Page 29 of Once Ruined, Twice Shy

“What would bring him here?” Conall helped himself to a soused herring and some bread, then sat down and stared at his plate.

“He’s a local man. I recall he had an elderly father in the poor house at Saffron Walden, so I assume that is from whence the Calshotts come. It wouldn’t surprise me if Ebbworth pursues Hestia here, now she’s escaped his clutches. You’d best be on your guard, my lord. As a soldier, he never fought by the rules.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Would their mutual enemy really follow Hestia all the way to Essex? What would he hope to do when he arrived? Seduce her again? That would never work. Make trouble for her family by exposing her sins? Yes, he was vindictive enough to try that.

“Sir, I mean to return to Bath in search of Frederick Ebbworth, or Andrew Calshott, or whatever name he happens to be going by. Should he come here, I’d advise you to incarcerate him and let him speak to no one. Please send word to me at the earliest opportunity.”

The colonel’s face darkened. “You think I can’t deal with him myself?”

“Nothing of the sort. Only—it’s a delicate matter, with your daughter’s reputation at stake. I have an idea to mitigate against word getting out, however, but you must instigate the rumour immediately, so we can steal a march on Ebbworth. Or maybe your wife and servants could be entrusted with the task.”

“What rumour?”

“That Hestia contracted a deadly illness—smallpox, for example. She was sent away to convalesce and wait for the scars to heal. You did not wish to alarm people by admitting to there being smallpox in your household—no one else had developed the illness, so you saw no reason to inform the authorities.”

The Colonel took a sip of tea and wiped his moustache on his napkin. “I don’t approve of subterfuge, but you may have a point. I’ll discuss it with Margaret. But I shall alert the constable all the same.”

“Very good. Now, I shall presume no longer on your hospitality but walk up to the Swan, retrieve my carriage and servants, and head back to London. We’ll make our way to Bath as soon as we’re rested.”

“Will you not wait to make your farewells to Hestia?”

Conall’s lips thinned. He should wait to make his peace with her, he knew, but his heart felt as if it had been crushed by a millstone last night. He must give her time to reflect on what she really wanted. Whatever the outcome for himself.

“I penned her a brief note and pushed it under the door. Good morning to you, sir. No, pray, continue with your breakfast. Please give my regards and apologies to Mrs Normanton.”

Feeling like a coward, he left the house, and strode up the slight incline towards the Swan, which stood on a bend in the main road through the village.

The inn was already a place of hustle and bustle. Making his way to the courtyard, he was pleased to see his coach, glistening from a washing down, and undamaged by its long journey the previous day.

He was about to enter the building in search of his servants when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around—and took a step backwards.

There, smirking at him, stood the very last person he expected to see.

Frederick Ebbworth.

Chapter 17

My dearest Hestia, forgive me for leaving you in such a way. I apologise for any hurt I may have caused you – all I have done, I believed to be for the best. Your parents will care for you and protect you until this crisis is over. Be strong, my love, yours forever, Conall.

Hestia read and re-read the note she’d found just inside the door shortly after waking. The more she read it, the more concerned she became that it held not a crumb of hope. The wording reeked of despair and desperation. Conall had left her, had gone to perform some terrible act, either of his own destruction, or Frederick’s. She threw on some clothes and hurtled out of the room, half-dressed, calling for her mama.

“Whatever is it, child?” Her mother, china clay curlers still bobbing in her hair below her cap, peered around the door of her bedchamber. “Oh, I see you need help with dressing. Where’s Nancy? Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”

As Hestia stood there in her mama’s room, being laced into her corset and having her gown smoothed into place, she felt like a small girl again, being prepared for a special outing, and hopping from foot to foot in excitement. Only the excitement this time was from fear, not joy.

“Oh, Mama, what shall I do? I fear something terrible will happen. Is he really gone?”

“The earl? I don’t know. You like him, don’t you?”

“I do—more than I realised. Only—he can be so infuriating.”

“All men can. But there is oft some good to be found deeper down. Now, let’s be sensible and find your father, and see what he knows of Lord Corsbury’s plans.”

Mama threw a wrapper over the top of her dressing gown and led Hestia to her father’s study.

“Ah, good morning, wife. And a good day to you too, Hestia.”