“Hester!”
She smiled at him affectionately. “I hope you’ll have better things to do in London, Lowell, my love, than escort a spinster sister to dances she doesn’t wish to attend, or soirées she’d rather die than be seen at! That would be no fun at all, not for you and not for me. No, we can only hope that I am able to change Mama’s mind before April comes.”
Meanwhile Robert Dungarran was on the road to London. The weather remained inclement and it was proving a most unpleasant journey. Jolted and tossed as the chaise slipped on the ice and snow, and progress was reduced to walking pace, he had plenty of time to consider. The trip had altogether proved a disappointment. Hunting in the mist, rain and snow of Leicestershire had been dismal, and the society there even less attractive. His trip to Northampton had been a waste of time—he had learned nothing from the Receiving Office. However, it wasn’t a matter of great importance, he could put it out of his mind. What was more annoying was the meeting with Hester Perceval…How strange that he hadn’t recognised her! When he had first seen her coming round the corner with her cousins she had seemed a different creature altogether. Laughing, animated, capable. It had taken a minute or two to remember what a bore she had been—and the devilishly awkward circumstances of their last meeting…Still, if what she had said about not coming to town for the Season was right, he wouldn’t have to see her again…How did Hugo, the most polished of men, and a damned amusing companion, come to have such a dull stick for a sister? Dungarran settled back more comfortably against the squabs and composed himself for sleep…
But sleep eluded him. Memories of Hester Perceval flitted about his mind like ghosts. She was very young, of course, about seventeen. Straight from school. Hugo hadn’t wanted her to come to London so early, but the parents had insisted. When was it? 1805—the year of Trafalgar? No, Trafalgar had been the year before. It was 1806…
She had been so quiet at first, a watcher, an observer, with no conversation. They had all wondered what the devil her school had been about. Hugo had said proudly that she was a prize pupil, but the girl hadn’t the slightest notion of how to behave in company. She had none of the usual female accomplishments, not even an elementary knowledge of dancing. Out of sympathy for Hugo he had done his best to teach her that, at least. None of the others had volunteered and Hugo had been desperate. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t all that bad. She could be amusing on occasion, and she picked things up quite quickly. You didn’t have to tell her anything twice…Except when she refused to listen. He shook his head. She’d been a prize pupil, all right! Before long she had revealed herself as a prize, pigheaded, obstinate little know-all. She was finished after that, of course…
He shifted and made himself more comfortable. They would surely reach Dunstable soon, and then there would be only another day of this nightmare journey. He closed his eyes…
But the memories refused to go away…He hadn’t been there when Hugo Perceval’s little sister suddenly turned herself into some sort of crusader, bent on reforming the world. Trouble at Portsmouth had kept him out of the capital for a week or two. But when he got back, poor Lady Perceval was distraught, and Hugo was furious.
To begin with everyone was astonished at her impertinence. He grinned as he recalled Lady Scarsdale’s outrage,
“Do you know, Robert, that…that chit of a girl had the effrontery to ask about the mill in Matlock! I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea what goes on up there, we only visit Derbyshire once or twice a year, and what Arkwright does with his mill is surely his own business. But this…this snip of seventeen—I don’t know why I call her a snip, for she’s taller than I am—this pole of a girl had the audacity to suggest that I ought to know how he treats his workers! What on earth is Lady Perceval thinking of, letting such a turniphead loose in society?”
Most of the younger members of the Ton, including himself, just laughed at Hester Perceval—it was impossible to take her seriously. Out of friendship for Hugo, and a sneaking sympathy for the girl, he had done his best to guide her into less stormy waters, but even he had given up in despair. She was bent on her own downfall, stubbornly refusing to listen to hints or even plain speaking. In the end most of the world simply avoided her company. And then had come the Great Scandal, and London had seen her no more.
Shouts and cries made him aware that they had drawn up before the Sugar Loaf in Dunstable. At last! He got out and stretched himself. He would order a decent meal in a private parlour, have a good night’s rest and be in Curzon Street well before dark tomorrow.
The first two of these were accomplished successfully, and Robert Dungarran set off the next day in a better mood. His comfortable home with its self-contained bachelor existence was within reach. But to his annoyance he was unable to rid his mind of the events which had led to Hester Perceval’s banishment in 1806…
Society was bored, amused, offended by Miss Perceval, but in the end they had all been deeply shocked by the events at the Sutherlands’ ball. He smiled cynically. The gossip hadn’t done Canford any good, either, but he deserved what he had got. He should have known better than to complain to the world about a ruined coat after pressing his attentions on an unwilling girl less than a third his age. The man was dead now, but he had been no credit to himself or anyone else. But what, Robert Dungarran wondered, what would society have said if they had known what happened in the Duchess of Sutherland’s library after the episode with Canford? No one did. No one but Hester Perceval and himself. Thinking back, he had perhaps been harsh with the girl, but encouraging her would have been even more unkind. He shifted uncomfortably, the scene six years before vivid in his mind’s eye.
When Dungarran had arrived at the door of the library Canford had practically knocked him over as he stormed out, swearing vengeance. The noble earl was in a sorry state, his cravat, shirt and velvet coat soaked in wine. Apparently the girl had emptied a glass of the best Bordeaux over him. It looked more like the contents of a decanter. Inside the library he was met with a scene to send any young man of fashion running for cover. Hugo, who was usually calm in all circumstances, had lost his temper spectacularly. Hester, standing in the middle of the room, her bodice torn, and her hair halfway down her back, had been reduced by his words to hysterics. The situation was clearly desperate. When Hugo saw his friend standing in the door he had pleaded, “Robert, would you take care of this sister of mine? I’ll send my mother to her as soon as I can, but she can’t leave the room in the state she’s in, and I must go after Canford straight away to see what can be done to avoid a scandal.”
With the greatest possible reluctance, Robert, observing the state of both Percevals, had to agree. It was vital that Canford’s tirade should be stemmed before too many people heard it, and the girl could not be left alone. Hugo hurried out and he and Hester were left in the room.
“Miss Perceval—”
Hester was now calm enough to speak between her sobs. “It’s all your fault!” she shouted. “I would never have gone with that…that monster if you had been kinder.”
“Miss Perceval, let me fetch you something to calm you. I’m sorry—”
“I won’t listen to your excuses! You all laughed at me, I heard you tonight with your friends! All laughing at me! You’re no better than a fashion plate, a pasteboard figure without heart or mind! God might have given you brains, but lack of use has caused them to…to wither away! Don’t speak to me! I don’t want to hear your excuses!”
Robert Dungarran bowed. “I was not aware that I had done anything to excuse. But I won’t say another word, if that is what you wish.”
“Look at you!” she went on stormily. “Elegantly empty! You don’t care whose heart you break! Making me fall in love with you—”
“Oh no!” This was too much, even for a man of Robert Dungarran’s equable temperament. “That cannot be so. I have never given you the slightest reason to—”
“Of course you did! Why else would you spend so long teaching me to dance, taking me for drives, saying how pretty I looked,