silent as the man refilled their wine glasses and withdrew. ‘Why did you not need a guardian?’
‘Because I was of age, of course.’ Hester laughed and picked up her glass. Perhaps one more sip, it was such a pleasure to drink good wine in a man’s company again. She caught the teasing twinkle and could not resist an answering smile. ‘And do not look like that, my lord. You are not going to cozen me into revealing my age. Suffice to say I had been out and acting as Papa’s hostess for years.’
‘Years?’
‘Years,’ she said firmly. She was not going to tell him that she had put her hair up on her seventeenth birthday and five days later had been hostess at a dinner where two generals and an admiral had been amongst the guests. Let him think her older than her twenty-four years if it helped make her seem less vulnerable.
Fortunately he asked her nothing about her late employer, which was a relief, for Hester was unhappy at the thought of lying. Dissembling as she was already made her uneasy.
‘So how are you occupying your time, Miss Lattimer? After London I should imagine that Winterbourne, however delightful, has far less to offer in the way of diversion.’
‘On the contrary, my lord, I was never in a position to enjoy London diversions. I have my books and sewing, a house and garden to restore, lovely countryside all around and most congenial company.’
Conversation was becoming more general as dishes were removed and replaced with sweetmeats and nuts. Mrs Redland had obviously overheard, for she turned with her somewhat glacial smile and remarked, ‘I am glad to hear you say so, Miss Lattimer. So many young people despise country life, but here we have a most respectable yet active society. I hope I may interest you in some of my favourite charitable causes.’
‘I am sure you can, Mrs Redland. May I enquire what they are?’
‘There is the village school for the children of the labouring classes, the Society for the Relief of Limbless Servicemen Passing through the Parish, the Ladies’ Sewing Circle—we produce shirts and infant clothes for the deserving poor— and…’ she lowered her voice ‘…the Home for Fallen Women in Aylesbury.’
Two of those enterprises struck a distinct chord with Hester, but she felt it politic to mention only one of them. ‘A most interesting collection of charitable aims, Mrs Redland. I feel great sympathy with the plight of the limbless soldiers, having spent time in the Peninsula myself, but naturally I will do my best to assist with all of them.’
Mrs Redland beamed and turned to inform the lower half of the table that she had secured a willing recruit to their charitable groups. Guy lowered his voice and remarked, ‘Very worthy and a dead bore. I cannot imagine you sewing endless infant garments for the products of the Home for Fallen Women. Do you ride?’
Hester flashed him a reproving glance. ‘One cannot blame the infants for the sins of their mothers.’
‘No, indeed,’ he said with such emphasis that she blinked. ‘Nor the mothers, either, in most cases. You did not answer my question.’
‘Yes, I ride, but I have had no riding horse since returning to England, only Hector the Welsh cob who pulls my gig. I have not ventured to put a saddle on his back—I doubt he is used to a side saddle in any event.’
‘So you drive? But only a gig?’
‘I will have you know that it is a most dashing vehicle, my lord,’ Hester retorted.
‘Could I tempt you to try a curricle?’
‘Very easily indeed,’ she replied frankly. ‘But I should not.’
‘Even with a groom up behind?’
‘Single ladies have to be very careful of appearances, my lord.’
To her surprise, it was Major Piper who intervened. ‘Our local ladies are very partial to driving, Miss Lattimer, I am sure there would be no question of censure. My wife is a most accomplished whip and Miss Redland also. Carriage picnics are an established summer recreation amongst us.’
At this point Mrs Bunting rose, collected the other ladies’ attention and announced, ‘We will leave the gentlemen to their port.’
The ladies followed the vicar’s wife out, leaving behind them the scraping of chair legs as the men resumed their seats.
‘How lucky you are, Miss Lattimer,’ Miss Redland exclaimed as the door was closing. ‘Fancy Lord Buckland offering to teach you to drive a curricle! Mind you, he is not so good looking as Sir Lewis.’
‘Annabelle!’ Her mother turned, clucking in disapproval, the sound finding an echo in Miss Prudhome’s audible agitation.
‘Well, I think it is most unfair of Miss Lattimer to arrive just when another eligible gentleman comes to Winterbourne,’ Annabelle said with a joking air that Hester suspected was only partially genuine. ‘And with such lovely London gowns as well.’
‘Nonsense, child, you will give Miss Lattimer a most unfortunate impression of you.’ Mrs Redland turned an approving eye upon Hester as they took their seats in the salon. ‘I am sure Miss Lattimer’s intentions are far removed from such frippery trifles as gowns and flirtations.’
Hester smiled back modestly, but with a sinking heart. It was going to be akin to walking a tightrope to maintain one’s reputation in such a small society and with such ineffectual chaperonage. Especially when one’s heart yearned to be seated beside Guy Westrope as his curricle bowled along the road with not a groom in sight.
Hester spent the next half-hour in a state of nervous suspense, negotiating the social minefield presented by a group of well-bred and curious ladies all intent on extracting as much information as possible about her and speculating upon their host.
She answered all their personal questions with modest reserve, but with as much frankness as possible, correctly judging that not to do so would create an air of mystery and draw unwanted attention. Fortunately Miss Prudhome knew next to nothing about her new employer’s background. Hester told herself that if she could survive the first few weeks then she would cease to be a novelty and would feel much safer.
Apparently satisfied by her explanation that she found London noisy and unhealthy and yearned for a return to the rural life she had enjoyed in Portugal, the ladies moved on to genteel speculation about their host.
‘Why do you think he is here, Miss Lattimer?’ Mrs Piper enquired. ‘You are his nearest neighbour, after all.’
‘Perhaps he is looking for property in the area?’ Hester suggested, snatching at a part-truth.
‘Possibly,’ Mrs Redland agreed. ‘But why not send his agent?’
Eventually they speculated themselves to a standstill and moved on to discuss the arrival in Aylesbury of a modiste reputed to be lately of London. Hester took her part in the conversation, aware from movement outside that the gentlemen, or some of them, had gone out into the garden.
Why she could not imagine, for it was far too dark to walk around and must be decidedly
