Page 24 of Lusting for the Duke's Kiss
She stood up quickly, breaking the contact.
“I find that I am weary now,” she said, not looking at him. “I must retire. And besides, it is not proper to sit out here with you, unchaperoned. I am sure my mother would scold me soundly if she were aware of it.”
He gazed up at her, sadly. “Of course. Good night, Hetty. I think I shall stay out here for a little while longer.”
She nodded, almost running down the garden path, back into the house.
In the hallway, at the top of the stairs, she stopped, looking out the window at him, still sitting on the garden bench. His back was to her, so she could not see his face. He was so still he could almost be a statue. What was he thinking?
Her heart yearned, almost heaved, with a strange, almost bittersweet longing. What was happening to her? She knew that if she had stayed out there any longer with him, they would have grown more intimate with each other. If he had leaned over to kiss her at that moment, she would not have pulled away.
A single tear coursed down her cheek. This was not supposed to be happening. She was going to a convent as soon as her divorce was worked out, either way. She would either be going to it as a free woman or as a still married one. But either way, she was going. She had been steadfast in her resolve that it was what she wanted to do with her life.
But now … now, she was not so sure. He was arousing feelings in her that she had never experienced before. She wanted to be with him and around him. She had never felt this way about a man. She certainly had never felt this way around Frank.
She sighed heavily. It was all so very confusing. She simply did not know what to do about it at all. She only knew that the thought of leaving Louis Montague, the Duke of Warwick, behind, when she finally entered a convent, was more than she could bear.
Chapter 11
Hetty ran down the steps of the house, just as the carriage was pulling to a stop. She was so excited that she could barely contain it.
The carriage door opened and out stepped her best friend in the whole world. Miss Annabelle Foster squealed in delight, her golden ringlets shaking on either side of her face, opening her arms.
“There you are!” she cried, enveloping Hetty in a warm embrace. “It has been so long, my dearest. Why, I have not seen you since your wedding day …” She bit her lip, trailing off awkwardly.
Hetty sighed. She knew that it was going to be like this when she finally saw Annabelle again. But she didn’t care anymore. The awkwardness of what had happened to her was dwarfed by the pleasure of finally seeing her closest friend again.
“You simply must tell me everything,” whispered Annabelle, as they walked, arm in arm, into the house. “I shall not be satisfied until you do.”
Hetty sighed again. “It shall be a long tale, I fear,” she said, gripping Annabelle’s arm tightly.
***
They settled on the table and chairs in the garden with their tea. Della scurried around their feet. Annabelle reached down, petting the dog, before she turned to Hetty, fixing her with a steady gaze.
“I want to start by saying that I am sorry,” said Annabelle slowly. “I am sorry that you felt that you could not see me during this awful time …”
Hetty shook her head firmly. “It was not that I did not wish to see you, Annabelle. I have missed you so very much.” She paused, biting her lip. “It is just that I would not have been very good company at all. And I had no desire to go anywhere or see anyone who might speak of … my shame. Not even your parents, as good as they are.”
Her friend sighed. “I could have come here, to Hillsworth House, to visit, just as I am doing now,” she said slowly. “You should have leant on me, Hetty. That is what friends are for.”
Hetty nodded, biting her lip harder. Perhaps she had been too cautious in not reaching out to people.
“It warms my heart to hear you say it, Annabelle,” she said slowly. “I was afraid. Afraid that you might not wish to know me, after what Frank did to me. That you might not want to associate with a ruinedwoman …”
“What nonsense,” said Annabelle, snorting. “I do not care what society thinks about what has been done to you. It was none of your doing. The fault lies entirely with that rake, who you call a husband.” She glowered. “I never liked him you know. Not that I would have told you before.”
“You didn’t?” asked Hetty, surprised.
Annabelle shook her head. “No. Too smarmy and smooth, in my book. Frank Blackmore always tried a little bit too hard.” She paused. “But having said that, I never expected this, for a moment. That he would do what he has done to you. Have you had any word from him or know where he is and what he is doing now?”
Hetty shook her head. “Nothing. Papa hired a private investigator, but so far, there have been no sightings of him. It is all a mystery.”
“And he simply walked out on you the day after your wedding?”
Hetty nodded. “He left a note on a table in my bedroom. Later in the morning, a solicitor arrived, informing me the house had been sold a week prior, and that I must vacate …”
Annabelle flushed with anger. “The swine! How could he have done this to you? I swear before God Almighty that I shall punch him in the nose if I ever have the misfortune of seeing his miserable face again.”
