Page 25 of Once Ruined, Twice Shy

Mama gazed at her a moment. Then she stiffened her posture and said firmly, “William, I already lost my daughter. I do not intend to lose my husband. For kill you, Lord Corsbury surely will, as he’s much younger and fitter than you are. Put that dratted sword away.”

Conall bowed his head but kept his cane readied. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs Normanton. I wonder, rather than make a spectacle for your neighbours to enjoy, might we come indoors?”

There was a loaded silence. Finally, Papa took a step backwards and inclined his head towards the hallway.

With utmost politeness, Conall asked, “Shall I dismiss the coach?”

Papa looked less likely now to have an apoplectic fit, but his mustachios bristled fiercely. “Send it around to the Swan,” he snapped. “Be sure we’ll send you after it if you don’t come up to snuff, sirrah.”

As they entered the house, Conall whispered in Hestia’s ear, “He’s a proper martinet, isn’t he, your father? I cannot blame you for wishing to escape his regime.”

“Quite. And now you’ve brought me back to suffer under it some more. And Mama will endure retribution too, for welcoming me.” She turned aside, blinking away an angry tear. It was going to prove a waste of time having come here—why hadn’t Conall understood that? She should never have trusted him—had she not learned her lesson yet? All men were duplicitous.

Struggling to swallow her misgivings, Hestia divested herself of pelisse and bonnet. She took a seat in the front parlour while a sleepy—but very interested—Nancy, their maidservant, hurried about lighting lamps and candles.

Mama settled close by and took Hestia’s hand in a vice-like grip. “I don’t know what we should offer you this time of night. Would port, and cheese, and cold rabbit pie be acceptable?”

“Most welcome, ma’am.” Conall, after his admirable feat with the walking cane, was all politeness again. Hestia noted a slight colouring of her mother’s cheeks—the man was using his aristocratic charm to good effect.

“Supper, is it?” Papa’s chin jutted out. “Feeding the enemy? You’re too soft, woman.”

“Father!” He mustn’t be permitted to embarrass her mother like that. “I implore you—be patient.”

Hestia squeezed her mama’s hand and knew a moment’s satisfaction. She’d never had the courage to stand up to her father before. Her year as an independent woman had done her some good, it seemed.

He subsided in his chair. “Very well, send for some supper, wife. But you two can begin your story while we wait. I don’t imagine I’m going to like it.”

“Papa, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any harm.” Had she caused him pain? It was difficult to believe when he was behaving as if he hated her. “I was duped by a cruel and clever seducer. Not this gentleman, as he’s already told you,” she added quickly.

Mama let out a gasp. “It is as I feared, William.”

Conall rose and went to stand by the fireplace. “It could be worse, ma’am. Your daughter could have been raped, or sold to a bawdy house once she was beyond her family’s protection. Forgive my plain speaking, but, knowing the man in question, you may consider yourselves lucky he merely lived with her as his mistress.”

“Then you are not married?” Mama dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“No, thank heaven.” Conall’s expression was hard. “He would have utterly destroyed her. I’m sorry, Hestia, but that’s the truth as I see it. I have every hope your daughter will be happily married soon, however. To me, assuming she can ever forgive me for dragging her back to a place to which she was most unwilling to come.” His expression softened as he looked at her.

Mama dropped her handkerchief in astonishment. “A countess? Did you hear that, William? Our daughter is to be a countess.”

Hestia narrowed her eyes at Conall. Presumptuous wretch.

Catching her expression, he cleared his throat and continued, “Let us not get ahead of ourselves. I simply need you both to know that your daughter will be loved and provided for, whatever occurs between the four of us tonight.”

Before any more could be said, the refreshments were brought in. The food tasted like ashes in Hestia’s mouth, but the port was welcome, giving her the courage to take up the story herself. Before the manipulative Earl of Corsbury trapped her into an engagement to which she was by no means ready to agree.

She told of her first meeting with Frederick, their trysts, his courtship, their elopement, and subsequent existence. When the furious look on Papa’s face made her falter, Conall took up the tale, laying before her parents in no uncertain terms the immoral nature of Frederick, his own dealings with the man, and the plot against him in which Frederick had involved her. By the end of his explanation, both her parents were staring at him, round-eyed.

“My poor child!” Mama stood up and bent over Hestia, smothering her face with kisses. “My poor, dear child!”

“Sit down, Margaret. This is no time for hysterics. I quite understand, my lord, why you wished to bankrupt the scoundrel. I’d have had him horsewhipped.”

“He’d been flogged already,” Hestia said, as Mama’s effusions subsided. “I suspect while he was in the army, but he never told me what it was for.”

“Flogged, you say?” Her father sat forwards. “You say he’s called Ebbworth. I had a fellow in my regiment with the same name. But I heard he died at Waterloo, unfortunate fellow. Cannonball sliced right through him. Oh, I beg your pardon, Margaret.”

How peculiar. Frederick had never mentioned anyone killed at Waterloo. In fact, he’d mentioned no family at all. Hestia had always assumed he was an orphan.

“Are you sure that was his name? Could he have given you a false one?” Papa was staring at her intently.