Page 36 of The Marquess of Temptation
Chapter Fifteen
In all her life, Hestia had never felt so humiliated.
"Slow down, my lady," Catherine called from behind her, as they raced along the rugged cliffs by Pemberton Hall. "Even Henry can't keep up!"
Indeed, poor Henry was looking a little tired, as he moved his short legs as quickly as possible to keep up with them.
"I'm sorry," Hestia cried, coming to an abrupt halt. So abrupt, that Catherine thusly ran into her.
"Whatever's the matter, my Lady?" the girl asked, in her gentle lilt, as she saw the tears on Hestia's cheeks.
She could not tell Catherine what was bothering her, no matter how kind the girl's intentions, for it was too humiliating to bear. Last night, she had offered herself to her husband, only to have her overtures coldly refused.
The moment that she had invited Alex to share her bed, his face had taken on a strange expression and he had wordlessly shook his head in response.
"I shall remain on the floor tonight, my dear," he had said, through clenched teeth. Hestia, who after all their passionate kisses, had been expecting a rather warmer response, had nearly died of mortification. She had lain in the bed, stiff as poker, willing the silent tears of shame to stop, before her new husband heard and realised how much he had upset her.
That morning she had decided to be as cold as he, and had refused his offer of visiting St Jarvis, instead opting to walk along the cliffs.
"Something's the matter, my Lady," Catherine said gently, reaching into the pocket of her skirt and extracting a handkerchief. She passed it to Hestia, who noted the initials "RBM" embroidered in the corner, before she patted the tears from her cheeks. She wondered idly, who this RBM might be, but did not dare ask, in case it was a previous suitor of Catherine's.
"Thank you, Catherine," she said, passing the cotton cloth back to her waiting maid. The wind rustled her skirts and Hestia felt soft droplets of salty rain.
"Oh, dear," she sighed, glancing up at the sky. A huge bank of grey clouds could be seen, rolling in from across the sea.
"Looks like the Irish are sending over the rain," Catherine said with a smile, "Perhaps it would be best to return to Pemberton, my Lady? I'm not sure that Henry would appreciate getting soaked."
Hestia glanced down at her faithful companion, who had thrown himself miserably upon the grass. He looked up at her, his brown eyes pleading and she relented.
"You're quite right, Catherine," she replied in a brisk voice, hoping to gain some composure over her feelings. "We shall return to Pemberton, post haste."
As they walked, at a much more relaxed pace than before, the two women fell into easy conversation.
"One of the scullery maids said this morning that there was a terrible commotion last night," Catherine confided, "A man called Captain Black arrived, he works for the Duke on one of his ships. Well, the proprietress of the boarding house refused him a room, and he had to walk all the way from St Jarvis to Pemberton, by foot in the rain."
Hestia digested this news silently, recalling the Captain's strange behaviour the previous night, when he had learned Polly's name. The two evidently knew each other; though if Polly had refused Black a room for the night, then she clearly wasn't overly fond of the Captain. Which was a surprise, for Hestia had found the handsome Captain most charming and unassuming.
There was nobody home when the pair arrived back from their walk, bar the staff who bustled to and fro. Hestia went to her suite of rooms, hoping that perhaps Alex would be there, so that they could discuss what had happened the previous night. He was nowhere to be found however, and, thinking that she did not want to spend a dull afternoon alone, Hestia went in search of the library and a good book.
Pemberton Hall, which Olive had told her had originally been built in the fourteenth century, was a warren of corridors. It took Hestia a quarter of an hour to find the library, though when she pushed the door open a crack, she paused at the sound of a familiar voice.
"I'm blasted if I know what to do Everleigh."
It was Alex, and by the sounds of it he was pacing back and forth. Despite knowing that she should not be eavesdropping on her husband's conversations, Hestia paused, wondering if perhaps he was discussing his marriage. Hopefully he and the Duke weren't so close that he would share the diabolical scene from last night; Hestia flushed, that would truly be adding insult to injury.
"It's a tricky situation, I agree," the Duke replied, in a very serious voice. "Are you certain that Dubois is guilty?"
"I am, now. I did not want to believe it, but after what Thomas found out in Truro --that there were witnesses to say Dubois had tried to hire men to attack Stockbow..."
Alex trailed off, whilst Hestia stifled a gasp of shock and incredulity. Her husband had known since Truro that Dubois was most certainly her father's killer, and yet had not bothered to tell her.
"What shall you do?" Everleigh asked gravely.
Hestia waited for Alex to respond with a suitable answer; preferably along the lines of hanging and quartering this criminal Dubois. Instead, her husband heaved a huge sigh, and simply stated "I don't know."
She took a step back from the door, shocked by his ambivalent reply. How could he not know what to do? Was it easy for him to overlook his friend's guilt, simply because her father had been a criminal?
"Did you hear something?" Alex asked sharply from inside. Panic surged in Hestia's chest; she could not face him now. She turned and fled the way she had come, never once glancing behind her to see if he was following.
