Page 26 of Once Ruined, Twice Shy

“We did wonder if he might be called Andrew,” Conall responded. “We found a locket in his Bath lodgings, initialled A.C.”

“Andrew?” All the colour fled from her father’s face. “Andrew Calshott? That damnable rogue? I should have had him shot when he deserted, not merely flogged. He never followed orders and was forever fomenting discontent in the regiment. Got into a deal of hot water over at least one woman too, if I’m not mistaken. If ever there was a devil disguised as an angel, Calshott was that man.”

An icy hand clutched Hestia’s throat, stifling her breath. She’d been even more of a fool than she thought. Frederick was not Frederick. He’d given her a false name and had once been flogged by her very own father. Oh, why, why had she not thought to question him more closely before running off with him? If only her heart had been less vulnerable, her head more clear. She ought to be punished herself—for her stupidity.

But then, she had been punished, hadn’t she? Frederick, or rather, Andrew Calshott, had ruined her life. And wounded her parents, which had doubtless been his intention all along.

There was no sound in the room but the ticking of the clock and the rapid beating of her heart, which pulsed so loudly, she was sure the others must hear it.

Everyone seemed shocked into silence. Conall recovered first. “I believe, Colonel, that, like myself, you have been a victim of this vengeful man’s wiles. What better way to punish the officer who humiliated him and had him flogged than by stealing his daughter, incognito, and ruining her? I hope, now you know the circumstances, you’ll forgive Hestia her indiscretion, and welcome her back into your lives.”

Hestia, close to tears, was grateful for his words. The bastion of her stubbornness crumbled a little. It was possible—just possible—he’d done the right thing in bringing her home. Though she could never forgive him his methods.

“Now you’re here, you must certainly stay the night, both of you,” Mama announced. “There is so much to be said, we cannot make up for a whole missing year in one night. I’ll have some rooms readied.”

She rang the bell and asked Nancy to make up a spare bed, and to open up Hestia’s old room.

Papa had gone very still. A frosty pallor had replaced the ruddy anger in his cheeks.

“Papa, are you alright?”

“Yes, my dear. Only… I am contemplating murder at this precise moment, so I apologise if my expression is grim.”

“I quite understand your feelings, sir.” Conall moved away from the fireplace and came to stand behind Hestia’s chair. His heat warmed her back, buoying her up. “But it will not answer. Allow me to deal with the renegade, if you will.”

She suddenly felt terribly tired. It was all too much to take in. Had there been no truth whatever in the things Frederick had said to her? Had he never cared for her at all? How had he managed to keep up the pretence for almost a year? She dreaded to think what might have become of her had she not met Conall.

And what might become of her now.

“Thank you for the excellent supper, Colonel, Mrs Normanton. I suspect we’re all somewhat overwhelmed by what we’ve just discovered. Might I suggest we retire early? We can decide what’s to be done in the morning when we’re refreshed.”

Conall had taken command, his confidence having a calming effect on them all. Which was just as well, since she knew her father’s rage, once roused, knew no bounds. Almost, she pitied Frederick, with two such ruthless men set against him. But she also feared for both Papa and Conall, and prayed neither would do anything that could rebound upon themselves.

It wasn’t until she was safely ensconced in her own room, that the enormity of Frederick’s perfidy struck her. She’d given up her home, her family, her body and her soul—all for nothing. She’d wasted a year of her life, a year of her prime.

She fought against self-pity, but the well of unhappiness was now full to overflowing. Frederick had betrayed her, Conall had fooled her. She was stupid and worthless. Throwing herself face down on the bed, she used her pillow to stifle the onslaught of a series of dry, racking sobs.

She was certain she’d contained the noise, and was therefore horrified when there was a soft knocking at the door of her chamber.

Pressing the tears from her eyes, she padded across the room and laid her ear against the wooden panel.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Conall’s voice, soft and low. “Will you let me in, please, Hestia? We need to talk.”

Chapter 15

Hestia let him in. There were one or two things she wanted to say, as well. She waited while he turned up the lamp and pulled a chair close to her bedside. At her frown, he explained, “So no one hears us talking. Otherwise, your Papa will be re-loading his gun.”

“I doubt it. I have no honour left for him to defend.”

How sour that sounded. Bother—she’d decided not to pity herself. And she didn’t want anyone’s sympathy either.

“It would make me the happiest man alive if you would allow me to return that honour to you, restore your reputation, by making you my wife.”

The earnestness on his face melted another chunk of the ice in her heart. But she’d been duped once. She was in no hurry to be duped again.

“All in good time.” She hoped she sounded matter-of-fact, not sulky. “What are we to do about Frederick? He still has a hold on me, can still tarnish my good name, and stigmatise my parents.”