Page 23 of Once Ruined, Twice Shy

Conall kept Hestia talking deep into the night. Each time she went quiet, or her eyelids drooped, he introduced another topic of conversation or started caressing her until she was awake and interested again. It meant he would be tired himself when they set off in the morning, but it was more important she be sleepy. Otherwise, it would be impossible to carry out his plan of taking her to her parents’ home without her realising.

Having already established she wasn’t overly familiar with London, he treated her to an enormous luncheon at the Angel Inn in the Strand, then took a hackney carriage to Saville Row. There he procured a valise, some new shirts, and small clothing, as well as a jacket of bottle green with breeches to match. If he was going to be meeting his future in-laws shortly, he wanted to make a good impression.

Hestia refused all offers to buy her a new gown, bonnet or reticule, claiming she didn’t want to feel like a kept woman any longer. She waited dutifully all the time he was at his tailor’s, drinking coffee in the small dressing room made over for her use, and reading her way through that day’s Morning Chronicle.

He was pleased to see how weary she looked by the time they returned to the Angel to collect the carriage and his servants and hire fresh horses.

“You live on the eastern side of London, you say? I take it we haven’t much further to go?”

How he loved walking with Hestia on his arm, able to admire her whenever he wanted! Mama would be so pleased—she’d really taken to the young woman during Hestia’s brief sojourn at Spyle Court. And mamas were always keen to see their children wed, were they not?

“Not much further, no. But it can take an age to navigate the London streets if they’re packed. We should arrive late afternoon, or early evening.” It pained him to lie so blatantly, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised taking her to her home was the only solution. He would still marry her, whatever happened, but she would be so much happier if all was right and proper with her parents. And they needed to know she’d been duped by Ebbworth. He himself was testament to that man’s bad character. With his testimony in support of hers, the Normantons should understand how little chance their naive daughter had had against a determined blackguard like Ebbworth.

As they got underway, Hestia settled her head on his shoulder once more. His heart warmed at the trust she had in him, although he didn’t deserve it at this precise moment. He gently removed her bonnet, and rested his chin on her hair, revelling in its rich scent. And felt himself the luckiest man in London.

Fortunately for him, she slept all the way to Dunmow and didn’t awaken until they changed horses again at the Saracen’s Head. It was dusk by that point, but not dark enough for her not to recognise she was no longer in London.

As she sat bolt upright and stared out the window, he steeled himself for the coming storm.

“Where are we, Conall? This looks familiar.”

“You will probably have been to Dunmow. It’s not far from your home.”

Her face paled in the fading light. “We’re in Essex? Oh, Conall, how could you? You said we were going to your house.”

He grasped her hand. “I don’t expect to be forgiven for such treachery. But I hope, in time, you’ll understand it’s for the best. There’s no need to stay with your parents if we’re not welcome. We can return here to the Saracen’s Head and take a room. Two rooms, if you still hate me. But I cannot believe you’ll be truly complete again until you’ve made your peace with your mother and father. Who knows what they have suffered in your absence? They should, at the very least, be assured you’re alive, in good health, and well protected.”

Her face was grim, her dark eyes narrowed at him. The pert mouth was pressed tight, and he could feel the maelstrom thundering through her body. In her place, he’d feel exactly the same. But sometimes, one had to brazen things out. Because it was vital to one’s happiness.

“I’m not going.” She pulled away from him and sat down opposite, putting her bonnet back on.

He spread his hands. “What else are you going to do? It’s almost night. We have to hurry if we want to reach Thaxted before they’ve all gone to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to Thaxted at all. You are a loathsome deceiver, Conall Methuen.”

Loathsome? He didn’t like the sound of that. “As bad as Ebbworth?”

“At this moment in time, I couldn’t say there was much to choose between you.”

He’d known she’d fight back but was not prepared for the agony her words caused him. He hadn’t realised how much he’d opened his heart to her. And now, quite justifiably, she was piercing it with arrows.

The carriage jerked. The fresh horses were being harnessed up. Not more than half an hour’s run lay between him and his objective—perhaps less.

She averted her head and refused to look at him. “We’ll be turned away. I know my father.”

“In which case I’d better arrange for Miners and Gaisford to spend the night at the inn, and we’ll go on alone.”

Her head whipped around. “You will drive the carriage?”

“But of course. I’ll teach you to drive it too—when we’re married. Although I understand you may not be feeling all that amenable to the idea at this particular moment.”

“Quite right. But let us continue with the servants and see what we will see. Although I warn you, you are sure to be disappointed.”

The coach rocked as Miners and Gaisford ascended onto the box. Conall tapped on the roof to indicate the coach could depart.

“Look, if your mama and papa aren’t interested, we’ll simply come back here and sort things out in the morning. But I firmly believe we have to try this. Your father needs to know what a monster Frederick Ebbworth is, and how he took advantage of you.”

She chewed at her lip. “I’m not saying I agree, but I sense you’re going to be stubborn about this. So, it may be best to get it over with. But take my word for it, I have no intention of marrying anyone who could trick me the way you just have. What good is a marriage not based on trust?”