indeed, he had her gliding about the room with a grace that seemed effortless, their steps perfectly matched.
But she was not enjoying herself. Her face was flushed. Knowing her as she did, Hester deduced Em was on the verge of losing her temper. Oh, dear, she hoped Mr Farrar was not teasing her in the manner he adopted with her cousins. They found it endearing, but Em detested flirting almost as much as Hester did. Moreover, she had very strong views about the dandy set, men, she had often stated vehemently, who lavished money on so shallow a thing as their own appearance, when there were families on the verge of starvation begging, unheeded, at their doors.
That waltz ended, but since her young cousins were clamouring for another, and Lady Gregory gave her permission, Hester struck up a third waltz tune.
Lord Lensborough became Em’s partner, and to set the seal on Hester’s confusion, promptly set about soothing her ruffled feathers, while Lionel managed to coax a smile out of Phoebe, who had come from Lensborough’s embrace looking thoroughly downcast.
The waltz, Hester concluded, was a dance that appeared to have the effect of turning everybody’s feelings upside down.
Sir Thomas declared that three waltzes on top of a set of energetic country dances was quite enough excitement for one evening, and that it was high time they removed to the drawing room, where light refreshments had been laid out.
Hester automatically began to tidy up the sheet music that was strewn across the piano lid.
It was only when Lionel materialised at her side she realised how careless she had been. With everyone else heading for the exit, she had given him an ideal opportunity to catch her on her own.
‘It is no use trying to avoid me, Hetty,’ he hissed ‘You know full well why I am here. I told you when the time was right I would come back and marry you.’
Marriage? No, not that. She would rather he blackmailed her!
He laid one hand on top of the piano, leaning over her seated form like a vulture hunched over its prey.
‘And here you are, still single, waiting for me.’
She fought the urge to cringe away from him, determined not to betray the sickening feeling of helplessness that roiled in her stomach.
‘Please move away from me,’ she managed to gasp.
Lionel laughed. ‘Why, Hetty, if I did not know you better, I would think you did not like me.’
‘I don’t.’ She forced the words between lips that were stiff with outrage. ‘And I won’t marry you.’
For an instant, as he straightened up abruptly with a curse, Hester feared he was going to strike her. It took a second or two to register that he had responded to the fact that Lord Lensborough was standing not five feet from them, with Em on his arm.
‘Miss Dean wishes to go home, Mr Snelgrove.’ His voice was icily polite. ‘She is not easy about leaving her father too long alone.’
‘It is quite a long walk across the park,’ she explained, her voice somewhat higher than usual, and far louder than it needed to be. ‘Papa will be worried if I return too late.’
Hester realised that the words were not intended so much for her, as Mr Farrar, who was standing behind the couple, looking every bit as furious as Mr Snelgrove.
‘Of course,’ Lionel replied, bowing stiffly to Hester. He escorted Em from the room, Stephen Farrar trailing moodily along behind them.
It was only once he had gone that reaction set in, and Hester began to tremble violently. She could not have got up and left the piano stool had her life depended on it. Head bowed, she waited till the trembling subsided, and it was not till she looked up that she discovered Lord Lensborough was waiting patiently some few feet away.
‘I…’ Her face flushed. She felt she owed him some explanation, but he curtailed her, shaking his head and merely holding out his arm with a rueful smile.
‘No explanations necessary. Allow me to escort you to the drawing room. You look as if you could do with a refreshing glass of lemonade.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ She placed her hand on his arm, and rose shakily to her feet. ‘That would be most welcome.’
Lord Lensborough contented himself with walking Hester along the passage to the supper room in sympathetic silence. It would be crass to allude to the exchange he had overheard, unfeeling to talk of anything else as if he was unmindful of her emotional state.
They paused on the threshold, and he watched her face intently as she scanned the occupants of the room, her fingers tightening convulsively on his sleeve.
She looked at Julia and Phoebe, giggling together in a corner, cock-a-hoop because they had each waltzed with their intended. How little it took to set them in alt! There sat Henrietta, gazing up at her husband with foolish, untrammelled devotion, basking in the glow of impending motherhood.
Even her aunt and uncle were locked in a little world of their own, side by side on a sofa, sipping tea from matching china cups.
Never had she felt so excluded, so utterly alone.
She sighed, exhaustion washing over her. She was glad that her family were all too content to probe into her life. If any of them were to guess what lay beneath the carefully maintained mask she wore…She shuddered. Pray God nobody would ever guess the secrets she harboured.
‘Will you excuse me, my lord?’ She looked full into eyes that once she had thought were dark with menace. They held no fear for her now. He might not want anybody to know it, but Lord Lensborough could be kind.
‘I find suddenly that I am very tired. It has been a busy day.’
She needed her sanctuary. She would feel far less lonely up in her attic than down here with people who were oblivious to her lacerated feelings.
Lord Lensborough hesitated for only a fraction of a second before bowing and bidding her goodnight. He was content with the progress he had made tonight. Snelgrove had played right into his hands. Twice the fool had pushed her too far, and she had accepted his offer of help. Before long she would be eating out of his hands.
Chapter Eight
Hester was too worked up to fall asleep for a very long time. And when she did, the nightmare came back.
Even though thick smoke was blinding her, she knew she was in the summerhouse. She could hear the rain thundering on to the roof. The smoke was getting thicker, choking her. She tried to get to the door, but he caught her round the waist and dragged her to the floor, crushing her beneath the weight of his body. The harder she struggled to free herself, the louder he laughed. Then he was grinding her cheek into the rough floorboards with one hand and leaning down to open his breeches with the other. The blackened hem of her muslin gown crumbled to ashes in his hands as the flames licked up her legs. If she couldn’t stop him, she would burn to death.
She took as deep a breath as she could, her mouth opening wide.
The sound of her scream, thin and reedy at first, quickly grew to a howl that was loud enough to wake her.
Her
