“I wish you success in your plan,” he answered.
The waltz finished, and the lady curtsied. “Thank you, my lord.” A less guarded smile graced her features.
Drake went in search of a drink as a group of lords stood in his way. Fortunately, his closest friends, The Earl of Thornton, Harris Darroch, the shipping magnate, and the Duke of Brunswick. Worcester had gone to school with Thornton and Brunswick. Darroch’s wife, Edwina, was sister to Philippa, the Duchess of Brunswick, and close friends with the Countess of Thornton.
“Edmund,” he greeted the earl. “Titus,” to the duke. “Harris,” and greeted Darroch with a nod.
“Here comes the rake about to be reformed.” Titus celebrated, obviously believing the rumours.
Drake had to own that in his wildest hay-days, his behaviour hadn’t been in the best of forms. Though, in the last year he’d been exclusive. His attention had focused entirely on Hester. And now she was gone, but he promised himself he’d rectify the situation.
“Not so soon,” he answered as he took a glass of champagne from a footman.
“Don’t tell me you’ll drag the betrothal.” Edmund taunted, a knowing look on him.
“That’s what I would’ve done. Before I fell for Edwina, I mean.” Harris added. The Scott had held the fame of the worst libertine London had ever seen.
"I won't be betrothed at all. The whole thing is my mother's doing." Drake vented and tossed the wine. "I was introduced to the chit an hour ago."
“Bleeding hell,” exclaimed Darroch!
"The rags will go aflame with the scandal," Edmund predicted.
"You can't do that to a duke's daughter," Titus warned. Even having met Philippa in Worcester's house-party, he ended up marrying her second cousin to avoid a scandal.
"I told my mother to fix it, it's her mess," Drake said dead serious.
“Perhaps you should try it.” Edmund started. “Marriage isn’t all that bad.” The earl fell hard for an orphaned miss and was a protective and possessive husband.
“It definitely isn’t,” came from Darroch.
“Not in the least,” echoed Titus. After two years of widowhood, he finally married Philippa.
Drake eyed each of his friends as if they’d grown two heads. “Heaven protect me from fallen men and their domestic bliss!”
The four of them laughed heartedly.
CHAPTER TWO
A few days later, Hester entered the theatre where her father waited for her to discuss a new play. The theatre company owned by her family had established itself in Drury Lane with a tidy return. Both her parents came from tenant families in the country. As a second son, her father wouldn’t take over after his own father. So they decided to try their luck in London. They’d started as backstage hands in the company they ended up buying after a decade working for it. Oliver Green chose the plays and the cast for it. Her brother, Eli, proved good with numbers and her late mother had had magical hands with the costumes. Unfortunately, she’d died two winters previously from an outbreak of fever.
Since she left Worcester’s leased bird’s nest, she moved to a small house her mother had left her not far from the theatre. Jane Green used to tell her daughter that a woman’s destiny was constantly uncertain and that having a place of her own would afford her daughter a choice. An enlightened person, Hester thought gratefully.
In the hallway leading to her father’s office, she nearly collided with Duff Flynn, one of the actors. Fresh from an impoverished Ireland, he’d started in the company when he’d not even sprouted a beard. Not so tall with a reddish-brown hair, he’d practically grown up with her.
“Hester, what a surprise,” he smiled at her as he approached.
“Duff, it’s been a long time.” She’d visited her family here at the theatre while living in Worcester’s house but not as often as she might have liked.
“Shall we take some ale before you leave?”
“I’m not leaving.” The answer came a tad stiff.
“Oh, sorry, I heard the news,” and took her hand. “Do you need anything?”
It didn’t escape Hester that the actor carried a torch for her. He’d done for years, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel more than a sisterly friendship for him. At that moment, the last thing on her mind was anything remotely related to a tryst.
The morning after her conversation with Drake, she packed the few belongings she’d brought with her, said good-bye to the servants and took refuge in her house. Luckily, the house had been closed for several months and needed a good cleaning. The physical work helped her keep her mind straight. The nights though had proved a burden she feared she would take time to be able to carry.
She gave a slight grin at his thoughtfulness. "I wish to return to work if my father will have me."
His smile broadened as his eyes lit. “Of course he’ll have you. You are one of the best actresses in town.”
She couldn’t be sure of that. What she knew was that other companies had tried to lure her away with promises of grandiose fame. In the fickle world of the stage, fame might be overrated so she’d stayed on, more secure in the place she’d been born.
“Thank you, Duff,” and moved to leave. “I should go now. Let’s have that ale later.”
“I’ll count the minutes,” and waved as he walked away.
Reaching her father's office, she halted at the sight of him, head bent over a sheet of paper, quill in hand. A wave of tenderness invaded her. She should have come more often, stayed longer. But the fever of being with Drake had swallowed her to a point she'd given up so much. Oliver had been categorically against her accepting Worcester's proposition. Her infatuation with the giant marquess had spoken louder, and she'd chosen to live it out and see where it led. Well, it led to the starting point if her presence here was anything to go by.
“Papa,” she blurted.
Her father lifted his bald head, a mixture of surprise and elation in eyes as green as hers. “Hester,” he whispered and stood up to come to her to hug her without reserve. To be wrapped so warmly brought tears to her eyes.
At last, he took her shoulders as their identical eyes held for several heartbeats. “You’ve come to stay.”
Hester would never cease to marvel at his sensitivity. No reproach, no ‘I said so’, only support. “Yes,” she said, unable to hide the chagrin that spread in her.
Oliver only nodded seeming to understand fully her feelings. Back to his chair, he sat and pointed at a bunch of parchment. “We’ve received a new play I consider promising,” and extended the bunch to her.
“‘The Plight of Sarah Borne’” She read. “I’ve not heard of this Ted Rann,” the author’s name on the first page.
"Neither have I," Oliver agreed. "But it's very good, and I plan to put it on for the season. The main role is yours if you want it."