiet gracefulness. Her mouth quirked up slightly at the corners, showing just a hint of a smile. That was the only remaining sign of good humor.

Still, she seemed much more approachable than she had at any of their past meetings. Walter sat down and chatted with her about Rose’s condition, the newly completed preparations to the nursery, and the unexpected rainstorm.

Lady Hester abruptly changed the subject. “Forgive me if the question is impertinent, but does that parcel contain a book?” She nodded in the direction of the brown paper package he’d carried into the house.

“Oh, thank you for reminding me!” Walter’s confidence wobbled, but he drew a deep breath and passed the package along to her. “I brought this book because I thought Rose might enjoy hearing it read aloud. I know she finds her confinement tedious.” He couldn’t imagine how frustrating being confined to a sofa would be, whatever the cause.

For some reason, Lady Hester looked amused rather than pleased. Her lips twitched, and she covered her mouth with one delicate white hand, as if trying to hide her reaction.

“Is this by any chance a book of poems that you merely happened to see while running errands in Lancaster?” A hint of laughter rippled in her voice.

“What?” Walter’s eyes widened. What a strangely specific question! “No, it isn’t poetry at all. It’s the first volume of a novel.” He wondered if he’d made a mistake in choosing fiction rather than poetry. But whatever Lady Hester might prefer reading, Rose preferred novels, and he’d been primarily thinking of his cousin when he bought the book.

He pushed the book across the table to Lady Hester. “Of course you may have read it before, though it hasn’t been out for very long. I believe it was published this January.”

Lady Hester untied the strings binding the package, then carefully unwrapped the paper, rather than tearing into it as Walter might have done. She picked up the book and opened it to the title page.

“ Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus ,” she read. “Frankenstein? What a strange name!”

“I believe the name is German, as the novel’s protagonist is Genevan by birth,” he explained. “Someone told me that there is a Castle Frankenstein in Hesse, though I’ve never been there.”

Understanding lit up her face. “Ah! Is it a Gothic novel, then?”

Walter drew his brows down as he struggled to answer her. “Maybe? It’s like Gothic novels in some ways, but different in others. There’s a ghastly invention, and some murders, but there are no crumbling castles or deserted abbeys. No ghostly monks or nuns buried alive. It’s more philosophical than horrifying.”

Lady Hester wrinkled her nose and snapped the book shut. “And you think Rose will be interested in this?” Skepticism colored her voice.

Walter licked his lips nervously. He should have gotten a book of poetry after all. “I think this novel can provoke many interesting discussions. Whether or not you like it, it offers much to ponder.” Good Lord, did he always sound that sententious? As if people read books only to talk about them! Even he knew better than that. “Hopefully, it will be enjoyable, too.”

Before Lady Hester could express any more of her doubt, the dining room door swung open. “Walter! If I’d known you planned to visit, I would have stayed awake to greet you.”

He sprang to his feet so he could pull out a chair for Rose. “Nonsense. I’m sure you needed your rest.” He marveled that she could move at all, given how large she’d gotten, but he kept that thought to himself. He’d learned the hard way that pregnant women did not necessarily like it when other people commented on their increased size.

Lady Hester poured a cup of tea, added a single spoonful of sugar, and passed the cup to Rose, along with a plate of bread and butter. “Your cousin came by to drop off a book for you, but the rain holds him captive,” she explained.

Rose took a sip of tea, savoring the taste. Then she smiled at Walter. “So, did you bring us Maria Grammar’s latest collection of poems?”

“No!” Walter looked back and forth between the two women, wondering what was so funny. “Am I missing the joke?”

“It’s just that Mr. Butler dropped in before my nap to give Hester a book of poetry. I thought you might have had the same idea.” Rose glanced askance at Hester, and her smile grew distinctly mischievous. “We think Mr. Butler might fancy Hester.”

Warmth flooded Walter’s face. “Oh.” Did they think he had the same motive? But they must think that, because Lady Hester blushed as she stared into her teacup. “I actually brought this book more for you, Rose. Since you have to spend so much of your time lying down, I mean.”

“Oh, how kind of you! Will you read us a chapter or two before you go? Have you time for that?”

He glanced out the window and saw that the rain fell just as heavily as ever. “I have all the time me in the world, it seems. Unless I decide to walk back to the castle in a rainstorm.” He didn’t much fancy that, especially since he’d been too foolish to think of bringing an umbrella.

“Perfect,” Rose declared.

After tea, they all trooped into the parlor. Walter lit a lantern in order to see better. Then he picked up the book and began reading the first of Walton’s letters to his sister. He read for half an hour. By then, the rain had slowed to a light pattering.

“I don’t suppose I could borrow an umbrella?” he suggested. Rose really wasn’t supposed to entertain guests, after all.

“Oh, but you must stay for dinner!” Rose protested.

Lady Hester did not reinforce the request, Walter noticed. Was that because she didn’t want him to stay, or merely because she was also a guest in the vicarage, and thus not in a position to invite anyone to dine there?

Walter waffled, wondering if he ought to turn down Rose’s invitation. Before he could make up his mind, Frank returned from his errand. He dripped water all over the floor, but seemed in good spirits—. He, too, insisted that Walter had better dine at the vicarage. That finally tipped Walter into accepting the invitation. Frank wouldn’t invite him to stay longer if his presence there was in any way bad for Rose.

Dining with Frank and Rose was as pleasant as ever. It might have been Walter’s imagination, but he thought Lady Hester seemed more relaxed, less distant, and less cold than in their previous encounters. Perhaps she really wasn’t as much of a snob as he’d initially thought.

But after dinner, he ruined whatever rapprochement they had achieved. The trouble began when he saw Lady Hester turning the pages of a little cloth-bound book, with the name Grammar in guilt letters on the spine.

“Is that the new book of poetry you spoke of?” If so, would it be too daring to ask Lady Hester to read a poem or two aloud to him? It would show that Walter was interested in the things that interested her. Though, of course, he could have no reason for wanting to prove that.

“Yes. Mr. Butler remembered me saying that I’d not yet read Miss Grammar’s new book, so when he saw a copy of it, he bought it for me.” She bit her lip, looking less confident than usual. “At least, so he says.”

“But you aren’t sure you believe him?” Walter lowered his voice, not wanting Rose or Frank to overhear.

Lady Hester sighed softly. “I hate to accuse a clergyman of lying, but Miss Grammar is a fairly obscure writer. I would be incredibly surprised if a bookseller in Lancaster kept her books stocked. It makes me wonder if Mr. Butler had the seller order the book specially for him.” She smiled ruefully. “And if he really did go to all that trouble to get it... well, it makes the present mean something a little different, if you know what I mean.”

Her pale cheeks blushed a soft shade of pink. For some reason, the phrase “whey-faced chit” popped unbidden into Walter’s mind, making him frown. Lady Hester looked as delicately colored as a porcelain figurine. He could not imagine what would have possessed young Mr. What’s-His-Name to speak slightingly of her appearance.

Close on the heels of that thought came the memory of Butler’s comments about the church livings controlled by the Bracknell family. Why Butler thought those livings would be given to the man who married Lady Hester rather than to Lord Francis, who was also in orders, remained a mystery to Walter. But Butler’s obvious mercenary motives constituted a much bigger problem.

Walter looked askance at Lady Hester, wondering how to broach the topic. Fortunately, she gave him the chance he needed.

“I am sure you do not wish to sit here listening to gossip about my potential suitors, Mr. Haworth. That can be of no interest to you.”

Walter swallowed nervously, momentarily tongue-tied. “The fact of the matter is...” He had no idea how to finish the sentence.

A puzzled line formed between her brows. “Yes? The fact of the matter is what, Mr. Haworth?”

He looked across the room to make certain that neither Rose nor her husband were paying any attention to him. Then he leaned closer to Lady Hester and spoke in a hushed voice. “The fact of the matter is that I overheard Mr. Butler discussing his intentions towards you.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell ajar. “His intentions?” She closed her mouth, pressing her lips into a tight line. “And what did he say?”

Walter leaned even closer so he could murmur directly in her ear. “He certainly sounded interested in courting you, but his primary motive seemed to be financial. He mentioned that the Bracknell family controls three clerical livings, and said your attraction was ‘the appeal of a steady income.’”

“Excuse me?” She drew her head back sharply.

Realizing that he was much too close for good manners, Walter moved back, too. “I am sorry if I offend. I just thought you ought to know how mercenary his motives are. But perhaps you don’t intend to encourage his courtship anyway, which—” It was almost a relief when she interrupted his panicked babbling.

“I believe I can do better than to marry a poor curate,” she snapped. “And I assure you, it takes more than a book of poetry to win my affections.” She curled her lip disdainfully.

But when Walter lowered his eyes, he saw that her clasped hands were shaking, though he could not tell whether rage or fear triggered their trembling. It was clear, though, that his words had shaken her.

“I apologize for giving advice that you may neither have needed or wanted.” He’d fallen back into his most formal, priggish tones, and he inwardly cringed at how stuffy he sounded. “I only wanted to help.”

“I thank you, but your assistance is not needed.” Lady Hester bit off each word, creating a staccato effect that made Walter cringe.

“Again, I am very sorry.” He wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Better yet, he wished he’d never even overheard Butler talking about his matrimonial schemes. “I ought to have minded my own business.”

“Indeed.” She pointedly looked away from him. Her rigid posture radiated indignation.

Walter glanced out the window at the darkening sky, then rose from his chair and stretched. The motion caught the attention of Rose and Frank, who looked in his direction for the first time in half an hour.

“I believe the rain has stopped,” Walter announced. “I ought to take my leave now, before I lose the last of the light.” This wasn’t merely an excuse; he really didn’t fancy a walk alone in the dark.

“I suppose you ought,” Rose agreed. “But thank you for dropping in, Walter. It is pleasant to have company when I am stuck at home.”

“Thank you very much for inviting me to dine on such short notice.” He glanced down at Lady Hester. “And thank you for your company, ma’am.” He offered her a slight bow, hoping that might appease her anger.

“You are very welcome, Mr. Haworth.” Neither Lady Hester’s brittle smile nor her cool voice supported her words.

But Walter supposed that was the best he could hope for. He’d stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, and he had no one to blame but himself. Next time he heard some unsavory bit of gossip related to Lady Hester, he would keep it to himself.