Chapter 3
One thing Hester had missed about life amongst the ton was the beauty of art.
The truth was, when one left such a world, one left a great many things, and that included access to many beautiful paintings.
It frustrated her to no end that the poor, and often many people in the middle class as well, did not have the opportunity to go and see the sort of beauty that the truly wealthy people of this world could collect and display.
The Briarwoods collected even more extensively than most. She knew this. Everyone in the ton was very aware of it.
She had known Briarwoods before. She had glimpsed them across ballrooms. She had even had interactions with a few of the young ladies she had shared a Season with when her parents had hoped she was going to make a great marriage.
But she had not interacted with the Briarwoods since she had run off in search of a very different life.
As she turned slowly about in the long hall she’d been put in while waiting to meet Calchas Briarwood, she took in the paintings that hung from the walls. The beauty of the canvases stole her breath.
How could they not? It was like witnessing the hand of God at work right before her very eyes.
They were portals to other worlds, where heavens existed far beyond the cruelty of mortal men.
She often struggled to understand how there could be such beauty in the world when there was such unkindness too.
She’d truly seen cruelty over the last years, cruelty she’d not even known existed because she had been the cosseted daughter of an earl.
And, while she had not been loved, she had known no physical difficulty, not truly.
Yes, there had been harsh discipline by her governess, but she had always been warm, she had always had enough to eat, and she had always been beautifully clothed. And she’d had Ellen to mitigate the rigorous demands placed upon her and the constant shaming that she was never quite good enough.
It was not until quite recently that she had understood how far one could fall, and how some were born already in the gutter with no clothes, no food, no education, no chance to see beauty beyond the grim grime of cities now laid waste by industrial demands.
No, she did not miss the ton, but she did miss the beauty, and she wished that all had a chance to see it, to feel the divine inspiration that so many artists knew.
She bit her lower lip and thought if she ever had this kind of wealth, she would make certain that beauty was available to all, and not just in churches, but this sort of beauty, the paintings of great masters who had come before.
And the masters who were living and pushing art to new heights now.
She thought it would do a world of good to the poorest people for them to be able to see the promise of something more outside their lives, which had so little color in them.
“You like that one, do you?” a voice called from the doorway behind her.
She pivoted quickly, grasping at her reticule.
She had dressed as well as she possibly could, though all of her clothes were faded and worn.
She’d turned the hems more times than she’d like to count.
She smiled and nodded, recognizing the older woman immediately.
Everyone in the ton likely knew the formidable Dowager Duchess of Westleigh.
“I do,” she said, feeling odd to be back in the presence of another aristocrat. “It is exceptionally lovely.”
“It is by a young artist that we are supporting,” the Dowager Duchess of Westleigh said, striding forward.
She was in remarkably good health for a woman of her years.
Her silver hair shone in the morning light, and her amethyst gown swung easily from a form that clearly benefited from walking and dancing.
Hester remembered seeing the dowager duchess the first time and being quite stunned by her power, confidence, and merry demeanor.
If every woman could be as powerful and full of life as the dowager duchess, all women would be joyful, she was certain.
But not everyone could be as wily or as capable as the dowager duchess.
No, they had not had the same circumstances, the same trials, and the same fortunes. So there could be only one such lady.
“How wonderful,” Hester said, “that you support young artists.”
“Oh, someone must,” the dowager duchess enthused, beaming. But then she cocked her head to the side. Her silver brows drew together before she ventured, “I know you, don’t I?”
That stunned Hester. She had not expected it. Not in the slightest.
She cleared her throat. “Only in passing, Your Grace,” she murmured, wishing to give no further information. She did not particularly wish to go into a history of her family and the things that had happened.
But the dowager duchess seemed determined. She took another step forward, gazing upon her. “I do know you. Are you a member of one of the charities that we work with?”
This rankled ever so slightly. She didn’t like to seem as if she needed charity, but the truth was she did. She was here to ask for money, after all.
“No,” she said simply.
“I see,” the dowager duchess said, pursing her lips. But then her eyes widened. “Lady Hester,” she gasped.
Hester closed her eyes for one moment longer than she should, pressed her lips together, and then forced herself to smile. “Yes, that is correct.”
The dowager clapped her hands together, causing the jewels upon her fingers to shimmer in the light. “Oh, what a pleasure to see you here.”
But the dowager duchess’s eyes took in her clothes quickly, and the ramifications of such attire clearly registered with the older woman. “How are your mother and father?”
“I don’t know,” Hester replied frankly.
“You don’t…” The dowager duchess’s voice died off, but then she gave a nod and said quite firmly, “Oh, well, they are not the most friendly of people. I understand.”
“Do you?” she bit out before she could stop herself.
The dowager duchess smiled ever so slightly. “Probably better than you think. I wouldn’t mind running off from my parents either had they been such as yours.”
She nearly choked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, if you are Lady Hester, daughter of the Earl of Renstower, then you’re also Hester Floyd. You ran off, did you not? Headed out into the night, never to be seen again, to marry your captain?” The dowager winked. “I do enjoy a good running off. I hope it was absolutely splendid for you.”
Hester hesitated.
The dowager’s merry smile dimmed. “Oh dear, not so very splendid then.”
“Oh, yes, it was,” Hester rushed, not wishing to seem as if her love affair had been a failure. “My husband was a splendid man. I loved him very, very much.”
“Ah. Oh, my dear,” the dowager sighed, her gaze filing with sympathy. “You are using past tense. That means that your story was a tragedy in the end.”
Tears stung her eyes and she was shocked. She did not cry in front of anyone, certainly not someone as grand as the dowager duchess. But she found herself nodding. “Yes, a tragedy in the end, I suppose, but I do not regret it.”
“One should never regret a love story,” the dowager duchess replied softly. “And you are so young. So for you, it is not truly the end yet. You can write a new story. Now, let me call for tea, and you and I can—”
A new story? Yes. She could, though it was daunting and she had no wish to wax poetic about it with the dowager. It…hurt too much.
“I am here to see someone in particular,” Hester rushed.
“Oh, of course. How rude of me. You must be here to see one of your old friends, one of my nieces or one of my grandchildren?”
“I am here to see Captain Lord Calchas Briarwood,” she said.
“My goodness.” The dowager cleared her throat and took Hester’s hint with ease. “Of course. Your husband was friends with him. How very good of you to pursue it.”
She hesitated. “They were not exactly friends. They were acquaintances.”
“Oh?” The dowager’s rather expressive brows inched upward. “Then you are here for some particular purpose?”
She didn’t wish to tell the dowager that she was being terribly nosy, but she had a funny feeling the dowager already knew it.
Hester drew in a breath, even as her heart began to beat faster and her nerves began to race. “Yes. You see, I have a business proposition for him.”
The dowager’s eyes lit up. “How marvelous. I do love a lady with a plan.”
“Well, I do have one.”
“Would you like to tell it to me as a sort of practice run before you tell Calchas?”
She bit her lips. “I—”
“Grandmama,” a voice called from the hall, “are you bothering my guest?”
“Bothering?” the dowager duchess trilled. “How could I ever bother anyone? You don’t think that I’m bothering, do you?” she asked, locking her gaze with Hester’s.
Hester felt her cheeks burn. She would never suggest that the older lady was meddling, but her attention did feel quite intense. But she also rather liked it. She loved the fact that the dowager duchess felt so bold as to make such conversation. “Not exactly,” she said.
A bright laugh passed the dowager’s lips. “A little bit then.”
“A little bit is surely a good thing,” allowed Hester. “It’s how things get done, with curiosity and a little bit of badgering.”
“Oh, I do like you,” the dowager said firmly. “Badgering is an excellent way of getting things done.”
Calchas Briarwood strode from the shadows of the doorway and into the light of the long hall.
Hester gaped.
He was stunning. There was really no other word for it. He was almost brutal-looking, hard, and yet she wasn’t afraid in his presence. His face and physical presence reminded her of a righteous angel, sent from on high to take out divine justice upon the unworthy.
And yet, truly, she felt no fear. His presence did take up a great deal of the room.
But his grandmother beamed at him, crossed, and planted a kiss upon his cheek.
Which only made Hester feel better about her decision to come, for any young man who would so willingly let their grandmother kiss their cheek in view of others had to be an excellent fellow.
Yes, this was the right decision, she assured herself.
“I should leave you to it,” the dowager duchess said, “but I must confess, my curiosity is piqued, and I will not let you escape from me easily, Lady Hester. I will come and visit you for tea.”
“No, no,” Hester said. “I will find a marvelous opportunity for us to…”
The dowager cocked her head to the side. “Oh, whatever it shall be, it shall be. But for now, I shall let the two of you sort it out.”
And with that, the dowager duchess sashayed out of the room, and Calchas Briarwood strode forward, his long coat swaying about his powerful, trouser-covered legs. He was dressed rather fashionably and rather eccentrically too, which was quite odd to her.
She tried to make sense of the rich emerald long coat that countered his black and gold embroidered vest.
The image that she had of him in her mind was a rather serious one.
He had been a man of great practicality, according to her husband.
This gentleman seemed to be dressed in lavish colors and rich fabrics, and she wondered if perhaps he was desperately trying to cling to his present after leaving the Navy, as she was trying to cling to hers.
Was he still trying to find himself after a life at sea? If so, they had something in common. They were both in new lives, facing the unknown.
He inclined his head. “How do you do, Mrs. Floyd? Your husband was Captain Floyd, I understand.”
She nodded.
He gave her a kind but confused look. “May I ask why you have come to visit me? I am happy to tell you anything that you wish to know about your husband, but I did not know him particularly well. He was on another ship, after all.”
She swallowed. This was a slightly inauspicious beginning.
He was starting off saying that he did not know her husband particularly well, and she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.
It was most annoying the way a brain could rattle back and forth between hope and fear and certainty and uncertainty.
“I am here because my husband spoke very highly of you.”
“That’s very kind, given how little time we spent together,” he said.
Her heart, her blasted heart, kicked up a notch, and she feared she would begin to shake with the intensity of its current beating. “You have a reputation, sir, for being fair and honorable.”
He drew up straight. “Good. I am glad. I have always tried to be both of those things.”
“I need a favor,” she said, quite frankly, unable to bear dancing about the issue at hand.
He blinked. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve come to me?” he asked, clearly surprised.
“I could go to many people,” she admitted, “but none of them, I think, would be fair or honorable, and so here I stand.”
“I am quite curious now, as well as honored,” he confessed. “What is it exactly that you need?”
She swallowed.
Here the moment was. She had a beautiful speech prepared. She’d recited it over and over to Ellen. She opened her mouth, ready to give it, but instead she blurted out a single word, for better or for worse.
“Money,” she replied, for it seemed that Captain Lord Calchas Briarwood had stolen her wits if not her resolve.